by Amy Jarecki
Sher slumped in the velvet upholstery, his mind reeling. In truth, he liked Eleanor too much. But she’d slayed him with her uncaring letter. “How I may or may not feel matters not. She hates me. She blames me for exposing her.”
“True, the lady said the same to me.”
Sitting taller, Sher thanked God there was a way out of this. “Last I checked, both parties must agree before they take their vows. Gone are the days of clubbing and dragging away by the hair.”
“That’s why you, my friend, must convince her it is a sound idea.”
“Me?” He lowered his voice. “Did I not enunciate it succinctly enough? Eleanor Kent made it eminently clear that she never wants to set eyes on me again.”
“Danby, it is not like you to cower in the face of adversity. If anyone is able, you are the most likely candidate to come up with a way to change her mind. If not, I’m afraid our dastardly prime minister will stop at nothing to parade the lady through the courts and into prison. Even if I commute her sentence, the whole debacle will crush her.” Prinny leaned forward and slapped his palms on the table. “Dammit, sir, I do not want to see her ruined.”
Sher’s mouth dropped open. The man was bloody serious.
God’s stones.
The Prince of Wales was known for his eccentricities and wild ideas. But wed the daughter of Viscount Lisle? Sher didn’t want to marry. Despite his mother’s intentions, all of polite society knew he’d spent his entire adult life avoiding the marriage mart like the plague. “I…ah…”
“You created this problem, and now you must fix it. You have a week. Forthcoming is an invitation to a royal ball to be held right here at Carlton House. By the end of the evening, I expect a proposal—and I will announce your nuptials myself. Am I understood?”
Chapter Fourteen
Balancing Margaret on her lap, Eleanor sat beside her father while Miss Repast entertained them, proving quite accomplished on the pianoforte. Papa tapped his pointer finger ever so slightly with the tempo. To see him enjoying the music made her heart swell. It had been ages since she’d had the footmen bring her father to the music room, one floor below his bedchamber. And she was ever so glad they’d done so today. Even Margaret burbled happily while tugging on the frilly lace-trimmed collar of Eleanor’s day dress.
She’d forgotten what it was like to be among family—to enjoy the simpler things. Once they returned to Kingston Manor, she intended to make family the center of each day.
As Miss Repast began one of Handel’s famous compositions, Weston entered with a letter on his tray.
“Not another complaint,” Eleanor grumbled, taking the missive without paying attention to how it was addressed.
“Perhaps.” The butler bowed. “But this one is from His Royal Highness.”
“Goodness, he’s the last person I’d expect to complain.” She shifted Margaret, holding the babe secure with her upper arms, which allowed her to open the letter and read. When Weston bent forward to peer over her shoulder, Eleanor tsked her tongue and turned the letter away from his sight. “Do you mind?”
The butler cleared his throat and straightened. “Forgive me.”
Though Weston had been her closest confidant for years and she let him in on most of her secrets, she didn’t care to have anyone peering over her shoulder while she was reading her correspondence. “’Tis an invitation to a royal ball.”
Weston’s face fell as the music grew louder. “When?”
“In a sennight.” Eleanor stood and put Margaret in the cradle before moving to the writing table. “I’ll send my regrets.”
“But you cannot refuse an invitation from the crown.”
“I can if we are in the country.” Eleanor scribed a quick reply while Weston stood by. “Have the lad take this to Carlton House at once.”
The music abruptly stopped. “Is all well?” asked Miss Repast from her perch at the pianoforte while Margaret started to fuss.
“It is.” Eleanor hastened to the cradle and lifted the babe into her arms, immediately stopping the infant’s tirade. “Please do continue, I believe His Lordship is truly engaged. You have an astonishing talent.”
“Thank you.”
As music again filled the chamber, Eleanor sat on the floor and spread out a soft flannel cloth, upon which she placed the babe. “You are growing awfully spoiled, Miss Fussbottom.”
Pleased with the attention, Margaret babbled and grabbed her toes in an impressive acrobatic display.
“Oh, so you think it is quite all right to be utterly spoiled,” Eleanor asked, shaking a steel rattle with a bone handle that had once been hers.
Margaret rewarded her question with a gummy smile.
Eleanor shook the toy again, making the beans inside jangle with the music. The babe stretched for the rattle and Eleanor placed the handle in her tiny palm. Squealing with joy, Margaret flailed the thing, smacking herself in the forehead.
“Oh no!”
The baby’s expression was one of utter bewilderment as her face grew red.
“My poor darling, how could I have been such a dimwit?” Eleanor said as she gathered the bawling infant in her arms and rocked back and forth. “Please forgive me.”
Miss Repast dashed across the floor. “What on earth happened?”
“It seems that nasty rattle turned into a torpedo.” Goodness, there was a little bruise forming on Margaret’s forehead. Eleanor’s heart twisted as she kissed it. “Perhaps we need to wrap the toy in wool until you’re a tad older.”
“Such is the bane of youth. She’s bound to have a few bumps now and again, as we all do.” The nursemaid held out her hands. “I ought to take her up for a nap.”
Eleanor leaned back for a better look at Margaret’s face. “Are you tired, sweeting?”
A real tear dribbled onto her chubby cheek. “Waaaaaaah.”
“Very well, but I was so enjoying your music.”
Miss Repast gathered the child into her arms. “You play, do you not, Miss Kent? Why not continue? I think the viscount would appreciate it.”
“Yes,” Papa uttered ever so quietly.
Praises be the saints! Eleanor’s jaw dropped. She wouldn’t have been more encouraged if God had sent an angel with the request. “Very well.” She glanced at the clock and then to her father. “I’ll play until luncheon, and then we shall eat together in the hall. Won’t that be nice for a change?”
Eleanor folded her music and set it aside when Weston once again approached. This time, he was gasping for air as if he’d been running a footrace. “You have a visitor, miss. ’Tis—”
“Wonderful.” Having endured enough complaints to last a lifetime, Eleanor shot to her feet. “Perhaps we ought to leave for Kingston Manor on the morrow.”
“Your idea has merit. However, now is not the time to discuss it,” the butler said through clenched teeth as he repeatedly flicked his hands toward the door. “Please head directly to the parlor. I’m certain the Prince of Wales does not care to be left waiting.”
Shocked, Eleanor hastily looked in the mirror over the mantel and patted her hands over her hair. “George is here?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, miss.” Weston grabbed the handles of Papa’s invalid chair. “I’ll wheel His Lordship to the dining hall. You look lovely as always. Now go.”
She found Prinny in the parlor examining a bronze statue of dancing nymphs, one Danby had once admired. “Your Royal Highness, forgive my delay,” she said, dipping into a royal curtsey.
The prince replaced the piece and stood back, tapping a finger to his chin. “My word, Eleanor, you do have an eye for décor.”
No matter his words, something told her George hadn’t called to compliment her tastes. “Thank you.” She gestured to the settee. “Shall I ring for a refreshment? I believe Cook has a rhubarb tart that is sinful.”
“Tempting, but I mustn’t tarry. I merely called in on my way to the track.” And he didn’t sit. Instead, he grasped his hands behin
d his back and paced. “Tell me, what is so important at Kingston Manor that you cannot delay your departure?”
“You know very well I cannot attend your ball. I am not only being investigated by Danby and his task force of scoundrels, there will be many club owners in attendance who would like to flay me. I felt it was best to remove myself from town for a time whilst this turmoil blows over.”
And if it grows worse, I’ll be forced to remove myself from the kingdom.
“I think not. You must prove yourself to be an unflappable member of the ton.” George stopped in the center of the room and rubbed his hands down his waistcoat. “Besides, did you not read the invitation? The ball is a masque.”
“Right.” Eleanor fought to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. “And no one will guess my identity after they have a look at my hair.”
“Powder it. Or wear a wig—something reminiscent of Marie Antoinette.”
“That would be apt—dress like a beheaded queen in prelude to my own heinous demise.” She groaned. “Why is it so important that I attend?”
Prinny didn’t bother to smile at her remark. “You came to me requesting that I call off the prime minister’s dogs, did you not?”
“I did.”
“Let us say, I am acting in your best interests and I expect a French court ensemble.” He took a step toward the door. “If you do not wish to face public humiliation and enjoy Newgate Prison’s hospitality, then I strongly urge you to make an appearance.”
A lump the size of Gibraltar took up residence in Eleanor’s throat while she watched as the prince’s backside disappeared out the door.
Matters are even more perilous than I’d imagined.
Chapter Fifteen
One never knew exactly what to expect when the prince regent hosted a royal ball. The only common denominator? The affair was always put forward on an astonishingly grand scale. And this evening was no different. The leader of the kingdom had transformed his Carlton House conservatory, with its gothic architecture, into a hall of mirrors reminiscent of Versailles. Moreover, an orchestra the size of a symphony occupied the far end, filling the space with music that resonated all the way up to the vaulted ceiling.
Presently, Sher preferred to have been anywhere aside from standing in the shadows of a gilt-inlaid pillar where he had not only a view of the dance floor, but a direct line of sight to the enormous entryway and the scalloped red velvet curtains hanging above. Though in other circumstances he might enjoy the chase, he never pursued a female within the confines of polite society. There were just too many bloody rules for his taste.
Worse, there was something about masques that shifted aside certain norms of etiquette and turned young ladies into giggling, brazen flirts. Though Sher wore a black mask and a sultan’s costume with green pants, white turban with ostrich plumes, and a red velvet doublet, when he’d left home, he was quite certain he still looked like himself. Yet, at least a dozen tittering nymphs had commented on how dapper he appeared and how much they admired his regalia.
Perhaps dressing as a sultan turned heads, but he rather doubted it. The costume had been suggested by his tailor because it was available at short notice. And it might be for naught. Though Prinny had insisted Eleanor Kent would make an appearance, the woman in question hadn’t yet arrived.
“Are you not dancing, sir?” asked a woman impersonating a medieval courtier. “Or should I say, Your Highness?”
Sher glanced her way—even he, the great ignorer of propriety, wouldn’t deign to speak to the chit without a proper introduction. “Forgive me, have we been introduced?”
“No, silly. Isn’t that the purpose of a masque?”
“If you do not know, I suggest you ask your mother.” Sher glanced back to the entry as a new group of people arrived. “To your first question, no, I am not here to dance.”
With an exasperated snort, the lass started away. “Then why did you bother to come at all?”
To save a friend.
He scanned the visages of the newly arrived veiled men and women, his gaze stopping at a rather tall lady with a full Venetian mask of gold. It matched her late-eighteenth-century French gown complete with panniers shaped to make her hips extend an impossible fifteen inches on either side of her waist. Atop her head was a wig powdered white, supporting a miniature galleon, flanked by blue feathers springing from the teased mountains of hair.
For the first time that evening, Sher grinned. He would have preferred to see Eleanor’s impressive mane of red supporting the ship, but he understood why she was completely disguised. Nonetheless, he’d recognize her anywhere. She carried herself unlike other women. Regal, self-assured, yet there was something always guarded as if she brought an impenetrable barrier wherever she went. And now he knew what that something was.
He recognized the companions flanking her. The Duke and Duchess of Evesham were dressed in similar French court attire, though Her Grace was toting a handheld mask, which she mostly forgot to hold in place.
Seeing the trio made Sher’s palms perspire.
Was this really going to happen? Lord knew for the past week, he’d hardly thought of anything else. At last his mother would be appeased. She might even forgive him for avoiding her recital. And Mama seemed to like Eleanor. Danby liked her as well, though marriage?
Nearly three-quarters of the members of the ton resided within the confines of an arranged marriage of sorts. Sher had never given the idea much thought except to be vehemently against the institution. But then again, the prince had been right when he’d pointed out it was the Duke of Danby’s duty to marry and produce an heir. Quite honestly, the idea of producing an heir with Eleanor was rather tempting. At least she wasn’t a tittering nitwit like the medieval courtier who’d just had no idea whom she was addressing without a proper introduction.
Eleanor had the wherewithal to make a fine spouse. Of course, there would be no more smuggling and her servants would have to go, lest Sher be forced to put all the family heirlooms under lock and key.
Nonetheless, no matter how pragmatically he looked at the situation, he doubted he had ever been this nervous in his life. The lady hated him. No, Miss Kent wasn’t the type of woman who would fall at his feet and grovel, thanking him for throwing her a lifeline. But if she refused him…
I couldn’t bear it.
Sher tightened his fists as a masked musketeer led the lady to the dance floor.
Across the hall, Prinny, unmistakable in Highland dress, joined Evesham and his wife, Sher’s cue to move. At least the prince had agreed to start the wheels in motion this evening. His Highness had concocted this conspiracy and he would play his part.
“Goodness, Georgiana, your wig looks fine without the pin. I can hardly tell the difference.”
“That may be so, but the curl is drooping into my eye. If we don’t fix it, I’ll go mad by the night’s end.”
“Well, then it simply must be corrected,” Eleanor said, relieved to be heading for the women’s withdrawing room, regardless of the reason. Prinny had told her it was important for her to attend this ball, yet had given no indication as to what she was to expect. And they nearly hadn’t come at all because Georgiana’s wig refused to stay in place.
Eleanor followed her friend down the grand staircase and crossed through the vestibule. As they entered an unoccupied, dimly lit chamber, she glanced back. With such a large crowd, she expected a crush of people. “Are you certain we didn’t make a wrong turn?”
“Absolutely certain.” Georgiana grabbed Eleanor’s wrist and tugged her across the floor, stopping at a set of ornate, gilt double doors. Her Grace grazed her teeth over her bottom lip as she clasped Eleanor’s hands and held them tightly. “I haven’t been quite forthright with you.”
“About your wig?”
“Yes.” Georgiana squeezed a little more. “Well, not exactly. His Highness asked me to have you wait in here—ah—the Rose Satin Room.”
“In there?” Eleanor asked, her throat sudde
nly thickening. “Aside from the décor, do you know what lies beyond these doors?”
The duchess’ brow creased with uncertainty. “Well, His Majesty mentioned the fact that your presence in this very chamber is critical to ensure you are not dragged through the mire of the courts.”
“Oh, my word, he’s brought you into this mess? Tell me, what is he planning?”
“To be honest, I have no idea, but he’s our sovereign and it wasn’t my place to question him. Besides, I know you’ve done a great deal to help George acquire certain works of art, among other things.” Georgiana drew Eleanor’s hands to her lips and kissed her knuckles. “You have been my dearest friend and have stood by me in the most perilous of times. Please know I would do anything if it meant protecting you.”
Eleanor gripped her friend’s hands tightly. “I understand, and I love you for it. But please tell me there are no wolves in there. You know how much I hate surprises.”
“Of that I can promise without hesitation.” Georgiana used a key to unlock the door, then opened it. “Now off with you, my dearest. If I hear you scream, I’ll send Evesham in with a loaded pistol.”
“Did he bring one?”
“I think so. He always has a weapon hidden somewhere on his person.”
“Then let us pray he will not need to use it.”
Eleanor stepped into the dimly lit chamber while the door shut behind her. A slight chill whisked across her skin as she took a step further in. But when the lock clicked, she abruptly turned and grabbed the handle. The door didn’t budge. She bore down, pushing and pulling. “Georgiana! You didn’t say you were going to lock me in!”
She rattled the handle harder and pounded her fist on the wood. “Georgiana!”
Blast this charade.
Huffing, Eleanor turned and pressed her back against the door. She’d never been in this chamber and if it weren’t for the small hairs standing erect on the back of her neck, she would have sworn she was alone. One didn’t just lock spinsters in chambers and leave them. Even if she were alone, she doubted she’d be for long. Prinny was scheming and she was to bear the brunt of it. What was his plan? To cart her away in the wee hours and put her on a ship destined for Australia?