A Courtesan's Scandal

by Julia London

  Chapter Eleven

  Kate had seen Carlton House only from a distance. Up close, she was astounded by its grandeur. She could not possibly have imagined anything like it, had she not seen it with her own eyes.

  The massive columns, as tall as church steeples, framed the entrance. Benoit had once told her that the columns were modeled on the ancient architecture of Rome. As Kate had no idea what that meant, he’d tried to explain. “It is modeled to look like the Pantheon.”

  “Oh,” she’d responded. “What is a pantheon?”

  “Mon dieu! What an ignorant chit you are!” Benoit had snapped, then had instructed Digby to find a drawing of the Pantheon. That had taken him a bit of doing, combing through bookshops until he found one.

  But it wasn’t just the building or the massive columns, or the enormous chandelier she could see hanging inside, lighting the entrance with its dozens of candles. It was the people. They spilled out of fine carriages, wearing the sort of clothing over which Digby would certainly weep. They were clearly full of juice, as Aldous would say, meaning quite rich, all hurrying inside to escape the cold, hurrying past footmen who were undoubtedly freezing as they held doors open for them.

  All those fine people were crowding into the receiving hall.

  Kate did not feel cold when the door of the coach swung open and a footman put the step down; she felt nothing but raw nerves rising up in her belly.

  Darlington put his hand on her elbow and guided her down. On the ground, he put his arm under her hand. She was aware of him, of his body so close to hers, of the strength in him. She felt oddly safe as he escorted her up the steps and across the brick entry to the main hall. Kate tried not to gawk as they stepped inside, but it was nearly impossible—she was in a palace. A palace.

  The entrance hall alone was as large as her little house. Fireplaces graced each end and a domed ceiling, soaring two stories overhead, was crested with glass. There were columns in this room, too, on top of which were recesses built into the walls to display statuary.

  A long, red carpet had been laid over the marble floor, leading into an anteroom. Two dozen or more footmen in royal livery lined both sides of the carpet, taking cloaks. Kate handed her cloak to a waiting footman; he bowed deeply before turning around and walking briskly away. Another footman instantly took his place.

  “There must be five hundred souls gathered here,” Kate remarked as she looked around at the crush.

  “I would guess it to be closer to eight hundred,” Darlington responded. “The season-ending ball is usually twice as large.”

  Kate must have looked as surprised as she felt—sixteen hundred people at one ball?—for Darlington smiled down at her. For the first time since they’d met, he actually smiled, and the warmth in it startled her. It spread all the way up to his eyes, crinkling them at the corners, making them shine. It transformed his face; he didn’t seem quite so stern and distant when he smiled. He looked almost kind.

  Kate was not allowed to admire his lovely smile, however, for she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see Lord Perryton. Kate knew the gentleman from Benoit’s card games, which Perryton had often attended in the company of his mistress, Mrs. Franklin.

  He was seemingly alone tonight and smiled hungrily at Kate. “Miss Bergeron, what a pleasure to see you here. Where is Monsieur Cousineau? I’ve so rarely seen him without you—or you without him.”

  “Monsieur Cousineau is in France, my lord.”

  “For very long?” Perryton asked, his gaze drifting down her body.

  “Perryton, how do you do,” Darlington interjected, moving to stand slightly before Kate.

  Perryton looked at Darlington with some surprise. “Your Grace. I had no—”

  “Pardon us,” Darlington said abruptly, and with his hand on the small of Kate’s back, he moved her away from Perryton, into the stream of people moving into the ballroom. “He was rather too eager,” he said bluntly.

  Kate snorted at that. “He is an eager man in more ways than one.”

  “Pardon?” Darlington asked.

  She smiled wryly. “He has unusual tastes,” she said. Mrs. Franklin had told her of Perryton’s predilection for being spanked in the course of their relations. At Darlington’s blank look, Kate said, “He is an eager student when his headmistress demands it, if you take my meaning.”

  Darlington blinked. His gaze slipped to her mouth for a moment. He looked as if he meant to speak, but they were once again interrupted by a gentleman who knew Darlington, but couldn’t take his eyes off Kate. As Darlington made no move to introduce her, Kate turned away from the two men and took in the crowd. Several men looked in her direction, she noticed. So did several women.

  She started at the feel of Darlington’s hand on her back again. “The prince,” he said. Kate followed his gaze and saw the Prince of Wales standing inside the anteroom.

  If she’d not previously made his acquaintance she would believe he was the king himself, so adorned was he. He wore a red sash diagonally across his chest, anchored by a large embroidered crest of some sort at his waist. More jeweled emblems crowded his chest. His light brown hair was coiffed and curled, and his neck cloth—black, which stood in stark contrast to the white every other man wore—was wrapped around his neck, resting just beneath his chin. He was impeccably dressed, but his coat strained across his rotund abdomen. He was a heavy man, but at the age of five and forty, as Digby swore he was, he was nonetheless a handsome man.

  He was very well aware of it, too, Kate thought as they inched toward him. His demeanor was superior to every guest who walked through the anteroom to the ballroom. The greeting entailed the prince putting out his hand as if it were a gift, and the guest kissing his ring.

  But when Kate and Darlington reached him, the prince’s demeanor changed; he smiled broadly at Kate and never looked at the duke.

  “Your Highness, may I present Miss Katharine Bergeron,” Darlington said.

  Kate sank to the floor in a curtsy, her head bowed.

  “What a treasure you have brought tonight, Christie,” the prince said, and put out his hand, palm up. Kate slipped her hand into it. The prince drew her up and her hand to his lips, his eyes on hers as he kissed her gloved knuckles, lingering there a moment. “It is my great pleasure to make your acquaintance again, Miss Bergeron.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” Kate said.

  “Christie, you must not keep her to yourself all night,” the prince said jovially. “I should like to put my name on her dance card if you’ll allow it.”

  “Of course. You must have the dance of your choosing, sir.”

  Neither gentleman appeared to think Kate had much of a say in the matter. She glanced down at her hand, which the prince still held. She was aware that everyone who could see them had noticed his attention to her. The prince must have realized it, too, for he squeezed her fingers tightly, and gave her a meaningful look as he released her hand.

  “You’ll stand up with an old man, will you, Miss Bergeron?” he asked lightly.

  “If you wish, Your Highness, but I had hoped to stand up with you,” she said.

  The prince laughed and looked around at his entourage, who quickly joined in the laughter. “It will be my pleasure, madam. You’ll find me, won’t you, Christie?”

  Darlington assured him he would and led Kate onward, through the throng. “There, then, that should make you happy,” he said as they entered the ballroom. “Your assignation is all but arranged.”

  Kate shot him a look, but the duke seemed not to notice.

  The ballroom was breathtaking. A mural covered the ceiling from which no less than six chandeliers hung, all of them holding what seemed like dozens of candles. On one side of the room were three roaring hearths. Across from the hearths were arched windows that rose two stories tall. Between them, mirrors that were almost as large reflected the light, making the ballroom seem even larger and brighter than it actually was.

  It had been decorated in a wi
nter theme. There were extravagant papier-mâché sculptures in the corners of the room, carved into the shapes of winter landscapes. In addition to the chandeliers, dozens and dozens of crystal icicles were suspended from the ceiling, and the footmen were dressed all in white. There was a time when Kate thought Benoit had more money than the king, but this went far beyond anything she could ever imagine.

  “Champagne?” Darlington asked, taking a pair of crystal flutes from a passing footman and handing one to her. Their fingers brushed; Kate felt a strange tingle. Stop, Kate, she silently chastised herself. He was a handsome man, but she really suspected that was all that could be said for him.

  She sipped the champagne—it was of excellent quality. She sipped again and noticed Darlington looking at her. He’d hardly sipped from his—

  “Christie!”

  Darlington winced before he turned to greet a tall, comely man. “Lindsey, what are you doing here?” Darlington asked, extending his hand. “I thought you were at Eastchurch Abbey.”

  “I was—I am. I’ve only come to town for the week to hire a proper carpenter,” he said, his gaze sliding to Kate.

  “A carpenter?”

  The gentleman smiled broadly. “We are in the rather long and laborious process of redesigning the nursery.” He turned that smile to Kate. “I beg your pardon, madam.”

  “Ah,” Darlington said uneasily. “Miss Bergeron, may I present the Earl of Lindsey, Nathan Grey. Lindsey, Miss Katharine Bergeron.”

  “My lord,” Kate said, bobbing a quick curtsy.

  The earl said nothing for a moment. He glanced curiously at Darlington. When Darlington offered nothing more, he looked again at Kate and smiled. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Bergeron,” he said, bowing his head. “Most certainly mine.”

  Kate smiled with amusement. “Thank you, my lord.” She was aware of heads turning toward them, of ladies looking curiously over the tops of their fans at her, of gentlemen eyeing her appreciatively.

  Darlington was aware of Lindsey’s curiosity, it seemed. “When do you return to Eastchurch?” he asked Lindsey, stepping ever so slightly away from Kate and drawing Lindsey’s gaze from her. Kate felt herself color now; she realized he was ashamed of being seen with her.

  “After the master carpenter has extracted a promise of a princely sum from me,” Lindsey said happily. “Evie is at the abbey, and I can’t bear to be away from her just now.”

  “No, of course not,” Darlington said. An awkward moment passed. “Any word from Lambourne?” Darlington asked.

  Lindsey laughed and looked at Kate again, his eyes darting the length of her. “The lad is safely tucked away in Scotland for the foreseeable future. What of Donnelly?”

  Darlington shook his head. “He remains in Ireland. I’ve not had a proper word from him in a month.”

  Lindsey nodded and smiled at Kate. “I beg your pardon, Miss Bergeron, but you seem rather familiar to me.”

  “Do I?” she asked smoothly, and wondered if his wife had purchased cloth from Benoit. “I can’t imagine where we might have met, my lord.”

  “Let us think on it, and perhaps we shall recall that splendid occasion,” Lindsey said, shifting closer to her.

  “Ah, I see the musicians are entering the stage. The first dance will begin shortly,” Darlington said.

  Lindsey gave him a quick, impatient look. “You wouldn’t be attempting to keep a rose from me in the midst of so many thorns, would you, old friend?” he asked and turned his attention to Kate again. “Is it possible I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Bergeron at Darlington House?”

  Kate couldn’t help but laugh at that impossibility. “No, my lord. I’ve not had the pleasure of dining at Darlington House.”

  Darlington clasped his hands behind his back and looked at the dance floor.

  “No?” Lindsey asked, seeming surprised by that. “I am certain His Grace will remedy that straightaway. Where, then, did you meet our sullen friend?” Lindsey asked, smiling at Darlington.

  “We met at a musical recital,” Kate offered, and smiled at Darlington.

  “A recital?” Lindsey repeated disbelievingly.

  “Mmm. A musical performance. It was the work of Beethoven,” she continued blithely. “A very moving piece, really, would you not agree, Your Grace?”

  His gaze narrowed a bit. “It was adequately played.”

  “Adequately! Sir, the music was beautifully played— it brought to mind courtly love.” She smiled sweetly at him.

  Darlington frowned, but Lindsey smiled broadly. “Do tell, Miss Bergeron.”

  “Music always makes me think of love,” Kate said. “Especially opera. What do you think of when you hear music, Your Grace?”

  “I think of how much longer I shall be forced to endure it,” he said bluntly. “The prince should open the dance shortly, I should think.”

  “Well then,” Lindsey said, clapping his hand on Darlington’s shoulder. “Far be it from me to keep you two from the pleasure of the first dance.”

  Darlington glared at Lindsey, but the earl ignored him and grinned at Kate. “Again, it has been my extraordinary pleasure, Miss Bergeron. I do hope you enjoy the ball.”

  “Thank you,” Kate said.

  “Now, if you will pardon me, I see my cousin and must speak to him.”

  Kate nodded. She held her champagne flute between her fingers and let it swing loosely as she watched Lindsey stroll away. When he’d gone, she thrust the empty flute at Darlington.

  He attempted to take it, but Kate would not let it go. “I realize you are ashamed of me, but must you appear so wretchedly unhappy?”

  “That’s absurd,” he said and dislodged the flute from her grip. He handed it off instantly to a passing footman, along with his glass, still half full. “I have done nothing for which I should be ashamed,” he said, putting his hand on her elbow and directing her to one side.

  “Please! You were clearly ashamed when your friend understood you had accompanied me here.”

  He looked at her incredulously. “Did you expect that I would rejoice in our association and boast of it to my friends?” he quietly demanded. “I treated you cordially.”

  “Cordially? You were appalled!”

  “Appalled?” His dark blue gaze ran down her body, then up again, lingering on her bosom, then on her mouth. “I am not appalled by you, Kate. Frankly, I think you are one of the most beautiful women I have ever had the good grace to see.”

  She could scarcely refrain from rolling her eyes at that.

  If there was one man who was immune to her looks, it was this one.

  “But I am appalled by this ghastly situation.”

  “Well then,” she said impatiently. “I am quite clear now.”

  “Good,” he said, and his gaze, that dark blue, ocean deep gaze, slowly slid from her eyes to her lips once more.

  “Good,” she snapped. Perhaps Kate was the one who was doing the looking, for she was suddenly very aware of him, of his height, of the intricate knot of his neck cloth, the fine fit of his coat across his shoulders. His thick brown hair. His jaw, clean-shaven and square. Something warm began to flow in Kate as they stood there glaring at one another, something so warm that, ironically, it made her shiver.

  Their gazes remained locked on each other for a moment or two, but then someone jostled Kate, and she inadvertently looked to her right—and was instantly captivated by the procession of the prince onto the dance floor. On his arm was a girl about ten years of age in a glittering gold gown. They stood in the middle of the cleared dance floor, facing each other.

  “Who is she?” Kate asked.

  “The Princess Charlotte,” Darlington said. “His daughter.”

  Trumpets sounded, and children—very small children, all dressed in winter costumes trimmed in white fur—ran from a corner of the room onto the dance floor, and lined up on either side of the prince and his daughter. The music began, and as the prince and his daughter began to dance, the children who joined them began t
o dance as well with snow falling from above.

  Kate gasped with delight—it was magnificent! The children danced perfectly in the imitation snow, mirroring the sure-footed prince and the budding grace of the princess. It was quite a show, and when the music ended, the children scampered off the dance floor, the snow stopped falling, and the guests began to crowd onto the floor for the next set.

  Kate stood there beside Darlington, expecting him to ask her to dance, and feeling a bit awkward when he did not. People were looking at them.

  “Kate?”

  Startled, Kate looked away from the dance floor to the man who had spoken to her. She smiled when she saw Mr. Sampson, another of Benoit’s gaming partners. She’d always liked him; he was quiet and kind. Even now, he glanced at Darlington and said softly, “I’d heard you’d left Cousineau. The poor man must be despondent”

  “Oh, he’s quite all right,” Kate said laughingly.

  “Mr. Sampson! Do you intend to dance with your wife?” a dark-headed woman suddenly demanded. She looped her arm through Mr. Sampson’s.

  “Of course, darling,” he said, and smiled apologetically at Kate. “Good evening, Miss Bergeron.”

  “Mr. Sampson,” she said, and watched his wife pull him away from her.

  “An acquaintance of yours?” Darlington drawled.

  She looked at him sidelong. “Not precisely.”

  “Aha.”

  “Don’t smile so smugly, sir—he was a friend of my former benefactor. Not a lover.”

  Darlington looked skeptical, but yet another of his acquaintances had approached them.

  “Good evening, Christie!”

  Darlington sighed. “Good evening, Thomas.” He glanced at Kate. “May I introduce Mr. Thomas Black,” he said. “Mr. Black, Miss Bergeron.”

  He bowed his head. “It is a great pleasure, madam. Have you a space on your dance card, Miss—”

  “She does not,” Darlington said, and suddenly took her hand. “If you will excuse us,” he said, and suddenly pulled Kate to the dance floor.

  “Well! After such a kind invitation, I am delighted to stand up with you,” Kate said.