by Amanda Scott
“Perhaps,” Charlotte agreed, “though I fail to see what else he might do to me.”
“Why did you leave, highness?”
Charlotte slumped a little more in her chair. “It was almost as though I were possessed,” she said slowly. “As though there were nothing else I could do. It was after I spoke to Notti. She was going in to face Papa herself, so I just left. I hailed the hackney and ordered the coachman to drive here. It was the first place I thought of.”
“Well, you cannot stay here,” Gillian said flatly. “Landover would murder me.”
Charlotte smiled a natural smile for the first time since her arrival. “I do not think the noble marquis would be quite so violent as that.”
Gillian returned the smile. “No, perhaps not, but he would be vastly displeased. That I am sure of. He told me in no uncertain terms just two nights ago that I am to stay well clear of your affairs, highness.”
With a deep sigh, the princess arose from her chair and gathered her cloak about her shoulders. “In that case, I must leave at once.” She took but one step toward the door, however, before turning helplessly. “I have dismissed the coach, and I don’t know where to go.”
Thinking quickly, Gillian said, “You must go to your mother. She will know what to do, and she will support you against your father, too. No doubt there will be others to help you as well, but you will find them better from Connaught House than from here.”
Charlotte nodded. “But you must come with me. I have had enough solitary travel for one night. Please, Gillian, say you will.”
Without hesitation, Gillian agreed. Landover would have a great deal to say, and she truly didn’t want to annoy him, but the princess was her friend, and what was more, her highness was presently just another young girl in deep trouble. Gillian could no more have abandoned her than she could have abandoned an injured puppy on the highroad. Calling the younger footman, she gave him a vague message to be delivered to Mrs. Periwinkle after their departure, excusing herself from the evening’s entertainments, then sent him for one of Landover’s carriages to convey them to Connaught House.
Once they were safely on their way, the princess’s spirits rose mercurially. Gillian could not help thinking from her attitude that she did not seem to have much fear of the future. On the contrary, now it seemed that Gillian was the only one who did fear it. Landover was likely to be quite as furious as the Prince Regent, for not only had she disobeyed him again, but he would think she had done so out of defiance. She would never be able to explain her actions satisfactorily.
Though Gillian noticed that she said nothing whatsoever about the Regent or her forthcoming difficulties, the princess talked of all manner of things, chatting about plans for the forthcoming Vauxhall fete, wishing hopefully that she might be allowed to attend such a function, and asking for Gillian’s impressions of the Burlington House masquerade. Gillian followed her lead as best she could, but she could not help feeling relieved when they finally reached Connaught House.
The princess bounded out of the coach the moment the steps were let down and flew up the stairs to the front door, pulling the bell with the fervor of a child or a madwoman. The door was opened quickly enough, and a very imposing butler bowed her in.
“Pennyfeather,” said the princess grandly, “inform her highness that I must see her at once.”
“I am afraid her highness is not at home, madam,” said the butler in dignified tones. Not by the flicker of an eyelash did that stately fellow indicate curiosity at the fact of the crown princess’s unexpected arrival.
Gillian felt her heart plummet. What on earth would they do now? “Where is she?” demanded Charlotte in similar dismay.
“Her highness should be on her way home from the Blackheath villa, madam, but I could not presume to say when she will arrive.”
“Then we must send to intercept her at once,” declared Charlotte. “She must return with all speed. Knowing Mama, she will stop off to visit Earl Grey or another friend just because the journey bores her. Send someone at once, Pennyfeather.”
“Of course, your highness. Might I suggest dinner whilst you wait?”
Charlotte agreed promptly, and although Gillian was certain she wouldn’t be able to eat a thing, it seemed much better to dine than to sit about trying to convince each other that everything was going to be a bed of roses. In no time at all, a table was spread, and she found herself sitting tête-à-tête with Princess Charlotte over mock turtle, partridges, sherried mushrooms, dumplings, fried anchovy toast, French cut beans, spinach pudding, and ginger valentines. Before they had half finished the splendid repast, her highness of Wales was announced.
“What on earth!” Caroline exclaimed, blinking rather owlishly at the two of them. “Good evening, Miss Harris.” Gillian got quickly to her feet, but she might have spared herself the exertion. The Princess of Wales had directed her attention to her anxious daughter.
“Mama! What am I to do?”
“Liebchen, I’ve no notion, since I do not know what passes. Tell me.”
Haltingly, and leaving a good many things out that then had to be explained, Charlotte got most of the tale told. As her voice died away, her mother shook her head sadly.
“Why do we fight him? We should learn better. You cannot win this battle, Liebchen. The best we can hope is that you will not lose the war. We need Brougham. He will advise us.”
A message was despatched at once to Lord Brougham, and when the dining-room doors opened not twenty minutes later, all three ladies looked up with pleased expectancy, only to hear Pennyfeather announce sepulchrally, “The honorable Marquis of Landover to see you, madam.”
Gillian’s air of grateful expectation fell away ludicrously, and she watched the marquis’s entrance with not a little apprehension. Even so, she had to admit that he was looking particularly handsome in dark pantaloons and a well-fitting jacket. A small ruby glinted in the folds of his neckcloth. As he approached the two princesses and bowed, his expression was unreadable.
“Greetings, my lord.” It was Caroline who recovered first, and she did not seem overly displeased to see him.
“Good evening, your highness. I have come to collect Miss Harris. I doubt you will want her in the midst of all the uproar descending upon this place.”
“Assuredly not, my lord,” Caroline agreed before either Charlotte or Gillian could express a different opinion. “Uh … is there an uproar descending?”
“Absolutely, madam. His highness has sent for his ministers, and a council is being held in the Foreign Office as well as at Carlton House. In fact, that you may judge properly the gravity of the situation, I need only tell you that when she heard the news of the Princess Charlotte’s flight from Warwick House, her majesty the Queen immediately left a card party she was giving!”
“Indeed!” Princess Caroline clutched her breast at news of such unprecedented action, and Charlotte glanced anxiously at Gillian. The latter was watching Landover, still trying to gauge his mood. Amazingly, she suspected a certain amount of levity. She could not for an instant tell why she suspected it, but she became certain when he went on.
“I am afraid the Regent knows as well as I do where her highness is, madam. Your messenger to Brougham was intercepted on the road. Not that Brougham will not come. He will.” Landover paused, and there could be no denying the twinkle in his eye as he continued, “So will the Bishop of Salisbury, the Duke of York, the Lord Chancellor, the Chancellor of the Duchy of Cornwall, his grace the Duke of Sussex, and quite possibly Lord Liverpool himself.”
“The Prime Minister! Mein Gott im Himmel!” exclaimed her highness of Wales.
“Gillian, don’t leave me!” wailed Charlotte.
Landover smiled kindly at the distraught princess. “Miss Harris has no place in all of this, as I am sure you must agree, and the sooner she is well out of it, the better. However, perhaps the Princess Charlotte would be willing to hear a word or two of advice before the others arrive.”
; XIII
“WON’T YOU SIT DOWN, Landover?” Charlotte invited regally. “This mock turtle is delicious. Help the Marquis of Landover to a plate, Pennyfeather.”
To Gillian’s surprise, Landover accepted the invitation, pulling out a chair at Charlotte’s right hand. “I shall be delighted, your highness, but I warn you, my conversation will be aimed at persuading you to return to Carlton House.”
Charlotte laughed at him. “But, sir, I’ve only just run off!”
“This is not a time for levity, Liebchen,” stated Princess Caroline brusquely. “You must return at once.”
But Charlotte had no wish to listen, preferring to believe she might be allowed to remain with her mother. Gillian, watching her, thought she was making a particular effort to maintain the lighthearted air she had affected in the carriage from Landover House.
“Your highness,” put in the marquis, speaking rather sternly, “it would be far better to go now than to wait until your father forces you.”
“He cannot do so,” replied Charlotte blithely. “I shan’t allow it.”
“The law is on his side, I’m afraid.”
“What law is that?” demanded Gillian.
He turned that stern gaze upon her, and she shivered involuntarily. “A law laid down in the reign of George I, which gives absolute power to the King or the Regent to dispose of the persons of all the royal family whilst they are underage.”
“Oh,” Gillian said. She glanced at Charlotte, who shrugged resentfully.
“My people will support me. I have only to tell them how he treats me. He has, after all, threatened to thrash me, has he not?”
“Quite true, madam,” Landover said quietly. “We have only to gather a crowd and tell them of your grievances. They would most certainly rise in your behalf.”
“Exactly so!” agreed Charlotte, her spirits lifting noticeably. “Why should they not?”
“The commotion might be a trifle excessive,” Landover warned. “If the crowd were large enough, rowdy enough, Carlton House itself might be attacked—even pulled down about your father’s ears. Soldiers would be called out, blood would be shed, and many lives would be lost.” He paused briefly, giving time for each of his listeners to visualize the drama he described. Then his brows drew together, his voice grew rougher. “If your highness were to live a hundred years, it would never be forgotten that your running away caused the mischief.”
Gillian privately thought he was overdoing it, but even as the thought passed through her mind, she realized that the color had drained from Charlotte’s startled face. If the princess cared nothing for her duty to her father, she cared much for her duty to her people. Stupefied and a bit lost, she turned a bewildered gaze upon Landover, speaking in a much smaller voice.
“You truly think such a thing might come to pass?”
“Indeed, highness,” he replied solemnly, “you may depend upon it. Such is the English people’s horror of bloodshed that you would never get over it. I know it will be difficult, but the most admirable course for you to follow is the one requiring the most courage on your part. You must return to face your father.”
“He said he would beat me,” Charlotte muttered as though to herself. Landover said nothing, but his gaze—gentler now, more compassionate—locked with hers.
“Begging your pardon, madam,” Pennyfeather said woodenly from the doorway, “but my lord Brougham, his grace of York, and the Lord Chancellor have arrived. I have taken the liberty of putting them in the blue drawing room, since they seem to think there will be further arrivals.”
“Nonsense, Pennyfeather,” said Princess Caroline, taking a deep breath and shooting a sidelong glance at Landover. “Show them in, and lay three more places for dinner.”
The butler looked at his mistress, who merely shrugged, but as he turned away, Landover spoke quickly to the Princess of Wales.
“One moment, if you please, madam.”
“You have made your point, my lord,” Charlotte interrupted bleakly. “I shall accept your advice, but you must let me handle matters in my own fashion.”
“Indeed, highness,” he replied, turning back to her, “I had no other thought in mind. I merely wish, as I mentioned before, to see Miss Harris out of this.”
“Of course,” agreed the Princess Caroline. “Pennyfeather, show the marquis and Miss Harris out by the west door before you bring in our other visitors.”
The stately butler bowed as though such goings-on were perfectly normal, although the younger princess looked for a moment as though she might debate the matter. Evidently she thought better of it, for she merely gave a tiny smile of farewell when Gillian rose to take the marquis’s proffered arm. But just as they reached the door, Charlotte spoke.
“Landover!” He turned back to find her watching him almost helplessly. “You will come back, my lord.” It was a statement, not a question.
“It will be my pleasure, your highness. Just as soon as I’ve seen Miss Harris safely to her carriage.” She nodded, a glint of relief showing clearly in those expressive blue eyes.
They went quickly, and Gillian soon found herself tucked up in the carriage. He had said nothing at all to her. As he moved to shut the carriage door, she spoke his name, her voice nearly betraying all the pent-up anxiety she had been feeling since his arrival. His face was shadowed, unreadable, but his voice was grim.
“We’ll speak of all this later,” he said. “Right now, you are to go home and go to bed, whilst I see what remains to be done here.”
“But I—”
“No arguments!” He shut the door firmly. “Take her home, Jason!”
The horses were whipped up immediately, and Gillian fell back against the squabs, resigned to her fate, whatever it might be.
Mrs. Periwinkle was waiting for her when she returned and promptly began to fuss and scold, but Gillian knew perfectly well that the old lady had been worried about her. She gave a weary smile.
“You should have gone ahead without me, ma’am.”
“As if I would. ’Tis not in the bond,’ as the bard would say.” Mrs. Periwinkle swished her puce satin shawl and smoothed the beige lace of her skirts as she sat with regal dignity upon the French seat in Gillian’s window bay. “Tell me what happened, my dear. And don’t, for mercy’s sake, leave out any of the good bits.”
Gillian complied, and Mrs. Periwinkle’s eyes twinkled with delicious glee when she described the number of potentates descending upon the princess.
“All honorable men,” she chuckled, “but talk about the cat amongst the pigeons! Oh, my dear, this scandal will reign supreme for days, for it is sadly true that ‘greatest scandal waits on greatest state.’ Poor Prinny must be well-nigh beside himself. His daughter has given the unkindest cut of all, whilst all the powers that be are making tedious old fools of themselves, each wanting to be the one who tames the princess. The sad thing is that I don’t believe one of them cares a groat for her. They merely want Prinny to think they’ve managed a miracle on his behalf.”
Gillian nodded, preoccupied with her own thoughts, and Mrs. Periwinkle gazed at her pensively for several silent moments before she got to her feet with an air of purpose and swished toward the tapestry bell pull near the bed. She gave it a hearty yank, and shortly afterward, Bet put her head in at the door.
“Yes, miss?”
Gillian looked up, bewildered, and Mrs. Periwinkle said, “Fetch Ellen to Miss Gillian at once, Bet, and have them send up a tray with some cheese and biscuits and a pot of hot chocolate. And I want that chocolate well laced with peppermint brandy. Mind you don’t let them forget.”
“Right away, miss!” Bet’s eyes were round.
The maidservant’s expression made Gillian chuckle, and once the door had shut behind her, she turned with a fond smile at her companion. “She thinks we mean to become tipsy on hot chocolate, ma’am. I thank you for your kindness, but I really don’t need a restorative.”
“Restorative, my foot,” scorned Mrs. Peri
winkle. “We don’t want you as drunk as Shakespeare’s sailor on the mast, but if I find that those dolts belowstairs haven’t put enough of Landover’s brandy in that chocolate to send you straight off once I get you to bed, I shall have a few words to say to them. I don’t want you tossing and turning all night, wondering what he’s going to say to you tomorrow. And unless I miss my guess, that’s precisely what you would do if I weren’t on hand to take steps.”
“Perhaps,” Gillian agreed with a rueful smile.
“What sort of mood was he in when you left him?”
“Rather grim.”
“Dear me.” Mrs. Periwinkle shook her head. “Well, he can’t eat you, after all. And his bad humors are generally quickly over and done. Seems to be sunny-tempered enough when no one’s trying to vex him.”
Gillian wrinkled her nose at the implication. “All I did,” she said carefully, “was to help a friend in need. And I would do it again at the drop of a hat.”
“No need to snap my nose off, I’m sure,” rebuked Mrs. Periwinkle sharply, although a glint of amusement lit her pale blue eyes seconds later. “Save your temper for his lordship. I daresay he’ll know how to deal with it.”
Gillian stared at her hands, and spoke contritely. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I shouldn’t have spoken so to you. It is just that I think Landover would like to mount my head over the postern gate for this. At least, he would if Landover House had a postern gate.”
“Well, it hasn’t, and that’s sheer poppycock anyway,” retorted her companion. “Things will not look nearly so dim, come morning. That is,” she added acidly, “if we ever get to bed. Where is your Ellen, for mercy’s sake?”
As though she had heard her cue, the door opened, and Ellen entered breathlessly. “Oh, Miss Gillian, we didn’t expect you home so early! Forgive the delay, but I was walking in the back garden, and Bet didn’t find me right away. She says to tell you the chocolate and biscuits are on the way.”
It was evident from Ellen’s flushed cheeks that she had not been alone in the garden, but Gillian forbore to tease her in Mrs. Periwinkle’s presence. Mrs. Periwinkle did not approve of familiarity with one’s servants. Consequently, she only smiled sweetly and asked Ellen to help her prepare for bed. The chocolate arrived moments later, laced potently enough to satisfy the old lady and potently enough to make Gillian think she would be lucky to escape a shattering morning headache.