A Regency Charade (5 page)

She took the tiny portrait to the window and stared at it. How happy she looked! She had almost
felt
like a princess then … fortunate, pretty, untroubled … fated to live happily ever after. She gave an ironic laugh. Happily ever after, ha! Her life may have
started out
as a fairy story, but …

She smiled bitterly.
Once upon a time
, she thought, composing the fairy story of her life in her mind,
there lived a beautiful princess
. Well, perhaps not quite a princess and not quite beautiful, but close enough.
She had been, as all princesses, very indulgently reared. Her mother, having been widowed before the girl was five, had devoted herself exclusively to the well-being and education of her only daughter. It was only natural, therefore, for the child to expect the entire world to revolve around her. As she grew, her prettiness and innate high spirits brought her a great deal of praise for even the most minor of accomplishments and a great deal of affectionate forgiveness for her misdeeds—even when that forgiveness was not at all deserved
.

She was rarely made to account for her offenses or to make up for them. Her improprieties were usually the result of thoughtlessness or youthful impetuosity, but—minor though they were—no one ever made her suffer remorse for committing them. She was such a pretty, happy child—who would have been so hardhearted as to wish to cloud those clear eyes with tears? It is no great wonder, then, that the girl grew up expecting such cosseting and pampering to go on forever
.

But the princesses of fairy tales are wont to be stalked by evil witches, like the Thirteenth Guest at Sleeping Beauty’s birth. The Thirteenth Guest, whose name can be Fate or Providence or Fortune, does not permit anyone
—
not even fairy-tale princesses
—
to be indulged forever. Sooner or later Providence deals her blow. And it was Princess Priscilla’s misfortune that the Thirteenth Guest caught up with her at the happiest time of her life
.

Priss felt the sharp sting of tears under her eyelids and leaned her forehead against the window glass. What was the use of blaming Providence for what had happened to her? She had none but herself to blame. It had been
she
, all by herself, who had planted the seeds of her incipient tragedy. She’d planted them at the time of her come-out. It had seemed a completely innocuous act at the time. Who could have suspected how dearly she would have to pay?

She had wanted a come-out ball with all her heart, and her presentation to the elite society of London had been one of the indulgences her mother so enjoyed bestowing. There had been no earthly need for Priss to be presented—she was already as good as betrothed to the Earl-to-be of Braeburn, Alec Tyrrell.
Princess Priscilla’s hand had been promised to Prince Alec at the time of her birth
. As in so many fairy stories, the arrangements had been made by her father and the old Earl years ago. It was their dearest wish that the two families be united in this way. Priss, for her part, had had no great objection to the plan. Alec had never seemed to her to be quite a Prince, but he was an old friend with whom she was very comfortable. He was cheerful, companiable, very rich and quite good-natured. He obviously adored her and would undoubtedly make a complaisant husband.
The Princess, who had only the most vague notions about matrimony and the responsibilities it entailed, could see nothing wrong in such a desirable arrangement
.

But the Princess didn’t see why she should be prevented from having a London presentation just because her nuptials had already been arranged. Why shouldn’t she have the opportunity
—
as all the other Princesses in her social set would have—to be expensively gowned, lavishly entertained and widely admired? The entire procedure was quite appealing to her. Her mother was equally eager, and when the old Earl, like a fairy godfather, offered to help defray the expenses with a generous gift, Princess Priscilla was granted her wish
.

Priss stared out through the raindrops at the walled garden below. Why was it that, even in fairy stories, when wishes are granted they turn out to be more costly than their worth?

Everyone who knew the Princess predicted that her come-out would be a huge success. And so it proved to be, for the Princess, not having, to worry about making a “suitable match,” was quite relaxed, congenial and uncompetitive with the other Princesses who were making their bows that season. The world-weary dowagers who sat on the fringes of every presentation ball and usually made disparaging remarks behind their fans were unanimous in their praise of her. The young ladies she met were eager to become her friends. And a number of young Princes
—
those who were not hanging out for wealthier girls
—
quite overwhelmed her with admiration and offers of marriage
.

Fortunately for the family “plan,” Princess Priscilla found her suitors quite unexceptional, and she felt not the slightest inclination to accept any of them. Everything was proceeding in true fairy-tale style. Until she met Blake Edmonds
.

Priss groaned. She could remember with absolute clarity her first sight of Blake. It had been at a ball given by her aunt, the Marchioness of Lavenham.
Edmonds had come into the ballroom at a shockingly late hour and had leaned against a pillar in a posture of utter boredom. Princess Priscilla had been engaged in a lively country dance with one of her admirers and, in the midst of a merry laugh, had chanced to look up and meet his eye. “Now there is a Prince,” the Princess thought, “if ever I’ve seen one!” The electricity was immediate. She stopped in mid-turn to stare at him, while he jumped to an erect position as suddenly as if he’d been stung. In ten minutes he’d managed an introduction and had her in his arms on the dance floor
.

The Princess quickly became infatuated. Sir Blake, with his close-cropped hair, his elegant coats, his magnificently fitting breeches and gleaming Hessians, was the very model of a dashing Prince. A bit older and more knowing than her other admirers, he made her head swim with the flattery of his marked attentions. The experience thrilled her. It was exhilarating to ride with him in the park, to go to the opera under his escort, to meet his eye across a crowded ballroom and to steal kisses on a darkened balcony
.

Priss hated to remember how foolish she’d been. She had believed herself to be truly in love, and it had lasted for
three weeks
! Her mother had been wiser. At first, her mother had probably wanted to bundle her daughter up and carry her home to Three Oaks. But she’d soon had the measure of the man. Blake was a fellow with a romantic surface but not much substance, and she cleverly decided to give her daughter enough latitude to discover that fact for herself.
In the meantime, the Princess was permitted to indulge herself, without opposition, in the luxury of her first romance
.

The Princess’s mother had not been mistaken. Princess Priscilla soon found that the romance was beginning to cloy. Blake’s frequent and effusive compliments began to lose their zest, and his declarations of undying affection began to bore her. Their activities together became too predictable, and their conversations seemed to lack variety. She decided that he was not her Prince after all
.

Here was the point at which the story changed from fairy tale (where the Thirteenth Guest would prick Sleeping Beauty’s finger) to something quite different. No evil spirit caused her to behave as she did. It had been her own lack of character.

She remembered the day she’d admitted to her mother that she was tired of Blake and was attempting to find a way to break her ties to him.

“What ties?” her mother had inquired worriedly. “Have you made him any promises?”

“Well, no, Mama, not exactly. Only expressions of … of affection.”

“Do you mean that you told him you
care
for him?”

Priss had blushed in embarrassment. “I … suppose so.”

Her mother had looked at her reprovingly—a look as severe as any she’d ever given. “Well, my dear, that was very foolish of you, wasn’t it? Now you must be sure to make it quite clear to him that your feelings are not any stronger than they would be for a mere friend. It will not do to let him have false hopes.”

“Yes, Mama,” she’d promised.

But she had underestimated the depth of passion which Blake Edmonds was capable of summoning up, and she’d overestimated her ability to deal with it. The more she’d tried to show that her feelings had cooled, the warmer his became. If she failed to see him for one whole day, he would be quite dramatically miserable. If she said anything which he judged to be the least bit unkind, he would become quite painfully wounded. He played on her sympathies with great skill, and she’d found herself unable to admit to him her true feelings.
Princess Priscilla began to experience her first pangs of remorse and guilt
.

It was painful to remember all this, but Priss could not keep herself from reliving the story. She was like the Ancient Mariner in that strange and haunting poem by Mr. Coleridge—forced to tell and retell the saga of her guilt, if not to every passing stranger, at least to herself. As she watched the raindrops wind their way down the windowpane, she could see before her eyes the scene, in the sitting room of the small London house her mother had rented for her London season, when she’d tried to say goodbye to Blake.

It had become clear that Blake had had no intention of surrendering his hold on her, and her mother had suggested that the time had come for them to retreat to Derbyshire. Priss had been only too willing to do so—a retreat had seemed to her the easiest way to escape from her responsibility to Blake. But he’d dropped in to call and had found the front hallway full of trunks and boxes. When she’d admitted that she was leaving, he’d been horror-struck. He’d followed her into the sitting room. “Your mother is
forcing
you to do this, isn’t she?” he’d accused.

“No, of course not. Mama doesn’t coerce me,” Priss had said honestly.

“If you’re not being coerced, then why are you going?”

“Because I
want
to, silly. Derbyshire is my home. I love it there.”

“Oh, I see.” He’d taken an angry turn about the room. “You no longer enjoy my company, is that it?”

“Really, Blake, you needn’t be petulant. You know I’ve enjoyed your company. A great deal.”

He’d taken a seat beside her, caught both her hands in his and looked at her compellingly. “I thought you were willing to make
London
your home. I thought you loved it
here
… with
me
!”

“I did. Truly I did. But I’ve tried to tell you that there can be no future for us. It’s best to part now, before it becomes too painful,” she’d answered gently.

He’d dropped her hands and turned away in manly restraint. “It’s too painful already,” he’d said with a little choke in his voice that touched her heart.

She’d put a light hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Blake. I never meant to give you pain.”

He’d turned, caught the hand and brought it to his lips. “You
do
love me still, don’t you? Please say you do! I don’t think I could bear it if you no longer cared for me!”

His head, bent appealingly over her hand, and the hoarse tremolo of his voice had moved her to tears and caused her to make a serious mistake in both ethics and judgment:
she’d lied to him
. “Of course I still love you,” she’d said, almost believing it herself.

Overjoyed at this admission, Blake had embraced her fervently. “Then don’t go! I won’t
let
you go!”

“But I’ve
told
you, Blake, that I’m promised to another. I
must
go.”

He’d stared at her, his eyes desperate. “Yes,
promised
… to
wealth
! Bartered like a slave being sold to the highest bidder!”

“Please, my dear, don’t. You know that isn’t true.”

“Isn’t it? If it weren’t low tide with me … if my pockets weren’t all to let, your mother would be singing a different tune.”

She’d let her hand brush his brow. “No good can come of this bitterness, Blake. Let’s say goodbye like kind, affectionate friends.”

“
Friends
!” He’d pushed her hand aside and pulled her roughly into his arms. “We will
never
be friends!” He’d looked down at her with passionate fervor for a moment, and then his eyes had lit. “Listen, my love, there is still hope. I have an uncle in Scotland who is quite ill. I haven’t wanted to go to him … to leave you … until now. But if I go at once, I may be able to solve our problem. My uncle is quite fond of me, I think. If I can win him over … if he makes me his heir …”

“But, Blake, you don’t understand—”

“Don’t you see? His is not an enormous fortune, but it is adequate, I believe, to make your mother see that I’d no longer be behindhand in the world—”

“Blake,
listen
to me,” she remonstrated. “The size of your fortune has
nothing
to do—”

“Of course it has. You’re too innocent, my love. You know nothing of the way of the world. Leave it to me. You
do
love me, as you said, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then promise you’ll wait. Wait here in London until I return.”

“I’ll try,” she’d said weakly, wanting only to see him go.
It was Princess Priscilla, capitulating again to her tendency to avoid facing consequences by callously avoiding them
.

And thus the seeds were sown whose fruits would soon appear to cause the poor Princess years of bitter regret. But having no experience in the Thirteenth Guest’s manner of delivering punishment and retribution, she watched Sir Blake take his leave without a twinge of guilt, regret or foreboding. The unpleasant scene at their parting was instantly forgotten. Sir Blake went off on his quest
—
to seek his fortune in Scotland for her sake
—
and she, without giving him another thought, returned to Derbyshire with her good spirits quite restored
.

It was not long afterwards that the True Prince returned from school and made his offer. Princess Priscilla, who had had her fill of stylish, sophisticated Corinthians, was rather taken with Prince Alec’s awkwardness and boyish charm. His movements had a gangling grace, his shoulders were broad and strong, and his face had character. He had a way of startling a laugh out of her with an unexpected quip or an incisive observation. And he had a certain uprightness, an honesty and a reliability which she admired. His mind was so keen he would never become a bore, and his character was too steady to weaken under pressure. He had not yet become the Prince of her Dreams, but she had an instinctive certainty that she would not be sorry if she obeyed her family’s wishes and married him
.