Her Royal Spyness (8 page)

“Same story as your own,” he said. “The family’s penniless. Father invested heavily in America, lost it all in ’29; then there was a fire in his racing stables. Lost all that too. Had to sell the property and when I turned twenty-one he told me there was nothing for me so I’d have to make my own way. I’m making it the best I can. Ah, here we are.”

I glanced up at that formidable red and white brick building on Park Lane as Darcy swept me up the steps under the colonnade and into the front entrance of Grosvenor House Hotel.

The doorman saluted as he opened the door. “You’re here for the wedding reception, sir? To your right, in the blue ballroom.”

I was whisked across the foyer and suddenly found myself in a queue for the reception line. I was expecting doom to fall at any moment, when the bride and groom would look at each other. I could hear them saying loudly, “But I didn’t invite her, did you?” Luckily brides and grooms must be in a state of shock on such occasions. The bride’s mother murmured, “So kind of you to come.” The bride and groom were momentarily involved with the person ahead of us and Darcy took the opportunity to steer me toward a passing tray of champagne.

After a few minutes of feeling that my heart was going to leap into my mouth, expecting at any second to feel that hand on my shoulder, that voice barking, “She’s a gatecrasher, please have her escorted from the premises,” I started to relax and look around me. It certainly was very pleasant. The event was not being held in the grand ballroom, to which I had been for a ball during my season; it was in a smaller room, big enough for only two hundred or so, and now richly decorated with early spring flowers—the scent was heavenly. At the far end was a long, white-clothed table on which I could glimpse the many tiers of a cake. In one corner an orchestra (composed, as they so often are, of elderly men) was playing Strauss waltzes. I took a hot vol-au-vent from a passing tray and began to enjoy myself.

Darcy had been quite right. If you behave as if you should be there, then nobody questions it. People who half recognized me drifted up and there were several conversations along the lines of, “So, have you known old Roly long?”

“Can’t say I know him well at all.”

“Oh, so you’re one of Primrose’s lot then. Stunning girl.”

“You see how easy it is?” Darcy whispered. “The only difficulty arises when there is a sit-down banquet with assigned places at the table.”

“What on earth do you do then?” I asked, the panic returning as I looked around to detect evidence of an adjoining dining room.

“I make my apologies for having to catch a train and I melt away before it starts. But this one is only nibbles and cake. I checked first. I usually do.”

“You’re amazing.”

He laughed. “We Irish have learned to live by our wits after centuries of being occupied by you English.”

“If you don’t mind, I happen to be Scottish. Well, one-quarter Scottish anyway.”

“Ah, but it was your great-grandmother who went around subjugating half the world. Empress of all I survey, and all that. You must have that quality somewhere in your makeup.”

“I’ve never had a chance to subjugate anybody yet, so I can’t really say,” I confessed, “but I’m frequently amused and she never was, apparently. At least not after Albert died. In fact, given my grim list of ancestors, I’d say I’m pretty normal.”

“I’d say you turned out pretty damned well, for someone who is more than half English,” he said and, to my annoyance, I blushed again.

“I think I’ll go and try some of that crab,” I said and turned away, only to bump into a familiar face.

“Darling!” Belinda cried excitedly, “I had no idea you were coming to this bash. Why didn’t you tell me? We could have taken a cab together. What fun, isn’t it? Who’d have thought that Primrose would settle down with someone like Roly?”

“Primrose?” I glanced across the room to glimpse the bride’s back, hidden beneath a long veil around which everybody was cautiously stepping.

“The bride, darling. Primrose Asquey d’Asquey. She was at school with us, don’t you remember? Well, for one term anyway. She was expelled for giving the new girls a lecture on how to use the Dutch cap.”

We looked at each other and started to laugh.

“I do remember,” I said.

“And now she’s marrying Roland Aston-Poley. Military family. Which means she’s gone from being Primrose

Asquey d’Asquey to being Primrose Roly Poley. Not a happy choice, if you ask me.”

I laughed with her.

“So you’re part of Roly’s brigade then,” she said. “I didn’t realize you had army connections.”

“Not really.” I started to blush again, then grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the main crush of guests. “Actually I’m here with an extraordinary chap. Darcy O’Mara. Do you know him?”

“Can’t say that I do. Point him out to me.”

“Over there by that flower arrangement.”

“I say. Not bad. You can introduce me anytime you want to. Tell me all about him.”

“That’s just it,” I whispered. “I’m not really sure if he’s who he claims to be or a confidence trickster.”

“Has he asked you to lend him money?”

“No.”

“Then he’s probably all right. Who does he say he is?”

“Lord Kilhenny’s son. Irish baron.”

“There’s a million of them. I wouldn’t doubt it for a moment. So he’s the one who knows Roly?”

I leaned even closer. “He doesn’t know either of them. We’re gate-crashers. Apparently he does this sort of thing often, just to get a free meal. It’s shocking, isn’t it? I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

To my horror, she started to laugh. When she had controlled her mirth, she leaned toward me. “I’ll let you into a little secret. I’m doing exactly the same thing. I wasn’t invited either.”

“Belinda! How could you?”

“Easily. Exactly the same way you could. My face is sort of familiar. I’m seen at Ascot and the opera, so nobody ever questions whether I was invited or not. It works wonderfully.”

“But you said you were doing so well in your career.”

She made a face. “Not all that well, actually. It’s tough to start up a business, especially if you want to design clothes for the fashionable set. They never want to pay, you see. They gush over the dress I’ve designed for them and tell me they positively adore it and I’m the cleverest person they’ve ever met. Then they wear it to the opera and when I remind them they haven’t paid, they point out that they have been advertising my dress just by wearing it and I should be grateful. I’m sometimes owed several hundred pounds, and the fabrics are not cheap.”

“How awful for you.”

“It’s difficult,” she agreed, “because if I make a fuss and upset one of them, she’ll tell the rest of her set and they’ll drop me like a hot potato.”

I did see that this was likely to happen. “So what are you going to do? You can’t keep financing their new clothes forever.”

“I’m hoping for the big break, I suppose. If one of the royal family—or one of the Prince of Wales’s lady friends—decides she likes my dresses, then everyone in the world will want them. That’s where you could be most helpful, you know. If you are going to be mingling with your royal cousin and his set, I’ll lend you one of my designs to wear and you can gush about me.”

“I wouldn’t guarantee that my cousin’s women would pay up any quicker than your current clients,” I said. “But I don’t mind trying for you. Especially if it allows me to wear a slinky new dress.”

“Splendid!” Belinda beamed at me.

“I’m sorry you’re going through such a tough time,” I said.

“Oh, there are a few honest ones among them—mostly old money, you know. Properly brought up, like you. It’s those dreadful nouveau riche women who try to wriggle out of paying. I could name one society belle who looked me straight in the eye and insisted she had already paid, when she knew as well as I did that she hadn’t. They’re just not like us, darling.”

I squeezed her arm. “At least you are out and about in society. You’re bound to meet a rich and handsome man and then your money worries will be over.”

“So will you, darling. So will you.” She glanced across the room. “I take it that handsome Irish peer’s son does not come with a fortune?”

“Penniless,” I said.

“Dear me. Not a wise choice then, in spite of his looks. Although after last night’s little conversation about sex lives, he might be just the one to . . .”

“Belinda!” I hissed as Darcy was making in our direction. “I’ve only just met him and I have no intention—”

“We never have, darling. That’s just the problem. We never have.” Belinda turned to meet Darcy with an angelic smile.

The afternoon went on. Smoked salmon came around, and shrimp and sausage rolls and savory éclairs. My spirits began to rise with the champagne intake until I was actually enjoying myself. Darcy had vanished into the crowd and I was standing alone when I noticed a potted palm tree swaying by itself as if in a strong wind. Since no wind is allowed to blow through ballrooms at Grosvenor House I was intrigued. I made my way to the corner and peered around the palm tree. A vision in alarming royal purple satin stood there, holding on to the palm tree as it swayed. What’s more, I recognized her. It was another old school chum, Marisa Pauncefoot-Young, daughter of the Earl of Malmsbury.

“Marisa,” I hissed.

She attempted to focus on me. “Oh, hello, Georgie. What are you doing here?”

“More to the point, what exactly are you doing—dancing with a palm tree?”

“No, I came over all dizzy so I thought I’d retire to a quiet corner, but the damned tree won’t stay still.”

“Marisa,” I said severely, “you’re drunk.”

“I fear so.” She sighed. “It was all Primrose’s fault. She insisted on having a very boozy breakfast to pluck up courage before the ceremony and then I got rather depressed all of a sudden and champagne does have a wonderful way of lifting the spirits, doesn’t it?”

I took her arm. “Come on, come with me. We’ll find somewhere to sit and get you some black coffee.”

I led her out of the ballroom and found two gilt chairs in a hallway. Then I hailed a passing waiter. “Lady Marisa isn’t feeling well,” I whispered. “Do you think you could rustle up some black coffee for her?”

Black coffee appeared instantly. Marisa sipped and shuddered alternately. “Why can’t I ever be a happy drunk?” she demanded. “One too many and my legs won’t hold me up any longer. This is very sweet of you, Georgie. I didn’t even know you were coming.”

“Neither did I until the last moment,” I said truthfully. “So tell me, why were you so depressed?”

“Look at me.” She made a dramatic gesture at herself. “I look as if I’ve been swallowed by a particularly unpleasant variety of boa constrictor.”

She wasn’t wrong. The dress was long, tight, and purple. Since Marisa has no figure to speak of and is almost six feet tall, the effect was something like a shiny purple drainpipe.

“And I thought Primrose was my friend,” she said. “I was flattered when she invited me to be bridesmaid, but now I see that she only did it because we are cousins and she had to, so she made damn sure that I wouldn’t outshine her going up the aisle. Actually I could hardly totter up the aisle, due to the tight skirt. And it was so dark in St. Margaret’s that I bet I looked like a floating head with a couple of disembodied arms on either side clutching this hideous bouquet. I’m not going to forgive her in a hurry.”

She sighed and drained the last of the black coffee. “And then I got here and I thought at least being bridesmaid usually has its perks. You know, a quick kiss and cuddle with an usher behind the potted palms. But look at them—not a single grab and grope among the lot of them. Most of them are Roly’s older brothers, and they’ve all brought their wives along. And the others are not that way inclined—daisy boys, you know.”

“You mean pansy boys,” I said.

“Do I? Well, you know what I’m getting at, don’t you?

So not the teeniest bit of titillation all afternoon. No wonder I turned to drink. It was good of you to rescue me.”

“Not at all. What are school friends for?”

“We did have fun at Les Oiseaux, didn’t we? I still miss it sometimes, and all the old friends. I haven’t seen you in ages. What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Oh, this and that,” I said. “I’m newly arrived in town and I’m hunting for a suitable job.”

“Lucky you. I do envy you. I’m stuck at home with Mummy. She hasn’t been too well, you know, and she won’t hear of my going off to London alone. How I’m ever going to meet a potential husband, I can’t think. The season was a hopeless failure, wasn’t it? All those dreadful clod-hopping country types who held us as if we were sacks of potatoes. At least Mummy is talking about taking a place in Nice for the rest of the spring. I certainly wouldn’t say no to a French count. They have those wonderful droopy come-to-bed eyes.”

She looked up as a burst of applause came from the ballroom.

“Oh, dear. They’ve started the speeches. I should be there, I suppose, when Whiffy proposes a toast to the bridesmaids.”

“Do you think you can stand without swaying now?”

“I’ll try.”

I helped her to her feet and she tottered uncertainly back into the ballroom. I slipped into the back of the crowd, which now clustered around the podium with the cake.

The cake was cut and distributed. Speeches began. I was also beginning to feel the effects of three glasses of champagne on a relatively empty stomach. There is nothing worse than speeches about someone you don’t know, made by someone you don’t know. How my royal kin manage to sit there, day after day, and look interested through one deadly dull speech after another inspires my highest admiration. I looked for Darcy but couldn’t see him, so I prowled the back of the crowd, hoping to find a chair I might sit on unobtrusively. The only chairs were occupied by elderly ladies and an extremely ancient colonel with a wooden leg. Then I thought I spotted the back of Darcy’s head and I moved back into the crowd again.

“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, pray raise your glasses for the loyal toast,” the toastmaster boomed out.

I accepted another glass of champagne from a passing tray. As I was raising it, my elbow was jogged violently and the champagne splashed up into my face and down my front. Before I could do any more than gasp I heard a voice saying, “I’m most frightfully sorry. Here, let me get you a napkin.” Like many young men of our class, he could not, or would not, say the letter
r
and pronounced it “fwightfully.”