Lord Rakehell (16 page)

“Yes, we know . . . next Saturday . . . a week from today,”

“No, Anne. I'm going to be married on Wednesday at St. George's Chapel, Hanover Square. We're going to elope. Henry has arranged a special license.”

“Are you talking about Henry Rawdon?” Anne asked with disbelief.

“Yes! Isn't it exciting? You must both help me concoct a plan for Wednesday.”

“What sort of a plan?” Frances asked, wide-eyed.

“I need an excuse to get away from home on Wednesday morning, and I need a place to meet Henry.”

“You've left it rather late. Wednesday is only four days before you're supposed to marry Henry Chaplin,” Anne pointed out. “Your wedding gown has been fitted, and all the guests invited. This will cause a terrible scandal, Florence. Are you sure?”

“Absolutely sure. We are madly in love. On Wednesday, Henry will make me the Marchioness of Hastings.”

“Rawdon lives in St. James's Place. Can't you meet him at his house?” Frances asked.

“Henry Chaplin insists on taking me in his carriage wherever I need to go. I can hardly ask him to take me to St. James's Place.”

“Well, you could ask him to take you to Oxford Street, on the pretense that you need last-minute shopping for the wedding,” Frances suggested.

“That's a splendid idea. Marshall and Snelgrove made my traveling outfit. If you two would wait for me at the front door of the store, I'll meet you there. Then I can slip out the back door into the marquis's carriage.”

Anne was aghast at her friend's plans. “Henry Chaplin and your family will be devastated, Florence. Have you thought this through?”

“I've decided that it's better to jilt Chaplin than marry him without love. As for my family, I don't give a fig about my meddling stepmother who talked my father into arranging my marriage.”

“Anne Howe, you are the one who declared we must form an alliance to choose our own husbands, and do everything in our power to make our choice reality,” Frances pointed out. “You are the one who urged us to be
Brass Monkeys
.”

“I just want Florence to be sure. What time do you want us to meet you at Marshall and Snelgrove?” Anne asked faintly.

The ladies fell silent as John Claud opened the door and entered. He was dressed in evening clothes in anticipation of the Prince of Wales's celebration.

Anne gifted him with a smile. “You look very smart, John Claud.”

He performed an exaggerated bow. “Why, thank you.”

“No, it is I who must thank you. The red roses you sent me are beautiful and much appreciated.”

“It was my pleasure, Anne. Did you receive any other flowers?”

His question sounded casual, but Anne knew it was anything but. He simply could not prevent himself from being possessive.

“Yours were the only ones,” she assured him.
Though I wish it were otherwise.

“Your brother and I are going to Marlborough House tonight. I'd invite you to go with us, but it's gentlemen only.”

A mischievous light came into her eyes. “Yes, I was just suggesting to your sister that we should dress up as males and crash the party.”

His face showed alarm. “You mustn't do that. You would be mistaken for . . . for . . . ladies of the night,” he finished lamely.

“Ha, is that what goes on at these affairs?” Anne teased.

“Since my brother James made all the arrangements, it wouldn't surprise me.”

Anne kept the smile on her face and said lightly, “You needn't blacken Lord Rakehell's reputation. He can manage without your help.”

•   •   •

Marlborough House

February 14, 1863

“I can't believe how many accepted my invitation!” The Prince of Wales lifted another glass of champagne from the silver tray of one of his very own liveried footmen.

“There are far more here than invited guests. Every man we invited brought at least two friends with him,” James pointed out.

“The more the merrier! I'm on my way to the cardroom. Do you know if those cigars arrived?”

“They did indeed. Would you like a footman to hand them out?”

“Good idea. Smoking, drinking, and gambling, an irresistible combination that just may lure them back to Marlborough House.”

“Lure them back?” James laughed. “You'll have a hard time getting shut of them.”

Most of the young nobles present knew one another, and since it was males only, they didn't need to watch their language, or limit the number of drinks they consumed. Viscount Henry Chaplin rubbed elbows with Henry Rawdon, Marquis of Hastings, never dreaming that Rawdon was planning to snatch the viscount's bride from under his nose and elope with her in four days' time.

George Churchill, Marquis of Blandford, who had attended Oxford with the Prince of Wales, brought his young brother, Lord Randolph, who was only fifteen. The young noble was already addicted to alcohol and often rolled home at breakfast time, drunk as a lord. Randolph was thick as thieves with Lord John Redesdale, a notorious womanizer, addicted to nymphs of the pavement.

James wasn't surprised to see his three noble brothers-in-law, Thomas Anson, Earl of Lichfield, D'Arcy Lambton, Earl of Durham, and William Montagu, Earl of Dalkeith, arrive together. Anson, who was an art expert, was amazed at the magnificent paintings on the walls. He shunned the cardroom, and instead asked James to give him a tour of all the splendorous chambers of Marlborough House. “James, you are a lucky devil to be one of the prince's gentlemen and treat this place as your second home.”

James grinned at Thomas. “Luck had nothing to do with it. I began currying favor with Teddy when we were both in knee britches. When he is the King of England, I shall be one of the powers behind the throne.”

“You are very loyal to him—it can't be an easy task.”

James winked. “It has its privileges.” He greeted his brother John Claud, who had arrived with Montagu Howe. When he saw Anne's brother, a full-blown picture of his heart's desire filled his thoughts.
Montagu's dark coloring is so different from Anne's.
Whenever he imagined her, a need rose up in him to thread his fingers through her red-gold tresses. He banished the thought quickly.

“Thomas, keep an eye on these two young devils while I check to see that all is well in the cardroom.”

“You didn't invite Father, did you?” John Claud asked James.

“Actually, I did, but he graciously declined. By the way, Fitz Kerry is here tonight. I hope I can count on you not to issue any further challenges?”

James headed to the cardroom and saw Charles Carrington accompanying Christopher Sykes. Prince Teddy recognized Christopher immediately. “Sykes, as I live and breathe. I haven't seen you since Cambridge. How are you faring these days?”

“Very well, Your Highness. Perhaps you heard that my father passed away recently?”

Tatton Sykes bred blooded horses, but he was an authoritarian who bullied his sons. Since misery loved company, Christopher and the Prince of Wales had much in common. “When the Doncaster races start, you must allow me to entertain you at Brantingham Thorpe.”

“I accept your hospitality, Sykes. I'm thoroughly looking forward to Doncaster. Have a seat and we'll play baccarat.”

“I thought baccarat was banned in England, Your Highness.”

Prince Teddy laughed. “It is, but who the devil is going to challenge me in my own house? Hartington can be the dealer—his pockets are deep.”

“Since Marlborough House is the only venue in England where I'm allowed to play baccarat, I will gladly deal and provide the first bank,” Lord Hartington agreed.

James shook his head and reminded himself to exercise patience.
More fodder for the gossip mills. Tomorrow it will be the talk of London that the Prince of Wales allows baccarat at Marlborough House. Damn good thing I drew the line at inviting a flock of delectable doves to flutter their wings. The twin vices of drinking and gambling will cause enough scandal, without adding the indulgence of whoring under his own roof.

James recognized Charles Mordaunt, who sat in the House of Commons, but as he moved about among the guests, he realized that half of them were members of Parliament. Tonight, however, the conversations were not about politics. As usual, when England's nobles got together the main topics were horses, races, and wagers.

He stopped to greet Henry Fane, who remarked, “It won't be long before the prince buys his own stable of racehorses, and applies to be a member of the Jockey Club.”

“I have no doubt of it,” James said with a wink. “A married man needs diversions.”
Once Teddy gets his money, he'll be like a child let loose in a toffee shop.

The new majordomo, whom James had lured away from Prime Minister Palmerston, approached. “Lord Hamilton, the chef has all the food prepared, and I would like your permission for the footmen to begin setting up the buffet in the dining room.”

“This will certainly be a trial by fire for the new chef.”

“From what I've seen in the kitchen, I believe he'll pass with flying colors, m'lord.”

“Excellent. You may announce supper at midnight.”

•   •   •

“James!” The Prince of Wales looked ashen as he hailed his friend, who had just returned from a vote in the House of Commons. “The comptroller from the Treasury is here asking to see me. I'm sure it doesn't bode well and I warrant you would be far better at answering his questions than I.”

“Your comptroller's name is Sir William Knollys. We'll see him together.”

When they entered the library, James held out his hand. “Sir William, welcome to Marlborough House.”

Knollys bowed his head. “Your Highness, Lord Hamilton.” He opened a leather case and took out a sheaf of what looked like bills. He cleared his throat. “I have invoices that I must approve, and the thing is, I must verify that the goods were actually delivered.”

James immediately realized that the man could prove to be foe or ally, and it was up to him to smooth the way for approval of all future expenditures. He held out his hand for the sheaf of papers, and even at a glance he could see the exorbitant costs of Prince Teddy's bachelor party. “I can confirm that these things were delivered, but my dear fellow, what an onerous position if every time His Highness puts in a request for something, you must come running to Marlborough House to verify its legitimacy.”

“Unfortunately, that is among the tasks of a comptroller, Lord Hamilton.”

“Sir William, since you are the comptroller of the Prince of Wales's household, wouldn't it make sense if you became a part of that household?” James saw his eyes dilate as the bait was dangled before him.

“You mean that I should reside at Marlborough House?”

“For the convenience of your office, it makes sense to me.” He turned to the prince. “Do you not agree, Your Highness?”

“Perfect sense.” Teddy nodded.

When Knollys hesitated, James sensed something was holding him back from jumping at the golden opportunity he had just been offered. “Is there a problem, Sir William?”

“The opportunity to reside at Marlborough House is something I would deem a high honor, Lord Hamilton, though it would necessitate that I live apart from my wife, Elizabeth.”

James clearly saw that the man who would control the prince's purse strings had taken the bait, but he could still slip off the line, unless he reeled him in quickly.

“Not at all. The future Princess of Wales will need ladies-in-waiting to attend her, as well as a social secretary to help with her engagements once she takes up residence at Marlborough House.”

Knollys could not believe his good fortune. He stuffed the invoices back into his leather case, and bowed his head to the prince. “Your Highness, your generosity overwhelms me.”

James said smoothly, “Generosity begets generosity, Sir William.”

THE MORNING POST

Thursday, February 19, 1863

A
surprise marriage took place Wednesday, February 18, between Lady Florence Paget and Henry Rawdon, Marquis of Hastings, at St. George's, Hanover Square. The marriage was hurried and unexpected, more particularly to the connections of her ladyship, none of whom were witnesses to the ceremony. The couple then proceeded to Donington Hall, Leicestershire, the ancestral home of Rawdon-Hastings.

Lady Florence, a petite beauty known as the “Pocket Venus,” was engaged to Viscount Henry Chaplin, and the nuptials set for Saturday, February 21st. The
esclandre
has stunned London Society.

•   •   •

“Your friend Florence Paget has eloped!” Anne's mother looked up from the morning newspaper with an astonished expression on her face.

“Yes, I know.” Anne felt a rush of guilt. “If it's in the newspaper, everyone in L
ondon will know. Florence promised to send a letter to Henry Chaplin, begging his forgiveness for jilting him.”

Lady Howe set the newspaper on the breakfast table between them. “What a courageous thing to do, to elope with the man she loved, rather than marry the man her parents chose.”

Anne was surprised at her mother's reaction.
I shouldn't be surprised. Mother wishes she'd had the courage to do what Florence has done.

“Did you help her carry out her secret plan, darling?”

“Yes,” Anne confessed. “She told Frances and me her plans on Valentine's Day and asked us to meet her yesterday morning at Marshall and Snelgrove's Oxford Street entrance. She left by way of Vere Street, where Henry Rawdon was waiting with his carriage.”

“How very clever!”

Anne bit her lip. “Poor Henry Chaplin brought her to the shop and waited for her. I thought it an extremely shabby trick to play on him.”

“Don't feel guilty, darling. You helped her marry the man she loves.”

“You think the end justifies the means, but I'm not so sure. I feel guilty because I
am
guilty. I just hope she made the right choice, or I shall feel even worse.”

•   •   •

“God in heaven above! Your friend Florence Paget eloped with the Marquis of Hastings yesterday!” The Duchess of Abercorn put down the morning paper and gave her daughter Frances a look of accusation. “What part did you play in this disgraceful deception?”

“I knew nothing about it until yesterday. It was our friend Anne Howe who aided and abetted her, and has been encouraging her to choose her own husband, rather than marry Henry Chaplin, who was her parents' choice.”

“The scandal will be devastating for them. We and everyone else the Earl and Countess of Uxbridge invited to the wedding of their daughter on Saturday will be outraged. What a selfish, childish thing to do. Florence was only here on Saturday. Are you telling me you weren't part of this conspiracy?”

“She . . . she swore us to secrecy, and I gave her my word.”

John Claud gave his sister a cold look of disapproval. “No good will come of this. Hastings is a womanizer, addicted to gambling and drink.”

Frances tossed her head. “He's just inherited a fortune and he's a peer of the realm.”

John Claud looked disgusted. “Why don't debutantes realize that most heirs are notorious rakehells?”

“It will be a long time before Florence is accepted by polite society, if ever,” Lady Lu declared. “Gossip lingers and scandal clings like the smell of a cesspool.”

“I'm afraid the standard will no longer be set by Queen Victoria, Mother,” John Claud predicted. “Unfortunately, Society will look to the Prince of Wales and Marlborough House.”

“That doesn't sound unfortunate to me,” Frances declared, “especially when our brother has so much influence with Prince Teddy.”

John Claud gave her a pitying glance. “The moral standard will be lowered.”

“Don't be so self-righteous, John Claud,” his mother scolded. “I don't know where you get it from; both your father and I are decidedly liberal, even a little licentious at times.”

“Ah, so James didn't breed out?” Frances teased.

Lady Lu laughed. “Going back to the matter of your friend's scandalous elopement, at least the timing is in her favor. In a fortnight when Princess Alexandra arrives in England, no one will be talking or even
thinking
of Florence-what's-her-name!”

•   •   •

Grosvenor Square

March 7, 1863

“Oh, how young, and pale, and frightened, she looks,” Anne passed the
Illustrated London News
to her mother. The newspaper had ensured a reporter and photographer were waiting at Gravesend to snatch the first photograph of Princess Alexandra's arrival, and they rushed it into print for Londoners to see the same morning.

“I bought two papers.” Montagu handed Anne the second newspaper. “I didn't want you to fight over it.”

The black-and-white photograph showed a slim, pale-faced girl, nervously clinging to the rail of the
Victoria and Albert
royal yacht.

Anne looked at Alexandra's dark topcoat with its high, enclosed neckline and old-fashioned bonnet, and her heart went out to her. Montagu was escorting her and their mother to the parade route. She had a new spring hat for the occasion, with cream roses and pale violet ribbons, and as she looked into the hatbox, she felt guilty because the princess wore shabby clothes.

“The paper shows the route of the procession. Where do you think will be the most advantageous place for us to view her?” Lady Howe traced her finger along the Strand.

“Trafalgar Square will be packed with humanity. It will be a madhouse,” Anne declared. “I think our best plan would be to get as close as we can to Paddington Railway Station, where she will leave the carriage and take the train to Windsor Castle.”

“Montagu, what's the estimated time?”

“The train is scheduled to arrive in London at two this afternoon; then the carriages will slowly make their way along the parade route. When I went out to get the papers, people were already starting to gather. It will take them hours to get through London.”

“So, if we are in our places by four o'clock, that should be plenty of time.”

“Good. We'll have an early lunch and that will give us ample time to dress.”

All three looked up as they heard feet pounding up the stairs. Emily came rushing into the morning room, breathless and disheveled.

“I'm here on an urgent mission for Her Majesty the Queen,” Emily gasped. “She took one look at that dreadful newspaper photograph and almost suffered an apoplexy.”

“Newspaper pictures are never flattering,” Anne explained lamely.

“Queen Victoria thinks the princess looks hideous. She has given me the task of finding the girl a fashionable hat. Her Majesty cannot allow the bride-to-be to parade through London looking like a scullery maid!”

“Why on earth did you come here?” the countess asked. “I would advise you to go to Redfern's. They buy from the finest milliners in London.”

Emily raised her chin. “I thought about Anne's fashion sense. I was sure she would help me choose something to make Alexandra look more like a princess.”

Emily was lying, of course. Lady Anne was Queen Victoria's suggestion, and when her sister's name was brought up, another of the queen's lady-in-waiting, Jane, Countess of Dalkeith, had said: “I highly recommend Lady Anne's fashion sense, and moreover she is the same age as Princess Alexandra, and will know exactly what will be flattering.”

Emily's eyes fell on the hatbox. “What's this?”

“It's my new spring hat. I'm going to wear it today.” Anne lifted it from the box.

“Put it back in the box,” Emily ordered. “I'll take it.”

“Take it where?” Anne demanded.

“I have a carriage waiting. I'm to rush the hat to Southwark Rail Station where the royal party will be arriving from Gravesend. I cannot fail, I must carry out the queen's orders to make Alexandra look less of a sow's ear.”

“That is a spiteful thing to say.” Anne put her new hat back in its box. “Take it. I will consider it an honor to have the princess wear a hat that I chose.”

Emily put the lid on the hatbox. “I must rush. I have to get to Southwark Rail Station before two o'clock.”

Montagu looked at his sister as if she were deranged. “Why the devil did you let that hateful bitch take your new hat? Emily would never do
you
any favors.”

Anne smiled wistfully. “I did it for the princess, not for Emily.”

•   •   •

Earlier, on Saturday at dawn, James Hamilton accompanied the Prince of Wales to Gravesend. At first light, from their carriage, they watched the royal yacht,
Victoria and Albert
, dock. Within minutes a crowd began to gather on the pier, and shortly after figures appeared on deck.

“There she is.” James pointed to a female clad in a warm topcoat with a high collar. Her face beneath the bonnet was pale, as she clung to the ship's rail with apprehension. Four Royal Navy sailors let out the gangway and attached it safely to the stanchions on the dock.

The mayor of Gravesend and his official greeting committee arrived and pushed their way through the throng of Sixty Fair Maids of Kent,
who had been selected to scatter spring flowers before Princess Alexandra to welcome her.

“She looks frightened,” James said. “If you run up the gangplank and give her a smile and a welcoming hug, Alexandra will be forever grateful, Teddy. Let the mayor cool his heels. Your bride needs your attention at this moment.”

The prince abandoned protocol and royal dignity as he sprinted forward. Whether his eagerness stemmed from a desire to get it over with, or from a genuine feeling of anticipation, none would ever question his touching display of affection.

Alexandra gave the prince a tremulous smile and clung to his hands. “I'm so glad to see you, Your Highness.”

“You must call me Teddy.”

She nodded. “Could you possibly call me Alix?”

The princess's mother, Louise, dipped her knee. “Your Royal Highness.”

He kissed her hand. “I hope you had a smooth voyage, Your Highness.” Teddy turned to see Prince Christian of Denmark, and shook his hand. “Welcome to England, Your Highness.” Teddy greeted the siblings of his bride-to-be. “No doubt the Channel was cold and windy, but spring has arrived in England.”

Alexandra licked her lips nervously. “So many cheering people—they love you very much, Your Highness.”

“The cheers are for you, my dear.”

Her pale cheeks tinted a delicate pink.

The prince glanced about at the members of the Danish royal family. “If everyone is ready, we can disembark.” He took his future bride's arm and led the way to the gangplank. When they reached the dock, a brass band began to play a welcoming march, and as Teddy led her along Terrace Pier, the glee girls who were ranged on each side of the pier began to toss primroses and sprigs of myrtle in her path.

Wearing white crinoline dresses and broad-brimmed straw hats with leafy garlands, holding their dainty baskets of wildflowers to scatter at the feet of the royal lady, they made a stark contrast to the way Princess Alexandra was dressed.

At the end of the pier a carriage stood waiting to transport them to the railway station. The Prince of Wales handed Alexandra into the open carriage, and motioned for her family to follow. Then he stepped forward to shake hands with the mayor of Gravesend, and all listened attentively as the dignitary delivered the welcome message.

The band struck up again and the air was rent with boisterous cheers.

James directed the driver of the prince's carriage to join the one holding the Danish royals and the two landaus slowly made their way through the jubilant crowds.

The train journey from Gravesend to London took only an hour, and they arrived at Southwark Station at two o'clock as scheduled. From this point on the timetable ceased being workable.

James Hamilton was first off the train; then he returned to the prince. “Everything is in readiness. There are six landaus drawn up and waiting. The queen has her ladies-in-waiting in the first carriage. Until Princess Alexandra is a married lady, she must ride in a carriage with ladies only. Prince Christian will ride beside you in the second carriage, and the third landau is for Alexandra's mother and sisters. Behind them will be Alexandra's four brothers: Frederick, Valdemar, Christian, and George.”

“James, I don't know how you do it. You already know everyone's name. Will you ride with me? Otherwise I won't know what to talk about.”

“I'll stay close until you actually get into the landau and we'll direct everyone to the appointed seats in the open carriages. If you get stuck for something to say, just point out London's landmarks—London Bridge, and the Mansion House, where the lady mayoress resides, and all. You'll be just fine. I'll meet with you at Paddington Rail Station, so we can take the train to Windsor.”

James and the prince led the way off the train, where they encountered Emily, the queen's lady-in-waiting.

She sketched a curtsy to the prince, then put her hand on Hamilton's arm. “James, Her Majesty has ordered me to get that hideous bonnet off Princess Alexandra.” She indicated the hatbox she carried. “She must change into this hat before she is paraded through London.”

“Lady Emily.” James smiled. “Wait beside the prince and me, and when Princess Alexandra alights from the train, curtsy to her and say, ‘Her Majesty the Queen has sent you this welcoming gift and would be most honored if you would wear it today.'”

“Thank you, James.” She gave him a coy glance. “Diplomacy is your second long suit.” She removed the lid of the hatbox in preparation.