The Indomitable Miss Harris (16 page)

“Could she do that, ma’am?”

Mrs. Periwinkle shrugged. “I should have thought not. After all, Prinny is her father and can dispose of her any way he chooses. Yet, perhaps it will depend upon who is able to influence him most. He does wish for popularity, and he does seek the Tsar’s approval. I can tell you this much, my dear—I would not risk a wager on the outcome of all this nonsense.”

Gillian chuckled, but her mind was busy the rest of the day. She had much food for thought what with trying to understand Landover’s behavior and, in her own small way, to unravel the more basic intrigues that seemed to be afoot amongst the visiting sovereigns, as well as to wonder what effect these might have upon the future of England’s crown princess. Of course, she could not begin to fathom the latter intricacies, but it made for interesting fantasies at least, especially in view of the fact that Landover had promised she would actually meet Alexander and the King of Prussia at the Marquis of Stafford’s dinner that very night.

They did not arrive at Stafford House until nearly eight o’clock, the dinner having been planned for a late hour in order that the sovereigns might have time to rest a bit after their return from Woolwich. Gillian had dressed with care in an exquisite puff-sleeved, low-scooped gown of white silk, daintily embroidered with silver lilies at the hem and nipped in under her breasts with silver ribbons. She wore a collar of pearls, and her dark hair was confined at the top of her head in a twist woven with silver ribbons and seed pearls. Dainty pearl drops in her ears, a simple silver filigree bracelet over one white glove, and satin pearl-rosetted slippers completed her outfit. The look in Landover’s eyes as she descended the grand staircase told her her selection was a success. Even Sir Avery seemed suitably impressed.

For once, they would not be part of a larger party, although they would meet the Harmoncourt contingent as well as other friends later at the Cholmondeley ball. But for the dinner itself, they would, as Mrs. Periwinkle put it, be attending
en famille.

In the carriage, Gillian was particularly conscious of Landover’s presence. Memories of the night before, when she had expected to be scolded and had met instead with gentleness, seemed to hover between them. She felt unaccountably tongue-tied and was grateful for Mrs. Periwinkle’s spirited chatter. Suddenly, she realized that her companion was recounting Princess Charlotte’s confidences about Prince Leopold. Flushing, she glanced at Landover, fearing he might not approve of her having passed such things on to Cousin Amelia. But he seemed to have got the idea that the information had come to the older lady firsthand.

He smiled, saying lightly, “It seems her highness is no more immune to infatuation than any other young girl. You will no doubt agree, ma’am, that it would be kindest to say naught of this to anyone else, since nothing can come of it. Her highness could only be hurt by such rumors.”

“Of course, Landover. You know you may trust me. I only mention it to you because I felt you should know what was going on.” She glanced pointedly at Gillian.

“And I appreciate that, ma’am.” He, too, turned to Gillian. “You will heed me, miss, and say nothing to anyone. Such tittle-tattle can only do mischief. You, too, sir.”

Sir Avery nodded, but Gillian’s eyes snapped. She nearly gave Landover a piece of her mind for daring to think she would indulge in idle gossip about the princess. But remembering her resolution, she swallowed the angry words threatening to spill from her lips and merely said, “Of course, my lord.”

He seemed suddenly amused, and his eyes were still twinkling when he helped her from the carriage to the carpeted flagway. Gillian pursed her lips, not daring to meet his eye lest she lose her temper after all. Landover bent his head near to hers.

“Afraid I should send you home if you speak your mind, miss?”

Her eyes flew wide, but she gritted her teeth. “I do not indulge in petty gossip, my lord.”

“Nor do I in petty revenge, child. ’Twould take more than sharp words to make me send you home tonight, looking as beautiful as you do. ’Twould be to deny me the pleasure of the congratulations I shall receive for having you on my arm.”

His words caught her entirely off guard, and her mouth dropped open in astonishment. She realized soon enough that she must look utterly besotted and snapped it shut again. But her expression remained one of wonder.

“Do you truly think me beautiful, sir?”

He grinned at her. “I’d be an idiot to deny it, when every other gentleman in the place will no doubt be showering you with compliments. But, yes, Miss Harris, I do. Of course, your smile is much more compatible with the elegance of your gown than that scowl you’ve been wearing. Take a small bit of advice and cultivate the smile.” Sparks lit her eyes, and he grinned again. “Will you take my arm?”

She did not so much place her small hand as slap it down upon his forearm, but he bore up valiantly, without so much as a grimace of pain. Nevertheless, Gillian restrained an impulse to pinch him, fearing his tolerance might diminish a bit at such Turkish treatment.

For the next half hour she nursed a glass of ratafia as she accompanied Landover on a social round of the grand saloon at Stafford House. She met several people of note, including Marshal Blucher, that hero of the Peninsular Wars whose popularity far outweighed the Regent’s or, for that matter, the visiting sovereigns’. He seemed jolly enough, she thought, although his present claim to fame seemed to be a penchant for drinking himself under the table at most of the entertainments provided for the visitors.

The guests of honor finally arrived, and the moment Gillian had been waiting for followed soon after when the prince beckoned Landover forward and asked that he present her. She made her deepest curtsy, thinking that both rulers seemed rather aloof, although she agreed with all she had heard about the Tsar’s good looks. When she looked up, she found his eye upon her in a rather disconcertingly speculative way. She blushed, and the Regent chuckled.

“A rare beauty, is she not, your excellency?” A gentleman just behind the Tsar spoke briefly in his ear, and Alexander nodded with a delighted smile. Gillian glanced helplessly at Landover.

“I think you have taken my charge’s breath away, sire, with your compliments,” he said smoothly, “but we must not monopolize your time. I see that Stafford has given the signal for dinner to be served.”

Alexander had been conferring again with his interpreter, ignoring Landover entirely, and now he turned pointedly to Gillian. “We shall meet again,” he said with stilted formality.

Gillian, not knowing what to say to this, merely curtsied, giving Landover’s arm an unconscious squeeze at the same time. Once they were safely out of earshot, he chuckled.

“Too thick for your blood, Miss Harris?”

“He makes my flesh creep. I’d not be Russian right now for a wilderness of monkeys.”

“You like monkeys?”

She stared at him, but he looked so innocent that she couldn’t help laughing. “You know perfectly well what I mean, Landover. He looked at me as though he had only to snap his fingers to have me served up for his supper.”

“Very likely that’s how it’s done back home, but Prinny will warn him off, I promise you.”

“To think I should be grateful for your protection,” she sighed.

“Are you?”

“Indeed yes! For tonight at any rate,” she qualified, grinning impishly.

“Baggage.”

Dinner was announced a moment later, and Gillian soon found herself sitting between Marshal Blucher and an elderly gentleman who appeared to be quite deaf. The Regent sat a few places up and on the opposite side of the table, between the Grand Duchess Oldenburg and the Countess de Lieven. For the most part, conversation drifted along as it always did at such affairs, in a constant hum, but as the second course was being served, there came a sudden lull, and the grand duchess’s voice carried easily when she spoke in her deliberate way directly to the Regent.

“Why do you keep your daughter under lock and key, your highness? Why does she go nowhere with you?” All eyes turned toward them, and Gillian, her sweetbreads in claret momentarily forgotten, noted that the Countess de Lieven had lost her usual rosy color.

“My daughter is too young, madam, to go into the world,” replied the Regent icily.

“But she is not too young for you to have fixed upon a husband for her.”

“She will not marry for two years.”

“I hope that then she will manage to make up to herself for her present imprisonment.” Gillian and several others gasped in dismay at these knife-edged words.

Prinny shot his tormentor a fulminating glare. “When she is married, madam,” he retorted crushingly, “she will do as her husband pleases; for the present, she does as I wish.”

The duchess stared back at him unblinkingly, then said with malicious gentleness, “Your highness, between husband and wife, there can be only one will.”

The Regent turned away and said loudly to Dorothea de Lieven, “This is intolerable.”

Immediately, Gillian heard Mrs. Periwinkle’s lilting voice and Landover’s lower one as both began speaking to their dinner partners. A rush of conversation started that soon settled into the normal drone, but Gillian, though she pretended to return her attention to the delicious sweetbreads, watched obliquely as the Countess de Lieven exerted herself to smooth things over. It was said that the countess knew well how to amuse him; however, the savory had been served before the Regent was heard to laugh again.

In the days that followed, the duchess’s behavior grew more and more outrageous. Gillian saw little of the royal visitors, but the Countess de Lieven came to unburden herself to her dear friend Mrs. Periwinkle and gave not a snap of her fingers for Gillian’s exceedingly interested presence.

“For I can tell you, Amelia, I am well-nigh distraught. I know not how I shall survive the next few days till their departure, but I can promise you no one will be more grateful than I to see the backs of them all!”

Mrs. Periwinkle called her “dearest Dasha” and made soothing noises, but Madame de Lieven was unimpressed. “No, no, you can have no notion what it’s been like. It was not so bad when they all went up to Oxford—the morning after Stafford’s dinner, you know—except that she wore that stupid straw bonnet with the dangling feather—vastly unbecoming but already the rage. They call it the Oldenburg poke. Disgusting. Where was I? Oh, Oxford. Well, they all ignored poor Prinny when he tried to lecture them on the history of the city. Of course, Catherine is the only one of the lot who speaks much English, but she pretended he wasn’t even there. Flirted with one of the dons instead.”

“Very rude, but no doubt gratifying to the don,” observed Mrs. Periwinkle. Gillian chuckled, and even Madame de Lieven smiled.

“No doubt.” She sighed, accepting a
petit four
from a silver plate and nodding to a suggestion that she might like more tea. “This is the most relaxing half hour I’ve spent in a week. It has been one ghastly affair after another—the Oxford ball, dinner at Lord Castlereagh’s—you can imagine what that was like—Lady Hertford’s ball …” She shuddered delicately. “And then, my God, then the Guildhall Banquet!”

“Even we heard a rumor or two about that,” Mrs. Periwinkle smiled.

Gillian nodded. Landover had attended the banquet. The royal guests had been met at Temple Bar by the Lord Mayor, Sheriffs, and Aldermen mounted on horses, robed and bedizened, arrayed in cocked hats and gold lace. The Tsar and the King of Prussia had been welcomed as usual with jubilant yells, the Regent with groans and shouts of “Your wife! Where’s your wife?” Unpleasant enough, Gillian thought, but there had been worse to come.

“Why that dreadful woman insists upon accompanying her brother everywhere I cannot imagine!” the countess said roundly. “That dinner is meant to be attended by men only, and her presence certainly would not have been tolerated back home. But no, here she must be catered to. I was the only other female, Amelia, and I can tell you, I scarcely knew where to look for embarrassment. Prinny was in a rage because he had to give up his seat to her; the Tsar was bored by the whole affair. Only his majesty of Prussia was the least congenial. But Catherine was particularly difficult.”

“We heard she covered her ears when the band played ‘Rule Britannia,’” said Mrs. Periwinkle.

“Said she had the headache,” scorned their guest, “that she would be sick if the noise did not stop. So Prinny stopped it. Our civic hosts were in an uproar, to say the least, and I received an anonymous note to the effect that if she refused to allow the National Anthem, they could not be responsible for the royal table. I passed it on to her, but she was very ungracious, just said, ‘Let them bawl then!’ Then she closed her eyes as though she were in great pain and grimaced to the end. The Prime Minister came up to me afterward and said, ‘When folks don’t know how to behave, they would do better to stay at home, and your duchess has chosen, against all usage, to go to men’s dinners.’
My
duchess!” the countess wailed. “I can tell you, Amelia, I was ready to sink!”

Gillian absorbed every detail, scarcely able to contain herself until she could share her knowledge with the princess, who might not have heard everything yet. How would she respond to such a report about her precious Catherine?

As it happened, however, it was not until the following Monday, the very day scheduled for the magnificent Burlington House masquerade, that she was able to visit Warwick House, and by then the princess had other matters upon her mind. She greeted Gillian in agitation, waving two sheets of closely written foolscap at her.

“He goes too far!” she cried. “Just look at this!”

Gillian took the paper, which proved to be a list of names, headed by that of the Prince of Orange. “What is this, madam?”

“A list of those to be invited to my wedding!”

“Your wedding! But his highness said himself that it would not take place for two years. I heard him myself less than a week ago.”

“He has discovered about my dearest Leopold, I think. But whatever the cause, he has put forward the date to September and says he will send for the Dutch royal family at once. My esteemed grandmama, the Queen, is already making arrangements to obtain her wedding clothes. But that is not all. Study the list, Gillian.”