The Indomitable Miss Harris (4 page)

Sir Avery soon took himself off, wondering aloud how, since he had already promised to spend the afternoon and evening with some of his cronies, he could manage to do so without getting himself into trouble with Landover. He seemed pessimistic, but his prediction regarding Mrs. Amelia Periwinkle was soon confirmed by the arrival of that lady herself. Gillian had returned to her bedchamber, and when her chaperone arrived, Mrs. Trueworthy showed her straight up, then tactfully left them to their privacy. Mrs. Periwinkle, swishing orange crape and colorfully crowned with an improbable matching wig, fluttered into the room, her thin, shawl-draped arms outstretched toward Gillian, who came rapidly to her feet from the French seat.

“Naughty girl!” scolded the elderly lady in a twittering voice. “I cannot tell you how overset I’m become by your behavior. But every cloud engenders not a storm, you know, and a little fire is quickly trodden out. This house is utterly splendid and far better suited for our own entertaining than that tiny place in Curzon Street; therefore, we shall make the best of what the fates dispose.”

Gillian clasped the veined outstretched hands and kissed the proffered well-powdered cheek. The sweet scent of orange blossoms enfolded her before she stepped away again with a tiny chuckle. “’Tis not the fates, Cousin Amelia; ’tis Landover who disposes. But I apologize for cutting up your peace in such a way.”

“Harp not upon that string, my dear. As the Bard of Avon so rightly said, ‘headstrong liberty is lashed with woe,’ but we’ll not pluck that crow together now. Your Ellen is bringing the things you will need for tonight. You must cease to repine what cannot be changed, take yourself in hand, and look to the future.”

“Tonight? Good gracious, cousin, I have forgotten. Who claims our company tonight?”

“Forgotten!” Mrs. Periwinkle wagged a reproving finger. “Then, remember thee, child. ’Tis the Countess de Lieven herself who expects us. A rout and a chance to meet her grace the Grand Duchess of Oldenburg. Poor Dasha says she is proving to be quite a problem, you know. A tiger’s heart wrapped in a woman’s hide.”

“Cousin Amelia! The grand duchess is sister to the Tsar of Russia! What a thing to say!”

“Perhaps,” agreed Mrs. Periwinkle, taking a seat and motioning Gillian back to hers, while adding dryly, “in this mealy-mouthed day and age. But true, nonetheless, as you will no doubt see before you are much older. She came here as soon as Bonaparte’s defeat was certain to be effected, supposedly to await the Tsar’s visit, but everyone thinks there was more to it than that.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, the general opinion is that it was political, and the good Lord knows she’s well enough suited to be involved in something of that nature, but I myself think it was nothing more than a desire to have a go at the Regent.”

“Hasn’t she got a husband?” Gillian asked. She had already heard a good deal about the grand duchess, but no one had mentioned a grand duke.

“Prince Oldenburg is dead,” said Mrs. Periwinkle briefly. “His duchy was seized by that upstart Bonaparte when he annexed Holland in 1810. Which is why I think her grace is looking about for new blood. But Prinny thought her ugly, and she thought him ill-bred, and she has allowed her dislike of him to overrule whatever diplomatic considerations there might be, which, as you might realize, has made a good deal of trouble for the de Lievens.”

Gillian could well imagine that it might. Count de Lieven was Russia’s ambassador to England. It was his business to maintain good relations between the two countries, and it sounded much as though the grand duchess’s behavior might undermine his best efforts. “But she cannot marry the Prince Regent, so what could she hope to gain from him?”

Mrs. Periwinkle shrugged narrow shoulders. “There has been talk of a royal divorce, of course, but I think she meant only to impress him and, perhaps, hoped for his support in a liaison with one of his brothers. According to Dasha, the woman thinks herself irresistible. But she is very strong-minded and outspoken, just the sort of female Prinny dislikes most. Besides, once she saw that he could not admire her, she made a point of befriending Princess Charlotte and threatens time and time again to call upon the Princess of Wales.”

“Oh dear,” breathed Gillian, her eyes alight now with amusement. She was beginning to look forward to the evening ahead with a great deal more enthusiasm than she had hitherto felt. The enmity between the Prince and Princess of Wales was a matter upon which the whole country had taken sides, with nearly all the common folk and a large portion of the nobility favoring the Princess Caroline and condemning the Prince Regent for a lecherous, uncaring husband. And since he had announced his daughter’s engagement to the Hereditary Prince of Orange, they had taken up Princess Charlotte’s banner as well, thinking that now she would finally escape his tyranny. For the grand duchess to call upon Princess Caroline of Wales would be a calculated slap in the Regent’s face.

“Just so,” agreed Mrs. Periwinkle, who had been watching the various expressions flitting across her charge’s face. “Somehow Dasha has managed to remain on good terms with Prinny as well as with the grand duchess, which says a good deal for her diplomatic skill, to my way of thinking.”

And that was an understatement, thought Gillian, who had met the Countess de Lieven upon several occasions and liked her very much, despite having heard how haughty and cold she could be. She was definitely high in the instep, but her own relationship to the Russian royal family, as ward of the Empress, made others expect that sort of attitude from her. Gillian knew from firsthand experience, however, that she could also be charming and kind.

Ellen soon arrived with her clothes, and as she prepared for the evening ahead, she tried to imagine what the grand duchess would be like. For a brief time, however, it seemed that she would never know, for when she and Mrs. Periwinkle descended the grand winged staircase on their way to the waiting carriage, they were met in the lower hall by Landover, who was just coming in.

“Ah, Mrs. Periwinkle, I was hoping I might arrive before you had gone out. You look quite charming this evening,” he added smoothly, casting an appreciative glance at them both. His gaze caused Gillian to feel more than usually self-conscious, and she was glad she had chosen to wear the deceptively simple white silk gown that showed off her soft complexion and glowing color to such advantage. That it also clung seductively to her tip-tilted breasts and curving hips was another of its assets, and one of which she suddenly felt blushingly aware, as Landover’s gaze seemed to linger while his greeting was returned by both ladies.

“Did you wish to speak to us?” inquired Mrs. Periwinkle, recalling his attention as well as his gaze to her pink-satin-draped and turbaned self.

“Indeed,” he answered briskly. “His highness has requested that I bring you to Carlton House later this evening. Therefore, I thought we would have our dinner together here before setting out.”

“But we can’t!” protested Gillian. Despite the thrill of an invitation to Carlton House, she was appalled by the prospect of Landover’s escort, certain he would keep a sharp eye on her every movement to be sure she behaved herself. The very thought was simply mortifying. “We are promised to the Countess de Lieven,” she added firmly when both of the others stared in disapproval of her tone.

Landover raised a questioning brow, and Mrs. Periwinkle responded to it apologetically. “I’m afraid that’s true enough, my lord. Dasha has invited us both to meet the grand duchess. But it is only a rout, you know, and one need not remain above a half hour or so. I had thought to go on to the Bettencourt ball afterward, but there is no reason that we could not arrange to meet you at Carlton House instead, if that is what you desire.”

He frowned heavily. “I cannot approve of Miss Harris’s being seen in such company. It will do no good and might do much harm.”

Gillian opened her mouth to protest again, but she was forestalled by Mrs. Periwinkle’s gentle voice. “I collect that you refer to the grand duchess, my lord, but do you truly think it so dangerous? I myself had thought it would prove to be an excellent experience for her to meet someone of that sort in protective surroundings. For you must know that neither Dasha nor Monsieur de Lieven would allow the grand duchess to exert an adverse influence upon any of our young people.

“There is much in what you say, ma’am,” agreed Landover, meeting Gillian’s resentful glare with a measuring look of his own. “I still cannot approve of such an association for Miss Harris, but one would not wish to offend the de Lievens, of course, and since you have accepted the invitation, I suppose what must be, must be. I shall expect you, however, to keep a strict eye upon your charge. I would not wish that woman to stir coals with anyone so impressionable.”

“Impressionable!” Gillian drew herself up indignantly.

Landover seemed about to respond when Mrs. Periwinkle chuckled. “How naughty of you, my lord, to bait poor Miss Harris so. Calm yourself, Gillian dear. His lordship was only funning. He knows, I’m sure, that you are to be trusted completely. Even if the grand duchess should allow herself to step beyond the line of what is pleasing, he and I know that you would never lower yourself to do likewise.”

“Just so,” agreed his lordship with an appreciative glint of amusement. “What will you do about dinner, ma’am?”

She laughed. “We shall endeavor to sustain ourselves upon lobster patties and croquettes, my lord. No one at Dasha’s routs has any excuse to go hungry, I assure you. Now, how shall we manage to find you at Carlton House? I confess, ’tis an age since I set foot in the place.”

“No need to worry, ma’am,” he said firmly. “I shall collect you at the de Lievens’ and carry you there myself. Shall we agree to meet at ten o’clock? I doubt that Prinny’s own dinner will be concluded before then.”

“In that case, sir, perhaps you had better fetch us at the Bettencourt ball. I had not meant to stay so long at the rout, and we did accept the other invitation as well.”

He agreed, and Gillian was just expelling a breath of relief when he turned his attention to her again. “Where is your wrap, Miss Harris?”

“My wrap?”

“It is quite chilly out tonight. You surely don’t intend to go all the way to Streatham Park in nothing more than that thin gown.”

“Please don’t be Gothic, Landover,” she retorted crisply. “I never wear a wrap, and you are certainly too well versed on the subject of female fashions to expect me to wear a heavy pelisse. No one does that sort of thing. I should look like a milkmaid new-arrived from the country.”

“Not a pelisse, but surely you have a suitable cloak,” he responded in a reasonable tone. “It would be foolish to go any distance in such weather with nothing to protect you.”

Once again, it was Mrs. Periwinkle who intervened. “Really, my dear, I told you myself that you ought to wear that lovely fur-lined silk cloak. It will be perfect with your gown, and it is quite stylish, I assure you.”

“That settles it,” Landover said sternly. “Will you fetch it yourself, or shall I send one of the footmen for it?”

Gillian’s breast heaved with stifled fury at being so neatly outmaneuvered, but she saw immediately that it would do no good to argue the matter with him. There was truthfully nothing wrong with the silken cloak. It was merely that she preferred the freedom of being able to move from one entertainment to the next without having to go to the bother of fetching, then disposing of her wrap. By the time she had composed herself enough to inform him that she would get it herself, he had already sent the footman Jeremy to fetch it. Thus, the pale blue silk cloak was presented to him, and he draped it over her shoulders with an approving comment. So conscious was she of his touch, however, that Gillian scarcely heard what he said to her. Though it was the merest brush of his fingers against her shoulders, the contact was nearly electrifying. She dared not look at him, but hastily gathering the cloak about her slim figure, followed Mrs. Periwinkle and the footman out to the waiting carriage.

B
Y THE TIME THE
carriage had rolled across Westminster Bridge, Gillian was grateful for the protection of her cloak, though she would not have mentioned it for the world. Mrs. Periwinkle chattered idly about people she thought might be present, and Gillian answered when necessary, glad enough to let her chaperone bear the brunt of the conversation. Another four miles brought them to Streatham Park and the lovely, large white house standing in its own grounds that was the British residence of the Russian ambassador.

Linkboys scurried to and fro, directing the accumulating carriage traffic. It looked as though it would be a squeeze, Gillian thought, as she passed from linkboy to bowing, six-foot-tall footman. Monsieur de Lieven and his countess were standing at the foot of the stairs in the entry hall to receive their guests, and Gillian and Mrs. Periwinkle were greeted enthusiastically.

“Amelia! How delightful.” Twenty-eight-year-old Dorothea de Lieven presented a cool, well-powdered cheek to her elderly friend and smiled at Gillian. Simply elegant, she was dressed in pale-apricot satin with a deep décolletage and tiny puffed sleeves that showed off her creamy skin to perfection. Her lovely chestnut curls were piled exquisitely atop her head, and her dark brown eyes sparkled. “How nice to see you again, Miss Harris.”

Gillian responded properly, but Mrs. Periwinkle announced that they had come to see the grand duchess. “Like visiting a zoological exhibition at Astley’s Amphitheater, Dasha. We’ve come to view the main attraction.”

“Hush, Amelia,” scolded Madame de Lieven in an undertone. “You must behave with exemplary propriety. Tis as much as my life is worth, I assure you. That woman causes nothing but trouble. But come, I shall introduce you to her myself.” She leaned toward her husband. “You will do nicely without me for the moment, sir, but I shall not abandon you for long. I want to make Amelia and Miss Harris known to her highness.”

Monsieur de Lieven smiled a bit stiffly at her but nodded before turning his attention to the next guest. Curiously, Gillian followed as the countess led them up the grand staircase. She wondered what Landover would have thought of Mrs. Periwinkle’s remarks but dismissed the thought almost immediately. He, like everyone else, no doubt accepted her chaperone as an amusing but harmless eccentric. The countess moved into a small anteroom and paused.