The Indomitable Miss Harris (5 page)

“My dearest Amelia, you can have no notion,” muttered Madame de Lieven in response to a remark from Mrs. Periwinkle. “She will not even speak to Bonsi.” Realizing her comment had been overheard, she glanced ruefully at Gillian. “So I call my dear husband privately, Miss Harris, though to be sure, I should not do so publicly. You will forgive a momentary indiscretion, however. We are all in such a taking.” Gillian smiled. Relieved as she was that Madame de Lieven seemed to have heard nothing about her activities of the previous night, she would have forgiven her anything. But the countess barely acknowledged her smile before continuing, “’Tis not enough that she should insult the Regent and drive us all to the brink of madness with her contemptuous tongue, but she has seen fit to bring the princess in her entourage tonight.”

Mrs. Periwinkle’s eyes lit with suppressed amusement. “I collect you mean Princess Charlotte and not the Princess of Wales.”

The countess met her look directly. “How right you are to put the matter in such a light, dear Amelia.” She let out a small sigh and seemed to draw her normal dignity closer about her, looking much more like the haughty young lady who was so familiar to London society. “I would do well to remember that things could be a deal worse. You know, of course, that she has threatened to
call
upon the Princess of Wales?”

Mrs. Periwinkle nodded. “And that Monsieur de Lieven said he would resign his post if she did. It seems to have answered well enough.”

“For the moment. But what am I thinking about? He will be wondering what has become of me, and here I stand like a stock.” She ushered them quickly into a large and very crowded reception room, where the guests made way for them as they crossed to a group near the far wall. Gillian stared unabashedly at the two females who formed the focal point of that group.

The elder of the two was easily as tall as if not taller than the Countess de Lieven, and she was dressed in clothes that could only have come from Paris. Her light brown hair was coiffed in an intricate, rather fluffy style that was very becoming to her, and a fine pair of brown eyes glinted appraisingly as her gaze came to rest upon the approaching visitors. Catherine, Grand Duchess of Oldenburg and sister to the reigning Emperor of all the Russias, was younger than Gillian had expected her to be, and despite the Regent’s opinion to the contrary, Gillian thought her to be a good-looking young woman. But then, she reminded herself, the Regent’s taste ran to the likes of Lady Hertford and Maria Fitzherbert, both (in Gillian’s opinion) quite old and rather shopworn.

The younger lady turned now to face them. Princess Charlotte, like her companion, was somewhat taller than most women, with a finely proportioned and well-developed figure, but Gillian’s attention was immediately engaged by her winning smile and expressive blue eyes. Mrs. Periwinkle dropped a low curtsy, and Gillian hastily followed her example. The princess nodded graciously, then gestured rather impatiently with a slender hand for them to rise as the Countess de Lieven made the necessary introductions.

“Is this not a lovely party?” the princess asked Gillian, smoothing thick, soft, golden-brown hair back from her forehead.

“Indeed, madam. I have never been here before, and I am very glad I came.”

“Well, Catherine says I do not go about enough,” confessed the princess with a becoming hesitation in her words. “Of course, I am not properly out yet, since I have not been presented at court.”

Gillian stared at her. Somehow it had not occurred to her that the crown princess would have to be presented like everyone else at the Queen’s Drawing Room. “But why have you not been presented, if it is necessary?” she asked without thinking. “You are engaged to be married, after all. And you
are
seventeen!”

“Exactly what Catherine said,” agreed the princess, casting an affectionate look at the grand duchess. “And my mother also, of course, though she has little to say to anything. I was to have been presented upon the occasion of my birthday, but when my father refused to allow Mama to attend with me, I refused to go. Now they say I am to be presented at the first Drawing Room in June. Though I do not know,” she added with a small frown, “whether I shall still be betrothed at that time.”

The grand duchess, overhearing her words, turned and laid a hand upon Charlotte’s arm. “Everything will be as it should be,
chérie.
Your father is perhaps a trifle difficult at the moment, but so all girls your age would say, is it not so?” She smiled conspiratorially at Mrs. Periwinkle. “We with experience of such things, we know, do we not?” Mrs. Periwinkle said not a word, but the grand duchess went on as though she had agreed wholeheartedly, “Just so. I must tell you, my dears, that I have been disappointed in your Regent. Handsome as he is, he is also a man visibly used up by dissipation, and I am certain such must affect his temper in an untoward fashion. I find him rather disgusting,” she added, much as though she were making a commonplace remark. Gillian felt her eyes widening, and she dared a glance at Mrs. Periwinkle to see what her reaction to such talk would be. That lady was regarding the grand duchess stiffly.

“Your opinion must always be an interesting one, madam, but this is scarcely—”

“Have I offended you, Mrs. Periwinkle? But how can that be? Is it not so that in your constitutional country one might speak as one pleases?”

“We have a strong belief in free speech, madam, however—”

“Then, I must tell you that I think your prince a vile libertine,” the duchess pointed out, still in that casual, conversational tone. “His so-called affability is licentious, even obscene. I am, I assure you, far from being puritanical or prudish, but I vow to you that with him and his brothers, I not only often have to get stiffly on my stiffs, but I do not know what to do with my eyes and ears. A brazen way of looking where eyes should never go,” she went on, shaking her head as she warmed to her subject in a way that struck dismay into Gillian’s heart. “I do not know how the English must be made, that their women should stand such things. He becomes ecstatic over ribands, over diamonds, his fine plate, his good cook—like a child or an upstart.”

“Please, madam,” Mrs. Periwinkle began weakly, casting a worried glance first at her own charge and then at the princess, “would it not be better to—”

The grand duchess smiled sweetly. “Charlotte is well aware of my opinions, I assure you, and it won’t hurt your Miss Harris to learn the ways of the world.” She looked Gillian up and down appraisingly. “If she has met his highness, she knows I speak only the truth, and if she has not, it is just as well that she be forewarned. But perhaps you think we must not discuss such things at Madame de Lieven’s so lovely rout.” She shrugged expressively, then added with a smile, “Miss Harris, you must come to visit me at the Pulteney Hotel one morning. Her highness is often with me there, and she ought to cultivate friends of her own age. She is hemmed about by old women like myself.”

Princess Charlotte laughed at such a reference, not seeming disturbed in the least by the grand duchess’s candid assessment of her father’s faults, but she augmented the invitation with one of her own. “We can be much more relaxed at Catherine’s,” she said. “But you must come to Warwick House, too. I shall send you a card.” She smiled, and Gillian did not need the brisk nod from Mrs. Periwinkle to know that the interview was ended, and none too soon in that lady’s opinion.

They turned and threaded their way through the crowd toward the buffet tables. “I thought the princess was very nice,” Gillian said over her shoulder to Mrs. Periwinkle.

“Indeed,” the lady agreed. “She is extraordinarily popular and has open, natural manners that can only command respect and affection. But that woman!” She paused, thinking. “Oddly enough, she seems to have put on her best effort for the princess. I wonder what she can be up to.”

Gillian chuckled but broke it off as she came unexpectedly up against another human body. “I beg pardon,” she began, looking up, then blushing as she recognized the obstacle. “Lord Darrow! How … how nice to see you again,” she ended lamely.

His lordship, nattily attired in a snug dark coat and an elegant salmon satin waistcoat, carried two glasses and had lifted them swiftly out of harm’s way just before the collision. He lowered them now, giving Miss Harris a keen look through the long lashes shadowing his silver-gray eyes. “I saw you with her highness and the grand duchess and decided that after enduring such elevated company, you would require refreshment.”

“Very thoughtful of you, my lord,” commented Mrs. Periwinkle, accepting her glass with a careful look at both of them. “But I require sustenance, not mere refreshment. Will you accompany us to the buffet?”

“Gladly, ma’am.” He stood aside politely to let her precede him, and as Gillian moved to follow, he bent toward her, speaking in a low tone for her ears only. “I should like a private word with you, Miss Harris.”

Gillian glanced up at him, biting her lip. “I’m sure you would, sir. But this is hardly the place.” He nodded toward Mrs. Periwinkle’s disappearing form, and she followed hurriedly, conscious despite the noise around them of his footsteps just behind her. They rejoined Mrs. Periwinkle at the tables loaded with all manner of delicacies. She had certainly been right to prophesy that they could not go hungry. A footman appeared with a plate for Gillian, and she pointed out her choices to him, watching approvingly as he served her with hot broccoli salad, lobster patties, sliced pheasant, and nun’s cakes. Then she followed as he led the way to an adjoining room where dining tables had been set up, grateful that she would not be expected to balance the loaded plate upon her knee while she ate.

Lord Darrow joined them, and although he refused a plate, he had accepted a mug of stout, which he now set down in front of him. Mrs. Periwinkle applied her attention to her food, and Gillian attempted to do likewise, but she was very conscious of Darrow’s presence. “I did not expect to see you here tonight,” she said finally.

He smiled. “It is not my normal sort of entertainment, to be sure, but my father was invited, and he insisted upon my company. It does not do to irritate the source of one’s income.”

The wry statement struck a little close to home, and Gillian could feel the warmth creeping into her cheeks again. She grimaced, self-consciously pushing lukewarm broccoli salad about with her fork. “I don’t suppose you realize how apt those words are, my lord, but I feel that I must apologize to you for causing you to be subjected to such unpleasantness as you must have been as a result of my—” She broke off, bogged down in the stiff phrasing.

Darrow smiled again. “I’ve survived it, Miss Harris.”

“But I know he must have been utterly horrid to you, and it was my fault entirely.”

“Not entirely. I was angry, I’ll admit, and it’s as well I didn’t encounter you upon my departure, but Landover was eminently fair. Said nothing I didn’t deserve to hear. Never should have taken you to such a place and certainly shouldn’t have left you to your own devices once I had.”

“Such frankness becomes you, my lord,” Mrs. Periwinkle said with a smile as she buttered a hot roll. “I am afraid that neither you nor Miss Harris behaved well in that particular instance. However, I trust such a thing will never again come to pass.”

Darrow chuckled. “That I can safely promise you, ma’am. Landover has promised to break my head for me if I ever even contemplate leading Miss Harris into mischief again. And it’s no idle threat. I’ve seen him at Jackson’s. He spars with the old man himself, and he’s got the most wicked right jab imaginable. Assure you!” He turned to Gillian again. “I’m sorry you had to leave your charming little house, but I don’t suppose you will wish to discuss that.” She shook her head, and he smiled. “Where is Sir Avery tonight?”

“He had an engagement for dinner with some friends. I think he will be home before we are, however.” She didn’t add that her guess was based upon the fact that the friends had originally planned to visit some gaming hell or other, a point her brother had mentioned rather bitterly just before his departure. “Why do you ask, sir?”

“Because I’ve no wish to meet him for a day or so,” he said, laughing. “I’ve a strong notion he’s as irritated over this business as Landover was, and I doubt he will restrain his feelings as admirably.”

“But he does not spar with Jackson,” she teased, “and you are of a size with him, my lord. I … I’ve seen your skill for myself. Surely you do not fear his temper.”

“’Tis true enough. He’s the merest neophyte in the ring,” he agreed. “Nothing but cross and jostle, yet it don’t suit my dignity to engage in a brawl with a man who’s got a right to be angry. Just as well to let him cool off a bit before we meet again.”

“Plotting more masquerades, my children?” drawled a familiar voice behind Gillian. She stiffened involuntarily, and it was Mrs. Periwinkle who replied.

“Lord Darrow was kind enough to bear us company over our supper, Landover, and since it was at my invitation that he did so, I’ll thank you not to scold. And if you were planning to attend this do, I wish you might have said so at the outset instead of planning assignations at Bettencourt Hall or Carlton House. ’Tis vastly confusing, my lord, and not like you in the slightest. How do you do, Mr. Brummell? And Lord Alvanley. How nice to see you again, sir. You both know my cousin, Miss Harris. And Lord Darrow, of course.”

Greetings were exchanged, and Landover made his apologies, saying he hadn’t realized until he met them at White’s that Mr. Brummell and Lord Alvanley had accepted invitations to the rout. “George said he thought the change of air would do him good, so we all came in Alvanley’s carriage,” he added as the three newcomers pulled up chairs for themselves. “Have you met the grand duchess yet?”

“Indeed we have,” said Mrs. Periwinkle, muttering under her breath, “‘Venom clamors!’”

The Beau’s eyebrows flew up in mock dismay, and he exchanged a glance with Landover, who said smoothly, “You think the duchess a jealous woman?”

Gillian realized, not without a touch of admiration, that Landover had not only heard her companion’s brief comment but recognized the source. So, apparently, did Brummell, for with a glint of mockery in his eye, he murmured dulcetly, “‘Poison more deadly than a mad dog’s tooth.’” Mrs. Periwinkle shot him a look of approval.