The Indomitable Miss Harris (26 page)

“Brave indeed. Prinny will have her head for it. I must say I felt sorry for her when she climbed into that coach with Brougham and Miss Elphinstone. She looked for all the world as though she were climbing into a tumbrel, on her way to face the guillotine.”

“Do you think his highness really thrashed her?”

Landover shrugged. “I’m sure he was angry enough, and he’s certainly capable of it, but I daresay a thrashing is the least of her worries.”

“What else?”

“There’s no saying. Prinny’s capable of nearly anything when it comes to either his wife or daughter.”

“I think he’s hateful.”

“I daresay. I’ve certainly heard you voice that opinion upon more than one occasion.” He stood up and pulled her to her feet. “But don’t let me hear you say so again anywhere but here, if you please. You are in enough trouble with his highness without that. Have you made plans for this afternoon?”

She shook her head, surprised by the abrupt change of subject.

“Well, see if your Cousin Amelia would fancy a trip to Hampton Court. I’ve a mind to try my luck with the maze, and it isn’t nearly so much fun if one is alone.”

“T
HE THING IS BEING
buzzed all over town,” Sir Avery said at the dinner table several nights later, “and all are against the Regent, of course.”

“Never had a princess so many champions,” smiled Mrs. Periwinkle, “and everyone behaves as though her punishment were totally unmerited.”

“Well, I certainly think he was unnaturally harsh,” said Gillian.

“Don’t believe half of what you hear,” advised her brother loftily. “I, for one, prefer the stuff one reads. The broadsides have been positively merciless to his highness. And the comic prints! Well, I ask you.”

“They are dreadful,” said Gillian flatly.

“Do you truly think so? I find them amusing. Particularly the one I saw today by that George Cruikshank fellow. ’Tis entitled ‘The Regent Kicking up a Row,’ or ‘Warwick House in an Uproar,’ and shows Prinny flourishing a thick birch rod whilst Charlotte runs shrieking off to Mama. The faces are especially good, I thought. Poor Miss Knight is kicking her heels on the floor, whilst the other ladies are falling all over one another in their haste to get out of harm’s way, and the Bishop of Salisbury is exchanging absurdities with John Bull in the background. Dashed amusing!”

“I doubt her highness finds such things at all amusing, Avery,” Gillian retorted angrily. But he only grinned at her and demanded to know if the other two at the dinner table did not find the news sheets entertaining. Neither one deigned to answer him directly, but Mrs. Periwinkle reminded Gillian that there are more flies to be caught with honey than with vinegar.

“’Tis a point our dear princess seems never to have learned,” she added. “Only look how she dragged her poor Sussex into the matter, a move that can only have been calculated to turn the Regent’s fury in a new direction.”

Landover was the only one who had given no opinion regarding the public furor over the Princess Charlotte’s flight and the consequent penalties. As Gillian’s gaze met his now, his expression seemed to be a mixture of sympathy and mild amusement. She glared back at him, then angrily attacked the roast squab on her plate.

Perhaps, she thought, it was a bit unfair of Charlotte to have dragged the gentle Duke of Sussex into the mess, but what else could she have done? After a few no doubt miserable days’ solitary confinement at Carlton House, the Regent had sent her to Cranbourne Lodge in the charge of the four grim ladies who had replaced her own beloved attendants.

A small silence had followed Mrs. Periwinkle’s observation, but Gillian broke it now, declaring indignantly, “They say she is watched day and night, that her desk is rifled, her letters intercepted, that she is not allowed to write letters herself or have friends to visit. Why, ’tis even said she had to steal the very paper and pencil she used to write his grace of Sussex.”

“A letter full of piteous complaints of her ill treatment,” observed Landover, speaking for the first time, his tone ironic. “Does that sound like the princess you know?”

Gillian gave the matter some thought. “Perhaps not,” she admitted, “but it seems to have answered the purpose well enough, and that must count for something.”

“So you presume to know her purpose,” he replied, watching her carefully. “I confess that I do not. I know only that the duke, poor fellow, hastened straight off to the House of Lords burning with righteous indignation and clutching his list of questions.”

“There is nothing wrong with asking a few pertinent questions, Landover,” Mrs. Periwinkle pointed out briskly. “’Tis how one learns to tell a hawk from a handsaw, after all. And her people have a right to know whether their crown princess is being held prisoner or not.”

“And whether her physician ordered sea air for her health?” chuckled Sir Avery. Gillian shot him a withering look, but Mrs. Periwinkle acknowledged the relevance of the remark with a small nod of accord.

“That was indeed carrying things a bit far,” she agreed, “for how can her physician have made any such recommendation if she has been held
incommunicado,
as it were?”

“Just so,” replied Sir Avery, still grinning. “But the Prime Minister squashed old Sussex flat, you know, saying there were certain ‘disagreeable implications’ in his questions. What a phrase! But it sent the duke about his business quick enough. And now the precious news sheets are full of Princess Charlotte’s daily rides in Windsor Park and the visits paid by Mercer Elphinstone and the rest of her dearest friends, so I for one think the whole affair has been little more than a hum from the outset.”

“It was no such thing!” cried Gillian hotly. “I am a friend, and I have not been invited to visit her highness at Cranbourne Lodge, so she cannot have very much to say about who does visit. And furthermore, that drivel about the daily rides—if it is true, which I find difficult to believe myself—merely shows that the Regent is allowing her highness some small freedom as a result of what must have been prodigiously awkward gossip.”

“Enough, child,” Landover said gently, but he turned a sterner eye upon Sir Avery when Gillian had subsided into silent indignation. “It would be far wiser, young man, if you were to refrain from voicing dogmatic opinions when you know few of the facts involved. It was not the Prime Minister but the Bishop of Salisbury who persuaded his grace of Sussex to withdraw the questions he had asked in the House.”

All eyes turned toward him, for this was news. “How is this, sir?” inquired Mrs. Periwinkle, speaking for all of them.

“His eminence has let it be known that he is prepared to offer statements of Prinny’s many kindnesses to his daughter, including eyewitness descriptions of tearful scenes between the two. Quite touching, I thought.”

“How … how could he!” Gillian demanded. “A man of the cloth!”

“Nevertheless, that is the situation as it now stands,” stated the marquis matter-of-factly as he nodded to a flunky to refill his wineglass. “Sussex can scarcely make a successful fuss whilst Salisbury supports Prinny as a doting parent. But since there is nothing any one of us can do to alter things,” he added firmly when Gillian opened her mouth to continue the debate, “I suggest we change the subject. I confess to becoming slightly weary of her highness’s misadventures.”

Gillian swallowed the retort that flew to her lips. Nothing could be gained by irritating him. And as a matter of fact, she had been basking in the light of his goodwill for some days now and had no wish to change that state of affairs.

The outing to Hampton Court had been a complete success. At Sir Avery’s suggestion, Lady Sybilla had been included, whereupon Mrs. Periwinkle had declined the treat, saying that she was sure Sir Avery would look after Gillian, and that she had no wish to play gooseberry. Gillian tried to convince her that she would enjoy the outing, but Landover had chuckled and said he for one was relieved, since even the barouche was uncomfortable for more than four people.

Both he and Sir Avery proved to be veritable founts of information with regard to the history of the famous residence. Gillian rather thought her brother must have swotted up a bit in order to impress Sybilla, but she was just as certain that Landover had not done anything so silly.

On the road, Sir Avery informed them that the magnificent palace had been a gift to King Henry VIII, but he couldn’t for the moment put his finger on the name of the previous owner. It remained for Landover to provide the information that Cardinal Wolsey, then Lord Chancellor of England, had given it in an unsuccessful attempt to regain royal favor.

Gillian didn’t care much about the history of the place, but she was fascinated by the building itself and particularly by the huge astronomical clock over Anne Boleyn’s Gateway. It was a full eight feet in diameter and was so cleverly devised as to tell not only the hour, but the date and month, the number of days since the beginning of the year, the phases of the moon, and the time of high water at London Bridge! The gardens were lovely, and the maze, just as Landover had promised, was truly fun. All four disdained help from the guard on his viewing tower and were vastly pleased with themselves when they found the center. Finding their way out again, they discovered, offered an equal challenge.

The day following that pleasant excursion, Sybilla came to call, announcing rather sadly that her mama had fallen victim to a chill that seemed determined to set up forces of occupation in her lungs. Sir Avery rallied her, insisting there was no need to fall into the dismals about it, since Mrs. Periwinkle would be only too happy to escort her as well as Gillian to whatever parties she wished to attend.

“But Avery, I cannot possibly think of attending parties whilst Mama is taken to her bed!”

“Nonsense, Syb, you are being entirely too nice. Your mama would be the first to agree that you ought not to allow her indisposition to spoil your season,” Sir Avery replied bluntly. The others, knowing that Lady Harmoncourt intended to see her lovely daughter married before a second season was needed, especially in view of the fact that Sybilla’s younger sister was to be fired off the next year, had no hesitation about supporting Sir Avery’s views on the matter. Thus, it became quite the usual thing for Sybilla to make one of the Landover House party when entertainments began to flourish again in prelude to the Regent’s grand fete, which was scheduled for the first of August.

What had originally been planned as a festive party at Vauxhall Gardens had blossomed into a Grand Jubilee. There would be a balloon ascent as well as varied entertainments at all the parks. Scarcely anything else was talked about by the citizens of London in the final days of July.

It no longer occurred to Gillian to disdain Landover’s escort. In fact, since Darrow had been down in the country, she realized she had come to depend upon the marquis. Word seemed to have gotten around that he had declared her too young to marry, which seemed to have been interpreted by most of the gazetted fortune hunters to mean that Landover had no intention of turning over the purse strings until he absolutely had to do so. Thus, it put the finishing touch to whatever lingering shadow remained of the Harris Heiress stakes, but Gillian had no difficulty filling her dance cards regardless of that little detail. Still, she found that lately most of her escorts seemed either a trifle immature or distinctly boring. It never occurred to any of them to contradict her or to tell her she was chattering too much or to order her to sit down at least long enough to catch her breath. They were far and away too busy flirting and telling her how beautiful she was ever to be so tactless as to inform her that she’d got smut on her nose or wine on her gown.

Somehow it was a good deal easier to trust a man who snapped that her bodice was too daring than one who told her her eyes were liquid pools reflecting the distant stars, while at the same time he seemed to be drowning his gaze in her cleavage. It was certainly more comfortable to have an escort who lifted her unceremoniously over a puddle than to listen to another wishing rapturously that he were Sir Walter Raleigh with a cloak to spread at her dainty feet. Her temper still soared at his slightest nudge, but she found, also, that without Landover at her side or at least within smiling distance, the evenings tended to pall.

It crossed her mind now that tomorrow evening threatened to be rather boring, for the Regent was holding a reception at Carlton House to honor the new Duke of Wellington, recently returned from the Continent. Landover had been invited to attend, but the invitation had not included any other member of his household.

Tonight, however, they were to attend an informal evening at Lord and Lady Jersey’s. Not a grand affair, but there would be dancing and a card room, so it promised not to be dull. The carriage was waiting a half hour after they adjourned from the table to drive them the short distance to the Jerseys’ townhouse.

Gillian was surrounded immediately by a group of young hopefuls who began to fill in the spaces on her dance card. As one gentleman moved to pass it to another, however, a long arm swooped in from behind the crowd and practically snatched it away. Gillian looked up straight into a pair of familiar gray eyes.

“Darrow!”

“At your service, Miss Harris. And just in the nick of time, it seems. Only three spaces left, but I see that none of these halflings has had courage enough to take the quadrille, so I shall. And perhaps you would grant me the pleasure of your last waltz?” There were groans from several of the gentlemen who had not yet had the privilege of signing her card, but Gillian smiled.

“’Twould be my pleasure, sir.”

He bowed, returning her card with a graceful flourish and leaving her in something of a quandary. One dance left and several hopeful admirers. She sighed, trying to decide which one to accept.

“I trust you’ve managed to save at least one dance for me, child,” Landover said behind her. She turned to him in relief.

“Oh, I have, sir. The gavotte. Just here.” Pointing out the empty space, she handed it to him, amazed to hear him chuckle as he scrawled his name. “You find something amusing, sir?”