The Paper Princess (16 page)

No callers
to Spinks also included Lord Arthur Bessamy and Mr. Charles Godolphin, who arrived on the doorstep three days after Felicity's arrival, it having taken them the whole of the previous day to track her down.

Lord Arthur, however, insisted on leaving his card, and that was to cause ructions. Felicity, determined to be good, might not have decided to see him had not both Miss Chubb and Mr. Silver cried out against the very idea. Now Mr. Silver, that assiduous reader of newspapers, could have told his young mistress that an announcement of the termination of Lord Arthur's engagement had just appeared in the
Times.
But it was not Lord Arthur he distrusted so much as Dolph, and so he deliberately did not tell her. Felicity herself rarely read the newspapers, finding the long tales of war in the Spanish peninsula frightening and depressing, and the social gossip a mixture of malice and trivia. But Miss Chubb and Mr. Silver's orders that she must not have anything more to do with Lord Arthur set up a spirit of perversity in Felicity. The memory of that kiss was achingly sweet. She was frightened at the idea of the approaching visit to the Queen's drawing room and craved the reassurance of Lord Arthur's presence.

Accordingly, when Lord Arthur and Dolph called the following day, Felicity had been watching for them and commanded Spinks to allow them to enter.

Lord Arthur promptly suggested that Felicity should accompany him on a drive, and Dolph, taking his cue, said he would be happy to stay and keep Miss Chubb company. Mr. Silver muttered something rude under his breath, and went out for a long walk.

The day was sparkling and brisk as Lord Arthur drove Felicity up over the downs. He laughed at her fears over her forthcoming presentation to the Queen. “It is not a terrifying occasion,” he said. “People push and shove to get into the drawing room. They bow or curtsey, as the case may be. Her Majesty takes snuff and looks bored. And then they shove and fight back downstairs, usually to find that their disposables, such as shawls, hats, tippets, and cloaks, have been stolen.”

“But surely there are some people who fall ill, who are unable to attend,” said Felicity. “I could be one of them.”

“It would be considered very odd in a ... visiting royalty?”

His voice ended on a question, and Felicity blushed. “Why are you in Brighton, my lord?” she asked, as he stopped his team on a grassy hill above the sea.

“Now, I should have thought that was obvious. I came in pursuit of you, my princess.”

Felicity turned her head away and fiddled with the long blue satin ribbons of her gown. “My lord, I must remind you that you are engaged to Miss Barchester.”

“No longer. I disengaged myself.”

Felicity suddenly felt ridiculously happy. But his next words took all that happiness away. “Now, Princess Felicity,” he said, “do you not think it is time you told me all about Brasnia?”

She hung her head. She longed to tell him the truth, but would he believe her? I took the jewels and ran.

But what proof had she that the jewels were really hers? And how could their relationship deepen unless she did tell him the truth?

“Don't look so miserable,” he said gently. “We will have all our married life before us to talk about the wretched place.”

Felicity's wide eyes flew to meet his. “You wish to marry me?”

“Of course. I do not kiss gently bred ladies unless my intentions are serious, and they have never before been as serious as this.”

“I cannot marry you,” said Felicity miserably. He jumped lightly down from the carriage and led his team of horses to a stunted tree and tethered them. Then he helped Felicity to alight.

“Now, why can't you marry me?” he said.

“My family would forbid it.”

“Ah, back to Brasnia again. Perhaps I should go there and ask whoever I need to ask.”

“That would not answer. I am already betrothed.”

“To whom?”

“Prince Ivan, my first cousin.”

“Here. You cannot go around marrying first cousins. You'll have a nursery full of imbeciles. My dearest, is it not time you told me the truth?”

Felicity walked a little ahead of him in silence.

“You see, you are going to marry me,” he said, catching up with her. “And I then must go and see my family to tell them the good news, and then I must find a special license because I do not want to wait.

Are you afraid of me?”

Felicity turned to face him. “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “Very afraid.”

He looked at her ruefully. “I must do something to end this farce. I never thought to use force, but...”

He deftly kicked Felicity's legs from under her, and as she fell backward on the springy turf, he crouched down beside her and pinioned her arms above her head.

“Now,” he said, “let's kiss some of that Brasnian nonsense out of you.”

“You are stronger than I am,” said Felicity with pathetic dignity. “I can only appeal to your honor, if you do have any.”

He smiled down at her wickedly. “Not a scrap,” he said softly, and then his mouth descended on hers.

As he kissed her softly, he released her wrists, only to pull her body into his arms. Felicity planned to lie cold and unresisting in order to bring him to his senses. But her lips had a will of their own, and her body refused to listen to frantic messages from her brain and arched against his. As he felt her response he freed her mouth and kissed her neck. “Brasnia,” he whispered against her skin. “Come along now. Tell me about Brasnia or I shall forget myself and leave you with no choice but to marry me. Brasnia!”

“No!” said Felicity.

Her dress was high-waisted and stiffened, to push her breasts up against the low neckline. He kissed the top of each breast and then rolled on top of her, pressing her into the ground with the weight of his body and began caressing her mouth again with his lips, soft stroking kisses that were more devastating than any savage assault.

Felicity let out a sort of gurgling moan, and he raised his head. Her hat had tumbled off onto the grass, and her red hair had come free of its pins and lay in a fiery cloud about her face.

“Oh, I shall tell you,” she sighed, “and then you will go away and forget about me.”

“I doubt it, Mr. Freddy Channing, Miss Felicity Channing and Your Royal Highness. I doubt it very much.”

“You knew,” said Felicity. “You knew all along.”

“Of course I did, my widgeon! But I wanted you to trust me, to tell me. I hope I can recognize a pretty girl even when dressed in men's clothes. And I was there, you know, when Palfrey thought you had plunged to your death. It was when I fished a little girl's dress out of the sea that I realized you had only pretended to die. You might have left behind a more convincing wardrobe, you idiot.”

“I can't think with you lying on top of me in this disgraceful way,” said Felicity.

He rolled to one side, only to gather her in his arms again. “Now, go on,” he said. “Where did you get the money to buy all those jewels?”

“They are mine,” said Felicity. “Mama left a codicil the day she died, but Mr. Palfrey did not mention it.

I think he found it and burned it. I knew where the jewels were hidden. It was on the day after I had seen the baron that Miss Chubb and John Tremayne told me they had been hatching a plot. It seems outrageous now, dangerous and silly. But I had to escape.”

“So you had,” he said, smoothing her hair. “So you will make a last grand appearance as the princess at the drawing room, and then we shall be married. The princess will disappear, and Miss Felicity Channing will take her place in time for the wedding.”

“But Mr. Palfrey ... ?”

“Mr. Palfrey will do nothing to cross swords with me. As my wife, no one will be able to harm you.”

“Do you love me?”

Lord Arthur began to laugh. “I break my engagement, I chase you to Brighton, I make love to you on this drafty hilltop, and I ask you to marry me. Of course I love you. I think I loved you from the moment I saw you in that silly disguise at The Green Dolphin.”

“Then, why did you become engaged to Miss Barchester?”

“I did not know then I loved you. I thought you a wild, ferocious little girl who had run away and would probably never be seen again.” He gave her a little shake. “Do you love me, Felicity?”

“Yes.”

“Then, prove it. Kiss me!”

Felicity wound her arms about his neck and kissed him with all her heart. He kissed her back and kept on kissing her until the sun went down and a chill wind began to blow in from the sea.

Mr. Palfrey had been billeted at an inferior inn near Lord Achesham's house for a week. Every day he went out and walked up and down outside the main gates leading to the mansion, and every evening he returned feeling defeated. He had written to Miss Barchester to tell her of his lack of progress. She wrote back to say that the list of guests to attend the Queen's drawing room included the name of Princess Felicity of Brasnia. She herself was to attend, and if Mr. Palfrey had not been invited, he had only to bribe a certain chancellor, pointed out Mr. Barchester's daughter.

Reading this welcome letter over a dinner of stringy mutton and watery beans washed down with acid claret, Mr. Palfrey heaved a sigh of relief. All he had to do was to return to London and wait. Miss Barchester was a woman after his own heart. She had encouraged him that first day they had met by saying she was sure there was no such place as Brasnia and that poor Lord Arthur had been tricked by a scheming adventuress. Should that adventuress turn out to be Felicity Channing, then she would be unmasked in front of the Queen. Mr. Palfrey had quailed before the drama of this idea, suggesting a quieter exposure of the impostor, but Miss Barchester had overridden his protests.

Miss Barchester thirsted to take her place on the center stage of society, a place she felt had been snatched from her by Felicity. Never before had the cancellation of an engagement filled her with such fury. She had initially persisted in believing that Lord Arthur had not meant a word of it. All those previous jiltings had not even dented her superb vanity. But when she had returned to the hotel to find her father gleefully poring over plans for the new stables, she knew the engagement was definitely off. She had promptly sent a message to Mr. Palfrey, summoning him back, and had said she would help him in every way she could.

Mr. Barchester had grumbled most horribly over the amount of money it was taking to send his daughter to see the Queen. For he had had to pay a hefty bribe to get her invited and then there was the horrible cost of the court gown. He decided Lord Arthur should be made to pay for this extra expense. Besides, his daughter appeared to have a new beau in the shape of that fussy little man, Palfrey. Palfrey owned Tregarthan Castle. Mr. Barchester began to dream about an ornamental lake.

Miss Chubb cried with relief when Lord Arthur and Felicity returned to announce their engagement.

Only Dolph was startled and disappointed to find that Brasnia did not exist. All the long day they had waited for the return of the couple while Miss Chubb had told Dolph long and fanciful stories about the bears of Brasnia, feeling it politic to expand on Lord Arthur's strange lies. Dolph felt cheated. Brasnia had sounded like a marvelous place, and he had more or less made up his mind to go there.

So there was one last hurdle, the Queen's drawing room, and then they could all settle down to plan Felicity's wedding and discuss the future of their servants.

Lord Arthur left the next day with Dolph. Felicity passed her remaining days in Brighton in a daze of happiness. She almost forgot that Mr. Palfrey was probably still in London.

But once she was back in Chesterfield Gardens, the full terror of meeting the Queen drove everything else, apart from Lord Arthur, out of her mind.

Dressing for the occasion took hours of work. The minimum amount of large feathers allowed on the headdress was seven. Carberry's, the plumassier, had sent round twenty-four, deeming that the correct amount for royalty, but Felicity refused to wear so many and settled at last for ten standing up from a garland of roses resting on a circlet of white pearls. The mixture of jewels, flowers, and feathers required for court dress seemed odd to Felicity, who was used to wearing the simple Grecian fashions of the Regency.

She was strapped into a tight bodice, and then an enormous hooped skirt, three ells long, was laced to her waist. The skirt was made of waxed calico stretched upon whalebone, which made it very wide in the front and behind, and very narrow at the sides. Over that went a satin skirt, and over that, a skirt of tulle, ornamented with a large furbelow of silver lace. Another shorter skirt, also of tulle, with silver spangles ornamented by a garland of flowers, went on top of all that and was tucked up at the hem, the opening of each tuck being ornamented with silver lace and surmounted with a large bouquet of flowers. Then a lady attending court was also expected to wear as many jewels as possible. Felicity had the Channing diamonds as well as the pearls about her neck, her headdress was finished at the back with a diamond comb, and diamond buckles were attached to her shoes.

Miss Chubb, also attired in court dress, was so huge that she had to turn sideways to shuffle out through the front door. Two carriages had been hired to take them to Buckingham House, for their enormous skirts would not allow them to travel together. So Felicity had no one to talk to as she waited and waited in the long line of carriages that crawled toward Buckingham House.

At last she and Miss Chubb entered the great hall of the Queen's residence. A double staircase rose up to the drawing room above. Those waiting to be presented went up by the left-hand staircase, and those who had been presented descended on the right.

Above the chatter of voices came the booming of the guns firing a salute in St. James's Park outside. At first Felicity and Miss Chubb had eyes only for the splendor of the display. Feathers of all colors were worn on headdresses. Jewels flashed and blazed. Ladies fidgeted and fretted, trying to protect their enormous gowns from getting crushed, and gentlemen in knee breeches and evening coats fiddled nervously with their dress swords.