The Hourglass (15 page)

Genie did not know whether he meant his choice or hers, but he seemed genuinely touched by her plight, so she dipped her head and said, “Too kind, sire. Thank you for your understanding and your gracious invitation.”

“Sweetly said. But a warning, my dear. The old tabbies won’t like it. The cats won’t like your quick new marriage or your lack of mourning. They’ll find fault with your looks and your manners. Mostly, they will resent your snabbling a wealthy earl before they could get their claws into him.” He leaned closer, so close she could hear his corset creak. “Here’s a secret. They don’t like us, either.”

The prince’s unpopularity was no secret, although Genie did not think it polite to say so. The newspapers were full of condemnation of him and his profligate ways, and talk from the London servants showed that their masters and mistresses held little affection for their ruler.

“Do not let it worry you,” he told her. “That is our advice. We have survived without their approval. And enjoyed ourselves. You will, too.”

The last was an order, Genie thought, almost giggling in her nervousness that this overstuffed sovereign thought he could command his subjects to be happy.

Genie was not sure she could obey the royal edict. Nor was she sure that Ardeth would not make a scene if the prince did not return her hand, which was feeling uncomfortably warm even through her gloves. She could not very well tug on a prince’s grip or step on his toes, as she would have done with an impertinent corporal in the army. She murmured something suitable and looked toward her husband.

So did the prince. “Besides, Ardeth will win ’em over. Never seen such a chap for persuading people. Don’t have to tell you that, eh?”

“He is forceful,” she agreed. “And usually right.”

“Blame it all on him. That’s what we would do. Say he would not listen to reason or some such, what? Rich, handsome gentlemen are always forgiven. The high sticklers might say they despise rakes, but those females would cut off their arms to take your place.”

If he did not release her hand, Ardeth might cut off his. Genie tried to back away, to make place for a heavyset woman trying to catch the prince’s eye.

She was hard to miss. Of equal girth to His Highness, she had as many gems and jewels dangling from her body—neck, ears, and fingers—as he had medals. She wore peacock feathers in her hair and a turquoise and gold gown, flowing lengths of it except at the bosom, when not enough fabric in all of France could have covered that expanse.

“I think that lady—” Genie began, but she might not have bothered. The female was a warship in full sail, and the prince was the prize. He did not seem to mind, either, dropping Genie’s hand to greet the newcomer.

“Ah, Princess Hannah—or is it Hendrika? You sisters are all so magnificent, our mind cannot concentrate, eh?”

“
Ach, Liebchen
,
it is Hedwig Hafkesprinke of Ziftsweig, Austria.”

“Of course it is. Of course. And a great pleasure it is to see you again,” he said when the hefty heiress curtsied deeply enough for him to look down her gown.

Genie curtsied also and started to back away, Ardeth firmly at her side.

“Do not forget to enjoy yourself, eh,” the regent called out before forgetting Genie entirely. “Glorious victory, what?”

It seemed the prince was going to enjoy himself very well,
yah, gut
.

Chapter Eleven

“Pompous ass.”

Genie looked at her husband, who wore a smile as thin as her gauze overdress. “You do not mean the prince?” she asked in a shocked whisper, lest they be overheard and arrested for sedition. “His Highness seemed very kind.”

“The crow is kinder. And smarter.”

“Good grief, you did not allow Olive to come along, did you? What if he—you know—on the prince’s artwork? Or on the prince!”

Before he could say anything else, the prince’s equerry, Sir Kelvin, came to lead them to a knot of gentlemen Ardeth particularly wanted to meet. Genie could not be certain what was placed in the baronet’s pocket, but it surely had come from Ardeth’s. Perhaps instructions had come from the prince, too. The gathered nobs would not have acknowledged her otherwise, Genie decided. They were polite, if distant, far more interested in Ardeth’s travels, his sudden arrival, and his future plans than in his questionable wife. How he would vote in Parliament was far more important than how he got leg-shackled.

Genie did not mind. She took the opportunity to catch her breath—as much as she was able in the tightly laced corset Marie insisted she wear—and thank the heavens that her introduction to the prince was over. She had not disgraced Ardeth yet. Of course the evening was young.

She watched the men surrounding Ardeth, noting that none were as tall or as distinguished or as fit looking. None had his air of distinction, not even the foreign princes in their uniforms, whom he delighted by conversing in their own languages. She heard one older gentleman say he wished they had Ardeth in the diplomatic corps or the Foreign Office. Another wished they had him at the Exchequer’s Office, since he had such a knack for making money. Genie wished she had him back in the carriage, headed home.

Soon they were herded into a larger room where the rest of the select few hundred invited guests were queued up for the receiving line. Genie said another prayer of gratitude for being spared that ordeal. She did note that the florid foreign princess in the feathered headdress still clung to the prince’s side and that the men Ardeth had been conversing with took the opportunity to fade away, in search of their wives and daughters.

Those females never approached Genie or her husband
.

A few military men did come by, and that same petty court official Ardeth had bribed brought them to the notice of a royal duke who leered, a Russian count who clicked his heels together, and a marquess who inspected Genie through his quizzing glass.

Sir Kelvin shook his head, as if to acknowledge his failure in bringing any ladies to the corner where Ardeth and Genie stood, an invisible fence seemingly around them. Ardeth shook the man’s hand, another folded banknote passing between them before Sir Kelvin left.

“It is hopeless, my lord,” Genie said. “You should have saved your money.”

“At least call me by my name here, lest they think we are strangers. They have enough to gossip about without thinking we are at odds.”

But they were strangers, weren’t they? And one of them, at least, was decidedly odd. Genie took a step closer to him to show the company that they were on intimate terms—ha!—but the closeness made her feel better, too. “Very well, Ardeth. Still, none of the ladies will approach us.”

“Then we shall approach them.”

“You cannot simply walk up to a respectable female and introduce yourself. It is not fitting. You need someone to present you.”

“Have you never heard about the walls of a palace being introduction enough? Come.”

Genie tried to hold back, but Ardeth was determined. He handed Genie a glass of punch from a passing waiter, then took two more. He headed for a couple of older women wearing turbans and pearls. They smiled and accepted his offering, his bow, and his introducing himself. They turned to stone-faced seamstresses when he brought Genie forward. They needed to find the ladies’ retiring room immediately, they claimed, to repair a flounce. Neither one’s gown had a flounce.

“You see? I should leave so you can speak to the influential gentlemen.”

Ardeth had hardly begun. He saw a dark-haired young woman standing by herself and towed Genie in that direction. The lady was relieved to have company, but she spoke only Italian. Ardeth conversed, then moved on.

Sir Kelvin found them, with an elderly but diamond-decked duchess on his arm. She smiled kindly at Genie’s curtsy, then said, “What did he say your name was? I cannot stand a chap who mutters, even if he is my own nevvy.”

She held her hand to her ear as Ardeth loudly reintroduced himself and his wife.

“Oh. I say, there is my husband now. He’ll want to go home soon. Done our duty, don’t you know.” The look she gave Sir Kelvin boded ill for his inheritance.

She left, and again a cleared area surrounded Ardeth and Genie.

“Please, Ardeth, can we not leave, too?”

He could have these wigeons frozen in time and place—at least he used to be able to, in case anyone noticed Death’s coming or going. But now he wanted them to notice his beautiful wife, to see she was kind and good and worthy of their paltry approval, even if he had to resort to mental force to sway them into submission.

He could not create a scene, however. That would defeat his purpose. Besides, Genie was looking peaked, almost pained. “You are not going to be sick, are you?”

She thought about claiming her condition as an excuse, but she was too honest. “No. Not that.”

“You are not feeling faint, I hope. I heard of ladies swooning in the crush, but I know you have more backbone than that.”

She had a whalebone poking into it. “No, I will not swoon.” What, and let the scandal sheets claim her frail, besides a member of the frail sisterhood?

He was still concerned. “Dash it, there must be a seat in this monstrosity of a place.”

A glare at a pair of fops emptied two chairs against a wall.

“Sit. I will fetch you some more punch.”

“I’d prefer lemonade if you can find it. And a biscuit. Perhaps I am just hungry. I ate little, due to the excitement.” Panic robbed one’s appetite, it seemed.

Genie wished the chairs were behind a palm tree or a column, but she was grateful to be off her feet and out of the center of scrutiny. She watched as Ardeth wove through the crowd, which was growing more densely packed as more guests made it through the receiving line. With the crowds came the heat, so Genie started fanning herself as she kept her eyes on his dark head. She could spot him over all but the tallest egret plumes in ladies’ hair.

Many people greeted him; a few gentlemen shook his hand. Some introduced him to their wives. Two women approached him on their own, smiling and batting their eyelashes. Genie plied her fan more vigorously.

No one approached her except Sir Kelvin, whose complexion was turning as green as the ivy vines embroidered on his waistcoat. Ardeth must have paid him to stand guard, she thought, and a lot of gold at that, for she could tell the fair-haired baronet had nothing to say. They spoke of the weather, the heat in the room, and the size of the crowd, which occupied the time until Ardeth was out of sight. Then Sir Kelvin stood silently behind the empty chair, taking another step away, distancing himself from
his uncomfortable charge.
Genie wanted to dismiss him
, but the young courtier obviously had his orders and obviously needed Ardeth’s money if that duchess paid his allowance.

Genie thought of finding the ladies’ chamber herself, but was afraid Ardeth would worry if she did not remain where he left her. She also wondered if she could find her way back. Then, too, the ladies’ coolness might turn to outright hostility in a smaller space, without Ardeth’s presence. She recalled her mother-in-law’s venom, the names shouted at her in Brussels. At least she was safe here. So she sat, feeling like a weed among the roses, a noxious weed at that.

Ardeth was going to do something to the punch, he’d decided. Otherwise he would have sent that useless fool of a baronet for the drink for Genie. Affecting the beverage meant reaching more of the finicking females…if his skills were still working. He could not count on eye contact in this crowd, nor the power of his touch to influence so many, so he was going to resort to pure trickery. That proved he had no real heart, he thought, which meant he was already going to roast in Hell forever. He might as well smooth Genie’s way on earth before, then.

A woman was standing at the refreshments table, sipping her punch. She was older, with gray hair and spectacles. She was well dressed, but without plumes and parures of gems at her throat. Unlike the other fun-seeking flibbertigibbets he’d encountered, this matron appeared sensible and serious, a harder mind to influence.

Ardeth nodded politely, waiting for her to leave.

Instead she said, “Forgive my impertinence, but you are the newfound earl, are you not? Lord Ardeth?”

He bowed. “Yes, for my sins.”

“No, for your blessings. I am Lady Vinross.”

He took the hand she held out, perfunctorily bringing it toward his mouth without taking his concentration from the bowl of punch.

“You do not know me.”

Now politeness demanded he study the woman. “I fear not. I have met many people in the past weeks. I apologize.”

“No offense taken. It is my son you would have met. James Vinross, Captain James Vinross, late of His Majesty’s Hussars. He is here somewhere. This is his last official appearance before selling out, thank heaven.”

“I met many of our brave fighting men, my lady. If your son returned unharmed, I share your thankfulness.”

“No, it is you whom I wish to thank. Jamie told me what you did—not for him; his wound was not a grievous one, although they say he will limp forever—but for his men. He could do nothing but watch them suffer while the army surgeons left them to die, the physicians who could be spared from the officers’ care, that is. Only a few surgeons stayed with the common soldiers, and you.”