Royal Revels (6 page)

“No” she declared swiftly. “I want to go with you.”

“Why? To ogle and stare at the poor, unfortunate woman? This is no place for a lady,” he said stiffly.

“I’m not a child. As I already know the whole story, it won’t debauch me to have a look at her. If it were not proper, my aunt wouldn’t have permitted me to go,’’ she said very firmly.

“I suspect ‘having a look at her’ to run tattling back to her crones had something to do with it. This is not a freak show. I will deal better with Lady Gilham alone,’’ he insisted.

“If you don’t plan to let me go in, turn the carriage around now, this instant, and take me home,” she said, with that square-jawed determination that occasionally came over her.

He weighed his options. Back to Marine Parade would soon become back to Fernvale, Charney’s country estate. Charney was looking for an excuse to rescind her permission.

“Very well, but you’ll carry no tales. Is that understood?” he asked grimly.

Deirdre observed the rigid set of his shoulders and the angry glitter in his eyes and answered carefully. “Have you ever known me to gossip? I just want to be a part of your life, Dick, to share your adventures. You’re always busy; when can I be with you if I don’t occasionally accompany you on business? Who knows, perhaps I’ll even be able to help in some manner.’’

Her answer softened his mood. “Keep your eyes and ears open then. Oh, by the by Pronto’s in town. I met him last night.”

“Did you get to meet Smythe?” she asked.

“No, he was out all night. I just hung around with Pronto,’’ he answered casually.

“Why didn’t you come on home if Smythe wasn’t there?” she asked.

“At nine o’clock at night?’’ he asked, and laughed to cover his annoyance. “Your aunt may have you on a string; I hope she doesn’t plan to tell me what I may do.”

“Auntie didn’t say anything. I am asking for my own information. I would have been happy for your company,” she added, to have an excuse.

“You’re not much company tucked up in bed,” he pointed out quickly.

“What time did you come home?” she asked.

He felt a hot jolt of anger at the question. It had been more than a decade since he had been required to account for his comings and goings. Pronto had told him how it would be once he was married, but the actual experience was worse than he had anticipated. “I didn’t think to look at my watch,” he said with studied indifference.

This was the mood between them when the carriage pulled up in front of Lady Gilham’s house. Belami helped Deirdre from the carriage without a single word. She did not feel inclined to take his arm as they approached the door. The manservant admitted them, his face showing some surprise to see Belami accompanied by a young lady.

“Lady Gilham is awaiting you in the saloon,’’ he said and led them forward.

Deirdre felt exactly as though she had a front-row seat at a melodrama when she looked into the saloon. Lady Gilham had seated herself on the sofa in a shaft of sunlight that came like a stage light through the partially opened drapes. It caressed her bent head and drooping shoulders while the rest of the room faded away into shadows. At the sound of the servant’s voice, her head lifted on her white, swanlike neck, and she turned her face slowly toward them. One lone tear wet her left eye. The right was perfectly dry.

Upon seeing Deirdre, her sad expression changed to shock. She looked in confusion past Deirdre to Belami, then arose with great dignity and straightened her shoulders. Auntie would be interested to learn that Lady Gilham wore an unexceptionable morning gown of deep plum color, with a white lace fichu and a pearl brooch at the collar. Her appearance was demure, and her face was lovely.

“I thought you would come alone,” she said to Belami in accents of gentle reproof.

‘‘This is Miss Gower, my fiancée,” he explained.

“Naturally she is privy to my disgrace,’’ Lady Gilham finished for him with a sad smile and came forward to shake Deirdre’s hand, while Belami completed the introduction.

“You must forgive me if I was startled, Miss Gower. Naturally I hoped to keep this entire affair as private as possible, but I’m sure your discretion may be counted on.’’

Deidre murmured her agreement and wished she had not intruded after all. She felt gauche, de trop, at this unsavory meeting.

“Shall we proceed at once to business?” Lady Gilham said, walking back to the sofa. She had a packet of letters, tied up in white ribbons, on the table. Deirdre noticed that there was also a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table. “You wished to peruse these I believe, Lord Belami?’’ she asked, nodding to the letters with a simple dignity that showed her distaste for the business.

‘‘Yes,’’ he answered, and took the packet up. While he opened them and quickly read the contents, Deirdre attempted to chat with Lady Gilham. The wine on the table was ignored by them both.

“I hope you don’t mind my coming,” Deirdre said.

“Not at all. I hadn’t heard Lord Belami was engaged. Is the betrothal recent?”

“Yes, it just happened over New Year’s,” Deirdre replied, ill at ease.

“How nice for you. It is a great relief for a lady to have a husband and protector.’’ She emitted a wistful sigh. “My late husband, Sir John Gilham, would be heartbroken to know what has become of me. He took such care of me—too protective, really. I never realized how horrid the world is. We lived quite isolatedly in the country, you must know. I lost the estate when he died. It was mortgaged, and I had not the knowledge to hold on to it. I retired here with Sir John’s cousin, Mrs. Morton. She is visiting friends today.”

“Do you like Brighton?” Deirdre asked, hoping to shy away from such personal and sorrowful reminiscences.

“I did,’’ the lady answered wanly, letting the past tense speak for itself. “Now I must leave, of course. I’m thinking of Ireland. It shouldn’t be too expensive—a little thatched cottage on the coast. I do love the sea. So much water it might even wash my stain away,” she added humbly.

“And is that why you want—
require
the money?” Deirdre asked.

“Precisely. All I want is enough to run and hide myself away from the world. He owes me that much,” she said. Her searching gaze demanded agreement. “He robbed me of my position. I had received an invitation to live with Sir John’s sister in London, on Upper Grosvenor Square, for she knew my situation was desperate. When she heard of my disgrace, she wrote and let me know that I was no longer welcome. He actually told her about us! The prince did, I mean,” she explained.

Belami’s head lifted from what he was reading, and he slid one quick glance at the speaker.

“Life is so contrary,” Lady Gilham continued after some murmured condolences from Deirdre. “He only met Mrs. Lehman—Sir John’s sister—at a formal party. They chatted for all of five minutes, but somehow it came out that I was living here in Brighton. She assured the prince that he wouldn’t know me, and he informed her that on the contrary he knew me well, very well. Intimately,” she added with a satirical edge to her voice.

Deirdre bit her lip and examined her hands in her lap. She couldn’t think of a word to say. It was ill luck indeed for Lady Gilham, but, on the other hand, if it were not true, it would not have been said.

“And Mrs. Lehman refused to receive you after that?” Deirdre finally asked.

“She wrote first and asked me if it was true. I would not add lying to my other sins—I told her it was true. We have not been in touch since. I told her if she wished to forget me, I would understand. It was the least I could do,” she said sadly.

Belami was rustling the letters on the end of the sofa, and Deirdre continued the difficult conversation, unaided by him. “How did you meet the prince?” she asked.

“I had hired a mount and groom and was riding at St. Ann’s Well. I dismounted to walk and twisted my ankle. The prince was there and offered his assistance. He escorted me home—I was most impressed when I learned who he was. He hinted he would like to call. How does one refuse a prince?” she asked simply.

“It would be difficult to say no,” Deirdre said.

“He came a few times and behaved with perfect discretion. Then as he became better acquainted, he learned on what days Mrs. Morton would not be here. I considered him almost a god. The first gentleman of Europe—who would have suspected he would not be a gentleman at all? But it is partly my own fault. I was so naive, so trusting, so very much in love,” she said, her voice sinking low.

“Did you go out with him in public?” Deirdre asked.

“A few drives, mostly in the countryside. He was ashamed to be seen with me, if the truth were said. I wasn’t high enough in society for him. He never invited me to the Royal Pavilion. But he was kind, generous.”

“Perhaps you could sell...”

“Oh, not jewelry! I did not consider myself his mistress. I never took money or valuable jewels. No, he used to bring the game he had shot himself and have his chef prepare it for us. Carème is considered the world’s finest chef,” she added proudly. “He also brought some of his own silver and fine china for us to dine in style. I still have it. Perhaps you’d care to see it?” she invited.

Deirdre glanced at Belami. He set down the letters and joined the conversation. “May I tag along?” he asked.

“By all means,” Lady Gilham said, and led them to her dining room. “I leave it on the table for display,” she explained. They looked at the table, set with beautiful Wedgwood and silverplate, with the royal crest. “If he doesn’t pay me what I deserve, I shall set a sign on my front door and invite Brighton in to dine from the prince’s plate—for a fee.” She gave a teasing smile to Belami. “There are other little gifts as well,” she continued calmly. “In the boudoir. I could practically open a museum. Put the letters under glass and add the locket he gave me. It bears his likeness in miniature. It’s the only jewelry I ever accepted from him. Of course if only he will give me the five thousand pounds I require to leave the country, I shall whisk all of this off to Ireland with me and lock it up for my grandchildren.’’

“Do you have any children, Lady Gilham?” Deirdre asked in a conversational way.

“Sir John’s sister is keeping my daughter in London. She’s five years old. Till I can set up a decent establishment for her, I won’t demand her back. I’m afraid she would go to the law to keep Stephanie from me, but I will have her back, if I must go there myself and kidnap her,” she said in a firm voice.

“You must have married young,” Belami said. He thought she was not much above twenty herself.

“I did. Sir John married me right out of the schoolroom.”

‘‘Where did you and Sir John live?” Deirdre inquired.

“In Cornwall.”

“Brighton is very far from there,’’ Deidre said.

“When I lost the estate, I wanted to get away from the memories. I had read of Brighton by the sea. I like the sea.”

“Couldn’t you return home? You must have friends...”

“I fear the scandal would follow me. I wouldn’t desecrate Sir John’s memory for any consideration,’’ she said, surprised at such a question.

They all returned to the saloon and sat down again, still ignoring the wine and the two glasses. “So about my money, Lord Belami,” Lady Gilham said, glancing at the letters.

“As I told you, I am only commissioned to pay a thousand pounds for the letters and another hundred for the locket. It’s strange the prince didn’t mention the china and silverplate and—other items. The letters are not terribly incriminating,” he pointed out.

“There are passages,” she told him, her manner very confident. “In this one, you see,” she said, riffling through them to pick up one particular letter. She read: “I will come to you Wednesday when you are alone.” That speaks pretty clearly as to his reason for coming. And in another”—she flipped to the last and picked it up—“here it is. ‘I have known true happiness only in your arms.’ That is not very ambiguous. And this one: ‘We shall dine tête-à-tête in the country.’” She raised one brow and smiled. “Dine was not his full meaning,” she assured them.

“But the letter does say ‘dine,’” Belami pointed out.

“Folks can read between the lines. Actually that is where he first seduced me. I know I sound perfectly vile and vindictive. Perhaps I am. If only he had treated me with the least vestige of respect after... But, no, he met me on the street and looked the other way. Lady Hertford was with him on that occasion. He never contacted me again once she came down to Brighton. He was supposed to come that Wednesday. I sat at the window waiting for four hours till it grew dark,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word to reinforce the pathetic image her words conjured up.

Deirdre bit her lip to control a sniffle that wanted to come out. Belami handed Lady Gilham his handkerchief, and she dabbed daintily at her tears.

“What else can I do?” she asked, looking from one to the other. “A person must go on living even if her heart is broken. I must raise my daughter. He deprived us of a home with Mrs. Lehman, and he must restore us to decency. He promised me I would not lose my reputation. He told me his mistresses were all perfectly respectable, and they are! So why is everyone so horrid to me? It’s Lady Hertford’s doing. She won’t let anyone speak to me. I haven’t had a single caller since losing the prince,” she said. “I’m all alone with that awful Mrs. Morton lecturing me day and night.” Her voice broke, and she buried her face in Belami’s handkerchief.

“Why don’t you get rid of her?” Deirdre suggested, her sympathy easily stirred by such a strict chaperone.

‘She is Sir John’s pensioner—been with us forever. She has nowhere else to go. I am desperate. And if I don’t get my five thousand pounds, Lord Belami, I shall sell my letters to the newspapers. I know it will ruin me forever in England, but I shall take Stephanie and go abroad, where no one knows me. We’ll change our name. I won’t be cast aside like a piece of soiled laundry, and you must tell the prince so. Tell him I refuse his thousand pounds. When he is ready to talk business, I shall be here. But my money is running short. One week from today, the correspondence will be in the papers and my whole story to go with it.’’