The Indomitable Miss Harris (17 page)

Obediently, she scanned the list of names. Her own was not there, but Landover’s was, and there were a good many other familiar titles. It was not until she turned to the second page that she understood the princess’s agitation. The Princess Caroline of Wales’ name had been boldly scratched off the list.

“Your own mother will not be allowed to attend !”

Charlotte nodded, but then her eyes narrowed, and she held out her hand imperiously. Gillian gave her the papers, and Charlotte laid them upon a nearby table, picked up a quill, and drew two bold lines through the name heading the list. Refolding the pages carefully, she called to one of her ladies. “See that this is delivered to his royal highness at once.” The woman curtsied and disappeared. Charlotte turned back to Gillian with a satisfied grin. “That will show him!”

W
ORD THAT THE BRIDEGROOM’S
name had been deleted from the royal wedding list spread quickly, giving rise to all manner of rumors. It was a well-known fact that the princess had received a Sunday-afternoon call from the Tsar and the grand duchess, so it was not exactly wonderful that many persons thought such rude behavior must be at their instigation.

The princess made no secret of her actions; therefore, many of the guests at the magnificent masquerade given by White’s Club at Burlington House that night indulged themselves in idle speculation, but they were doomed to disappointment. The Prince Regent was in high spirits and made no reference whatsoever to the incident.

Gillian worried until the very last moment that Landover might forbid her attendance, but she need not have bothered her head about it. A party had been organized by Lady Harmoncourt and Lady FitzWilliam, Clara’s mother, and everyone was to meet at the FitzWilliams’ elegant home for dinner before going on to the masquerade.

Gillian was delighted to discover that Lord Darrow had been included in the party, and she greeted him warmly. “Good evening, sir. But you are not in fancy dress either! I had hoped to see you as a pirate again.”

He grimaced and looked quickly around to see if anyone had overheard her. “I’d as lief you’d not bring that up, Miss Harris. And as a matter of fact,” he added, eyeing her rose-pink satin domino and dainty, lace-edged loo masque with a teasing glint of mockery, “I daresay you’d as soon I not ask why you are dressed so demurely upon this occasion.”

Gillian blushed rosily. The one matter that had not been discussed after her first experience at a masqued ball had been her dress. And what Landover might have had to say on the subject had he been privileged to see the daffodil taffeta confection she had worn that night did not bear thinking of.

Darrow grinned at her expression. “Would you believe me if I tell you I liked the yellow bit of fluff a dashed sight better than the admittedly elegant gown you’re wearing tonight? This color becomes you well enough, but there was a certain something about the other.”

“Oh, I’d believe you, my lord,” she laughed. “The ‘certain something’ is called impropriety. That gown was wickedly improper, as you well know, and I quite agree that the less said about the other ball, the better. Where is your cousin?”

“Waiting to make her entrance, I daresay. No doubt she wants to impress Landover.”

Gillian sighed. For the past week, while the Countess de Lieven had been plagued by the Grand Duchess Oldenburg, she had been plagued by Miss Clara FitzWilliam. The girl seemed utterly ubiquitous. Whenever Lady Sybilla came to call, she was accompanied by the flaxen-haired beauty, and like as not Landover would make an appearance. He always seemed perfectly at ease, and Gillian could not see that his interest in Miss FitzWilliam had abated in the slightest. If he did not go out of his way to shower her with attention, neither did he avoid her, and Gillian was convinced that between Lady Harmoncourt and Clara herself, the marquis would soon find himself whisked, willy-nilly, to the altar.

“I don’t think he should offer for her,” she said frankly to her companion.

“He’ll be a damned fool if he does,” responded Darrow with cousinly candor. “And if he thinks to have her fluttering about him afterward as she does now, he’ll soon find he’s mistaken his mark. She’ll spend her time thinking how nice it is to be a marchioness instead.”

“Well, I fear he’ll be forced to offer soon if nothing occurs to stop it, and I for one can think of no way to put him off.”

“Only one person I know of could stop it, but since it would mean cutting Landover out, I doubt he would.”

“One person?”

“Aye. Linden. I told you about him. Remember?” Gillian nodded. “Well, with the least encouragement, I daresay he’d ride off with Clara across the saddlebow, but she won’t even bat her lashes at him. He left his card this afternoon whilst I was at my uncle’s house, but she wouldn’t even see him. Told the butler to say she wasn’t home, then said she was, not two minutes later, to a second caller. Linden can’t even have got out the front door. Must have been fit to be tied.”

“Well, it certainly was rude of her,” said Gillian thoughtfully, “but it does sound as though she meant to agitate him.”

“She’s lucky he didn’t barge upstairs and shake her till her bones rattled,” chuckled Darrow, much as though he might have enjoyed such a scene. “Here comes the wench now.”

Gillian turned in time to witness a vision descending the staircase. Miss Clara was dressed as a fairy princess in a gown of celestial blue, spangled with scalloping strings of silver stars. Her loo masque was mounted on a wand topped by a larger star, and her lovely hair was worn in long curls and bound with a silver fillet that resembled a tiara. Silver sandals twinkled on her tiny feet as she tripped down the stairs. She held out one white-gloved hand to Landover.

“My lord, I give you greeting,” she said in her clear treble voice. “Does my costume meet with your approval?”

Landover took the outstretched hand and brushed it with his lips. “You are delightful, my dear. The knowledge that we have you and they do not will turn our visiting sovereigns green with envy.”

“How nice,” she giggled, holding a demure hand to her lips, “but perhaps,” she confided with a twitch of her wand, “I shall choose to turn them into frogs, you know.” At that moment, dinner was announced. “Shall we, my lord?” He smiled, and she placed her dainty hand upon his arm.

Darrow chuckled. “She’s bewitched him all right.”

Gillian glared at him. “I’d have expected Landover to show better sense!” she snapped. She recovered her composure quickly enough and was even able to restrain her disgust at Landover’s behavior during dinner. The man seemed totally unaware that he was being reeled in by a determined angler. It was really too ridiculous, as though he were too lazy or too uncaring even to attempt to evade the lures being cast his way.

By the time their party had reached Burlington House, she was thoroughly fed up with him, but upon entering the huge ballroom even Landover was temporarily forgotten. Upwards of four thousand people had chosen to attend the final ball in honor of the visiting sovereigns. The whole of Burlington House was teeming with costumed humanity, and it resembled the masque at Vauxhall far more than any other ball Gillian had attended. Girls shrieked from the galleries where they were chased headlong by young men bellowing, “Tally ho!” and many couples seemed to be indulging in the sort of hand to body combat that would be better suited to a bedchamber than a ballroom. One gentleman, dressed as a seventeenth-century cavalier, actually plunged his hand down a shepherdess’s bodice just as Gillian passed by. She felt both ears and cheeks burning and knew her face must be the color of a ripe tomato. Glancing back, she saw Landover grinning at her and quickly faced forward again. How dared he smirk!

They greeted the Dukes of Devonshire and Leinster, cohosts for the gala event, then made their way to the Prince Regent and his party. At least, most of his party. Frederick of Prussia stood on one side of him, with the grand duchess, magnificent in plunging red satin, on the other. Others, including the de Lievens, hovered in close attendance, but the Tsar was nowhere in sight.

“Out hunting,” explained the Regent with a chuckle. “I believe his imperial majesty means to seduce as many of our lovely young Englishwomen as possible tonight.” The duchess favored him with a frigid glare but said nothing, and Prinny only grinned, enjoying her displeasure for once. He turned to Gillian, saying with ponderous humor, “Perhaps, Miss Harris, if I were to promise to keep you out of Alexander’s clutches, you would honor me with a dance?”

“Of course, your highness,” Gillian dimpled. “Although, ’tis I who should be honored.”

He insisted that it be the very next dance, and so it was that she found herself partnered in a lively quadrille with the Regent trying to outdo the other gentlemen in the antics of the dance. She enjoyed herself hugely. Everyone was watching her, and even though she disapproved of him and thought he treated his wife and daughter abominably, she could not deny the royal charm and enthusiasm. The prince always made her feel beautiful, witty, and desirable. Such a man could not possibly be rotten to the core.

She found her party easily when the dance was done and noted immediately that Landover was leading Clara FitzWilliam onto the dance floor for a set of country dances. Gillian enjoyed a dance with Lord Darrow and one with Sir Avery before a dark-haired stranger, nearly as tall as Landover, with piercing black eyes and bristling eyebrows that arched like a raven’s wings, stepped up and quite nearly demanded the favor of a dance.

“We have not been introduced, sir,” she responded saucily while taking good care to hold her masque in place. The gentleman was unmasqued and wore ordinary evening dress.

“’Tis the great advantage of a masqued ball, mademoiselle,” he replied in a dulcet baritone. “Introductions are not required. Come.”

He held out a commanding hand, and obediently she placed her own in it and let him guide her onto the floor. It was a waltz, but there were no restrictions tonight, and as he placed his arm firmly around her waist, she caught sight of Landover leading the fairy princess onto the floor yet again. Gillian stiffened, and her partner’s gaze followed hers. A sharp intake of breath caused her to look up at him. The dark eyes smoldered under narrowing lids, and she gave a little gasp.

“You are Viscount Linden!”

His arm tightened. “What makes you think so, Miss Harris?”

“You know me!” She thought quickly, then added in a sighing voice, “I daresay you only asked me to dance in order to make Miss FitzWilliam jealous.”

“Don’t be daft,” he muttered. “She wouldn’t care a straw.”

Gillian chuckled, letting him sweep her into a complicated series of steps, enjoying herself. “Men are all so blind,” she said sweetly a moment later.

He glared down at her. “What are you trying to say, Miss Harris?”

“Only that every sign indicates that Miss FitzWilliam welcomes your attentions, my lord.”

“Tommyrot! She looks for wealth and title.”

“You have both, sir.”

“I am not a marquis, nor does my income compete with King Midas’s.”

“But you love her, and I think she loves you. In that regard, Landover must lose on two counts.” She sighed again. “He merely wants a conformable, decorative wife, after all. Any one of a number would do.”

She could have sworn she heard his teeth gnash together and mentally hugged herself. This was going rather well.

“You honestly think she loves me?” He seemed to have difficulty thrusting the words out.

“Indeed, my lord,” Gillian smiled. “I have it on excellent authority that she teases you in hopes that you will master her. I daresay that given half a chance, she would gladly play Matilda to your William. In truth, sir, and I speak as a woman, had she wished to send you about your business, she would have done so graciously and not as though she were flinging down a gauntlet.”

“You would liken me to William the Conqueror,” Linden observed with a musing smile that showed he rather liked the notion. “But he is said to have won his Matilda with a horsewhip.”

“Exactly so,” Gillian replied demurely. “I heard what took place this very day when you would have paid her a simple morning call. That was a calculated insult, my lord, as calculated as Matilda’s slurs against the Conqueror’s birth. I’d wager Miss FitzWilliam was astonished and even a trifle disappointed that you allowed it.”

He nearly missed a step, and his eyes glittered as he gazed speculatively down at Gillian. “I shouldn’t have allowed it. You are quite right, Miss Harris. I daresay that should such an occasion come to pass a second time, I shall, thanks to this little talk, react quite differently.”

By the time he returned her to her party, Gillian’s eyes were sparkling, and she was well pleased with the work she had done. She could not help but wonder, however, how long it would be before Viscount Linden would make his move and whether or not he would carry the day. After all, a girl like Clara FitzWilliam would be nearly as well protected as she was herself, and the thought of a gentleman, even one of Linden’s stamp, successfully forcing his way past MacElroy and the Landover footmen was nearly ludicrous.

So deep in thought was she that she scarcely paid any heed to the unknown gentleman who partnered her through the next set, responding to his conversational gambits in monosyllables. Thus, she was annoyed but not particularly surprised when, at the end of the dance, she found herself abandoned on the far side of the huge ballroom, a good distance from her own party. In resignation, she began to make her way back, soon discovering that the deed was not so simple as the thought.

The crush of people was astonishing, and without a gentleman beside her to clear a path by brute force if necessary, Gillian suddenly felt as though she were adrift in a sea of elbows, armpits, and bosoms. It was not the first time she had wished for greater height, but matters became even a trifle frightening when she began to suspect she might even be going in the wrong direction. The orchestra struck up for the next dance, and the surge of humanity became more confusing as some couples moved toward the dance floor and others pressed back to make way for them.