Chapter 12

“Do straighten your necklace,” Mrs. Crompton instructed in the coach that evening. “The clasp is showing, and it’s essential that you look your very best tonight.”

Blythe obediently reached up to rearrange the dainty pearls around her neck. “There, is that better?”

“Lovely,” Mrs. Crompton said with a nod of approval. “I daresay, you are certain to attract the attention of His Grace tonight. That pale green is perfect with your complexion and so are the white rosebuds in your hair. It would not surprise me to see Savoy fall to his knees and propose at the sight of you.”

“Oh, Mama. Don’t be silly.”

“Well, then, your dowry will sweeten the pot. Either way, you will be the Duchess of Savoy.”

The coach swayed slightly as it inched forward in the line of carriages outside Almack’s. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the plush interior with its crimson velvet cushions and the gold fringe on the window shade. Elegant in cobalt-blue striped silk, Mama sat with her hands folded in her lap. She looked utterly cool and confident.

Glancing out into the purple dusk, Blythe hoped her mother was right. Given half a chance, Blythe could charm the duke. But would she have that opportunity tonight? It was doubtful, since there would be scores of other pretty girls in the ballroom, bluebloods who would not inspire Lady Davina’s bile the way Blythe did.

I would never permit my father to marry so vastly far beneath him.

Mama still clung to the belief that the duke’s daughter could be coaxed into approving of the match. But the trick she’d played with Lord Kitchener had erased all such illusions in Blythe. Her future couldn’t be left to happenstance. She needed to orchestrate the situation to her advantage, which meant removing Lady Davina from the picture.

That was why Blythe had commandeered James as her ally.

She frowned out the window. Unwilling collaborator was a more accurate description of his role in the scheme. His initial refusal had been understandable. After all, she was asking him to take a great risk that might jeopardize his position in the house. But then she had offered him a very generous sum—and yet still he had seemed reluctant.

Why?

Perhaps James was worried about his ability to convince Lady Davina he was really a prince. That had to be it. There was no other rational explanation. When Blythe had dismissed him from her bedchamber, his gait had been stiff, his expression closed. She had not seen him since.

Well! At least James would have a few days in which to accustom himself to the notion. She would allow him plenty of time to practice, too, if he liked. But first, she had to set the stage for the hoax by spreading a rumor that a foreign prince was on his way to visit London. Whispering the news in a few key ears was Blythe’s task for the evening.

“Ah, here we are at last,” her mother said as the coach came to a halt. “A pity your father couldn’t have come with us tonight.”

“Papa would have been bored silly. From what I’ve heard, there’s nothing to do at Almack’s but dance and drink warm lemonade.”

“Well, darling, you are extremely lucky to have received a voucher. Neither of your sisters had that honor until they were betrothed to noblemen.”

A footman opened the door and let down the step. To Blythe’s regret, the fellow was not James. Somehow, she had to finagle a way for him to accompany her on trips around the city. When the time came for James to pose as the prince, it would be necessary to have a reason for the two of them to go off together. The thought filled her with a sense of giddy excitement. That moment could not come soon enough to suit her.

Almack’s occupied a rather modest building with arched windows. Emerging from the coach, she saw a stream of well-heeled guests flowing past the iron gates to the nondescript entrance.

Mrs. Crompton caught hold of Blythe’s arm. “What luck!” Mama whispered, nodding toward the doorway. “There’s Savoy and his daughter right now. Their coach must have been just ahead of ours. Come, we must make haste and catch them.”

Blythe spied the pair disappearing into the building. Pleased by the prospect of furthering an alliance with the duke, she accompanied her mother in pursuit. Perhaps, just perhaps it wouldn’t be necessary to put her subterfuge in motion, after all. Perhaps a miracle would happen and Lady Davina would prove friendly this time.…

Perhaps elephants would fly.

Mrs. Crompton presented their vouchers at the door and they entered a foyer filled with people. A small crowd milled near the cloakroom where attendants were taking the wraps of the guests.

Blythe spied the duke handing his top hat to a servant. “There, Mama.”

Her mother deftly wove a path through the throng. “Your Grace,” she called. “May I beg a word, please?”

Savoy turned with Lady Davina on his arm. Of a similar height, they looked as if they’d coordinated their garb, she in blush-pink gauze and he in a coat of claret superfine with buff knee breeches and buckled shoes.

Blythe curtsied along with her mother. The duke gave a regal nod to accept their obeisance. He had the customary haughty tilt to his chin, and his ruddy features held a polite smile. “Ah, Mrs. Crompton, Miss Crompton. What a pleasant surprise.”

Lady Davina’s patrician face wore a mask of icy civility. “A surprise, indeed. I didn’t realize you two had vouchers.”

Her voice dripped with disdain. It conveyed the belief that the nouveau riche should be barred from this exclusive club. So much for hoping the girl might have softened her enmity.

Blythe arched a cool eyebrow. “I’m very much looking forward to the dancing. I presume you and His Grace are, too.”

“I shall be keeping Papa company. He will need me to screen his partners. I shan’t allow him to dance with just anyone.”

“Now, Davy,” the duke said, patting his daughter’s hand while looking completely oblivious to her rudeness. “It’s kind of you, but I am more than capable of managing on my own. Why, look at Miss Crompton for example. I’m sure she would accept my—”

“I’ve already arranged your program, Papa,” Davina cut in. “Come, you’ll want to greet the patronesses before the crush of people becomes too great.”

She started to draw him away, but Mrs. Crompton scurried into his path. “Your Grace, may I mention one item before you go? This afternoon, I sent out invitations to a small card party at Crompton House on Tuesday next. I do hope you and Lady Davina can attend.”

“A card party?” he said, his eyes lighting up. “I would be most happy to accept.”

“Papa!” Davina chided. “You mustn’t agree before I consult my calendar.”

“My dear, you needn’t attend if you’ve another engagement. But you know how very much I enjoy wagering on a few rubbers of whist.”

“Apparently, others know that, too.” Casting a black look at Blythe and her mother, Davina steered him away into the throng. She had her head bent to him, talking, as if she were apprising him of the dangers of associating with riff-raff.

Mrs. Crompton looked positively gleeful. Taking Blythe by the arm, she whispered, “There, you see? I knew the card party would appeal to Savoy. His daughter may be a bit difficult, but I’ll manage her, you’ll see.”

“A bit difficult?” Blythe murmured. “She prevented His Grace from asking me to dance.”

“Pish posh, the important thing is our party. Once we have the duke under our roof, it should be simple enough to ensure that he is seated right beside you for the entire evening.”

Blythe hoped so. But she suspected Lady Davina would concoct a scheme to spoil Mama’s party and separate Blythe from the duke. For that reason, she deemed it wise to proceed with her own plan to divert the girl with a trumped-up romance.

First, though, Blythe was required to greet the patronesses, who were seated on a dais at one end of the ballroom. She made her curtsies to each lady in turn, countering their critical examination with a modest smile. She was then dismissed with a cool nod by such illustrious leaders of society as the Countess of Jersey, Lady Sefton, and the Viscountess of Castlereagh. It was clear that tonight was a test, and Blythe would have to pass muster or see her voucher revoked.

She welcomed the challenge—at least until she laid eyes on the last of the patronesses. The shrewd, dark-haired beauty in her early thirties was the Countess de Lieven, wife of the Russian ambassador and a lady known for her political salons.

A jolt of alarm struck Blythe as she dipped a curtsy. The countess was well-versed in European affairs of state. Which meant that in creating her fictitious prince, Blythe must be extremely careful to avoid attracting the woman’s attention.

Should she abandon the scheme until a safer time, when the countess wasn’t present?

Blythe fretted over the question as she and her mother strolled the ballroom with its huge mirrors and elegant draperies. A soft golden glow cascaded from the crystal chandeliers. By rote, she smiled and chatted with acquaintances. She had almost decided to postpone her plan when she spotted Lady Davina introducing a ravishing blond debutante to the Duke of Savoy.

A sense of urgency enveloped Blythe. She mustn’t twiddle her thumbs and wait for a more opportune moment. She had to act tonight before Davina maneuvered her father into betrothing himself to someone else.

Under Mrs. Crompton’s watchful eyes, Blythe danced the quadrille with a succession of gentlemen before being approached by the one she’d been hoping to encounter. Lord Harry Dashwood was a younger son with no prospects other than to marry wealth.

Although women were reputed to be the biggest gossips, Blythe knew that wasn’t always the case. Lord Harry’s appetite for tittle-tattle surpassed that of all the clucking hens in the ton. He was perfect for her purpose.

A short man with a big nose and a thatch of brown hair, he bowed over her mother’s hand. “Mrs. Crompton, you have the most lovely daughter. May I humbly beg the next set with her?”

Clearly seeking a better prospect than a fifth son, Mrs. Crompton cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder. “Well, I—”

“I would very much enjoy having the pleasure of your company, Lord Harry,” Blythe said. “If you’ll excuse us, Mama.”

Before her mother could object, Blythe tucked her gloved hand into the crook of his arm and they began walking toward the area where two lines of ladies and gentlemen were forming. The orchestra in the corner tuned its instruments while the hum of conversation swirled in the air.

“I confess I’m a trifle warm,” she said, plying her fan. “In lieu of dancing, would you care to take a turn around the room instead? I would greatly love to hear all the latest on-dits.”

“Absolutely!” Lord Harry said with alacrity. Then he toned down his enthusiasm. “Although pray be assured, I am no rumor-monger.”

“Most certainly not. I would rather regard you as a keen observer of society.”

“Exactly! So many do not understand that quality in me.” Lord Harry glanced around to make certain no one was listening. “Speaking of news, did you know that Freddie Skidmore was caught cheating at cards this very morning? Lord Ainsley has challenged him to a duel.”

“Oh, dear. When is this dreadful event to take place?”

“Never! Skidmore claimed he merely made a mistake when dealing out the deck. They’d been playing all night at White’s, you see.”

“Hmm. Well, I’ve had the honor of dancing with Lord Ainsley. I do not believe he would have made such an accusation lightly.”

“Quite so. Skidmore is a known profligate. In truth, he isn’t fit conversation for a young lady’s ears.”

As they continued to stroll a circuit around the ballroom, she said, “Then you shall have to tell me the latest reports about others in society. Being so recently out of the schoolroom, I know very little about the ton.”

Pandering to his self-importance opened the floodgates of hearsay. He launched into a non-stop dialogue about the various people present. It was rather mind-boggling, she mused. If even half of what he related was true, these aristocrats led secret lives full of clandestine affairs, hidden debts, and illegitimate children.

Seeing that the dance was drawing to a close, she deemed it time to bring up her own gossip. “That is all very fascinating,” she said. “I’m afraid it doesn’t hold a candle to my news.”

Lord Harry stopped short. “You have news? Pray do not tell me you are betrothed already.”

Blythe smiled. “Rest assured, I am not. Rather, I only wished to mention that my sister Portia is in town with her husband and young son. They’re staying at Pallister House.”

“Lady Ratcliffe,” Lord Harry said musingly. “As I recall, she’s the one who was visited by that Indian prince two years ago.”

Blythe had hoped he would bring that up. He was the sort who never forgot a juicy tidbit of gossip.

“Arun was his name,” she said with a nod. “He’s the Maharajah of Bombay. He and Portia are fast friends and they still exchange the occasional letter. She received a note from him not too long ago, one that contained some interesting news.”

“Do tell!”

Lord Harry cocked his head toward her. He had rather large ears, she noticed, the better to listen to gossip. “Arun mentioned that a friend of his will be traveling to London soon. Apparently the prince is taking a world tour before he assumes the throne.”

Lord Harry stopped dead in his tracks again. “Prince, you say? Who is he? From where does he hail?”

Blythe pretended to think hard. “If I remember correctly, his name is Prince Nicolai of Ambrosia. I believe it’s a small country nestled in the mountains near the Caspian Sea.”

“The Caspian—? I must remember to look for it on a map.”

She urged him to continue their stroll. “I’m afraid Ambrosia is so tiny, it is often left off many maps.”

As she anticipated, Lord Harry cared little about such a minor detail. “What momentous news! You should have mentioned it from the start! When will His Highness arrive? Where will he be staying?”

“I believe his ship is due to arrive momentarily. As to where he’s staying…” Blythe lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I really wouldn’t know. I did have the honor of meeting Prince Nicolai once, though, at the maharajah’s palace in India.”

“My word! What is he like?”

“Tall and dark-haired, very handsome, perhaps near thirty years of age. And unmarried.” As if something had just occurred to her, she tapped one finger on her lips. “You know, I believe Arun mentioned that Prince Nicolai is coming to England to seek a bride.”

Lord Harry fairly quivered with excitement. “How very delicious, Miss Crompton. All the ton will be agog when they learn that a foreign prince is to visit our fair shores.”

“Oh, you mustn’t trumpet his arrival to everyone here,” Blythe warned. “Did I not make myself clear? The prince is a retiring sort of gentleman who doesn’t like a lot of fuss made over him.”

“I would never dream of making a big announcement to one and all. I can be discreet, you know.”

“I’m sure you can.” The high level of his enthusiasm caused a niggle of worry in Blythe. Lady Davina mustn’t discover that Blythe was the source of the gossip. “But do promise that you’ll keep my name—and my sister’s name—out of it. It would be dreadful if Prince Nicolai were to find out that I’d revealed his quest for a bride.”

“You may depend upon me to keep your confidence.” Lord Harry locked his lips with an imaginary key. “Absolutely!”