by Sheila Walsh
He watched her, remembering their second meeting and her preoccupation then with cushions. It brought an enigmatic gleam to his eyes as he retorted: ‘So he should be. It was deuced difficult, I can tell you. Oliver is almost as stubborn as you.’
‘I’m not!’ But she laughed. ‘How did you persuade him?’
‘Appealed to his better nature … said I was counting on him to further William’s knowledge of aeronautics and to help guide the boy’s fertile imagination along practical channels. I then pointed out,’ he concluded blandly, ‘that he would be in a much better position to do this if his own work were not held back for want of funds.’
They arrived in London to find the city undergoing a transformation, its parks hardly recognizable with Oriental temples, pagodas and bridges sprouting forth even as one looked. All vied with one another for splendour and each had its own speciality. In Hyde Park, the Serpentine was to be the setting for a mock naval battle, and already the booths and drinking parlours were proliferating in order to accommodate the expected crowds, whilst St James’s Park had acquired an illuminated Chinese bridge.
But it was undoubtedly Green Park which could lay claim to the pièce de résistance, for here a towering Castle of Discord was nearing completion. On the first night in August, preceded by a realistic representation of the siege of Bajados, and with the aid of fireworks, rockets and a small army of workmen, this hideous edifice was to be dramatically transformed into a Temple of Concord.
It was this magnificent concept (an inspiration of the Prince Regent) which captured William’s almost undivided attention. He would spend hours watching the workmen and then come home to explain the intricacies of the structure to anyone prepared to listen, prompting the Duke to murmur with weary resignation that the occupants of Heron House must be better informed upon the subject of transmogrification than anyone in town.
‘Sir William Congreve has contrived it for the Prince Regent,’ William told Pinkerton, who was known to indulge him shockingly. ‘It’s jolly clever really. The Castle and the Temple are so constructed that they can be turned under cover of the smoke.’
Pinkerton showed himself to be suitably impressed.
‘We used some of Sir William’s new rockets in the Ardour, you know. They were a great success, too, because although Lord Wellington had little expectation of their aim being anything but erratic, the Frenchies didn’t trust them either, so they kept their distance!’ William’s eagerness faded. ‘That’s when Pa was killed,’ he concluded with a sigh.
Pandora was given little time to think, let alone stand and stare. Hardly were they settled when Heron bore her off quite ruthlessly to the showrooms of Madame Fanchon. She protested that it could hardly be the thing for him to accompany her and that Lady Margerson would probably be happy to perform this office, but ‘That’s all you know, my girl!’ he retorted and before he had finished reminding her of his views concerning her ladyship’s taste, they were in Conduit Street and Madame was coming forward to greet them.
Though discreet, her effusiveness towards the Duke in particular left Pandora in little doubt that this was by no means his first visit to Madame’s luxurious establishment. How many of his light o’ loves, she wondered with unholy glee, had been dressed at his expense by Madame? His face, inscrutable as ever, gave little away, but the thought continued to divert her throughout an experience that would in other circumstances have sunk her.
Madame expressed delight that she was to be accorded the inestimable privilege of dressing her grace whose romantic whirlwind marriage had ‒ (a penetrating glance from the Duke at this point warned her to have a care). Madame took the hint and gave herself over swiftly to particulars. Youth and dignity ‒ such an intriguing combination, and what a happy coincidence that her grace was quite out of the usual style ‒ it would make of her an enchanting original! Pandora could not but admire the shrewdness of one who could pass off plainness as ‘out of the usual style’. She felt obliged to confess at once that all she wanted was a gown to wear to the Regent’s fête, and since she was still within a required period of mourning, it must be reasonably discreet.
Heron derived a certain malicious pleasure from noting the quite visible degree of havoc his wife’s innocent comment had evoked in the renowned modiste’s breast; to design a spectacular gown for such an occasion must advance her reputation immeasurably; to contrive such an effect within the limits her grace had set (and with such unpromising material to work on) would require every ounce of her undoubted genius. And upon the outcome rested her hopes of capturing the Duchess’s patronage for the future.
Madame rose magnificently to the occasion. Silver gauze, she announced with authority, very light, very ethereal, with an underdress of soft rose pink satin ‒ simply but beautifully cut. She glanced speculatively at the Duke, but addressed herself to his wife. ‘It is true that the train is usually de rigueur for court functions, your grace, but from France only recently I have received fashion plates of the latest Parisian designs. You see ‒’ she rustled to produce them ‘‒ the hem is to the ankle only, the skirt a simple bell-shape just the style, if I may be permitted the observation, to compliment your grace’s most charming quality of youth. Soon it will become the rage of London, but only think how delightful it would be to become a setter of fashion …’
The Duke silently applauded La Fanchon’s quick wit. As Pandora looked towards him in a troubled way, he said blandly, ‘Why not, my dear? Madame is right. The style might have been contrived with you in mind. So much so, in fact, that I believe we will pursue it further.’
Thus for the next hour Pandora found herself being draped in swatches of the most beautiful materials, pinned and tucked and turned about; she grew dizzy from looking at pattern cards, exclaiming over this, discarding that, her initial shyness about expressing her opinion fading as her interest grew.
Only as they returned at last to St James’s Square, with the carriage piled high with bandboxes containing hats, shoes, gloves and accessories of all kinds, did the extent of her extravagance hit her. Oh, why had Heron not curbed her headlong spree?
‘My dear foolish girl,’ he drawled, as she voiced her dismay in stammering tones. ‘It is nothing! You might have as many dresses again tomorrow an’ you wished.’
But this Pandora utterly repudiated. She had more than enough, she vowed, to last her for the rest of her life! Nevertheless, the churning excitement of that afternoon stayed with her until the night of her society debut.
Chapter Fourteen
Nothing in her experience until now could have prepared Pandora for the spectacle of Carlton House en fête. So diverted was she by the sheer opulence of the occasion that she quite forgot to be nervous.
The evening had begun promisingly. The hairdresser summoned by the Duke to dress her hair achieved the impossible, drawing it back into a smooth shining knot high on her head that bore little relation to her own botched efforts. Around the knot he secured a diminutive frill of silver gauze which rested like gossamer against the pale gold of her hair, and as a final triumphant touch, one fresh pale-pink rosebud.
Heron came into the room as Betty was putting the final touches to her gown. He stood for so long without speaking that she grew nervous.
‘You don’t think,’ she began, one hand fluttering up to the brief bodice, cut lower than she would ever have attempted for herself, making her feel a little self-conscious. ‘It isn’t too …?’
‘Certainly not,’ he said, almost brusquely. His glance travelled down to the slightly stiffened hem of the skirt which swayed as she moved, showing a tantalizing glimpse of ankle, and silver slippers with diamonds glinting in their heels. ‘It is very well!’
‘Truly?’ She gave a nervous half-giggle. ‘I feel like Joan of Arc about to go to the stake.’
He laughed. ‘Perhaps these will make you feel more the thing.’
He put a soft leather box into her hands. She looked quickly at him and then opened it with fingers that shook sl
ightly. A single pear-shaped diamond drop on a necklet winked up at her together with two smaller identical drops for her ears. Her mouth formed a soundless ‘oh’, and Betty gasped, ‘Oh, your grace!’ as Heron fastened the clasp around his wife’s neck and stood back, waiting patiently for her to fit the earrings.
‘Yes,’ he said, with a little nod of satisfaction.
His obvious approbation gave Pandora an unconscious grace and dignity which carried her successfully through the ordeal of entering Carlton House amid a throng of eminent people passing in slow procession through the house and into the great hall beyond which the Prince Regent had commissioned John Nash to build for the evening’s festivities. The immense edifice quite took her breath away.
‘You don’t seriously expect me to believe that the Prince went to all this trouble ‒ just for a party?’ she whispered, staring in awe at the vast umbrella-like ceiling painted to resemble the soft white muslin draping the walls. ‘I have cut my eye-teeth, you know!’
‘Hand on heart!’ murmured her husband, amused by the note of censure in her voice. ‘You should know, little doubter, that his royal highness eschews anything of a paltry nature. Am I not right, Fitz?’
They had come upon Mr Chessington soon after the formalities had been completed, standing just inside the door, quizzing glass raised, pensively surveying the ornamental temple in the centre of the room. From its depths, massed with banks of flowers, floated the disembodied flowing cadences of a waltz.
‘I fear that Prinny has overreached himself this time.’ He sighed. ‘Have you seen the walls of the avenues leading to the supper tents, my dears? Lined, every one, with transparencies depicting riveting themes such as Military Power and the Overthrow of Tyrants! One can only conclude that they are aimed to appeal to his esteemed guest of the evening.’ He turned his sleepy eyes upon Pandora as she remarked humorously that Wellington was unlikely to notice them unless they were pointed out to him. ‘Robert ‒ be so kind as to introduce me to your exceedingly stylish companion. She is turning all heads!’
‘I do hope that you are quizzing me,’ Pandora said, pleading.
‘Looks well, doesn’t she?’ said Heron.
‘Enchanting,’ agreed Fitz. ‘More than one lady this evening is like to be sick with envy.’ His glance came to rest meditatively upon Sarah Bingly who was staring at Pandora with hard, assessing eyes. She was magnificent as ever in one of her clinging gowns ‒ this one in a dull gold satin ‒ and with diamonds sparkling in her rich dark hair. Few women in the room could hold a candle to her. Yet Fitz was prepared to hazard that she would willingly change places with the slim young girl at his side.
As he still watched, she touched the arm of her companion and moved purposefully forward, her features arranged in a teasing smile.
‘Robert!’ Her husky voice was faintly chiding. ‘So you have decided to brave the wrath of your friends at last? How unkind of you to marry so secretively and then hide your little duchess away, so depriving us of the chance to wish you both well!’
‘You must permit us a little selfishness,’ he said smoothly. ‘We have been enjoying ourselves so much in the country that we were loath to leave, even for so short a time.’
‘Really?’ Her laugh trilled out. ‘I had no idea you were so enamoured of country life!’
‘Perhaps Robert has had little inducement until now,’ said Pandora in her clear light voice.
‘Bravo, little one!’ murmured Fitz softly.
Heron looked at his wife with new eyes. He had not appreciated until now how much grown in confidence she was after only a few weeks as mistress of Clearwater.
Lady Sarah turned to the florid young man at her side. ‘You know Arthur, of course. Except for her grace,’ she added sweetly. ‘Duchess, may I present my brother, Lord Shilton.’
‘My Lord.’
‘Ma’am.’ The young man’s glance was frankly admiring. ‘May I be permitted to say how delightfully you look?’
‘Thank you.’ Pandora smiled.
‘And how daring of you, my dear duchess, to make your debut in such a dramatic fashion!’ said his sister with apparent admiration.
Before Pandora could reply, there was a stirring in the crowd nearby ‒ a clear voice, jovial, decisive. The words didn’t carry, but the whooping laugh that followed was unmistakable, sending a deep pleasurable shiver of nostalgia through her.
Soon the Duke of Wellington was approaching their group, greeting Lady Sarah with whom he was clearly already acquainted, his deep-set eyes appreciative of her incomparable beauty, and Pandora had time to look with affection on the well-remembered features, the hair slightly grizzled, blue eyes that could be so chilling and the prominent nose.
His glance moved on politely, and was arrested by the slim figure in silver gauze.
‘Well, bless my soul! Surely it can’t be … Miss Pandora!’ He took her eagerly outstretched hands, his eyes twinkling. ‘My dear young lady, how you have grown!’
‘Oh, sir, how glad I am to see you!’ Both her hands remained clasped in his as she related her changed circumstances and presented her husband, and Fitz.
‘So, my dear Duchess ‒ we are both gone up in the world, eh!’ His laugh rang out once more.
‘Yes, sir, so we are.’
‘You are a fortunate man, Heron. Deuced fortunate!’ He stayed some time talking in an animated way about the conclusion of his Peninsular campaign and reminiscing with Pandora. He asked after her brothers and was pleased to hear about Courtney. ‘I was deeply distressed about your father, my dear. I can ill afford to lose such gallant, dedicated men.’ He pressed her hand. ‘Well now, I must get along ‒ no doubt we shall meet again.’
And he passed on, bowing to one person, shaking hands with another.
‘So that’s the great man,’ mused Fitz. ‘He don’t cut that impressive a figure at first sight, but it becomes apparent as soon as he speaks.’
‘Oh, yes! He has the most tremendous influence on the men,’ Pandora exclaimed as the group broke up. ‘They don’t always love him, but they trust him implicitly!’
‘Really?’ murmured Lady Sarah, sounding bored.
Left alone with her brother, she continued to smile, but there was soft fury in her voice. ‘Something will have to be done about that little upstart!’
‘The little Duchess? But why? Charming creature, I thought!’
‘Did you?’ She spat the words out, and he looked at her curiously.
‘Drop you for her, did he?’ His laugh held a touch of brotherly malice. ‘A novel experience for you, Sal. Still, plenty more fish, what? Forget her.’
‘I want her discredited ‒ ruined!’ Lady Sarah said through her teeth. ‘And you, little brother, are going to help me!’
He frowned. ‘Don’t involve me! Besides, it won’t get you Heron back.’
‘That is the last thing I want! And you will help me, Arthur, unless you wish to lose the very handsome allowance I pay you.’ She laughed at his discomfiture. ‘I knew you would change your mind. Don’t worry, all I want is a man ‒ young, attractive, preferably with Army connections ‒ who would be willing to seduce a young lady for a consideration.’ She moved away, saying over her shoulder, ‘He should not prove too difficult to find ‒ among your friends!’
Pandora, unaware of the enmity she had generated, was enjoying a marvellous evening. She came in for a great deal of teasing but much of it was kindly, and she received a surprising number of invitations. The season was almost over, but the Duke of Wellington’s arrival in London had precipitated a number of last-minute balls and soirées in his honour.
Heron introduced his wife to the Prince Regent, who was most affable in his congratulations. She in turn was fascinated by his immense girth and the richness of his dress, but although she had heard many spiteful things said about him, she found his manner most kindly.
She drank a great deal too much champagne which made her feel light-headed, full of goodwill towards all the world and exceedingly
talkative. And when her amused husband finally carried her off home amid protests the dawn was already breaking, but she was reluctant to be handed over to Betty. The maid had been dozing in a chair and had to be roused in order to put her happily intoxicated mistress to bed, not an easy task for it was almost impossible to keep her still while she unravelled the complexities of the hairdresser’s art. Finally it was accomplished, her mistress was safely in bed and the lamp extinguished ‒ and she could snatch a little sleep for herself.
But when Betty had gone, Pandora found it impossible to settle. Her head tended to spin when she laid it on the pillow, but on her feet she felt fine. Light was filtering under the curtains as she draped a wrap about her shoulders and pattered across to her husband’s room.
He looked a little nonplussed to find her there when he answered her knock.
He stood aside to let her pass and closed the door. He was wearing a black brocade dressing gown, exotically frogged, and he carried a wine glass in his hand. She eyed both approvingly. ‘Is that champagne?’ she asked.
It was not, he said, his brow arched quizzically. ‘My dear, why are you here?’ Do you feel unwell?’
‘No.’ She shook her head with considerable care. ‘I feel wonderful.’
‘Then shouldn’t you go back to bed?’ he suggested.
‘I don’t care for it in there on my own,’ she said enunciating very precisely. ‘I want to be with you, Robert. I am your wife, after all.’ Her voice grew a little plaintive. ‘Sometimes I don’t think you like me …’
He felt a great wave of love surge up in him for the endearing comic figure swaying slightly in her demure nightgown with her wrap slipping off her shoulders.
He moved away to put down his glass. ‘I like you very much,’ he said gently. ‘But we’ll talk about it tomorrow.’
She giggled enchantingly. ‘That’s all right then because tomorrow’s already today!’
