The Hourglass

by Barbara Metzger

  “Shall we go?” He stepped to the bottom of the stairs and offered his arm.

  Thank goodness he was there, Genie thought, for she almost lost her footing, along with what little confidence she had, and the piece of toast she’d nibbled on earlier. The ruby necklace had arrived that afternoon, so she knew he must have thought of her, or how she would appear to tonight’s audience, anyway, as if she were on show, like a mare at Tattersall’s. But nary a kind word or compliment passed his firmed lips. No smile warmed his cold dark visage. He was as severe and forbidding as when she’d first met him at the field hospital, intent on saving lives and nothing else. Tonight he was bent on winning over the ton for his own reasons, and she knew she could not complain. She had a home and a title, a new wardrobe for now, a generous annuity for later. She’d signed the documents ensuring a safe future just this morning. She also had an escort certain to be the envy of every other woman there. Oh, and a diamond tiara that felt like the Rock of Gibraltar on her already-aching head. What more could a woman want?

  The carriage ride seemed both interminable and altogether too short to Genie. Lord Ardeth sat across from her, careful of her skirts, if seemingly oblivious to her feelings. They did not speak until the coach drew to a halt behind a long line of others waiting to discharge passengers.

  “I understand no one gets out and walks,” Ardeth said. “What fools. They could be inside, enjoying themselves.”

  Enjoying? Was that what they were supposed to do? Genie would have stayed in the carriage all night, and liked it far more, but she stepped down when their turn came and raised her chin. She would take a leaf from Ardeth’s book and look straight ahead, as calm as a countess, as haughty as anyone in the haut monde. She might not belong here by birth, but she was wedded to the position, gowned and jeweled for the occasion. She would make her husband proud. If he noticed her hand trembling on his arm, he did not mention it.

  She was relieved to find theirs was not a private audience with the regent, as she’d feared. The foreign dignitaries were there, along with sundry allied generals, members of the cabinet, the prince’s particular friends, and a few former mistresses. She knew none of them, and none looked her way until Ardeth led her to the prince at the attendant’s nod.

  Miss Hadley would have been proud of Genie’s curtsy. The prince seemed to be impressed, grinning widely, but he was known to appreciate a pretty woman.

  “Ah, Ardeth, we were wondering about your sudden choice. Great deal of talk, don’t you know? Now we understand, eh?”

  The earl made a careful bow, then frowned as the prince took Genie’s hand in his and held it. And held it.

  “And you, my dear,” His Highness was saying to Genie, loudly enough for everyone in the antechamber to hear, “we have been eager to meet our latest peeress. Or should we say Peerless, eh?” He laughed, his loose jowls flapping, the myriad medals bouncing on his broad chest. His hangers-on dutifully chuckled and nodded.

  Ardeth glared at Genie’s hand, still encased in Prinny’s fat fingers. He did not dare to cause them to shrivel or itch, not here. The prince ignored him and addressed Genie, this time in a quieter voice, meant for her alone. “We were not certain whether to offer condolences or congratulations. Hard choices, what?”

  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 11

  “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 di
stinguished 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.”

  He shook his head. “I am neither physician nor surgeon. And what few medical men were mere were sorely overworked. They could not have cared for everyone in time, not if their numbers were trebled.”

  “Jamie said that, too. But you stayed with the men and saved scores of them, he told me. You helped the ones the surgeons had given up on, the worst wounded. He called your work miraculous. He wanted to thank you, but you left Brussels before he could.”

  “I did nothing any other gentleman with the necessary skills would not do.”

  “None did. None tried. I think my son would have been more distraught over those deaths—not the ones in battle, but the ones of neglect and bad doctoring. He came home with a limp, but also scars on the inside. He suffers nightmares, but a disdain for those in charge and those who sent so many to die without going themselves.”

  “He sounds like a sensible sort. And he must have been an excellent officer, one whose men admired and fought harder for.”

  “He was. They are giving him a commendation tonight. I had to beg him to come accept the honor. He came, but only in hopes of meeting the one nobleman who acted nobly. The newspapers said you would be here.”

  “It was my duty. Not to come tonight, but to help the soldiers in need.”

  “As it is my duty to thank you for giving me back my son. And to thank you for those other mothers whose sons you saved. We all owe you. The government will not offer you a medal, I am sure, nor elevate your title.”