by Amanda Scott
The following evening at a late supper following a play at the King’s Theater, Lady Gwendolyn, who had sat beside Mollie in the Colporter box, took her to one side and demanded to know if her wits had gone begging.
“I daresay I sound just like Aunt Trixie,” she declared roundly, “but the way you were flirting over that ridiculous fan with the men in the pit tonight made me itch to suggest you sit with Harriette Wilson and her sisters!”
“Gwen!” Mollie was truly shocked, for Harriette Wilson was the most famous courtesan in London. It had been fascinating to see her in her own box at the theater, if annoying to see one’s own husband among the cavalcade of bucks and dandies paying court to the woman during one of the intervals, but to have one’s behavior compared to hers! Mollie’s eyes flashed.
“Well, and so you might stare,” Lady Gwendolyn said in a stern undertone, “but I saw you, and I’m persuaded that Hawk cannot have helped but notice, too. Whatever are you about, Mollie? Such behavior will infuriate him. I shouldn’t wonder at it if he does not read you a thundering scold.”
Mollie shrugged. “He pays me no heed,” she said a little dismally. “He said from the outset that he would not interfere with me, and he does not.”
“Poppycock,” Lady Gwendolyn retorted. “He may not wish to put a rub in the way of your pleasure, but my brother will not stand idly by while you make a cake of yourself—and of him as well. Have a care, Molly. I know whereof I speak. Remember Lord Featherby? And Hawk was in Spain then, thank God.”
Her sister-in-law’s warning gave Mollie enough food for thought so that she half-expected Hawk to say something in the carriage about her behavior. She had no wish to make him truly angry, but had merely hoped to make him exert himself a little more to please her. He showed no sign of anger, however, merely speaking casually about the farce that had followed the play. From time to time he did regard her searchingly, as if he expected her to say something to him, and she wondered if he was giving her an opportunity to apologize for her behavior, which during the past week or so had admittedly been rather blatant. But since he did not seem to be angry and since she had no wish to stir his anger, she decided it would be foolish to introduce the topic at all.
Thinking over the past few days, she decided she had been a trifle heavy-handed in her efforts, and she determined to be more subtle in future. After all, her only intent was to make Hawk pay her more notice. Clearly, his sense of challenge was no longer stimulated by the mere fact of seeing her with other admirers. Indeed, it seemed to please him that the other men found her attractive. He spent his time renewing his old acquaintances and making new ones, always, she thought, in conversation with someone. And those conversations were not only with other men. There were women, too. Lots of women. There was nothing at all scandalous in his behavior, nothing even that could stir her jealousy. She knew that before their marriage he had been at least as popular as she was herself, so no one could wonder at the number of ladies he was acquainted with. But he seemed determined to renew his acquaintance with them all. He was invited everywhere, and if Mollie was otherwise engaged, he went alone, sometimes taking part in as many as six or eight entertainments in a single evening. Therefore, she was rather surprised a day or so after the news reached London of Wellington’s victory at Vitoria when Hawk insisted that she accompany him to a rout at Ashburnham House, the London residence of the Russian ambassador.
“I am not overly fond of Monsieur de Lieven, sir,” she told him when he casually informed her at the breakfast table, as she was looking through her morning post, that he wished her to accept the invitation for both of them.
“But you will not want to offend the countess,” he responded, helping himself to buttered toast.
“No, of course not.” One was very careful to do nothing to offend the haughty young Countess de Lieven. “But the invitation states that the rout is to be in honor of the newer members of Monsieur de Lieven’s staff as well as Wellington’s victory, sir. You know perfectly well that that means most of the guests will be members of the diplomatic and political set, and that the talk will be of dispatches and spies and treaties and such. Not the sort of thing to interest me or most of my friends. Her ladyship invites us merely to show off her ton-ish connections. Of course,” she added on a brighter note, “no one will expect us to remain above fifteen minutes or so.”
“Ah, but I wish to remain longer,” he said gently.
“Then, you should go by yourself, sir, so that you may remain as long as you like,” she replied.
“My prolonged presence might be remarked upon unless it is seen that my lovely wife is enjoying herself, as is her custom, with those of her cavaliers who chance to be present. And there will be a number of them, my dear, for the countess’s entertainments are always devised with the utmost ingenuity.”
Mollie regarded her husband with astonishment, but since he seemed not the least inclined to further explanation, she let the matter drop, only to be even more surprised when he asked a day or so later if she would arrange a dinner party to be held the following week.
“Of course, sir,” she replied, “only perhaps you have forgotten that we have already made plans for a similar evening the week after next.”
“No, I hadn’t forgotten, but the guest list for the first occasion will be somewhat different from that for the second,” he answered cryptically. “I shall give you the list of those I want invited by Friday. You may make up the numbers with anyone else you choose. Oh, and, Mollie,” he added, looking directly at her, “I shall want you to invite several persons who can be induced to sing or recite poetry or some such thing after dinner.”
“What? I suppose you will next want Miss Aisling to play her harp for us! You are so fond of such entertainments. Coming it much too strong, my lord.” She stared hard at him. “What game are you playing, Gavin?”
“None that need concern you, sweetheart. I have never hosted a soiree before, and I thought I ought to do so.”
“Gammon. You have always said that the only thing such entertainments accomplish is to keep the gentlemen lingering over their port.” She noted a flicker in his eyes that told her she had come nearer the mark than she had any reason to expect. Her own eyes narrowed, and she prepared to carry on the discussion. However, Hawk had other notions and made good his escape some few moments later.
The evening selected for the rout at Ashburnham House soon arrived, and proved to be a beautiful one with a myriad of stars and a full moon to help light their way to Dover Street. Lady Bridget had another engagement, but Lord Ramsay accompanied them, not because Hawk had demanded it, but because the Regent was likely to be present. Mollie had been amused by the young man’s casual declaration that he supposed he ought to go along.
“I daresay I shan’t stay long,” he had confided, “but one ought to meet the Regent, after all, and Hawk has said he will present me.”
He reminded his brother of that promise as the coach turned from Mount Street into Berkeley Square, where it fell in behind other carriages making for the same destination.
Hawk chuckled. “I remember. If Prinny makes his appearance before you desert us, I shall indeed present you.”
“Thank you, sir. I’d like that.” Ramsay had his voice under firm control, but Mollie knew he was excited by the prospect of meeting the Prince Regent. She had with her own ears, and upon more than one occasion, heard her young brother-in-law stigmatize the Prince as a wastrel and a brute, but nevertheless, she knew he was all agog to be presented.
Soon they could hear the musicians playing in the gardens that backed onto Hay Hill, and a few moments later the marquess’s crested coach turned into Dover Street and drew up beside the canopied, red-carpeted walkway leading to the main entrance of Ashburnham House. A liveried flunky opened the coach door and let down the steps, and Mollie gave him her hand and descended to the walkway, followed by the two gentlemen.
After greeting their host and hostess and being introduced to the two young
Russian gentlemen who were the guests of honor, the Colporters passed through to the ballroom, which was already teeming with a colorful array of guests. Lord Ramsay, espying a pretty young damsel whose acquaintance he had made at Almack’s, hastily excused himself, reminding Hawk of his promise to introduce him to the Regent. Mollie looked up at her husband.
“What do you want me to do, Gavin?”
He smiled down at her. “Why, merely to enjoy yourself, sweetheart, like you always do. There is Jamie yonder, and I’ll not be surprised if Breck and some of the others show their faces as well.”
Sir James Smithers stepped up to them just then, looking comfortable, as he always did, even in full evening dress, and asked if Mollie would honor him with a dance. She accepted, wishing briefly that Hawk had asked her first, but soon enough she found herself being asked by other young men of her acquaintance as well as several she had never met before, including one who was actually reputed to be a spy for Napoleon. Mollie knew that Gaspard d’Épier came from a distinguished émigré family, so it was difficult for her to believe the rumors. Nevertheless, it was exciting to dance with him, and the others as well, and two hours passed quickly by before she found herself suddenly without a partner and glanced around the ballroom in search of her husband. He was nowhere to be found. Then she remembered hearing music from the gardens as they drove along Hay Hill. The embassy gardens were extensive, and often, she knew, as much activity went on under the open sky as in the house. Perhaps she would find Hawk outside.
Accordingly, she made her way to the rear of the ballroom, where a pair of French doors opened onto a broad terrace from which one had a fairy-tale view of the gardens beyond. Colored lamps glittering like jewels were concealed among the flowers, and the background of the garden on Hay Hill was hung with a transparent landscape of moonlight and water, with a real cascade flowing between mossy paths and Arcadian groups of scented shrubs. Truly the Countess de Lieven knew exactly how to stir the most jaded appetite for pleasure among those who were bored with too many parties every night of the Season. As the thought crossed Mollie’s mind, she told herself she was not bored precisely. But she breathed deeply of the fresh air and felt revived by the lovely view below. There was, however, still no sign of her husband.
Just then she heard her name and turned to find her hostess approaching on the arm of a tall young man in a splendid uniform. At first Mollie had eyes only for the dark-green jacket with its red trim, the diagonal slash of a white sash, and the numerous medals clinking on the broad chest. As the couple drew nearer, however, Mollie’s gaze moved upward, and her eyes widened as they encountered the gentleman’s face. She found herself making a conscious effort to fold her lips carefully together, lest her jaw drop open in a most unladylike display, for the gentleman at the Countess de Lieven’s side was quite the handsomest young man she had ever seen.
“Mollie, my dear,” the countess said in her soft, slightly accented voice, “I beg leave to present his highness Prince Nicolai Stefanovich. Although he has been a member of my husband’s retinue for quite some time now, he has been out of town and complains to me that he has never before been presented to your notice.”
Mollie dropped into a curtsy. He was a prince, after all. But his hand touched her arm, drawing her gently upright again, and she found herself looking into a pair of dark, luminescent eyes so intense that they seemed to strip the very clothes from her body as she stood there. Then he smiled, showing even white teeth behind full, sensuous lips.
“Lady Mollie,” said his highness in a low voice throbbing with undisguised desire, “I saw you but for the briefest moment before I told Dasha it was her solemn duty to bring us together. Fate intended us to meet. Do you not agree?”
8
MOLLIE STARED SPEECHLESSLY AT Prince Nicolai. He was neither as tall nor as broad as her husband, but he was possessed of a fine and manly physique that was accentuated by the magnificent uniform he wore. Besides the dashing red trim at collar and cuffs, the dark-green, close-fitting coat sported gold buttons, braid, and epaulets. The white sash was further ornamented with narrow gold stripes, and his well-pressed and tailored white trousers had a wide red stripe along the outer seam of each leg. The prince was altogether a magnificent creature, Mollie thought.
But it was not his colorful clothing that held her spellbound. Nor was it his lustrous black hair or the trim side-whiskers that framed that beautiful face. The spell was cast by a pair of liquid black eyes set deep under thick, black brows—eyes that challenged her to reply to his daring question.
Wrenching her gaze from his, she turned to the Countess de Lieven instead, hoping to display at least a semblance of her customary poise. The countess gazed back at her limpidly, an enigmatic half-smile playing at her lips. The look was as good as a warning, for Mollie knew well the woman’s penchant for making mischief, and it helped her gather her wits.
“I am quite certain I should remember his highness if we had chanced to meet before,” she said finally, allowing a touch of humor to enter her voice. She smiled then at the prince. “You flatter me shamefully, sir. You must know that gentlemen in England are not so outspoken.”
“More shame to them,” replied his highness promptly. “To be in the presence of extraordinary beauty and not to make mention of it is a crime in any nation, my lady.”
The countess chuckled. “I can see that you two will get along famously together, so I shall leave you now. The Regent will arrive at any moment, and I must be at my husband’s side to greet him.”
Mollie was not by any means certain that she wished to be left alone in the garden with Prince Nicolai Stefanovich. Already his eyes devoured her. The man clearly had no qualms about allowing his gaze to rest wherever it pleased him to rest it either, and she was unused to a gentleman’s gazing so raptly at her décolletage.
“Your Highness,” she said gently, reprovingly.
It was more discomfiting when his gaze bored into hers, for there was blatant invitation in the way he looked at her. Mollie frowned.
“I have displeased you, my lady?”
“You make me feel uncomfortable,” she replied frankly, “as if I’ve got spinach stuck between my teeth or something.”
With a rueful laugh, he gave his head a little shake and rubbed his brow. “You must forgive me, my lady. I have been in your so charming country long enough to learn that English ladies are unappreciative of open admiration. Forgive me. I am not usually so gauche. ’Tis simply that your beauty swept my good sense away altogether.”
Mollie swallowed carefully. Surely she should point out to him that he was still being a trifle open in his admiration. However, one must remember one’s own manners as well. The prince was a guest in her country. It was her duty to put him at his ease, not to criticize his behavior. And if he wished to go on paying her fulsome compliments, well, she must simply bear up under the weight of them.
So it was that when he invited her to take a turn of the fairy-tale gardens with him, she made no demur. There were plenty of other couples enjoying the fresh air and pleasant surroundings, and if several persons glanced curiously at Mollie walking with the prince, she chose to assume that it was because the two of them made such a good-looking couple. A brief time later Nicolai suggested that perhaps she might care to dance, and they went back inside, where the musicians were just tuning up for a waltz.
“It pleases me that your country has recognized the waltz at last,” the prince said, smiling as he took Mollie’s hand, and placed his own firmly at her waist to lead her into the dance. “I trust you enjoy it as much as I do.”
“Oh, indeed, sir, ’tis all the rage this Season, you know. It is not entirely new, of course, but it has never enjoyed so much success before now. This year ’tis even the fashion to invite one’s friends to morning balls, merely to practice the steps.”
“We must thank our hostess for bringing the dance into fashion, must we not?”
“Indeed, though it created a rumpus the first
time we danced it at Almack’s. Mr. Brummell calls it a riotous and indecent dance, and even the countess and Lady Jersey refuse to countenance its execution for girls in their first Season.”
“Foolishness,” murmured the prince close to her ear as he whirled her successfully through an intricate pattern of steps. “In Europe it is quite commonplace.”
“I daresay, but this is not Europe, sir.” Mollie caught a glimpse just then of her husband. He was not dancing but was standing with the Prince Regent, who had entered without his usual fanfare some moments before. She was sure Hawk had seen her. Moreover, there had been the slightest hint of a frown on his rugged face. She stiffened in Stefanovich’s arms, nearly missing her step.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “I did not tread upon your foot, did I?”
“No, of course not,” she replied, looking around to find Hawk again. “But you are holding me too closely, sir. I cannot mind my steps.”
“Nonsense, my lady. If you will allow your beautiful body to melt itself against mine, you will find the steps take care of themselves, I promise you.” Again his lips were dangerously close to her ear. Mollie took a deep breath.
“Highness, I should not like to create a scene,” she said with grim meaning, “but if you do not loose your hold upon me, I shall tread upon your foot.”
He relaxed his embrace. “You must forgive me once more, lovely one. Your nearness makes me overbold. I hope my misbehavior will not cause you to forbid me to call upon you?”
Her eyes widened. “Of course you may call, sir. My husband and I would be pleased to offer you the hospitality of our home.”
“But I was hoping you would offer me that hospitality without the inconvenience of your husband’s presence, Mollie,” he murmured audaciously. “Are there not times when the estimable marquess spends his days at White’s like the rest of England’s milords?”
