The Dishonorable Miss DeLancey

by Carolyn Miller

  “Me?” Clara opened her eyes wide. “Surely you do not suppose the Prince Regent would take notice of an insignificant person like myself?”

  “It just seems a trifle strange that one moment you are speaking to Lord Houghton, and the next moment two people who would normally escape Royal notice are being invited to such a select assembly.”

  “I hardly think it will be select, Mother. You saw the people last Friday. Many ordinary Misses and Misters were there. I imagine this will be much the same. Besides, you cannot forget that Mr. Kemsley was hardly unknown to the Prince. After all, wasn’t he mentioned by name by the Prince in all those newspaper accounts long ago?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “I understand the Regent made rather grand promises about rewarding his heroic deed, do you not recall?”

  Her father, to whom this appeal was made, nodded. “I believe so.”

  Clara turned back to her mother. “I hope the Prince will see fit to finally reward him for saving all those people’s lives.”

  “Well, he does deserve something, I suppose.”

  “I should rather think he does.” Clara took a breath and continued. “Did you know he spent a great deal of his prize money in helping the wounded and the families of those sailors under his command who died?”

  “I … no. I did not.”

  “Surely such a generous-hearted individual deserves some sort of recompense, especially when the Prince has declared he would do so.”

  Father sat up a little straighter, placed his newspaper down. “Now you mention it, I don’t think he received any compensation, did he?”

  “Matilda says not, which I think a real shame.”

  “You seem to take an untoward interest in the welfare of this young man, Clara.”

  “I only wish for what is right, that justice may be served.”

  “Do you?”

  Mother’s straight look brought heat to her cheeks. “I am sorry, Mother, if you would prefer me to find him unattractive, but I cannot find him so. He has always behaved in a manner most gentlemanly, and I would not have you think that because his people are not titled as ours that he is somehow to be considered less worthy. Surely you would not prefer us to be aligned with people of lesser values, such as the Osterleys, even if their lineage might be considered more socially acceptable?”

  Mother shuddered. “I find I cannot abide that woman.”

  “Surely character is more important than one’s breeding?”

  “Yes … but one’s breeding is supposed to bring about good character.”

  “Like Richard?”

  Her mother blanched.

  The words had slipped out before she thought, but really, what argument could there be in the face of her brother’s scandalous actions? Bred from aristocracy, sent to the best schools, surrounded by wealth and luxury, still he had chosen to turn to gambling and theft to support his lifestyle.

  “I am sorry if you do not wish me to speak of him, but his actions have reflected badly on us all. I cannot wish for you to think ill of a person whose actions have only brought help to so many.”

  “You talk as if you know this Captain Kemsley well. How do we know—”

  “He saved my life.”

  “What?” Mother sank into a chair, eyes agog. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he saved my life. He stopped me from falling from a cliff several months ago.”

  “What? Why have we not heard of this until now?” Father growled.

  “Because I was too embarrassed. At first I did not think he recognized me, and as I did not want to bring it to his attention, I thought it best to leave such things forgotten.”

  “Forgotten? To forget that someone saved your life?” Mother fanned herself. “What on earth were you doing that he needed to save your life?”

  “I …” Clara’s cheeks heated. No need to tell them all. “I was standing too close to the edge and started to slip, and he caught me before I fell.”

  “Oh my dear!” Mother paled even more, as though she might faint. “Oh, I think I need my smelling salts.”

  Clara rushed to collect them from her mother’s room. When she returned, her parents were talking quietly. They looked up as she entered, their faces matched pictures of worry and dismay.

  “We cannot like it, Clara. We cannot like that you have kept this from us all this time.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “Neither can we like that we have been in this young man’s debt and treated him less than we ought.”

  A tremor of hope lit within. Her parents’ endorsement had hardly been what she’d been after when she’d first proposed Mr. Kemsley’s invitation to the Pavilion. She’d merely wanted to see if it was possible for further restitution for him. “I am sure that if you are pleasant to him, then he will understand you do not hold him in contempt.”

  “Hold him in contempt? Surely he would not have thought so!”

  “Social climbing nobodies from the back of nowhere?” Clara said, with a raised brow.

  “Well, we never said that to his face!” Mother declared.

  “I never said it at all,” Father said.

  “Please, I would like you to regard him for his own sake. And if you can come to appreciate his many good qualities as so many other people have, that would make me very happy.”

  Mother’s look grew piercing. “Do you have feelings for this young man, Clara?”

  Did she? It was pointless to lie. “I esteem him. I think him one of the finest young gentlemen I have ever come to know.”

  “That sounds more like affirmation than anything else.” Her mother released a whinnying breath. “I suppose we shall have to get to know him.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” Clara said, rushing to envelop her in a hug.

  “Oh, my dear!”

  But soon she felt her mother’s arms surround her, and she rested her head against her mother’s thin shoulder, reflecting this was the first time since she was a child she had felt her mother’s affection in such a tangible way.

  “Please, no more talk of Richard,” her mother whispered. “Your father cannot bear that his only son turned out to be so weak.”

  “But one day, Mother, you know his sins will be discovered. There will be no escape for us, then.”

  Her mother sighed. “Just a little longer, that’s all I ask.”

  Clara hugged her closer. Her mother could hope all she liked, but something told her that Richard, forever master of his own destiny, would once again take little notice of those around him, those with whom justice demanded he make restitution.

  Ben adjusted the telescope, gazing out across the rooftops and roads to where the Channel glistened and gleamed beyond, a promise of cool refreshing for those brave enough to venture in. His heart snagged. It had been too long. Perhaps he should revisit those waters—though not as those in Brighton seemed to prefer, in one of those namby-pamby bathing boxes. No, give him the shore, and the waves, and the chance to dive like the seals he’d seen off the Cape of Good Hope. Back when he’d dreamed he might one day rise to commodore status. Back when his knee worked, and his prospects seemed sure.

  How he wished his time as captain had not ended. He swallowed regret. But if he had not, he would not be here, forging closer bonds with his siblings. And he would not have found such a fine young lady to occupy his dreams. And he would certainly not have been invited to the Marine Pavilion as a guest of the future king.

  A smile tugged at his lips. He did not know exactly why he’d been so honored with an invitation to the Prince Regent’s gala. Only knew that his brother was livid, his sister panic-stricken, and his own emotions ranged between bewilderment and anticipation at the thought of spending the evening with the Honorable Clara DeLancey. Really, it seemed nothing short of a dream, a delightful dream, where he could once again be the hero and save the fair maiden. Except this time, he had the strangest feeling the fair maiden was the one rescuing him.

  The door to the cott
age swung open, and Tessa swept in, her grin illuminating her face as much as George’s deep scowl darkened his.

  His brother collapsed heavily into a chair. “I cannot believe that woman.”

  “Which woman?” Mattie asked from her corner, placing her sewing down.

  “Miss Clara DeLancey, that’s who!”

  “I believe she should be more correctly referred to as a young lady,” Mattie chided.

  “I don’t care what she should be called. I know a word for her, and it’s one that should not be repeated—”

  “Enough!”

  George caught Ben’s narrowed gaze, sighed. “I forgot she has some hold over you.”

  “She has no hold over me, but I still take issue with you referring to her in that way.”

  “George,” Tessa said, “I don’t know how you can cast such aspersions. Clara was everything that was wonderful: so kind, so helpful.”

  “Yes, I know she was so kind and helpful. Kindly pointing out the most expensive fabrics, and so helpful in insisting it all had to be ready by Thursday at the latest, all for the special premium Madame Thingamy was so helpful in adding to the cost.”

  “I’m sure Tessa will look wonderful,” said Mattie.

  “I know I will,” said Tessa complacently.

  Ben bit back a grin as his brother covered his face with his hands. “I do not know what’s come over you! What happened to modesty? Why can’t you be content with less?”

  “But you heard Madame. She said the clothes I wore were positively provincial! Surely you did not imagine my best ball gown appropriate for the Prince. It was made in Kent!”

  Ben snickered. Mattie smiled. George groaned. “I wish you would take your lead from dear Amelia, and be satisfied with something less expensive.”

  “But I do not want to look a frump.”

  George’s cheeks mottled. “Are you saying my Amelia is a frump?”

  “I was not the one to just do so.”

  “Now, look here—”

  “I am sorry, George, but I would rather take fashion advice from someone who is always elegant, and often one of the best dressed in the room. Why wouldn’t I listen to Clara,” Tessa continued, “especially when she has been to the Pavilion and been counted a success, and you have not even gone there?”

  The head of the family growled something and stalked from the room. Ben finally released his pent-up laughter. “That was too bad of you, Tessa. You know he will act like a bear for the rest of the week.”

  “Are you sure choosing such expensive attire was completely necessary?” asked Mattie worriedly. “What if George refuses to pay?”

  Tessa laughed. “Oh, Clara knows all the tricks. She told him Madame Sabine required a deposit of half the final sum immediately, with the balance to be paid on delivery. Of course, everybody knows that dressmakers are scarcely in a position to demand those kinds of arrangements, and often must survive on IOUs for months, but George obviously does not know as much as he thinks he does.”

  Mattie smiled. “So you really will be the belle of the ball?”

  “Oh, Mattie! The gown is more magnificent than I could have dreamed! I feel like a princess in it! I know you thought me vainglorious earlier, but truly, when I looked at my reflection, with the color and my hair done the way Clara managed, I could scarcely recognize myself.”

  “Clara seems something of a fairy godmother,” Mattie said.

  “I’d rather her be something else,” Tessa said, with a sideways look at Ben that made the tips of his ears heat. “Oh, and you know what else she did?”

  “What?”

  Tessa’s face took on an unearthly glow. “She told me … the Exeters would be there.”

  “The Exeters?” Mattie asked.

  “Lord Featherington’s family.”

  “Oh!” Mattie sat back in her chair, exchanging glances with Ben. Suddenly the reason for their sister’s transformation was most plain. If Tessa could be seen in her best possible light, in the presence of the most highly ranked member of the kingdom, surely any claim she’d laid on their son’s heart would be deemed slightly more acceptable.

  “Clara did this,” Mattie said slowly. “She must have spoken to the Prince.”

  “Or at least that Houghton fellow.” Ben’s stomach tightened with unease. He had not cared for the way that man had looked at Clara, nor for that matter the way he’d gazed at Tessa, as though the two young ladies Ben cared most about in all the world were nothing but delicacies designed for consumption. He shook his head, faking a smile until Tessa had floated from the room.

  He drew his chair closer to Mattie’s. “Houghton seemed the sort of man who might expect something in return for a favor.”

  “Do you think so?” Mattie bit her lip. “I’m sure Clara would not have thought such a thing.”

  “She would not, but he …” He shook his head. “I cannot judge the man. I do not know him after all. But I cannot like the way he looked at her.”

  “At Tessa?”

  Mattie’s sharp gaze brought the heat to his cheeks again. “At both of them.”

  “Then isn’t it good that Clara managed to get you included in said invitation?”

  She’d done that for him. Somehow managed to inveigle an invitation for him, giving him opportunity perhaps to finally speak to the Prince Regent about that reward he’d once promised. “Yes. She is …”

  “Considerate? Talented? Kindhearted? Lovely?”

  “All of that.” And beyond his touch. His spirits dipped.

  “You shall have to be on your guard, though.”

  “Of course.”

  He gritted his teeth. He would certainly be on his guard—to protect both his sister and the young lady who’d laid claim to his heart from the Prince whose reputation as a Lothario had long been known throughout England.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  NEVER HAD HE imagined himself in such a venue. Ben glanced around the pale green antechamber into which they’d been waved after handing their invitations to a little man at the door. They had joined a long line waiting to be received by the Regent, giving Tessa and himself—and every other guest—plenty of time to be astounded by their surroundings.

  The vestibule held a dragon and serpent motif, with the scaly creatures carved in wood panels and depicted on banners the same green as the wall.

  The line surged forward, permitting view of the Chinese gallery, and the Prince Regent who stood near its doors, ready to welcome his guests as they entered. Ben eyed him as they waited. Magnificently attired, his girth was as impressive as the dazzling decor surrounding them. He swallowed, forcing down unaccustomed nerves. Would the Regent listen? Would he even remember?

  They drew a few steps closer. His heartbeat hammered loudly, like an ironmonger forging chains. Ben glanced at Tessa, whose open-mouthed countenance betrayed the wonder she felt. The Long Gallery, decorated in garish crimson and gold, was some strange concoction of Moorish and Chinese, like someone had seen a tracing of a Chinese temple and tried to emulate it here. It certainly bore little resemblance to what he remembered from his trips to the East—nothing seemed especially authentic. Yet put together, in this higgledy-piggledy mishmash of design, it somehow seemed to work.

  A throat was cleared nearby. Ben gave their names to the servant, who announced them, and they were ushered into the presence of the Regent.

  Tessa immediately sank into the deep curtsy painstakingly taught her by Clara, while Ben proffered a bow he hoped worthy.

  “Mr. Kemsley. Oh, and Miss Kemsley. What a lovely addition you shall make to our party tonight, my dear.”

  The light filling the Regent’s eye as he looked over Tessa appreciatively made Ben’s heart sink a little. Before he could say another word the Regent had turned to the next guest, and they were forced to pass into the gallery proper.

  He fought frustration. The Prince had given no sign of recognition at his name. And if it could be determined from the crowds, any chance of a private word h
ad just been and gone.

  Tessa squeezed his arm. “Do not worry. I’m sure there will be opportunity later. You are not so very forgettable, after all.”

  He hoped not, anyway. “You, at least, made an impression.”

  Ben wrestled with unease. Surely the Prince could have no design on Tessa. As for Lord Featherington … Would he indeed attend? And if so, what could Ben say after that last painful interview? He rather doubted the young viscount would even remember holding a candle for Tessa, which would no doubt devastate her, as evidenced by her excitement about seeing him again. But if Featherington had not forgotten her, if his character proved firm, then perhaps there was a chance. Ben muttered a prayer for her. If tonight brought about securing his sister’s happiness, then dealing with his own disappointed hopes would be that much easier to bear.

  Around them milled what seemed like hundreds of people, yet he was still to find the dark head that had lent wings to his feet and haste to his dress. He tamped down his impatience; she would be here soon. And in the time spent waiting, he would try to approximate the cool hauteur of these people so his gaucheness did not appear so marked.

  He refrained from tugging at his coat sleeves or checking that his neck-cloth remained neatly tied. While Tessa’s gown was all that was lovely, he’d needed to resort to his old coat, and trust that new silk breeches and waistcoat would suffice. He’d never considered himself a vain man, but among such splendor, he couldn’t help but wish to look well, as much for his sister’s sake as for the honorable young lady he wished to impress.

  Chinese banners and trophies were interspersed with bamboo couches that lined the walls. He nudged his sister, nodded to a tall pair of blue-and-white vases, two spots of calm amid the riot of bright colors. “Do you think Mattie should redecorate?”

  Tessa lifted her face to his, her eyes huge. “It is amazing.”

  “I rather think that is the idea.”

  She glanced up, emitted another soft gasp. “Look!”

  Halfway up the wall, a canopy carved to resemble the roofline of a Chinese pagoda curved gracefully to end in a row of bells. Above that, a series of painted windows, lit from without. And directly above them, an enormous lantern, suspended from a painted-glass ceiling. “Very Oriental.”