Scandal of the Year (24 page)

James deemed it time to disperse the audience. “I ask for everyone to return to their merrymaking. I would not wish to disrupt your enjoyment of the evening.”

As expected, the aristocrats had the good manners to heed his command. The gentlemen and ladies began to drift away, some to gather in clusters to gossip, and others to form lines on the dance floor. The string ensemble resumed playing, filling the air with a lilting melody.

“Prince Nicolai,” Lady Davina said, applying subtle pressure to his arm, “my father is waiting to speak to you.”

“One moment.” Seeing another couple approach, James held up his hand. “It appears there are a few others who wish to greet me first.”

His gaze narrowed on the newcomers. It took all his concentration to hide the hostility that twisted his insides.

Edith and George Crompton.

They were the very image of prosperity, Edith in rich green silk with an emerald aigrette in her styled auburn hair, and George wearing a finely tailored burgundy coat with fawn pantaloons. No one here would ever guess that Edith had started out her life as a tenant farmer’s daughter named Mercy Bleasdale. No doubt her swindler of a husband had come from a similar background.

Edith glided straight to James. “Your Highness,” she said, genuflecting before him. “If I may beg a moment of your time.”

Beside her, George made a deep bow from the waist.

Their respectful posturing stirred a cynical amusement in James. Not a flicker of recognition showed on their faces. They did not identify him as the new footman who had served them at the dinner table—and certainly not as the heir of the man whose fortune they had stolen.

“You may speak,” James said.

“I am Mrs. Edith Crompton and this is my husband, George. On behalf of my daughter and son-in-law, Lord and Lady Mansfield, I would like to welcome you to Pallister House.” She placed her hand on Blythe’s shoulder. “May I also mention, my youngest daughter, Blythe, has been launched recently into society.”

“Mama, that isn’t necessary. The prince and I have already met.” Blythe’s eyes widened and she swiftly amended, “Just now, I meant, for when else would we have met?”

James hid a smile. He found her utterly adorable when she was flustered. “When else, indeed, considering this is my first trip to England. I must thank all of you for your generosity in allowing me to join your inner circle.”

The Duke of Savoy and Lady Wargrave uttered polite inanities, as did Lady Davina, although her mouth had a pinched look. She clung like a nettle to his arm, clearly unwilling to relinquish her claim on him—especially to any of the upstart Cromptons.

Portia and Lindsey joined the small group, and Edith introduced the rest of the family. While the sisters did their curtsies, Portia wore a slight frown while Lindsey exchanged a furtive glance with Blythe.

They must be itching to toss him out on his ear. But James knew they wouldn’t dare make a scene for fear it would reflect badly upon Blythe. It should prove interesting to hear how they explained his presence at the party to their husbands.

A tall man with a scar on one cheek, the Earl of Mansfield offered James a firm handshake. “It’s an honor to have you in my home. Although I must say my wife neglected to mention that we had royalty on the guest list tonight.”

Lindsey leaned against his arm and directed a cajoling look up at him. “Darling, you’re far too busy a man to be bothered with all the details. Anyway, I’ve been so involved with Ella that I simply forgot.”

He had the guarded look of a man who thought he was being conned. “But when did you meet Prince Nicolai to issue the invitation?”

When Lindsey hesitated, Blythe and Portia spoke at the same time.

“A chance encounter on Bond Street,” Blythe said.

“The prince and I have a mutual friend,” Portia said.

Lord Ratcliffe sent a keen stare at his wife. “A mutual friend? Strange, I’ve never heard anything about this.”

“Nor have I,” Mrs. Crompton said, raising an eyebrow at her eldest daughter.

Portia glanced at her sisters and then at her husband, who stood at her side. “Prince Nicolai is acquainted with the Maharajah of Bombay. You do recall Arun, don’t you?”

Ratcliffe shared an intense look with his wife. He placed his hand on her back in a possessive gesture. “How could I forget? But forgive me for being perplexed. How did the maharajah meet Prince Nicolai? Is Ambrosia located near India?”

“Um … I don’t really know.”

She flashed a desperate glance at Blythe, who parted her lips as if to speak. Of course, Blythe didn’t dare spout expert knowledge of his native land, James thought in cynical amusement. It served her right for scheming to have him play a phony prince from a fictitious country.

“Your Highness,” Blythe said, “perhaps
you
are the best one to answer our questions.”

He gave her a cordial nod. “Yes, I forget that few people know of my distant kingdom. Ambrosia lies in the mountains north of the Caspian Sea. My father became acquainted with Arun’s father a very long time ago in Kashmir. When I embarked upon my world tour last year, my father requested that I pay my respects to the son of his late friend.”

“You’ve been to Bombay, then?” George Crompton said. He had been standing silently at the edge of the group, but now he stepped forward, his face alight with interest. “My shipping business is based there. I’ve been to the maharajah’s palace many times.”

James had no wish to be bogged down in a conversation about a place he’d never seen. “Then you will already be aware of its magnificence. I shan’t trouble you with the details.”

“Why, it’s no trouble at all,” George said with alacrity. “Perhaps if it’s agreeable, we might talk sometime. I should very much enjoy hearing all the latest news.”

“Your Highness, if I may be so bold,” Edith said, “may I invite you to dinner at our house very soon? It would be at your convenience, of course.”

Blythe lifted a hand as if to restrain her mother. “Please, Mama, we mustn’t intrude on the prince’s goodwill. I’m sure that he has many more important things to do during the
short
time he’s in London.”

Her gaze shot to James. But he needed no warning of the danger of sitting down to dinner at Crompton House. The upper crust might not always recognize the individual footmen, but the servants had far better powers of observation.

Godwin in particular.

“Regrettably, Miss Crompton is correct,” James said. “Much of my time in your fair city will be taken up in such matters as trade negotiations and tedious dinners with government officials. You see, my country has rich deposits of gold and precious gems, and my people are depending upon me to see to their livelihood.”

“Surely you will be accepting
some
invitations,” Lady Davina said. “Prinny will be returning next week from Brighton, and you’ll certainly wish to meet England’s Prince Regent. With Papa’s permission, I will plan a ball in your honor.”

Blythe looked positively aghast at the prospect, as did her sisters.

Taking pity on them, he told Lady Davina, “I would never dream of putting you to so much trouble on my behalf. Especially since I may be called away at any moment.”

“Called away?”

“I received a letter only this morning that my father, the king, lies ill. Should his condition worsen, it may be necessary for me to return to Ambrosia at once.”

She made a murmur of distress. The fingers that seemed permanently affixed to his arm now tightened. “How very dreadful.”

James saw through the sham sympathy in those avid blue eyes. The duke’s daughter was calculating her chances of becoming Queen of Ambrosia sooner than anticipated.

“I do not like to see you so unhappy over my refusal of your kind gesture,” he said. “Perhaps I could arrange time for you and your father to accompany me on a drive in the park tomorrow afternoon.”

“Of course, Your Highness. We would be most honored!”

James allowed her a moment of triumph. It wouldn’t last for long.

He slowly scanned the small group until his gaze stopped on Blythe. She watched him with wary attention, her lips compressed. He knew exactly what she was thinking. She had created Prince Nicolai in order to divert Lady Davina. The purpose was for Blythe to have the opportunity to attract the Duke of Savoy.

But now James had turned her plans upside down.

Little did she realize, however, he had done so for a reason she couldn’t even begin to fathom. To make her fall in love with
him
, instead.

“I must ask one more request,” James said. “That we will make a foursome and include Miss Crompton in our party.”

Chapter 22

By the following morning, Blythe had worked herself up into a lather. She was too vexed to touch the breakfast tray on the table by the sunny window. Although the ormolu clock on the mantel of her bedchamber showed the ungodly hour of nine-fifteen, she was already garbed in a gown of sky blue with her hair twisted up into a loose knot atop her head.

Soft cream slippers kicked out her skirt as she wore a path in the fine carpet. Blast James! She had not seen him since he’d bid an early farewell to Lady Davina and the rest of the party. He had walked out of the drawing room at Pallister House, and Blythe had hesitated to follow for fear of drawing undue attention. When she’d finally deemed it safe to leave the room a quarter of an hour later, his princely raiment had lain abandoned in the upstairs bedchamber. That meant he must have changed back into his livery and wig.

But he hadn’t joined the other footmen serving at the party. Nor had he attended the coach that had carried Blythe and her parents home.

He had simply … vanished.

Where had he gone?

That question had plagued her into the wee hours of the night. She’d waited up late, thinking he might knock on her door and offer an explanation for his actions. But he hadn’t. Consequently, she had slept fitfully, awakening earlier than was her custom. This morning, when she’d asked about him, her maid had revealed the startling news that he had not been present at breakfast with the other servants. On a pretext, Blythe had dispatched the girl to look for him.

She prowled to the window and looked out over the rose garden. James must know that he owed her an accounting after the way he had disobeyed her orders. He wasn’t a coward to be hiding down in the cellar, afraid of her wrath. Nor was he a man who shirked his duties.

Maybe he was busy at some task below stairs. He might be unable to find an excuse to come up here.

Or what if something dreadful had happened to him?

The possibility clutched at her heart. Last night, he must have walked back alone to Crompton House. Maybe he had been attacked by footpads. He was a powerful man, well capable of defending himself in a bout of fisticuffs. But if the villains had come at him with pistols or knives, and if there had been a whole band of them …

A soft knocking made her pivot toward the door. James?

She flew to answer the summons, pausing only a moment in front of the pier glass to tuck a few stray strands back into place. Then she swung open the door.

Kasi waited in the corridor. An orange sari swaddled her round form, and the familiar gray bun perched atop her head. She held a gold jewel cask in her hands.

A vast disappointment spread through Blythe. “Oh … good morning. Please come in.”

The old
ayah
waddled past her. Blythe peeked out, half-hoping to spot James striding toward her. But the ornate passageway stretched out empty in both directions.

When she turned around, Kasi had a quizzical look on her wrinkled features. “Who you look for?” she asked in her sing-song voice.

Those dark currant eyes always seemed to know everything. Blythe said offhandedly, “I’m expecting my maid to return soon with a fresh pot of tea. Now, why are
you
here?”

“
Memsahib
tell me give you this.” Kasi handed Blythe the gold box. “She say you wear for prince today.”

Blythe frowned at the reminder. At four o’clock, she was supposed to depart for a drive in the park with Prince Nicolai, Lady Davina, and the Duke of Savoy. What if James failed to show up?

She had to find him. Never mind waiting for the maid to return. Blythe must go below stairs herself. Failing that, she’d don her pelisse and walk the route to Lindsey’s house, looking for signs of an attack.…

“You open,” Kasi prodded.

Realizing the Hindu woman stood waiting, Blythe unlatched the clasp and lifted the lid of the cask. The breath caught in her throat. On a bed of dark blue silk gleamed her mother’s finest pearl necklace, along with a matching set of earbobs. The creamy orbs seemed to glow with a life of their own.

“These are the pearls that once belonged to the Maharani of Jaipur.”

Kasi pressed her palms together in a salaam. “Yes, missy. Blessed by Shiva, bring great luck so you marry prince.”

“Prince Nicolai?” Startled, Blythe shut the box at once. Had Mama now set her ambitions on Blythe becoming royal? Good heavens, what a tangled web! “I’ve no desire to be the wife of any foreign prince. I intend to wed the Duke of Savoy.”

“You marry prince.” The
ayah
touched the red dot above her eyes. “I see your destiny.”

Blythe decided not to argue the matter. Kasi was often correct in her predictions, but not this time. Prince Nicolai didn’t really exist and Blythe certainly could never marry the footman who had impersonated him.

Affecting casualness, she asked, “By the by, have you seen the new footman this morning? I need to ask him a question about a letter he delivered the other day.”

Kasi made no reply. Her gaze shifted toward the door.

A moment later, someone knocked. Blythe whirled around to see James standing in the open doorway.

Her heart took flight. Unlike her last view of him at the party, he now wore his footman’s livery and wig. She scanned him up and down in search of injury. He appeared perfectly hale, his strong, masculine features exhibiting no sign of bruising from any tangle with footpads.

Instantly, her vexation returned in full force. So her fears had been for naught. He had allowed her to stew all night and half the morning without offering any explanations.