somersaulted onto the pavement. Spinks, the butler, picked him up, and said gloomily, “Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.”
“Where on earth did you find such a biblical butler, Princess Felicity?” asked Lord Arthur as he drove off.
“I hired him in London,” said Felicity, and added primly, “I am fortunate in having such a God-fearing staff.”
“What is the religion of Brasnia?”
Miss Chubb surveyed Lord Arthur with dislike. “Orthodox Brasnian,” she said repressively.
“Oh, don't let's talk about Brasnia,” said Felicity hurriedly, “or you will quite spoil my day. My poor country. So much turmoil. So many revolutions.”
Miss Chubb emitted something that sounded suspiciously like a groan.
“By George,” said Dolph. “Got the Jacobites over there as well?”
“You were not listening, Dolph,” came Lord Arthur's amused voice. “Princess Felicity does not want to talk about Brasnia!”
While Felicity was on her way to the balloon ascension, a portly gentleman called Mr. Guy Clough, a Virginian tobacco planter, was landing at Bristol. After a decent bottle of port at a good inn, he began to feel much recovered from the rigors of the voyage. He fished in his pocket and drew out a small oilskin packet and looked at it thoughtfully. A minister, the Reverend Hereward Harrington, had given him the packet before he sailed and had told him the strange story of the repentant kitchen maid, Bessie Redhill. Mr. Clough debated riding over to this Tregarthan Castle and confronting this Mr. Palfrey with the evidence of his crime. But a man who could half kill a servant and have her transported might not hesitate to shoot any bringer of bad news. Also in his capacious pockets, Mr. Clough carried several letters of introduction to people in court circles. The Prince Regent was also Prince of Wales and Duke of Cornwall. Tregarthan Castle was in Cornwall. Then it would be better to get word to the Prince of the evil that had taken place in his duchy and let him cope with it. Mr. Clough was a lazy man and preferred to put any action off to the last minute. He returned the will to his pocket and proceeded to forget about the whole thing.
And, also on that afternoon Mr. Palfrey was arriving in London. Life had been too uncomfortable of late, hounded as he was by the locals and reviled by the servants. He had decided to take himself off to London. Time was a great healer. He would visit the opera, see some plays, and generally enjoy himself. By the time he returned to Cornwall, he was sure the whole business would have died down.
The Belvedere Tea Gardens were crowded to overflowing. Felicity was glad of the crowd and the noise. Lord Arthur had talked generally about ballooning, plays, operas, and the balls to be held during the Season. He had not mentioned Brasnia. But there was a feeling of waiting about him, and every time his eyes fell on Felicity, they lit up with amusement.
When they had set out, the weather had been fine. But now a thin veil of clouds was covering the sun and a chill wind had sprung up. Lord Arthur solicitously produced bearskin carriage rugs for the ladies.
The great balloon had been already filled before their arrival, and its huge red-and-yellow-striped shape rose well above the crowd. The pilot balloon was sent off, then two carrier pigeons. The crowd, who had become bored with the long wait-for it had taken over two hours to inflate the balloon-cheered the pilot balloon and the pigeons wildly, glad to see some action at last.
Another cheer went up as the balloonist, a Mr. Peter Green, was escorted through the crowd. And another cheer rose as the cords were cut away and the gas-filled balloon began to rise.
Felicity's eyes filled with tears as she watched it. Lord Arthur's overwhelming masculine presence was making her extremely uncomfortable. She felt she would like to float away, like Mr. Green, far away from the troubles and worries of her masquerade, far up into the clouds, far away from staring, curious eyes. Lord Arthur silently handed her his handkerchief, and she stifled a sob and blew her nose. Silence fell on the crowd as the balloon began to climb and climb. Then sand fell down from it like white smoke, the wind caught it, and it began to bear away steadily to the east. Felicity, like the crowd, watched and watched until the balloon grew smaller and smaller in the distance, until it finally appeared into a bank of cloud.
And then all chaos broke loose. A crowd of people had been sitting on the wall of a house that bordered the tea gardens. As they swayed and shuffled to get down, the wall broke. There were terrified screams, and the crowd went mad. They pushed this way and that against the carriages. Lord Arthur's light curricle tilted wildly. Miss Chubb was thrown out, and Dolph leapt down after her to try to rescue her from the stampeding crowd.
Lord Arthur's groom was holding the horses’ reins and brandishing his whip as he tried to keep the crowd clear of the terrified horses.
“We're going to be crushed with the carriage,” cried Lord Arthur. He jumped down and lifted Felicity into his arms and began to force a way through the crowd, booting, kicking, and cursing as he cleared a path. He looked back over his shoulder. His groom had cut the horses free and was leading them safely away-just in time, for the curricle had been upended.
“Nearly safe,” said Lord Arthur in Felicity's ear. His arms were tightly around her, and above one hand he could feel the swell of her bosom. Her light body seemed a throbbing, pulsating thing. The effect of holding her so close was making his head swim. He looked down at her. She had her arms tightly around his neck, but her eyes were downcast.
He carried her clear of the crowd and stood for a moment, filled with an overwhelming reluctance to free her.
“Look at me, my princess,” he said softly. Felicity turned bewildered eyes up to his face and saw a light burning in those black eyes that made her tremble. He suddenly held her very tightly against him, smelling the light scent she wore, and feeling the trembling of her body.
Then he set her down, and, turning a little away from her, he said in a rough voice, “There is a posting house quite near here. If you can walk that far, I shall hire some sort of carriage to take you home. You had better hold my hand. There are a great many unsavory people about.”
It would be all right to hold her hand, he thought. Any man, holding a beautiful young girl in his arms would have felt the way he did. But mere hand-holding was safe enough. He took her hand without looking at her. But a burning sensation seemed to run up his arm.
By the time they had reached the inn, he realized he wanted Felicity more than he had wanted any woman in the whole of his life. And he was engaged to be married.
“You are holding my hand very tightly,” said Felicity in a small voice, “and we are well clear of the crowd.”
He released her hand. He had meant to ask for a private parlor so that she might be able to have some refreshment before he escorted her home. But he knew he could no longer be alone with her without wanting to touch her.
In a loud voice, he demanded a carriage, any carriage, brushed aside the landlord's apologies that there was only a gig, said he would take it, and drove Felicity home, only breaking his silence once to assure her that Dolph could be trusted to protect her companion.
She was in such a nervous turmoil that she should have been glad to see him go, but when he swept off his hat and bent over her hand to kiss it, she found herself saying, “Shall we meet again?”
“Alas, I do not think so,” he said. “I shall return to the country within the next few days.” He half turned away and then swung round again. “But should you need any assistance, ma'am, tell Dolph, and he will know where to find me.”
Felicity trailed into the house and stood for a moment in the hall, dwarfed by all the rented magnificence of tiled floor, soaring double staircase, and oil paintings in heavy gilt frames.
Mr. Silver, a book in his hand, came out of the library at the far corner of the hall.
“Good afternoon, ma'am,” he said formally. Mr. Silver, like the rest of Felicity's employees, was well aware she was not a princess but always addressed her as if she were royal.
“Oh, Mr. Silver,” cried Felicity. “Is Madame Chubiski returned?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“She was with me at the balloon ascension when a wall collapsed. There was rioting, and we became separated. Lord Arthur's friend, Mr. Godolphin, was with her.”
