Mr. Silver snorted, folded his arms, and glared grimly out the window.
As the carriage rattled through Berkeley Square, Lord Arthur found himself saying, “I have decided to stay a little longer in town. Would you care to come driving with me-say on Friday-in three days’ time? I shall call for you at five.”
He was not only a danger to this masquerade of hers, thought Felicity, he was a danger to her body, which seemed to be fusing hotly against the side of his own. When he smiled down into her eyes in that lazy, caressing way, as he was doing at that moment, he was a danger to her very soul. She must tell him she would never see him again. She must…
“Yes,” said Felicity weakly. “I should like that very much.”
It took the efforts of three strong footmen to carry Miss Chubb upstairs to her bedchamber and four maids to undress her and put her to bed.
Felicity sat by the bed and held her unconscious companion's hand and looked down at her face. “Oh, Miss Chubb,” she whispered. “Why am I so very happy when it can all lead to disaster?”
Two days later Miss Barchester slowly lowered a copy of the
“Papa,” said Miss Barchester. “Would it not be splendid to travel to London this weekend? Poor Lord Arthur must be pining away without me.”
“Don't like London,” grumbled Mr. Barchester. “And if Lord Arthur is pining that bad, he's only got to come home.”
“Papa,” said Miss Barchester, a steely note in her voice. “I have said I wish to go to London.”
“Eh, what? Oh, very well, m'dear,” sighed Mr. Barchester, who had long ago given up arguing with his strong- willed daughter.
Chapter Eight
It was the fashionable hour in Hyde Park. Spanking carriages darted along in the hazy spring sunlight. Dust rose from under hundreds of painted wheels. A carriage, particularly a lady's carriage, was not so much a means of transport as a sort of moving platform for the display of wealth. The more expensive the horses and carriage, the less used. No first-rate carriage horse was expected to travel more than fourteen miles a day at a maximum speed of ten miles per hour. In the wealthiest establishments, a large, expensive retinue of coachmen, grooms, and stable boys was maintained so that milady or milord could drive out in grand style for one and a half hours a day, six days a week. Some of the ladies, beautifully attired in the most expensive fashions of the day, drove themselves with a liveried groom sitting on the rumble seat behind, or, occasionally, following on horseback at a distance that was great enough to appear respectful but not so great that he could not afford immediate assistance with horse or carriage in an emergency.
All of the servants were dressed in colorful livery with gay vertically-striped waistcoats, though the footmen wore horizontal stripes indoors. Their coats were ornamented with silver or gilt livery buttons. The stable staff wore highly polished top boots, while the footmen wore white silk stockings that were usually padded out with false calves if their legs were thin. The coats of arms on the carriages were miniature works of art, and the whole display had an air of idle opulence.
But underneath all this atmosphere of languid elegance, each member of society was in deadly earnest. Mamas studied the faces of the eligibles for signs of interest while their daughters giggled and fluttered, and used fans and eyes to the best effect. Parvenus cut their country relatives dead as they fawned on the notables.
And Lord Arthur Bessamy was discovering, to his amazement, that one could make love to a lady with one's whole body without touching her or moving an inch. His eyes caressed the smooth pearl of her cheeks, his arms, correctly holding his cane and his gloves, were, in his mind's eye, clasped tightly about the slimness of her waist. His lips burned against hers in his imagination.
Felicity sensed a wave of sensuality emanating from him without quite knowing what it was, without knowing why her whole body seemed drawn to him, why her lips felt hot and swollen, and her breasts strained against the thinness of demure muslin.
Dolph was in good spirits, cheerfully waving to everyone he knew. Miss Chubb was downcast, her eyes red. Felicity had overhead Miss Chubb having the most terrible row with the tutor, but when asked about it, Miss Chubb had only sniveled dismally and refused to explain.
Felicity grew more uncomfortably aware of her own reddening cheeks and treacherously throbbing body. Lord Arthur was engaged to be married, she told herself firmly, and then wondered why that thought made her feel so depressed. When they stopped as a carriage full of Lord Arthur's relatives pulled up beside them, Felicity was glad of their company, glad to have Lord Arthur's disturbing attention taken away from her. But her peace of mind did not last long. One faded aunt with a long, drooping nose and pale, inquisitive eyes, said, “Bessamy, you have forgot your manners. Introduce us immediately to Miss Barchester-or do you mean to keep her away from us until the wedding?”
“This is not Miss Barchester,” said Lord Arthur equably. “Allow me to present Princess Felicity of Brasnia.” He then introduced his relatives to his party. Two aunts, two uncles, and two small female cousins bowed to Felicity and stared at her in open curiosity. “Charmed,” said the inquisitive aunt who had been introduced as Mrs. Chester- Vyne. “Do you mean to reside in London for long, Your Highness?”
“Only for a few weeks of the Season, Mrs. Chester-Vyne.”
“I am very good at geography and have a knowledge of the globes,” piped up a small cousin with a face like a ferret. “I have never heard of Brasnia.”
“Nor I,” said Mr. Chester-Vyne, who looked remarkably like his long-nosed wife.
“Dear me,” said Lord Arthur. “Never heard of Brasnia? I am ashamed of you all. It is quite lovely this time of year. They have the Festival of Manhood about now. All the young men in the villages are stripped quite naked and lashed…”
“Here, now!” protested Mr. Chester-Vyne. “Ladies present.”
“Bessamy!” said Mrs. Chester-Vyne awfully. “We have no wish to have our sensibilities bruised by macabre tales of a barbaric race. Walk on, John.”
The coachman raised his whip, and the relatives drove off with many a backward offended glance.
“By Jove!” said Dolph. “You have found out a lot about Brasnia.”
“Not I,” said Lord Arthur cheerfully. “I merely wanted to be shot of them. You must tell me the truth about Brasnia someday, Princess.”
“Yes, I must, musn't I,” said Felicity in a small voice. She took little consolation from the fact that the encounter with Lord Arthur's relatives had had the same effect as a bucket of cold water being poured over her.
“Going to the opera tonight?” she realized Dolph was asking.
“We have no plans for this evening,” said Felicity.
“Then, you must come with us!” cried Dolph. “Lord Arthur has a box, and you would be delighted to take the ladies along, now wouldn't you, Arthur?”
A vision of his fiancee's pale, cold face rose before Lord Arthur's eyes.
“You simply must come,” he said. “Catalini is singing. We shall call for you at eight.”
“I don't think I should attend,” sniffed Miss Chubb. “I know Mr. Silver will be quite furious with me.”
Felicity looked at her in surprise. “What on earth has our tutor to do with where we go?”
