For a price, of course.
“Greystone!” Barbara’s eyes danced. “You have my thanks for rescuing me. Where have you been hiding these weeks past?”
“Some of us have to work, you know,” Colin teased. Pulling her farther away from the masses, he dropped his voice. “I was wondering…might you be willing to help me play a little trick on Priscilla?”
“One of your practical jokes? On Lady Priscilla?” Barbara’s musical laughter tinkled through the ballroom. “Count me in! What do you have in mind?”
“Well…” His ideas were half-baked. But suddenly inspiration hit. “Would you mind pretending you’re with child?”
“How would that help?”
“I’ve discovered Priscilla is quite the gossip—”
“You’re just finding out? For heaven’s sake, I’ve known that for years.”
“Well, I was thinking to tell her you’re expecting again—Charles’s babe, naturally—but not to tell anyone. She’ll tell everyone, of course, and eventually someone will congratulate you. Then—here’s the part you may not like—then you’ll storm off, saying you are not with child but you’ll certainly never be wearing this gown again! And Priscilla will be mortified that she started this rumor.”
“I love it!” Barbara exclaimed. “It’s so mean!”
Colin frowned. He didn’t want to humiliate Priscilla; he just wanted to teach her a lesson. “Do you think so?” he asked.
“No, not really,” Barbara recanted.
He looked at her sharply.
“Most any lady here would spread the rumor,” she rushed to reassure him. “Lady Priscilla won’t be thought of unkindly. Besides, no one will know where it started. One request, though. Afterwards, we must tell the poor soul I take to task—and Lady Priscilla, of course—that we started the rumor ourselves.” She fluffed her skirts. “I quite adore this gown, you know.”
Colin nodded. “You’re stunning in it. And worry not—I’ll make certain everyone learns the truth afterwards.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary. It will do my reputation good for people to think Charles has come back to me again. He will, you know.”
“Of course he will,” Colin assured her. “He always has.”
“He’s made such a fool of himself over Frances Stewart.”
Colin had heard this refrain before. A tall, beautifully proportioned girl some eight years younger than Barbara, Frances had arrived at court almost four years ago, and King Charles had been head over heels for her ever since. His love was unrequited, however, since Frances was that rarest of creatures: a chaste courtier.
“I cannot stand her,” Barbara said. “She prances around in that man’s dress made fashionable by the queen—as though I could wear such garb after bearing five of His Majesty’s children!”
“Come now, such dress is ridiculous anyway. And no one could rival you in that gown.”
“Thank you,” she said as though such compliments were her due. “Charles wrote a poem about her, you know. ‘Oh, then ’tis I think there’s no Hell, Like loving too well,’” Barbara quoted in a sickly sweet voice. She rolled her eyes. “And still she wouldn’t share his bed.”
“There are those who think Frances must be simpleminded to persist in such virtue,” Colin consoled her—carefully skirting his own opinion on the matter.
“Oh, she’s a dunderhead, all right. Her favorite pastimes are playing blind-man’s buff and building castles out of playing cards. Grammont said it’s hardly possible for a woman to have less wit or more beauty.”
“Then she’s no true rival to you,” Colin assured her. He spotted his intended making her way across the ballroom. “Priscilla is headed this way. You agree to my plan?”
“Yes, it shall be great fun. I shall dazzle you with my performance.”
“Very well, then. I look forward to it.” He walked toward Priscilla nonchalantly, hoping she hadn’t noticed the long time he’d spent talking with Barbara.
After mingling a bit, he danced again with Priscilla, enjoying the jealous glances of the other men present. She was tall and graceful in his arms, and she wasn’t gossiping, for once. At the end of the dance, he was pleased to realize he hadn’t thought about Amy for quite a few minutes.
Coming off the dance floor, he said casually, “I’ve heard tonight that Barbara is expecting His Majesty’s sixth child.”
“She told you so?” Priscilla was more animated than usual, her interest piqued by the opportunity to be in on a juicy bit of gossip.
“No, it was someone else. You mustn’t tell anyone, though, for she hasn’t even told Charles yet.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t,” Priscilla said much too quickly. “But who told you?”
“I’ve been sworn to secrecy. I chatted a bit with Barbara to see if she’d let it slip, but she didn’t say a word.”
“She doesn’t look enceinte.” Priscilla slanted a dubious glance to where Barbara was surrounded by a new group of hangers-on.
“She’s only just had it confirmed, according to my source. She wouldn’t be showing yet.”
“Of course. I’m not well versed in such matters, since I haven’t had children myself—yet.”
Priscilla knew Colin wanted children; he’d made no secret of the importance he placed on family life. And she’d offered no arguments, he reminded himself now. She really was a good choice for him.
“Would you care for some spiced wine?” he asked, knowing it would be out of character for him to discuss such a gossipy subject too long.
“No, thank you,” Priscilla declined prettily. “I’m not thirsty.”
Colin saw right through her excuse: She couldn’t wait to get back to her friends. However, he enjoyed his jokes tremendously, especially the anticipation, so he wasn’t quite ready to let her get started.
“No, I insist.” He drew her over to the refreshment table and handed her a cup of wine. Taking one himself, he grasped her firmly by the elbow. “Shall we enjoy the garden for a while?”
“It’s freezing out there,” Priscilla protested.
Colin smiled to himself. “Just for a minute. It’s beastly hot in here.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Between the blazing fires on either end of the ballroom, the hundreds of candles burning in the chandeliers above,
