The Prince's Ball

17

The Prince’s Ball

    “Petrovsky?” murmured Lady Caroline Grey, laying down the Prince’s invitation. Midge watched in fascination: it would have been a vast exaggeration to say that her Ladyship’s tone indicated that the invitation did not smell pleasant. Even “distaste” would have been too strong a word to characterize her Ladyship’s manner. One was left, however, in no doubt that her sentiment was not approval.

    “Mm. Sleyven’s opinion is that the man will turn out to be a merchant from Omsk. Or possibly Tomsk,” said Lady Judith drily.

    “I have certainly not heard the name.”

    “No. Well, we are under no obligation to accept,” said Lady Judith briskly. “He and the mother are received everywhere, but as far as one can ascertain it seems to be on their own recognizances.”

    “Indeed?” returned her aunt without amusement.

    “How fascinating!” said Midge with a gurgle.

    ‘Fascinating?” echoed Lady Caroline slowly.

    “Why, yes, ma’am! The idea that he and the mother might in fact be merchant stock from Tomsk passing themselves off to our simple little community as Russian royalty!”

    Lady Caroline picked the invitation up again. “Ekaterina Nicolaevna Petrovna is the mother, then?”

    “Yes. Reputed to be a grand duchess,” said Midge solemnly.

    “Highly unlikely, my dear Millicent,” replied Lady Caroline kindly. “The Princess Esterhazy has never mentioned her.”

    “Does she know all the Russian grand duchesses?” asked Midge on a weak note.

    “Most certainly, my dear.”

    “Oh. Well, there are two possibilities, then,” said Midge with a smile. “Either they truly are merchants from Omsk or Tomsk, or our local worthies have the title wrong.”

    “The one seems as likely as the other to me, Millicent. However, if you wish to go, I dare say there could be no objection. That is, providing one wishes to range oneself with the rest of the county, should it come out that they are, in fact, impostors.”

    “My dear Aunt, I think that ‘impostors’ is too strong a word,” said Lady Judith in some amusement, looking at Miss Burden’s flushed cheers. “Do you wish to attend, my dear?”

    “N— Well, of course I wish to! Who would not, a dinner and ball given by a Russian prince, even an ersatz one! But I do not think that I should, for it is only just over three months since Mrs Cartwright’s death.”

    “You are not a relative. It would be inappropriate for little Janey to go,” said Lady Caroline firmly, “but if you wish it, my dear, we shall. It will be a chance for you to try your wings in Society in a setting where the odd little faux pas cannot signify. And as no-one one knows will be there, it can scarcely signify if the fellow turns out to be Beelzebub in person. You will not dance, of course. You should wear your black silk.”

    “Really? Thank you, Lady Caroline,” said Midge numbly.

    “Do you wish to take her, Aunt Caroline?” asked Lady Judith, her eyes twinkling.

    Lady Caroline picked up her fan—a delightful thing of black lace mounted on silver sticks. Her afternoon dress was of a soft shade of smoky grey, of heavy silk adorned with knots of lace and dusky rose ribbon. Although she was a massive lady, the effect was entirely tasteful, as even Miss Burden had silently recognized. The cap she wore on her abundant sliver curls was a small, lacy affair, with more knots of the dusky rose. She fanned herself gently. “I shall most certainly take her; I wish to observe her comportment. You may accompany us, Judith. Simon may escort us: David need not come.”

    “Er—well, he will be sorry to miss out on seeing the Prince at home, but on the whole I think that is wise. If the man is ersatz I think he would prefer to have held aloof from him.”

    “But what if he isn’t?” asked Midge in fascination.

    “Then the Dean’s absence from one dinner and ball will scarcely be remarked upon,” explained Lady Caroline graciously.

    “Quite,” agreed her niece with a lurking twinkle.

    “I see,” said Midge slowly. “I hadn’t looked at it like that... What a fascinating game it is!” she said, her face lighting up.

    “It is not a game, Millicent,” returned Lady Caroline in measured tones. “The Dean’s consequence is not to be taken lightly.”

    “No, I didn’t mean that,” said Midge hurriedly. “I meant... The moves. Rather like chess. Working out what will be significant, or have repercussions, and—and so forth.”

    “Certainly,” agreed Lady Caroline, inclining her head graciously. “I see you have grasped that the forms of polite behaviour are empty only to the empty-headed. Very good.”

    “Yes: we shall see you a great political hostess yet, Millicent!” said Lady Judith with a laugh.

    Midge smiled weakly and looked a trifle nervously at Lady Caroline.

    “Judith exaggerates, my dear: she was ever prone to do so,” said the massive lady. “But I do not deny that that is the first step—yes.”

    Midge smiled weakly again.

    … “Intelligent.” summed up Lady Caroline when Miss Burden had taken her leave of the Wynton ladies. She picked up the invitation again.

    “Aunt Caroline, if you do not wish to recognize this possibly ersatz prince, Millicent is more than sensible enough to understand our turning down the invitation.”

    “My dear, I think my consequence can stand one dinner and ball with a merchant from Tomsk. –No, this is rather curious...”

    “What: the fact that he has not used a string of ersatz titles?”

    “Do not be frivolous, Judith,” she said calmly. “No: the fact that Millicent has been included in the invitation to ourselves.”

    “On the contrary: I dare swear the entire county knows of the understanding between herself and Sleyven. Though I assure you that I have mentioned it to no-one outside our immediate family except the girl’s sister-in-law. But you know how these things get about. But dear Aunt Caroline, considering that the Marsh woman will undoubtedly be there, do you think it is wise to take Millicent?”

    “That is precisely why I wish to take her,” she said in a tone far drier than any her niece had ever managed to attain. “It is exactly the sort of social awkwardness with which a woman in the position which will be hers must learn to cope.”

    Lady Judith merely looked at her weakly.

    “Doubtless I shall make the most frightful faux pas, though she was kind enough to indicate there would only be the odd little one or two, but as no-one one knows will be there, it cannot signify!” explained Miss Burden airily.

    Janey and Katerina collapsed in giggles.

    “She cannot actually have said that!” gasped Janey.

    “I assure you she did. Well, my dear, what can the odd Patterson, Somerton or Ventnor signify to Lady Caroline Grey?”

    “Help, is she that bad?” gulped Janey.

    “Not at all. She did not say that they could not signify, merely that no-one one knows will be there.”

    Janey could only smile weakly at this, but Katerina collapsed in giggles again.

    Midge smiled very much, but admitted: “Somehow it was quite easy to keep a straight face, since they are calling me Millicent.”

    “Ooh, yes,” said Janey slowly. “You wouldn’t feel like you.”

    “No—well, I shall certainly not feel like me in black silk with a black lace fan kindly loaned by Lady Caroline herself, sitting up like Jacky at the Prince’s board! Incidentally, the Princess Esterhazy,” she said in a voice heavy with meaning, “does not know the Grand Duchess.”

    Janey returned smartly: “I wager she does not know the Grand Duchess’s paste necklace, either!”

    “Goodness, possibly they really are merchants from Tomsk, then!”

    Somewhat to Katerina’s relief, Janey cried: “No, no, it is far more likely they are Russian royalty, fallen upon hard times! Very possibly the country estate is let—to a rich merchant from Tomsk, for an enormous sum—and they are living off the rent!”

    “Sid ’ad better stir ’is stumps, then,” concluded Mr Bottomley-Pugh. “And I’ll warn Aunt Cumbridge not to wear that dratted necklace to the ball.”

    “Yes. Um—Pa, when we said we’d lend Uncle Sid our dining things, we did not know Miss Burden would be at the dinner,” Katerina ventured.

    Mr Bottomley-Pugh scratched his chins. “Ar. That’s true.”

    “Has she seen them, though?” asked Mr Vaughan.

    “Yes!” he shouted. “You sat opposite ’er, large as loife and twoice as nat’ral, and troied to tell ’er mucked-up sweetbreads in a woine sauce was brains!”

    “Oh, yes: that time,” said Mr Vaughan, unabashed.

    “She was right opposite the picture of the lady in green,” said Katerina in a hollow voice.

    “Ar. I’d best grab that back orf Sid, then.”

    “Yes,” she agreed with a shudder.

    “The rest could be anybody’s,” he said airily.

    “Pa, it’s so risky! I clearly remember Miss Burden admiring the pattern on the silver!”

    “And Mamma’s china,” added Vaughan hoarsely.

    “That was the Spode,” replied Mr Bottomley Pugh tolerantly.

    “Pa, you have never lent them the full set of Limoges?” gasped Katerina in horror.

    “Aye. More loike what a Russian Prince might ’ave. Why, do you think some of them theatrical lot’ll nick the odd plate or two?”

    “N— Actually, that is a distinct possibility,” she admitted, wincing. “But if any of it should get broken—!”

    “They ain’t eating off it for everyday. And Aunt Cumbridge’ll be in charge, it’ll be all roight. And if a dish ain’t ate off, what use is it?” he said robustly.

    His children looked at him limply.

    After a moment Vaughan ventured: “What about the tea-set?”

    “Sid’s got two sets. The Dresden things, what your mother, God rest ’er, could never aboide, with them half-dressed ladies a-frolicking with the gents in satin coats, and the Worcester.”

    “Pa, Miss Burden’s sat in this very room and drunk tea out of the Worcester with Ma I dunnamany times!” he gasped.

    “Ar, well, that’s a point.—And don’t you let me hear you say ‘I dunnamany’, what do you think I had that la-de-da Mr Eaves to you for?—I’d best tool the curricle over and have a word with Sid,” he decided.

    Vaughan got up thankfully. “Good. I’ll come with you.”

    “I won’t forget nothing. But you can come if yer like,” said Mr Bottomley-Pugh tolerantly to his heir.

    “You forgot about the Worcester tea-set!” retorted Vaughan smartly.

    Mr Bottomley-Pugh looked at him with a twinkle in his eyes but conceded: “Aye, I did that. Must have things on me moind.”

    Meanwhile, the minds of the ladies of the neighbourhood were on more significant matters than the Prince’s china.

    “No! I have worn the violet!” snapped Kitty.

    Miss Harrod shrank, and did not suggest the gold, for she had worn that, too.

    “It shall be the green— Stay! What colour is the Dinsley Airs ballroom?”

    Miss Harrod gulped. “I have never seen— Wuh-well, if it be like the ballroom here—”

    “Oh, be silent!” she cried. “There is no knowing what the Cartwright creature may have done to it!”

    “She did not choose that green marble mantelpiece hersel—”

    “GET OUT!” screamed Kitty.

    Thankfully Miss Harrod got.

    … “Take that off instantly,” said Mrs Waldgrave in a steely voice. Pouting, Miss Amanda removed the purple favour from her shoulder. “And that.”

    Pouting, Miss Amanda removed the other purple favour from her flounce, not pointing out, oddly enough, that purple was His Highness’s colour.

    “Now,” said her mother grimly, “let me look at you.”

    Amanda pouted sulkily while her mother looked at her in her pale blue muslin.

    “It will not do,” she decided grimly.

    “But Mamma, it is quite new!”

    “He has seen— You have worn it too often. We shall make up that length of pale lilac organdie.”

    “Buh-but I thought Eugenia—”

    “Nonsense.”

    Miss Amanda raised no more objections. The palest lilac organdie was a delightful shade, which very fortunately her complexion—unlike Eugenia’s—was fair enough to stand. And the purple favours would look much more becomingly on it than on the blue!

    … “So what shall you wear?” demanded Lacey eagerly.

    Katerina blinked a little, but replied politely: “I suppose it will be my white muslin. With the new deep blue sash.”

    Katerina was so lovely she would look well in anything, but in Miss Somerton’s opinion a Missish white muslin would not display her at her best. She now expressed this opinion, and urged Katerina to have her Pa buy her a new gown.

    “Of course he would if I asked him,” she said placidly, “but I think a colour would not be appropriate. You forget I am younger than you. I would not like to do the wrong thing, since the Prince has so kindly asked us to the dinner as well as the ball. –We could not imagine why,” she added disingenuously—Mr Bottomley-Pugh had been unable to resist the temptation of witnessing his scheme come to fruition—“but came to the conclusion that perhaps it was to make up the numbers.”

    Miss Somerton went very red and produced a hasty, confused refutation of this theory, so Katerina concluded with relief it must be what the whole county was saying.

    “I shall ask your Mamma’s opinion,” she decided.

    Lacey subsided glumly.

    Sure enough, Mrs Somerton, very pleased to be consulted, pronounced that although blue was Katerina’s colour, as she was only just out—and if her Papa intended her to be presented next year, then she was not truly out yet!—white would be the only appropriate choice.

    Miss Burden was ready. She descended to the front parlour with her chin held high, but with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Which was absurd, for if she made a fool of herself, so much the better.

    Lady Caroline and Lady Judith were waiting for her, interrogating Janey to while the time away. Mr Golightly was fidgeting.

    Lady Caroline raised her ivory lorgnette. Miss Burden tried not to quail. “Yes,” she pronounced finally. “It will do. My dear, have you no little piece of jewellery you might wear with it?”

    “A little pearl necklace? Or an amethyst brooch, maybe?” offered Mr Golightly kindly.

    “Thank you, Simon: your opinion was not solicited,” returned his great-aunt with the utmost calm.

    Mr Golightly subsided, muttering: “Sorry, Aunt Caroline.”

    Miss Burden opened her fist. “Well, there is this.”

    Lady Judith dropped her fan.

    Lady Caroline’s large, fair-complexioned face remained impassive. “Simon, pick your mother’s fan up, if you please. –Yes, very pretty, Millicent, my dear, but unless you and Jarvis wish to advertise the connexion, I would not advise wearing it.”

    ‘Oh,” said Miss Burden in a blank voice.

    Mr Golightly came to look. “Dare say it is part of the Wynton set,” he explained kindly.

    “Yes,” said Lady Judith weakly. “I thought you had realised that, Millicent.”

    “Should I not have worn it to tea with you, then?” said Miss Burden in a bewildered voice.

    Lady Judith swallowed. “That was quite acceptable, my dear, of course.”

    “I see. Wearing it to a more public function would have been my first faux pas of the evening,” said Miss Burden gloomily.

    Janey here coughed and clapped her hand over her mouth, but perhaps fortunately neither of the Wynton ladies registered her.

    “And you have nothing else?” asked Lady Caroline kindly.

    “No, Lady Caroline.”

    “Never mind, my dear: your skin does not need the aid of jewels. Now, come along, everyone.”

    “Give me the brooch, Miss Burden,” said Janey in a strangled voice as the company headed for the door.

    Midge handed her the Wynton diamonds and emeralds, avoiding her eye.

    “With your skin and hair,” said Lady Caroline thoughtfully as the Deanery carriage jogged on its way towards Dinsley Airs, “a deep violet with the black silk would be ravissant.”

    “Er—thank you, Lady Caroline,” said Midge limply. “But would it not be a little elderly for me? I believe the Grand Duchess wears just such a combination.”

    “Exactly, my dear: that was just what I was going to say,” she said with measured approval.

    Miss Burden shrank into her seat, smiling palely. Not that she wished to incur Lady Caroline’s displeasure, at this early stage. But how lowering, to know she had inadvertently said the right thing!

    Mr Patterson had eyed his majestic wife drily but had not pointed out that it was Lombard Street to a China orange that for a do like this, the Marsh female would also be wearing lace. Sure enough, when they were ushered into the salon at Dinsley Airs the first thing they laid eyes on was the Marsh female in lace!

    It was a most unusual combination: the overdress was a drift of palest green gauze—Miss Cornwallis and her bosom-friend, Miss Frewsham, on taking their seats instantly embarking on a low-voiced argument as to whether it could truly have been said to be a pale willow green—and the shimmering satin underdress was more of a sea-green. The lace, covering not only the bottom third of the skirt, but the entirety of the bodice and puff sleeves, was heavily embroidered with crystal beads and sea-green silk thread; and her pale shoulders rose from a positive froth of lace, gauze, sea-green satin ribbons and crystal beading. A sea-nymph, was the only possible conclusion.

    “Bit past it for a dashed nymph, ain’t she?” remarked the jaundiced Mr Patterson in his brother-in-law’s ear, as they retreated to a quiet corner, sherries in hand.

    “Eh? Oh, is that what it is? I’d have used the word ‘Medusa’, meself.” Captain Cornwallis looked drily at the complication of curls, braids, tiny strings of pearls, narrow curlicues of satin ribbon and fronds of pale green feather adorning Mrs Marsh’s head.

    Mr Patterson choked into his sherry and acknowledged, coughing: “Aye, well, the siren song’s aimed at the Prince, all right and tight!”

    “Mm. –Who is that?” he asked, frowning.

    “What, the fat fellow? Bottomley-Pugh: retired merchant. Not a bad fellow. Owns that rather decent new house just—”

    “Not him: the dark girl next him.”

    “That’s little Miss Bottomley-Pugh, Leonard. His daughter. Ain’t you seen her before?”

    “No.”

    “Handsome girl,” said Mr Patterson on a cautious note: Captain Cornwallis’s good-looking face had gone quite pale.

    “Yes.”

    “Er—think she’d be a good bit younger than my Rosalind, old man. Have an idea she’s only just out. Er... I dare say she is the dark-haired Diana type, but—uh...”

    Captain Cornwallis said nothing. His forget-me-not blue eyes remained riveted to Miss Bottomley-Pugh.

    “Dear old boy, I know you ain’t the head of your family, but—uh—well, a tradesman’s daughter? And then, dare say she is but half a dozen years older than your Harriet,” he offered miserably.

    Captain Cornwallis appeared not even to have heard him.

    Mr Patterson quailed. Points such as Winifred’s wearing lace on an evening when the Marsh bitch was also wearing lace suddenly paled into utter insignificance. Oh, God!

    They were quite a select band at dinner. In fact, it was clearly a great compliment to have been asked at all. Presumably one could expect the scaff and raff to appear for the dance, later. Very naturally Miss Burden had not been placed in a prominent position at the dinner table: in fact she was next Mr Golightly on the one hand, to their mutual relief, and, she was delighted to discover, old Mr Wardle on the other. Mr Wardle appeared equally delighted. Midge was conscious of a certain thankfulness that she had not been allowed to get away with wearing the Wynton brooch: the old gentleman would quite undoubtedly have spotted it.

    The Earl had not intended to come, for county gossip had assured him that Kitty Marsh would be present. “All guns blazin’,” was in fact how Sir William Ventnor had put it over the port to himself and Charles Langford one night. Lady Caroline had, however, informed him, imprimis, that he was to attend, as “Millicent” would be there, and secundus, that he might address herself as “Aunt Caroline” if he so wished, Jarvis. The Earl could only bow to force majeure. And hope to God that Miss Burden had not produced the phrase in such a context before her Ladyship.

    He found himself placed at his hostess’s right hand. Once one had accustomed oneself to the idea that the Grand Duchess Ekaterina Nicolaevna could not communicate with one except by means of nods and smiles it was extremely restful, really. Mrs Patterson was at his right: although she made an effort to make polite conversation, Jarvis could see she had something on her mind. Possibly it was only the fact that at the other end of the table Leonard Cornwallis was sitting between Miss Frewsham and Mrs Marsh, completely silent. Well, at least whoever had arranged the table had had the tact to keep the woman away from himself. He smiled and nodded at the Grand Duchess and offered her a dish of duck in a particularly nauseating sauce, vaguely reminiscent of something he had once had in India: raisins and cinnamon featured largely. Possibly it was a Russian receet.

    “You had the best of it, Lacey!” said Midge with a laugh as the ladies reconvened in the Russian salon.

    “Do you think so? Mr Marsh and Mr Vaughan Bottomley-Pugh are both pretty enough, but as they spent most of the dinner conversing across me about horseflesh, I was not exactly flattered!” replied Lacey crossly.

    “Oops!” she said merrily.

    “I would rather have been in your place, Miss Burden: at least Mr Golightly has the manners to treat one like a lady.”

    “If not like a person: mm. Mr Wardle’s conversation was far superior.”

    “What on earth did you talk about?” asked Lacey limply.

    “Well, he was talking, largely, not I. County history, mainly,” said Midge weakly, not revealing that it had been principally Wynton history. Her arriving in the charge of the Earl’s formidable relatives had, she must suppose, done nothing to dispel the rumour of her understanding with his Lordship.

    “Help!”

    “I venture to suggest that even you would have preferred that, Lacey, to poor Miss Rosalind Patterson’s position between Major Harrod and Mr Butterworth.”

    “Yes: why on earth do you imagine the Reverend Butterworth was invited to the dinner when the Waldgraves were not?”

    Midge shook her head. “I have no idea.”

    “My dear young lady,” said a magisterial voice from just behind them—Midge jumped and repressed a gasp—“if, as I apprehend, you are referring to the clergyman who was placed between the young lady in the apricot silk and the child in the white muslin with the blue ribbons, he was clearly invited to make up the numbers.” Lady Caroline came forward, looking gracious. “As, no doubt, were the other unattached gentlemen present. –Will you not introduce me, Millicent.?”

    “Yes, of course, Lady Caroline,” said Midge in a small voice, trying to ignore Lacey’s dropped jaw at the “Millicent.” “May I present Miss Somerton? Lacey, this is Lady Caroline Grey. She is Lady Judith Golightly’s aunt.”

    Miss Somerton looked up at the bulk of Lady Caroline, resplendent in black silk slashed and swagged with bronze, with bronze and black feathers held in a giant topaz and diamond clip on the head, and dropped a very deep curtsey indeed. And did not venture any conversational gambit at all. Even though she had privately remarked earlier to Miss Bottomley-Pugh that she dared swear she could identity the very rooster amongst Sir William’s prize poultry from whose tail the feathers had come.

    Katerina, meanwhile, had managed to sequester the Grand Duchess Ekaterina Nicolaevna in her own room.

    “Don’t panic, the dinner set’s intact,” said the old lady drily.

    “Good. Um—I just wished to say, are you positive that the chef that Pa hired from London for the dinner will not talk?”

    “He can’t. He’s gone.”

    Katerina sagged.

    “Some on us ’as got a few brains besides you and Joe, yer know,” she noted.

    “Yes. Thank you, Aunt Cumbridge,” said Katerina weakly. She kissed the old lady’s cheek.

    “’Ere, did you see the Earl’s face when ’e tasted that duck?” she choked. “I Russified it! The chef nearly threw a fit, but I said to ’im: ‘Russian is as Russian does, and you’re bein’ paid handsome for this, so hold yer noise!’”

    “Just as well he’s gone back to London, then,” she said in a hollow voice.

    “Ar. But there’s more to come,” said Aunt Cumbridge, laying a finger to the side of her nose. “Wait until you taste the cold supper!”

    “Dear Aunt Cumbridge, I—I have an awful suspicion that the very grand lady who is Lady Judith Golightly’s aunt may actually know some Russian people. She moves in diplomatic circles.”

    “Too bad. –She won’t make a scene, lovey, if she does suspect anything: ladies like her don’t. Added to which,” said Aunt Cumbridge shrewdly, “she’s come, ain’t she? She’ll look as silly as anyone if she goes round sayin’ we ain’t really Russians.”

    “Ooh, yes!” discovered Katerina, beaming at her.

    “Now, get orf, before they get suspicious.”

    “No-one will be suspicious; I shall say that you asked me to help you pin up a hem.”

    “In Russian—aye. Be orf with yer!”

    Giggling, Katerina ran off.

    Mrs Cumbridge readjusted the black lace veil carefully so as to conceal the paste tiara from the gaze of the curious, took up her silver-knobbed stick and followed her great-niece slowly downstairs. Mentally crossing her fingers.

    Mrs Marsh whirled in the dance in the arms of the Prince. Sid Bottomley did not, frankly, know which he most wished: to bury his face amongst the soft billows emerging from that palest green froth of lace and ribbon, or to tell the woman to stop batting the damned eyelashes.

    … The Earl bowed before Miss Burden. Midge was very glad to have the magisterial Lady Caroline say calmly: “Jarvis, my dear man, pray do not be absurd. Millicent is still in half-mourning.”

    “Yes. You should dance with some other lady, my Lord,” said Midge hoarsely.

    “No: if you will not dance with me, there is no other lady with whom I care to take the floor. May I?” he said, indicating the chair next hers.

    “May he, Millicent?” said Lady Caroline unemotionally.

    Midge fluttered her lashes for a moment, not altogether voluntarily: Lord Sleyven in evening dress with a large black pearl pin in his cravat was a sight fairly well calculated to make a lady flutter the lashes. However, she then produced: “Oh! Well—of course you may, sir; but I think perhaps it would be more appropriate to—to your position and the circumstances if you were not to ignore every other woman in the ballroom.”

    “What?” he said with a laugh.

    “If you had not manifestly just asked me,” said Midge on an earnest note, opening her eyes very wide, “perhaps it would be acceptable—rather more acceptable, at all events—for you to sit out quietly; but there are several ladies here who will feel themselves slighted, when you have asked me, if you do not ask them.”

    “Precisely,” said Lady Caroline, looking pleased, as the Earl opened his mouth to make a laughing protest.

    “Yes. Noblesse oblige,” added Midge hoarsely.

    “But Miss Burden.” he said, the pale sherry eyes twinkling, “my hostess clearly will not care to dance: are there truly any other ladies here to whom the courtesy is due?”

    “Jarvis,” said Lady Caroline without emotion, “you are being deliberately provoking. Pray go and dance with the squire’s lady.”

    Miss Burden agreed: “Yes, Lady Ventnor has no partner: I think you should, sir. And then Mrs Somerton, or perhaps it should be Mrs Patterson next.”

    “You’re not serious?” he said with a startled laugh. “Aunt Caroline, I was under the impression that I was to be allowed to dance with Miss Burden if I came tonight!”

    Midge lowered her eyes primly. “Of course I am serious, Lord Sleyven.”

    “Yes. And oblige me by ceasing to stand here arguing, Jarvis,” said Lady Caroline on a cold note.

    The Earl shrugged slightly, bowed elaborately to the ladies, and went off to do his duty.

    “That was well done, my dear,” conceded Lady Caroline.

    “Thank you, ma’am,” replied Midge, feeling a complete hypocrite.

    … “I think I must not h’ask you immediately for the next, for there are several horridly grand ladies here who weell be vairy offended if I do not ask them,” murmured the Prince, smiling, as the waltz came to an end. “but promise me you will keep several for me later, yes?”

    Kitty fluttered her lashes wildly, peeping up at him. “Oh, Prince! Of course I— Oh, but how shall I be sure that you will not be very, very naughty and break your word, and dance with all the horrid ladies all night?”

    “Because they are h’all hags, my dear!” he hissed, as the music stopped.

    Kitty gave a smothered giggle, and sank into a deep curtsey.

    Sid bowed properly, but he was aware that the curtsey had given the cow the opportunity to check that his equipment was in working order. Though in his opinion, she should have been able to check that sufficiently during the dance.

    Peter Ivanovich, in his rôle as major-domo, had taken up a commanding position near the main door of the ballroom. “Hoible-groible, watchy thatsky, hotsky nicely,” he muttered to Ilya Romanovich,

    Mr David Darlinghurst gave a smothered snigger, and hissed: “Leg-oversky soonsky?”

    Harold Hartington, since no-one was looking at them, allowed himself a quick wink.

    Miss Rosalind Patterson, Miss Amanda Waldgrave and Miss Somerton having privily made a pact, they escaped as soon as might be from their mammas, and gathered in the small room set aside for the ladies’ use.

    “Quick, before someone comes in!” hissed Lacey anxiously.

    Amanda forthwith produced a cluster of purple favours from her reticule. Solemnly they all pinned them on: one each on the right shoulder. There was an extra one: looking defiant, Amanda pinned it in the flounce of the delightful pale lilac organdie gown.

    “There!” said Lacey on a vicious note. “Mamma made me throw all that purple ribbon away, Amanda, did I say?”

    “Mamma will kill me, I dare say,” noted Rosalind dispassionately, examining her reflection in the mirror.

    The others eyed her nervously.

    “But I do not care!” she said with a pout.

    “Good! And we are agreed, are we not?” said Lacey anxiously. “No turning back?”

    The other two agreed, though Amanda expressed regret that Susi-Anna Marsh had not seen fit to join them.

    “Nor Katerina,” said Lacey with a sigh. “She maintains that he is too old to be interesting.”

    The other young ladies had heard this before, but nevertheless they expressed a horrified condemnation of the opinion. Then they exited, heads held high, faces defiant.

    … “Noi! Youngsky ladies! Purplesky favours-sky!” hissed Peter Ivanovich.

    Mr Darlinghurst sighed deeply.

    Mr Hartington’s shoulders shook, but he murmured: “Time for champagnesky, Ilya Romanovich.”

    Nodding, Mr Darlinghurst went over to the long table where Mr Geoffrey Mainwaring was guarding it, and proceeded to circulate with a tray. Mr Hartington then observed with a certain wild resignation that he was offering it to the guests with a respectful bow and a respectful “Champagne-sky noi, monsieur?” Oh, well. One could not, after all, expect to hire a Kean for a mere summer engagement.

    Midge had spotted the girls returning to the ballroom. She gulped, the more so as she and Lady Caroline were engaging in elaborately polite conversation with Mrs Somerton at the time. There was no mistaking the moment at which Mrs Somerton caught sight of Lacey with a purple favour on the shoulder of her entrancing deep yellow gauze gown: her beady eyes bulged and white dints appeared beside her narrow nostrils. Miss Burden barely restrained a wince, but she could not help wondering whether Lady Caroline had noticed anything. Though if she had, she supposed, she would not remark on it.

    Midge was wrong. Lady Caroline raised her ivory lorgnette. She looked. She lowered the lorgnette and smiled sympathetically at Mrs Somerton. “That is quite to be expected, from girls of that age, Mrs Somerton. My own Matilda, at very much your daughter’s age, wore nothing but pink for the better part of a Season because a certain distinguished military personage had mentioned in the most casual way that pink became very young ladies. Her hair, perhaps I should add, is a very bright ginger,” she noted calmly.

    Mrs Somerton gave a relieved laugh. “Oh, well, yes, Lady Caroline, girls will be girls!”

    Miss Burden, even though she was very nearly sure the story was apocryphal—she could not imagine Lady Caroline allowing a ginger-haired daughter to get away with pink at all, let alone for the better part of a Season—looked at the massive lady with considerable admiration and not a little liking.

    Mrs Waldgrave, meanwhile, had gasped and dropped her fan.

    Miss Waldgrave retrieved it politely for her.

    “Eugenia,” she hissed, not thanking her, “go and tell your sister instantly to remove those ribbons!”

    “She will not take any notice of me, Mamma. And as she has dared to flout your express order, I fear she may defy you, also.”

    Mrs Waldgrave gave her a bitter look.

    “I have noticed she has become very wayward of late months. Possibly it is this giddy life in which you are encouraging her to indulge,” added Miss Waldgrave coolly.

    “How—dare—you?” said Mrs Waldgrave through her teeth to her eldest daughter.

    Miss Waldgrave looked down her nose. “If no-one else will tell you so, Mamma, I at least do not flinch from what I consider my duty. –Pray excuse me, I see that no-one is talking to Mrs Shelby.”

    Mrs Waldgrave glared as Eugenia walked off calmly to sit by Lord Sleyven’s agent’s wife. She was not in the least gratified when, two minutes later, Mr Butterworth joined them. She knew that he was engaged in an endeavour to get Mr Shelby to agree that he lease a large field behind his vicarage for the purpose of sub-letting it to various unfortunates for grazing their cows. No doubt he hoped to elicit Mrs Shelby’s support in this venture. The which, in Mrs Waldgrave’s opinion, was a piece of base commercialism, unsuited to his cloth.

    Mrs Patterson, having just enjoyed a dance with his Lordship, was engaged in polite conversation with the Earl and Lady Judith at the point at which Rosalind re-emerged into the ballroom with a large purple rosette on the shoulder of her apricot silk gown. She was unable, therefore, immediately to do anything about it. Her bosom swelled indignantly, however. It had clearly been a mistake to allow the girls to socialize in the neighbourhood. And Charlotte’s behaviour was almost equally unsuitable: she was sitting with Nettie and Miss Frewsham, all three of them frankly goggling at the Prince. The which conduct was the more undesirable in that it ranged Charlotte firmly on the shelf.

    Lady Judith had remarked this last. She suggested that they join Miss Patterson.

    On the far side of the room, Mrs Somerton having been requested for the next dance by Major Harrod, Lady Caroline was able to explain all of it to Midge.

    “Yes, but will Lady Judith actually order Lord Sleyven to dance with Miss Patterson?” she asked dubiously.

    “One would hope she would not have to, my dear.”

    They watched. Lady Judith’s group went over to Miss Patterson, but nothing eventuated therefrom.

    “Shall we go over there?” said Midge innocently. “I could suggest he dance with poor Miss Patterson.”

    “The sentiment does you credit, Millicent, but the suggestion would be unseemly, coming from a young woman who is not yet his wife,” she said kindly. “And also, of course, it would tend to make you particular.”

    Midge had expected this reply, and returned composedly, her voice displaying only an academic interest: “I see. So what will happen next? Will Lady Judith give him a hint?”

    Lady Caroline rose. “I trust so. Come along, my dear: if Judith does not, I shall do so.”

    Midge accompanied her, saying curiously: “Are we doing this because of what Lord Sleyven owes to his consequence, so as to soothe Mrs Patterson’s feelings, both with respect to Miss Patterson’s not dancing and with respect to Miss Rosalind’s purple ribbon, or because the Pattersons are not nobody?”

    “I think that you must perceive that all those reasons obtain, Millicent,” she responded calmly.

    Midge gulped, smiled weakly, and fell silent. Not daring to say, if Mrs Patterson had been a nobody, would the soothing of her feelings still have been in order?

    Lady Caroline spoke most kindly to Mrs Patterson, mentioning by the by that Lady Blefford had asked to be remembered to her, and then said: “What is this tune? A waltz? How delightful. I confess, I do not range myself with those who consider it an unsuitable dance for a young woman.”

    “No, and I would hope to be dancing it myself were I not still in my blacks,” said Midge, repressing a desire to laugh.

    “Of course,” agreed Lady Caroline, glancing at the Earl for a moment. “And do you permit your girls to dance it, dear Mrs Patterson?”

    “Why, yes: I do not find it objectionable,” she murmured.

    Forthwith the Earl requested the pleasure of Miss Patterson. And that young woman, whatever vows she might have taken in the privacy of her bedchamber to dance with no-one but Him, accepted with alacrity and allowed the wrong gentleman entirely to lead her onto the floor.

    Lady Caroline then without haste removed herself, her niece and Miss Burden from the group, thus considerately allowing Mrs Patterson to express her precise feelings to Nettie Cornwallis and Miss Frewsham. The which Midge, glancing back cautiously, was in no doubt she was doing.

    “That was wonderful,” she said frankly to Lady Caroline.

    “Scarcely.”

    “No: you are falling into my habit of exaggeration, Millicent,” murmured Lady Judith with a naughty twinkle in her eye. “Well, I have to thank you, Aunt. I could not see how to force the dratted man to ask that poor girl without being horribly outright about it.”

    “So we gathered,” she said calmly.

    Midge gave a smothered laugh, but ventured: “Surely he must know what his duty is, in such a situation, however?”

    “Certainly,” replied Lady Caroline with the utmost composure. “That does not mean that he will inevitably do it. The which is an important lesson to learn about gentlemen, my dear Millicent.”

    “Even the best of ’em, yes,” said Lady Judith drily.

    Midge blushed, gave a flustered laugh, and did not know where to look.

    The two tall Wynton ladies exchanged a glance over her auburn head and smiled a little.

    Mr Patterson, understandably desirous of avoiding the sight of his brother-in-law rushing upon his fate under the gaze of Winifred in lace while the Marsh female was ditto, had cravenly retired to the card room as soon as was humanly possible. Captain Cornwallis, therefore, was a little at a loss as to whom to ask to present him to Miss Bottomley-Pugh. He did not dare to ask Winifred. And he did not think Nettie knew the family. He supposed he could ask Sleyven—but then, possibly he did not know them, either. And in any case he seemed to be pretty well occupied, and if he joined him he might get dragged into a round of boring duty dances with all the matrons of the neighbourhood, too. Eventually he fixed on the squire as being most likely to know all the locals present.

    “Er—I say, Ventnor, who is the large fellow in the pink waistcoat?”

    “Bottomley-Pugh. Not a bad fellow. Retired tradesman. Don’t hunt, out of course. Mind you, his son does: that’s him over there: young Vaughan.”

    “I see. Would you do me the favour of presenting me?”

    The squire looked surprised. “Aye, will if y’like, old man, but there ain’t no need: young Vaughan won’t mind if you stroll up to him and ask if he’s interested in sellin’ that chestnut. But he ain’t, mind you,” he said, shaking his head. “Offered him his price, too.”

    “Er, no: to the father,” said Captain Cornwallis feebly.

    “Oh! Very well, Cornwallis, of course, my pleasure—” The squire’s voice faded out as he registered that Mr Bottomley-Pugh was standing beside his pretty little daughter.

    “Shall we?” said the Captain politely.

    “Er—mm,” he agreed, clearing his throat desperately, but not liking to say anything. For, if Cornwallis was near his own age—how long was it that he had had the command of his own ship? Well, if they were near-contemporaries, he did not know the man very well, and then, though her La’ship would not have cared to hear him admit it, Mrs Patterson’s family was a touch above the Ventnors. Dashed well connected. Most unfortunately there was no hope of his wife’s not spotting what he was doing: in fact he fancied he could feel her La’ship’s eyes boring into his back as he led the fellow over, presented him to father and daughter, and watched glumly as the handsome sailor, face glowing, solicited Miss Bottomley-Pugh to dance and took her off into the waltz.

    “Dare say she didn’t ought to waltz, but there, this ain’t London, hey?” said Mr Bottomley-Pugh comfortably.

    Sir William jumped. “What? Oh: no, old fellow, quite right. And all the girls is waltzin’, after all.”

    Mr Bottomley-Pugh agreed politely, but his shrewd little eyes twinkled a little. Very possibly all the maidens present had their mammas’ permission to waltz, yes: but it was not strictly accurate to say that they were all doing so. The pretty blonde one of the Vicar’s daughters was sitting with little Miss Somerton and the younger Patterson girl, all three of ’em with horrible pouts on their faces, all wearing purple favours for Sid, and all refusing to dance with the young fellows! He had seen, the moment he set eyes on those danged purple ribbons, that it was all up with the young fry, but Vaughan would not be warned, and had gone and asked Miss Somerton. With the expected result. Simon Golightly and Harry Pryce-Cavell had made similar cakes of themselves, and so had the Butterworth fellow what was supposed to be dangling after Miss Waldgrave, if you believed one report, or Miss Rosalind, if you believed another. Sid had not as yet danced with any of the slips of girls but his brother would not have put past him to do so, merely to spite their mammas.

    Now that he had his tall, lovely, dark-haired Diana in his arms, Captain Cornwallis could not think of a blessed thing to say to her. The more so since it was manifestly obvious she was half his age—less. Eventually he croaked: “I see you are not wearing a purple ribbon tonight, Miss Bottomley-Pugh.”

    Katerina’s lovely face crinkled into a smile. The Captain could see, in fact, that she was trying not to laugh, and felt a lot better on account of it. “Well, no, sir,” she admitted politely. “I am dancing, too, as you see.”

    “Exact!” he said with a laugh. “I am delighted on my own account, Miss Bottomley-Pugh, of course! But may I say I am glad to see you have so much sense?”

    “Thank you,” replied Katerina, smiling very much. “Although I do not think the possession of sense or lack of it is cause for congratulation or condemnation, really, sir. Is it not something one is born with?”

    “Aye, or without!” he said with a chuckle. “Well, to tell you the truth I am not very sure of the position where girls are concerned. But with boys, I have come across cases where although you would have sworn they were born with none, example and experience have managed to knock some into them. Even cases where very silly-seeming young midshipmen have turned into fine officers.”

    “I see. Of course, in your career, you must have become very much accustomed to dealing with young men. Well, as to girls, I am not perfectly sure, but I have an idea,” said Miss Bottomley-Pugh primly, the deep blue eyes sparkling. “that early precept must count for a great deal.’

    The Captain, very pleased to note that she was neither unsubtle enough nor unkind enough actually to come out and say that for some it was pretty obviously too late, shook with laughter. “Very likely indeed! –Do you reverse?”

    “Only with my dancing master so far, Captain Cornwallis, so if you do not care to risk it I shall quite understand.”

    He smiled and tightened his grip on her. “Oh, we naval men are accustomed to the manoeuvre, ma’am, have no fears. Ready?”

    “Aye, ready!” said Katerina, laughing up into his face.

    Captain Cornwallis smiled, and they accomplished the manoeuvre very creditably.

    “I think I have not seen you at any other of the entertainments in the neighbourhood this summer?” he murmured.

    “No. We are not generally invited,” replied Katerina tranquilly.

    The Captain’s handsome face flushed a little. “Then permit me to say that it is the neighbourhood’s loss, Miss Bottomley-Pugh.”

    “Thank you,” she said simply.

    “Er—my brother-in-law mentioned that you live over towards Nettleford, is that right?”

    “Yes. Our house is about five miles on this side of Nettleford, just off the Lower Nettlefold road: Nettleford House.”

    “I have seen it when I have been out with the hunt; yes.”

    She then asked him politely if he got down to the country very much, and the Captain revealed that he managed it once or twice a year, now that he was chained to a desk at the Admiralty, but it was not his county, of course. And began to tell her something of the south Devon coast, which was where his family hailed from, and the sailing he had done as a boy, and later...

    Mr Bottomley-Pugh watched with a certain wryness as, the dance ending, the handsome middle-aged sea-captain walked Katerina off the floor and sat down with her on a sofa, proceeding to engage her in close conversation.

    His were not the only eyes to have observed the pair. Mrs Patterson frowned, but did not feel that there was anything she could immediately do about it. Added to which, Leonard was old enough to look after himself. And besides, the girl was the only female in the room who even approximated to the tall, dark, Diana type he claimed to prefer: no doubt it was something and nothing. Mrs Marsh, though preoccupied with wondering exactly when His Highness would consider his duty to the horrid hags done and return to her, also noticed, and gave a mental shrug, with the spiteful hope that the cit’s daughter might catch Captain Cornwallis: it would serve his snob of a sister out. Mrs Somerton noticed, and although the Captain had never indicated the slightest interest in Lacey, and was, of course, at least as old as the Prince, was conscious of an annoyed moment of jealousy on her daughter’s behalf. And Mrs Waldgrave noticed, and frowned, deciding that she would drop a hint in Mr Bottomley-Pugh’s ear to the effect that it was not seemly for his daughter to be putting herself forward in such a manner. And incidentally mention the matter of a chaperone, for Miss Bottomley-Pugh had come to the dance escorted only by her papa and brother.

    Miss Portia noticed, and gave a slight toss of her head, for if he was terribly handsome he was also old: as old, she dared say, as Papa; whereas she, Portia, had been dancing with Mr Harry Pryce-Cavell, Mr Vaughan Bottomley-Pugh, Mr Marsh and Mr Golightly all evening!

    Lacey, Amanda and Rosalind noticed, though very largely distracted by the view of His Highness dancing this one with Lady Ventnor, what a waste. Rosalind experienced a faint amaze, but supposed that Uncle Leonard was just being kind. Lacey thought that they made a handsome couple, but for herself, she did not care for fair men. And Amanda decided that although Captain Cornwallis was very handsome, golden curls greying at the temples could not compare with those ravishing dark locks with the wings of silver, and then, for herself, she preferred a slenderer figure. Though no doubt the Captain would look well enough upon the prow of his ship. –Miss Amanda’s grasp of marine architecture being about equal to her grasp of plane geometry.

    Aunt Cumbridge most certainly noticed, and scowled horrifically within the shelter of the Chantilly veil, and tried to catch Joe’s eye, but to no avail. Lard, didn’t the man have no sense at all? Fine town bucks like Mrs Patterson’s brother weren’t interested in respectable merchants’ daughters for the purposes of matrimony!

    And Miss Burden also noticed, and frowned.

    “What is it, my dear?” asked Lady Caroline.

    “Nothing,” replied Midge grimly.

    “I think it is not nothing, Millicent: you were frowning.”

    “Yes, well, I do not care how fine the social connections of that naval gentleman might be,” said Midge in a lowered voice: “I do not care to see him making a dead set at Katerina.”

    Lady Caroline’s finely plucked brows rose infinitesimally. “Can you mean Captain Cornwallis?”

    “Yes.”

    “His connections are certainly unexceptionable. Who is the little girl?”

    “Miss Bottomley-Pugh. I am very sure you have never heard the name, ma’am. Her father is a highly respectable retired merchant who owns a fine house just outside Nettleford.”

    “Nettleford House? Yes: Judith has mentioned it.”

    Midge was very sure she had. Her mouth tightened angrily. “Katerina is but eighteen,” she said grimly.

    “Mm. Well, my dear, men will be men, and girls will be girls, but Captain Cornwallis is a respectable man.”

    “I dare say he is, within the limits of the definition that your set applies. I very much doubt that Katerina’s family would agree.” Midge rose. “Please excuse me, Lady Caroline.”

    “No, no, my dear, I shall accompany you. You do very right.” Lady Caroline rose without haste. “Has the child no chaperone?”

    “No—um—she came with her father tonight,” said Midge numbly, staring at her.

    “And where is he?”

    “Over there: the large man, with the pink waistcoat. That is his son who has just joined him, with Mr Shelby, Lord Sleyven’s agent.”

    “Then we had best take the child under our wing. Come along.” Lady Caroline sailed off. Midge tottered after her numbly. Help! Had she inadvertently done the right thing, again?

    Captain Cornwallis was visibly overcome to have Lady Caroline bear down upon him under full sail, and leapt to attention immediately.

    “How are you, Leonard?” she said graciously, graciously allowing him to kiss her hand.

    “Very well, thank you, Lady Caroline. And I trust I see you in good health?”

    “Certainly. I am rarely ill. And how is your dear mamma?” she asked with terrifying affability.

    The Captain, perforce, gave an account of his widowed mother’s state of health, and a briefer one of that of his elder brother, the brother’s wife, and numerous progeny. Lady Caroline then stated that she believed he knew Miss Burden? Captain Cornwallis appeared to recall her, though Midge could not honestly have said whether this were merely good manners or no. He then begged to present Miss Bottomley-Pugh to Lady Caroline; and within approximately a split second of that, they had all sat down together, the younger ladies one on each side of the massive Lady Caroline, very evidently under her wing.

    Two minutes after that, the Captain was sent off on dispatches to fetch lemonade.

    Lady Caroline then made quite sure that Katerina knew of the Captain’s widowered state and two daughters. Miss Bottomley-Pugh did not appear, on the one hand, thrilled to learn he was unattached, or on the other, horrified to learn his elder daughter was fifteen years of age. Midge by now knew her well enough to be very sure that whatever her actual feelings were, Lady Caroline would not be permitted to know them. She sat there with something of a sinking feeling.

    The lemonade had been consumed, a dance had gone by, and another waltz struck up. The Captain politely solicited Midge’s hand for it. Lady Caroline refused for her, explaining that she was still in mourning, and stated kindly that it would not be inappropriate for Leonard to dance one more with Miss Bottomley-Pugh. He bore her off eagerly enough, but with something of a conscious look about him.

    “I think he must be in his forties?” said Midge, when the silence had lengthened somewhat.

    “Certainly. I grant you he seems very struck, my dear, but it may be the passing fancy of a moment. But then, such a disparity in ages in a couple is not unheard of.” Placidly she cited the example of the Marquis and Marchioness of Rockingham. Midge did not think she had ever heard of them; she did not wish ever to hear of them; and she was not interested in hearing of them now. But she waited politely until it was over and then said: “Yes. It is not the disparity in age alone.”

    “No; but then, as I think I mentioned, he is a most respectable fellow. You need not fear for her virtue.”

    Midge went very red. “Possibly not. But what about her happiness? There is a considerable disparity in their backgrounds, and I doubt very much, from what I have seen of his relatives, that Katerina would be welcomed kindly into his family.”

    “His mother is an idiot, but negligible,” she stated calmly.

    Midge gulped.

    “She has never been interested in Leonard. If she had been, she would have seen to it that he remarried suitably long since. He has been a widower for twelve years. The wife was a ninny, though I think they were happy enough. She was not strong, and contracted a fever: rather sad, for she was expecting another child at the time, and he lost them both.”

    Miss Burden could only swallow, and nod mutely.

    “Lady Cornwallis doats upon the elder son, and takes very little interest in Leonard or the little girls. They live, in fact, with their maternal grandmother, at Richmond. The family home is in Devon.”

    “I see. But Lady Caroline, however little interest the mother may take in him, I do not think she would welcome a tradesman’s daughter into the family with open arms.”

    “No, but they need see very little of her,” she replied calmly.

     Midge swallowed again. “I suppose not. –I think we are being previous.” she added on a lame note.

    Her Ladyship patted her hand. “Very possibly so, my dear. Though it does no harm to anticipate eventualities.”

    “No,” said Midge, licking her lips.

    They watched the dancing in silence for a while.

    “Lady Caroline, may I ask you something?”

    “Certainly.”

    “Um,” said Midge, clearing her throat, “did you—did you deliberately wait until he had gone to get the lemonade before mentioning to Katerina that he is a widower with two daughters?”

    Lady Caroline hesitated for a moment. Then she said calmly: “You could put it like that, my dear. Certainly I deliberately refrained from mentioning the point to her in front of him. Whether or not she already knew, it could have embarrassed them both.”

    “Mm.”

    “But also,” she said, giving her a dry look, “I deliberately sent him after refreshment in order to introduce the point.’

    Midge nodded weakly. and gave a very feeble smile. “I see.”

    Lady Caroline patted her hand again. “I am sure you do, my dear Millicent.”

    The Prince Alexei Alexandrovich bowed very deeply before the three thrilled but petrified young ladies. “My dear Miss Somerton, may I beg the honour off this dance?”

    Rosalind and Amanda watched with starting eyes as he led Lacey into the set.

    “One down,” said Mr Bottomley-Pugh politely to the ambient air, at a little distance from the Grand Duchess Ekaterina Nicolaevna’s chair.

    Mrs Cumbridge raised her giant fan of black ostrich plumes smartly to her lips and hissed from behind it: “Don’t you dare to overset me, Joe Bottomley! And since we’re talkin’, go and keep an eye on Katerina!”

    Mr Bottomley-Pugh turned, bowed profoundly over Her Serene Highness’s hand and mumbled into it: “She’s all right: and I’ve got more sense than to walk smack up to Lady Caroline Grey and introduce meself!”

    Aunt Cumbridge sniffed but, aware that they were being watched, responded only with: “Mushy dushyer. Hoible-oisky diddle-umsky brumble-ovich, noi? Mushy dushyer.”

    Mr Bottomley-Pugh gulped somewhat but managed to bow again and reply: “Not at all, Your Highness. A very pleasant party, it I may be allowed to say so.’

    Her Serene Highness inclined the Chantilly lace graciously and returned: “Mushy dushyer.”

    And Mr Bottomley-Pugh, bowing profoundly, retreated in good order.

   “I’ve been a very good boy and done exactly what I was told; may I sit with you, now?” said the Earl meekly.

    Lady Caroline rose. “Certainly, Jarvis. You may sit this one out with Millicent while I chat to Mrs Somerton.”

    She sailed off. His Lordship took the seat beside Midge, smiling.

    “Um—I wonder,” said Midge, somewhat hoarsely, “if she will drop a word into Mrs Somerton’s ear on the subject of the Princess Esterhazy’s never having heard of the Grand Duchess?”

    “Why should she?”

    Midge replied indignantly: “Are you blind? The Prince is dancing with Lacey Somerton: what if he turns out to be ersatz?”

    “Er—is Aunt Caroline afraid of it?” he said politely.

    “I presume she is: was it not yourself who suggested he is a merchant from Tomsk?” hissed Miss Burden crossly.

    “Very possibly. Though Shelby will have it he is a Hungarian grocer, and Jonathon Crayshaw favours the Polish ironmonger theory.”

    Miss Burden swallowed. “Oh. Well, there you  are.”

    “Mm.” He looked at her with a little smile. “I noticed that you and Aunt Caroline have taken the pretty dark girl under your wing?”

    “Yes. You have met her: Katerina Bottomley-Pugh.” Midge looked anxiously at the set: Katerina’s partner was young Mr Marsh, but at this moment the movement of the dance had brought her face to face with Captain Cornwallis. “You know that man, don’t you?” she said abruptly.

    “Leonard Cornwallis? Yes, I have known him since we were boys. Why?”

    “What is he like, truly?”

    “A very good sort of a fellow. Why are you interested in him, Miss Burden?”

    “I— Oh.” Abruptly Miss Burden recollected several things, one of which was that she had not fluttered her eyelashes once since the Earl had joined her. “I am not interested in him in—in the way in which I think you may be implying,” she said, fluttering them. “But I am a little worried that he seems very struck by Katerina. He must be more than twice her age.”

    “How old is she?”

    “Eighteen.”

    “Then he is more than twice her age, yes. You disapprove of a disparity in ages between—er—let us say, persons of the opposite sex who conceive an interest in each other, do you?”

    “Y— Not always,” said Midge lamely, doing some hurried mental arithmetic.

    “I am glad to hear it,” he said evenly.

    “Y— Um—” Miss Burden was reduced to fluttering the lashes a great deal while she thought out her next speech: bother! This business was not nearly as easy as she had imagined: why did the man have to keep introducing innuendoes? Well, if not precisely that, then—then distractions! “Never mind that,” she said weakly. “I suppose gentlemen must always stick together. If you can say no more than that he is a very good sort of a fellow, then pray forget that I asked.”

    The Earl looked thoughtfully at Leonard revolving in the figures. “I have not seen so much of him in late years, but I think his character will not have changed fundamentally. He is honest, conscientious and painstaking. And not unintelligent. He has the reputation of being both popular with his officers and men, and a strict but just disciplinarian. –Possibly the last point in your eyes may mean he deserves the fate of a Bligh,” he noted in a dry aside, “though on the other hand, I would not say that his navigation is nearly in that class.”

    “What? No! I mean, of course I do not think that discipline implies...” She broke off, feeling annoyed with herself, and with him: he had done it again, of course.

    “Women like him,” said the Earl placidly, “but he is not a libertine. Is that what you wished to hear?”

    Miss Burden took a deep breath. “More or less, yes. But is it the truth?”

    “Certainly.”

    There was a short pause. Miss Burden’s fists had clenched but she did not ask him to give her his definition of what constituted a libertine. It would not have gone with the part she was playing.

    “Since his wife died, he has enjoyed, I believe, an agreeable connexion with a married woman of his own class, who is also tall, dark-haired and handsome. However, I would very much doubt of its being serious on either side. He is, in short, free to marry again.”

    “Yes.”

    There was quite a long silence. Miss Burden glared at the dancers, no longer seeing them; the Earl watched her face. Finally she said, licking her lips nervously: “Lord Sleyven, I should like to ask you one thing, but I fear you may take it amiss. I do not mean you to apply it personally.’

    “Very well, Miss Burden. Pray proceed.”

    “In that sort of case, would—would persons in Society generally—generally know about the married woman?” said Miss Burden in a voice that shook in spite of herself.

    He laid his hand over hers for a fleeting instant, squeezing it hard. “Yes.”

    Miss Burden trembled where she sat. There was an appreciable silence before she managed to say: “And—and would the Captain be likely to give up that connection, if he were to remarry?”

    The Earl took a deep breath. “In the case of Leonard Cornwallis, Miss Burden, I can assure you that he would, yes. He is a man of honour.”

    She blinked very hard, nodded, and said in a tiny voice: “Thank you.”

    Jarvis took another deep breath, and said in a low, urgent voice: “Midge, I have had nothing to do with the woman for—”

    Miss Burden rose abruptly. “Please do not. I did ask you not to take it personally. I—I think I shall get a glass of something.’

    He bit his lip. “I beg your pardon.” He got up. “Please, take my arm.”

    Had she been herself tonight, Midge would not have, of course. She had a short struggle with herself, and then said in the persona of Millicent: “Thank you: but please be good. You must not call me by my name.” And took his arm, fluttering the lashes.

    “I promise I will be good,” he said, smiling, leading her over to the table at which two of the Russian footmen were serving drinks. He procured her a glass of lemonade, and took a glass of champagne for himself, and they strolled on slowly, her hand in his arm.

    “Your concern for your pretty little friend does you credit,” he said abruptly.

    “Thank you,” said Miss Burden feebly, not managing to flutter the lashes.

    The Earl squeezed her hand into his side. Miss Burden cravenly made no attempt to pull it away. They circled the room slowly, not speaking, smiling vaguely at acquaintances.

    “—Well?” murmured Lady Judith in her aunt’s ear, following the progress of the not-quite-affianced pair.

    Lady Caroline smiled slightly and gave a tiny nod.

    Lady Judith was conscious of an overwhelming feeling of relief. So much so that her knees went quite weak. It was not necessary, of course, that Sleyven’s choice be approved by Lady Caroline Grey. But her being so approved would make things very, very much easier for all concerned.

    The Prince Alexei Alexandrovich bowed very deeply before the thrilled young ladies. “My dear Miss Rosalind, may I beg the honour off this dance?”

    “Two,” said Mr Bottomley-Pugh under his breath as Sid led Miss Rosalind into the set.

    “I see,” said Lady Paula Cunningham with a tinkle of laughter, “that His Highness is giving the children a little treat tonight!”

    “Quite,” agreed Mrs Marsh, smiling unconcernedly.

    Lady Paula was almost pleased with this response.

    There were now two dances left before the supper. “Go on!” urged Harry Pryce-Cavell. “Nothing venture, nothing win.”

    Simon Golightly’s good-looking face was very red. “She will not. It ain’t no use.”

    “Ask her mamma to present you to her, then.”

    “I tell you, it is no use!” he hissed.

    Teddy Marsh looked wise. “Give it up, then. Ask her sister again.”

    “No, because then the mother will—” Simon broke off, looking angry.

    Mr Marsh winked at Mr Harry Pryce-Cavell and the two of them collapsed in sniggers.

    “And ditto for you, Marsh, with little Miss Cunningham!” said Mr Golightly angrily.

    “Pooh, she ain’t even properly out, yet. Dare say she ain’t a day above sixteen.”

    “That, in my experience,” said Simon awfully, looking down his nose, “does not stop a match-making mamma with, if you will forgive my mentionin’ the obvious, old fellow, a nabob’s fortune in her eye. –Excuse me.” He strode off, looking awful.

    Sad to relate, Mr Harry and Mr Marsh immediately collapsed in sniggers again. They were then momentarily turned to stone by the sight of the Prince Alexei Alexandrovich bowing very deeply before Miss Amanda and whirling her away in the waltz.

    “That’s torn it,” concluded Harry limply.

    “—And that makes three,” noted Mr Bottomley-Pugh heavily.

    … “Yes, Eugenia, I did see it: I am not blind, thank you,” said her mother acidly. “Pray go and inform Amanda that if she does not dance this next she may join us for the supper.”

    Miss Waldgrave, though she refrained from saying so, reflected grimly that Amanda would now be impossible—impossible. For weeks. She did not disobey her mamma, but as she made her way around the ballroom, she began seriously to meditate the possibility of being permitted to go and stay for a while with her friend Miss Carewe in Oxford. Miss Carewe’s brother, for whom she kept house, was a scholar, and, indeed, known to both Papa and Dean Golightly, and Mrs Waldgrave had on occasion been known to stigmatize Miss Carewe herself as a bluestocking. But possibly, since it was clear that Mr Butterworth would not offer, Mamma might be prepared to yield on the point, this year.

    Amanda, as indeed her sister had expected, was now sitting in a rosy dream. A waltz with the Prince! He waltzed divinely—divinely! Actually, Sid had taken the opportunity to press Amanda’s generously curved young person rather more tightly to his Royal self than was seemly: it would have been difficult to say who had more enjoyed the experience, he or she.

    “What, Eugenia?” she said vaguely. “Oh—is it time for the supper already? Yes. lovely.”

    Miss Waldgrave, breathing hard through flared nostrils, sat down beside her in silence.

    “At last!” breathed Alexei Alexandrovich, laying a hand to his heart—or at least, to the broad purple ribbon on which was pinned the gilt and enamel creation to which he and Harold Hartington referred in private as “the Order of the Grand Panjandrum of Anywhere-You-Please,” and to which Samuel Speede referred, more succinctly, if possibly more obscurely, as “Sid’s Seraglio Star.” ”May I solicit the vairy great honour, dear lady?”

    “Oh!” said Mrs Marsh, rolling her eyes artlessly. “Is it time for our dance already, sir?”

    “Do not be cruel,” said Sid with the suggestion of a pout, using his own eyes to great effect. “It has seemed a thousand h’ages, to me.”

    Kitty laughed airily. “Flatterer! I am very sure it has seemed no such thing. Well, very well— No, stay!” she said in horrified tones. “Is this not the supper dance?”

    Sid did not point out the inconsistency in her attitude to the passage of time betrayed by this remark. “It is vairy certainly the supper dance,” he murmured in an intimate tone. “And I hope I may be permitted to take you in for the supper?”

    “Oh! But I am not an important lady, sir! Should you not take, er, Lady Judith Golightly? Or—or Mrs Patterson?”

    “Or the even more terrifying Lady Caroline Grey? No, I thank you vairy much!” he said with a shudder and a glinting smile. “I have done my duty nobly by h’all the horrid hags. And I did not give this ball h’in order to spend my time with them, you know. Come: will you honour me?”

    “You are very good,” said Kitty demurely, lowering her eyes and putting her hand coyly in his.

    Sid thought he was not bad: no. He did not aspire to be a positive Kean: great tragedy was not in him. But in your lighter drawing-room piece? He fancied, without flattering himself, that he had few rivals in the genre. He led her demurely fluttered form onto the floor.

    Mrs Cunningham had not been best pleased not to have formed one of the select band invited to dine with the Prince and his mother before the dance. Her feelings were, however, very slightly soothed by the flattering notice bestowed upon her this evening by Lady Caroline Grey. Though in her opinion it would have been appropriate for Lady Judith to have brought her aunt to call. Rumour had it they had not called at the Palace, either, but that was of very little comfort. Very probably any slighting of herself from the Wynton direction was due to the presence in the neighbourhood of George’s undesirable connection, and if she had told him once she had told him a thousand times, the woman was a menace! Now she said with a little laugh to Lord Sleyven: “My goodness! It appears Mrs Marsh has achieved one objective tonight, at the least!”

    Jarvis saw that Miss Burden had gone very red. He was aware that she was trying to withdraw her hand from his arm: he pressed it more firmly to his side and replied politely: “I suppose such things as supper dances matter to ladies. Pray excuse us: I think my aunt is waiting for us.” And propelled the red-cheeked Miss Burden away.

    “The Cunningham cat,” he said briefly to his aunt.

    “So I perceived. Sit down, Millicent, my dear. Tell me about that boy dancing with Miss Bottomley-Pugh.”

    “What? Oh,” said Midge lamely. “That is Mr Harry Pryce-Cavell.”

    Lady Caroline drew her out smoothly. Miss Burden responded mechanically, unaware that she was twisting her hands together on the fan that her Ladyship had given her.

    After a little her Ladyship dispatched Jarvis in search of Lady Judith, in order, according to herself, that they might all have supper together. “Persons such as Mrs Cunningham become of account, my dear Millicent, only if one allows them to do so.”

    “I realise that,” she said, as her cheeks flamed again.

    “Did Jarvis depress her pretensions, may I ask?”

    “No—um—he was—he was merely noncommittal!” blurted Midge, horrified to find that her eyes had filled with tears.

    “Very wise,” said the old lady calmly.

    Midge gulped, and was silent.

    “I think,” added Lady Caroline unemotionally. “he may be allowing Leonard Cornwallis to join up with us for the supper.”

    Midge followed her glance, and gasped in dismay: “But we shall have Katerina with us!”

    “Quite.”

    “And—and he knows how I fuh-feel—”

    Lady Caroline raised her lorgnette and looked dispassionately at the Earl and Captain Cornwallis going up to Lady Judith arm-in-arm. “Gentlemen tend to stick together, I am afraid. But a clever woman will not let herself be affected by that—and nor will she allow them to see that she is aware of it.”

    Miss Burden swallowed hard.

   “I think, Millicent, that it is time you introduced me to Miss Bottomley-Pugh’s father,” added Lady Caroline.

    “Do you want me to?” gulped Midge.

    “Yes, if you please.”

    Mr Bottomley-Pugh was standing not far away, with his son and Mr Golightly. Lady Caroline rose, looking massively calm, and allowed Miss Burden to effect introductions. Mr Bottomley-Pugh thanked her for her kindness to his daughter. She responded politely that it had been a pleasure, adding that she understood that Miss Bottomley-Pugh was both a friend and a pupil of Millicent’s. Mr Bottomley-Pugh blinked, but otherwise took this in his stride. Mr Vaughan, perhaps fortunately, was reduced to overawed silence by Lady Caroline, and shrank into the shelter of Mr Golightly’s side.

    The dance ended, Harry Pryce-Cavell brought Katerina back, thanked her, and with a nervous bow to her daunting chaperone, escaped. The Earl, Captain Cornwallis, and Lady Judith joining them, the whole party forthwith went into supper. The false Millicent wondering angrily as they did so if the cunning old lady had intended all along that Captain Cornwallis should escort Katerina under her father’s eye. Though if Harry Pryce-Cavell had had any bottom at all, the scheme would have failed!

    They had sat down, the gentlemen had procured food and drink—and an odd expression had had time to come over Lady Judith’s face as she tasted something small and bright yellow—before it dawned on Midge that it would not have mattered which young man Katerina had danced the supper dance with: there was very probably not a male in the room at whom Lady Caroline would even have had to raise her lorgnette, to obtain the desired effect.

    Kitty was a trifle stunned to find that the Prince did not take her into supper alone, but joined up with his mother. Still, while it might prevent the sort of flirtation she had had in mind, it was a mark of extreme favour—nay, even a sort of official recognition! She sailed into the supper room with her head held high.

    As the Grand Duchess did not speak any language that Kitty knew it would, of course, have been very easy for her to ignore the old lady, and confine her attention solely to His Highness. Sid, however, was interested to see she did not do this: she remained deferentially attentive to Her Serene Highness throughout. Well, she was not entirely stupid, then.

    As they finished eating Sid decided that a bit of gracious circulating with Mrs Marsh on his arm was in order, but he would spare Aunt Cumbridge: he had seen she was in an agony throughout the mea,. for Miss Burden was sitting rather too close to their table for comfort. So he said: “I think perhaps my mother might wish to retire, Mrs Marsh. If you will excuse us? Proyshky doibly-oysky kalashkovich, Ekaterina Nicolaevna?”

    “Mushy dushyer,” agreed Mrs Cumbridge in relief, holding out her hand graciously.

    Sid bowed with entire grace, and kissed the hand. “Abbloy vorsky, Ekaterina Nicolaevna.”

    Promptly Mrs Cumbridge, who was not particularly slow on the uptake, responded: “Abbloy vorsky, Alexei Alexandrovich. Abbloy vorsky, madame,”—inclining the Chantilly at Mrs Marsh. Kitty dropped a curtsey, and the Grand Duchess, leaning on her cane and shaking her head slightly at her son as he made to take her elbow, left them.

    “I have the oddest feeling,” murmured Midge, as the small, black-clad figure went out, “that I have seen the Grand Duchess before. But I cannot think where. Does she remind you of anyone, Katerina?”

    Poor Katerina leapt where she sat. “No!” she gasped.

    “As a matter of fact, I’ve had the same feeling about the Prince, ever since I first laid eyes on him,” put in Captain Cornwallis.

    “Yes, I thought His Highness seemed familiar, too. A chance likeness, no doubt,” said Lady Judith.

    Everyone agreed politely, and their party prepared to return to the ballroom, the younger Bottomley-Pughs on legs that shook slightly, but their father unperturbed, indeed with a twinkle in his eye. Sid was going good tonight! And the cold supper had been Russian as all get out: Aunt Cumbridge had surpassed herself. Never mind yer Russian caviars, them savouries had been as odd as he ever hoped to taste in his lifetime!

    “She will be impossible from now on,” said Mrs Cunningham crossly in her husband’s ear as the glowing Kitty, after what had practically been a triumphal progress, took the floor with His Highness.

    “Thought you maintained she was, already?” grunted Mr Cunningham.

    “That is not amusing, George.”

    Mr Cunningham subsided gloomily. And did not even say there was always the hope the fellow would take Kitty away to the Russian Steppes. For, if you asked him, the vast estate in Russia was either a rumour or mortgaged to the hilt: it was plain as a pikestaff the fellow was after her fortune!

    Miss Frewsham was of the same opinion, and expressed it pithily to Miss Cornwallis.

    “You cannot think he intends marriage?” she gasped, laying a hand to her thin bosom.

    “Marriage to the fortune: yes,” she said grimly.

    “She—well, of course she is very good-looking,” said Miss Cornwallis on a dubious note.

    Miss Frewsham sniffed. “Henna,” she noted darkly.

    … “I swear,” said Mrs Waldgrave angrily, “she nodded to me as if she was already Royalty!”

    She had nodded to Mrs Somerton, too. That lady agreed sourly, adding: “In her place, I should be mindful that, Royal hopes or no, a reputation is a very fragile thing.”

    “Well, quite!”

    … “Gentlemen,” said Amanda with a trembling jaw, “have—have no sense!”

    “She is the most poisonous woman!” hissed Lacey, nodding in agreement.

    “Horrid,” agreed Rosalind. “And—and Mamma says—I suppose I should not— But Mamma says,” she hissed, “that when she was in India, her conduct was positively loose!”

    The three young ladies watched bitterly as Kitty whirled in the waltz, laughing up into His Highness’s face.

    … “Insufferable,” concluded Mrs Patterson tightly,

    “Yes, Mamma,” agreed Miss Patterson obediently. “That is the third dance in succession she has had with the Prince.”

    “Yes!” she snapped.

    There was a short silence.

    “Where is your father?” she asked grimly.

    “I think he is playing cards, Mamma.”

    Mrs Patterson took a deep breath. “I see. In that case, I shall go and intimate to him that it is time we left. And when I return, Charlotte, if you are not dancing we shall, indeed, leave.”

    “Yes, Mamma,” said Miss Patterson dolefully, her eyes on Kitty Marsh whirling in the waltz with His Highness.

    … “I really think we might leave, now,” said Lady Caroline, her eyes on Mrs Marsh whirling in the waltz with His Highness.

    “Good,” replied Miss Burden frankly.

    … “People are beginning to go,” said His Highness regretfully into Kitty’s curls.

    “Alas, yes. Would that the evening could go on forever, Prince!” she sighed.

    Flowery phrases were right up Sid Bottomley’s alley. “Yes: or that the night could come, and we two still be together,” he murmured, looking into her eyes.

    Kitty went very pink, gave a flustered laugh, and then pressed closer to him.

    Sid was conscious of a certain relief that he was able to respond appropriately, even as his pulses pounded.

    —“Is shesky faking itsky?” muttered Nicolas Romanovich out of the corner of his mouth.

    Peter Ivanovich’s splendid shoulders shook. “No, you fool!” he hissed. “And Russky-oiskv!”

    Mr Geoffrey Mainwaring’s solid ivory brow furrowed. “How can you tell?” he whispered.

    Shaking all over, Harold Hartington, though not without a certain recognition that that ivory brow was solid right through to the back of the neck, hissed: “Pinksky, softsky, glowin’ with it! What are you, Nicolas Romanovich, a man or a mouse-sky?”

    Mr Mainwaring subsided, pouting.

    ... “I would so vairy much like to take you h’out onto the terrace and press burning kisses all over your fair face,” murmured Sid into his dance partner’s curls.

    “Oh, Prince!” she gasped, shuddering delicately against him.

    Sid did not draw back. “But hélas, one is not one’s own master, you know. I think after this dance I must go and be the well-behaved host, since Mother has gone to bed.”

    “Yes, of course,” she murmured.

    “But dîtes-moi, mon ange, mon adorée, may I come to see you tomorrow?”

    Kitty’s heart leapt, but she replied very primly: “Of course, Prince. You are welcome at any time.”

    “Thank you. But weell you promise to be alone for me? For h’I ’ave,” said His Highness, artistically losing control of his aitches, “something of the most vairy particular to say to you, my lovely bird.”

    “Oh, Prince!” gasped Kitty, positively leaning against His Highness’s person whilst gazing adoringly into his face.

    “Weell you?” he said softly.

    “Oh! Alone with you? Well, I—I suppose I could suggest that Addie and George go for a little drive!” she gasped, the bosom heaving.

    “Do that, ma belle,” he said softly.

    “Gawd love us, Sid: that was the nearest thing to a standing ovation on the damned ballroom floor that I’ve ever seen in all me puff!” concluded Mr Harold Hartington with feeling.

    Sid yawned and winked, what time Mr Geoffrey Mainwaring and Mr David Darlinghurst collapsed in the obligatory sniggers.

    “We could leave now, really: her reputation won’t be smellin’ sweet as a rose in this county after tonight,” noted Mr Hartington.

    “Oh, but we won’t, though?” cried Mr Darlinghurst. “Sid has to propose, yet!”

    Grinning, the actor-manager agreed that they would not leave until Sid had played his big scene.

    “But that won’t be the dénouement,” said Sid.

    “Hey?” replied Mr Darlinghurst blankly.

    “We have to work out the precise way,” explained Mr Hartington kindly, “to reveal to Mrs M. that he ain’t a Russian prince.”

    “He could just tell her,” he said blankly.

    “No dramatic sense whatsoever,” noted Mr Hartington heavily.

    “All right, how would you play it?” he cried, reddening.

    “It has to be done in such a way,” said the chief player, yawning again, “that she’ll never want to show her face in this county again.”

    “Could we—? No,” said Mr Mainwaring lamely.

    Mr Darlinghurst ventured: “Leave her at the church?”

    Sid yawned again and said: “It might do. Er—marry her and then vanish?”

    “That is always possible,” conceded Mr Hartington graciously.

    “Marry her, get half the fortune out of her and then vanish?” drawled Sid.

    “Aye, well, it sounds good, Sid,” he said as the younger men gulped, “but she’s a hard sort of woman. Think you might end up in Newgate, thataway.”

    “And I tell you what,” said Mr Mainwaring brilliantly, “you don’t want ’em to start feeling sorry for her, either.”

    “That’s another point,” admitted Mr Hartington lamely.

    “Mm. Well,” said Sid, yawning yet again and peeling off his evening coat, “I’m for bed. Think about it later. But I’ll admit that I do have a picture in my head of a slap-up wedding in Nettleford Cathedral.”

    “And then they discover he ain’t a prince!” cried Mr Mainwaring brilliantly.

    “Aye. But how?” said Mr Hartington pointedly.

    Sid lounged gracefully over to the door. “As I said: think about it tomorrow. But just think this one over: Sir Noël Amory, Bart., to name but one, calls on acquaintances in the county?” He raised his eyebrows very high, grinned, and lounged out.

    “Ah,” said Mr Hartington deeply, his brow furrowed in thought. The two young actors, recognising the signs of inspiration creeping slowly up on their manager, tiptoed out respectfully.

    Mr Hartington remained plunged deep in thought for some time.

Next chapter:

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