VIII
THE MORNING OF THE Prince of Wales’s birthday dawned with a pandemonium of church bells ringing in celebration throughout the town.
As a result of the noise, if not the bright sunshine pouring through bedchamber windows once the servants had opened the curtains, the Lindale household was up and about some time before its members were normally accustomed to begin their days.
Rory announced upon entering the breakfast parlor that she found the whole business greatly exciting. “There is nothing like this in Kent,” she said happily. “Not even in Tunbridge Wells.”
Her uncle glowered, the puffiness around his eyes having already indicated to his observant sister that he was a bit the worse for a late evening.
“My compliments to Tunbridge Wells,” he grunted.
“I’d no notion the place was so civilized.
How long,” he added, wincing, “do they mean to continue that din?”
“Have you a headache, dearest?” inquired Lady Agnes solicitously from the foot of the oval table. “Shall I ring for my maid to fetch you some hartshorn and water?”
Her son’s expression indicated incipient nausea.
“Perhaps some minced rhubarb would be more in keeping with his needs, Mama,” Nell suggested, her eyes atwinkle.
“He appears to me to require something to settle his stomach. Or perhaps he is feverish,” she went on, stretching out a hand to feel his brow, “in which case he will best be served by a dose of Dr. James’s Powders. ”
“Will you be quiet,” pleaded her brother in exasperated tones.
Rory, taking her seat opposite Nell, chuckled at his obvious distress.
“I do believe poor Uncle Kit is bilious,” she said in sugar-sweet, mock commiseration.
There was no sign this morning of the sulky child Nell had unsympathetically packed off to bed the previous evening.
Dressed becomingly now in green-sprigged muslin with a narrow pink sash and matching leather sandals, she presented a picture of demure maidenhood that made it difficult to remember her less endearing moods.
Nell smiled at her but spoke to the hovering footman. “Bring Mr. Lindale some more hot coffee, please, Jeremy. Lashings of it, I should think. Blue ruin, Kit?”
“You’ve a tongue too long for your teeth, my girl.”
“What is blue ruin?” asked Rory innocently.
“Nothing you need know about, chit,” snapped her uncle.
“Gin,” explained Nell, still smiling. “They call it blue ruin because of the effect is has on the imbiber. Actually, the term usually refers to bad gin.”
“Kit, you don’t drink that awful stuff, do you?” asked his mother anxiously. “I am persuaded ’tis a frightful waste of money, besides doing dreadful things to the state of your health.”
Shooting a glare at his sister that, in earlier days, would have warned her to search between her sheets before retiring, he replied irritably, “I am well enough, ma’am. Just blue-deviled. The noise of those blasted bells is enough to drive a fellow mad.”
“Well, they will stop in another fifteen minutes,” Nell said soothingly after looking at the little watch pinned to the bodice of her light green walking dress. “Do you mean to accompany us?”
Gruffly, Kit agreed that he might just as well, since there was not likely to be any other way to amuse oneself until the celebrations were over and done.
But he warned that he would more than likely leave them to join his cronies once they had reached the field outside of town where most of the festivities would take place.
“Well, if you mean to ride with us, we shall have to take the barouche,” his mama said with a tiny frown. “The landaulet won’t hold us all.”
“What? Don’t tell me you mean to go with us, Mama?” Kit seemed to forget his own troubles at this astonishing news.
“Well, yes, I have decided to attempt it. Sir Henry reminded me that I might just sit quietly in the carriage, you know, and still watch most of the fun. You needn’t think I shall expect any of you to bear the company, however,” she added, her words causing her granddaughter’s falling expression to lighten again.
“Sir Henry has graciously engaged himself to perform that task and thus to prevent my becoming bored with my own company.”
“Oh, Lord,” Kit moaned. “That’s torn it, then. I shall certainly look for my friends. I may even have my horse saddled.”
Nell chuckled. “A nice trot to the other side of town ought to put you in prime twig. All that bouncing and jolting, and—”
“Enough,” groaned her sorely-tried brother. “I’ll ride in the carriage, but if that crusty old reprobate begins preaching, I’ll not be held responsible for the consequences.”
“Well, I don’t think it is at all kind of you to call a nice old gentleman like Sir Henry an old reprobate,” Rory said sweetly.
Kit turned pointedly to his sister. “Does Huntley mean to join us on this little expedition?”
She grinned at him. “I invited him to share our picnic later, and he has engaged to escort Rory and me to the ball at the Pavilion tonight, but I doubt we shall see much of him this morning. I believe he mentioned that he is expected to accompany the prince’s party.”
Rory did not look particularly overjoyed at the news that Huntley would be joining them. Her expression was rather one of resignation. Nell felt a stirring of pity.
She had no doubt that his lordship would make her niece an excellent husband, but it was unfortunate that Rory was so young.
Arranged marriages were still customary, of course, and there could be no doubt that it would be wiser to allow her parents to choose a husband than to allow someone as flighty as Rory to choose her own.
Why, by her own account, she was prone to fall in and out of love as quickly as a cat might lick her ear.
The previous night it had been Major Talcott, two nights before that, Harry Seton, and before that a groom and a drawing master!
Still and all, Nell thought, watching her, it was a shame she was to be married so quickly and with so little experience of the world.
Of course, she did not doubt for a moment that Rory would see more of London, at least, than Huntley seemed to anticipate.
He would be as putty in her hands once she learned how to manage him, his brief show of authority at the Castle assembly notwithstanding.
That had accomplished nothing other than to set up her back.
Certainly, he would have to discover some better means of dealing with her than mere harsh words.
And considering how easily his mother and sister seemed to govern the man—”
“Nell!” She looked up, startled, to see her brother standing impatiently by his chair. “Mama asked how soon you wish to depart. Sir Henry will arrive at ten, so I expect you will want to leave the house immediately thereafter.”
She grinned at him, but agreed willingly enough to be ready to depart the moment Sir Henry should arrive.
The old gentleman was prompt, as was his habit, and they were soon squeezed into the Lindale barouche and on their way to the festivities.
Rory exclaimed at the sight of the gaily waving banners that festooned nearly every lamppost and building along the way.
Adding to the festival atmosphere was a military band playing a lively tune on the Steyne as they passed by, and by the time they reached the edge of town, their carriage had joined a host of vehicles of every description, crowded with laughing, chattering townspeople.
The royal party was already in place when they arrived at the field.
“Look!” exclaimed Kit, “Mrs. Fitz is here.” Nell looked past him and out the window to see that Mrs. Fitzherbert was indeed at the prince’s side.
“She must have arrived late last night in order to surprise him,” she said with a chuckle, “and I daresay the fact that she was waiting to greet him was all that dragged him from his bed, for after seeing his condition last night, I’d wager that his head is a match for yours this morning, Kit.”
“Where?” demanded Rory, who was squeezed in between them in order that Lady Agnes and Sir Henry might share the rear seat in comfort.
“Where is what?” asked Kit.
“Mrs. Fitzherbert. I have never seen her.” She twisted around and leaned across him in an attempt to see the famous lady.
“Next to his highness, of course.”
“But there is no female near him except that fat old woman,” she protested.
“That is Mrs. Fitzherbert.”
“But she is old!”
“In point of fact,” Kit explained, “she is merely five years older than the prince, who is today celebrating his forty-fourth birthday.”
“Age has not been kind to her,” Lady Agnes observed, “but I think she has a charming countenance.”
“Her mouth is ugly, and her false teeth don’t fit properly,” Kit disagreed.
“But even you must agree that her other features are still very good,” Nell said, “and her manners are very good-humored.”
“She is very fat,” Rory said flatly. “Not so fat as that dreadful Lady Pomfret who made such a spectacle of herself at the assembly last night, but then Lady Pomfret is not so old. And she had the good sense,” she added, settling back in her seat, “not to wear a gown cut so low as to display most of her bosom.”
“Aurora!”
“Well, only look for yourself, Grandmama. I daresay, if she so much as coughs, the whole thing will spill right out.”
“But you should never discuss such matters in the presence of gentlemen, my dear,” complained her ladyship in failing accents.
Sir Henry, dapper in a gray coat and cherry-striped waistcoat, his long gray curls confined at the nape of his neck with a narrow, black ribbon, had appeared to be dozing in his corner.
However, he proved now that he was sufficiently alert by handing Lady Agnes her crystal vinaigrette, which he had carried in his waistcoat pocket. She smiled her thanks.
Rory was unrepentant. “I daresay my chatter does not scandalize Sir Henry,” she said, grinning impishly at him.