CHAPTER XVII
IT was Wednesday evening and as usual, the ton had gathered at Almack’s.
It was quickly apparent that this was to be no ordinary evening at the Assembly Rooms, for a quiet word from Mr Willis upon their arrival warned Lady Allerton that not only had the Prince Regent honoured them with his attendance, but he had brought with him the Tsar.
Lady Allerton received this news with equanimity: one might think, by the serene expression upon her face, that this was an absolutely ordinary occurrence, and they entered the ballroom to find the rest of the ton had adopted this same approach.
Making too much of a fuss of their royal guests would, naturally, be the very height of vulgarity – one might as well join the hordes of common folk waiting outside the Tsar’s hotel every morning – and so rather than stare, all were determinedly maintaining their conversation and stealing only sidelong glances towards where His Imperial Majesty and Lady Jersey were currently laughing together.
The Regent himself appeared to be in fine spirits, dispensing his attentions freely and treating the Allertons to gratifying notice.
Since he had enjoyed a friendly, if not intimate, acquaintance with the late Lord Allerton, and – perhaps more pertinently – since he could depend on Lady Allerton for a good-natured flirtation, he was always pleased to honour the family with a little conversation.
Not ten minutes after their arrival, he came up to shake hands with Arthur, and bow to Lady Allerton, declaring himself very happy to find Arthur back on British soil.
Hetty, throughout the ensuing brief talk, remained quiet.
This was not her first meeting with royalty, of course, for she had been presented at one of the Queen’s Drawing Rooms, and had attended several assemblies at Carlton House, but she felt she could be forgiven for still finding His Royal Highness’s presence rather overwhelming.
‘I understand your former regiment will be amongst my escort to the Guildhall banquet!’ the Prince said in a concluding sort of fashion. ‘Will you be joining them?’
Arthur answered in the negative; being in the process of selling out rendered him ineligible for such ceremonies. The Prince, however, did not share the view.
‘Not sold out yet, are you?’ He permitted himself the informality of a finger wag. ‘I’ll have a word – and I shall see you there! It will be good to have a familiar face present.’
It was impossible to protest further, especially since the Prince, in his next breath, declared his intention of presenting Arthur to the Tsar. ‘Two military fellows, you will have a great deal to discuss,’ he said, though warned Arthur, in an undertone, not to expect much jollity from the fellow.
Relations between the two royals were not prospering, though it was felt this had less to do with the characters of the men in question, and more with the simultaneous difficulties the Regent was facing with his marriage and his people.
His attempts to divorce his wife being intensely unpopular with the nation, any time he left Carlton House, the Prince was besieged by boos and hisses.
The contrast between this treatment and the adulation being thrown at the Tsar was naturally not fruitful ground for friendship.
When Arthur returned to Hetty’s side, however, he had nothing but praise for the Tsar, who had been everything that was polite, and his sister, too, who had accepted his invitation to dance.
‘Arthur, how magnificent!’ Lady Allerton praised him. ‘I hardly can think of a moment I have been prouder – did you happen, at all, to mention my ball?’
Arthur had not. While this was disappointing, Lady Allerton soon rallied: Arthur would, she begged, make sure to introduce the Grandduchess to her after the dance.
‘Say what you will about His Royal Highness, he is very kind to us.’ She sighed. ‘Though I do not think that knee-breeches flatter him.’
There was something quite remarkable about the power of the lady patronesses who might dictate even to royals how they ought to dress, for even the Tsar and the Prince Regent themselves were wearing the exact formal wear required by the institution – a rather prescriptive uniform that did not ordinarily allow a great deal of room for experimentation.
That, however, was a view not shared by one Mr Timothy Allerton, for after several weeks of huffing and puffing over the placement of this curl and that, he was finally ready to unveil his new manner of dressing his hair.
‘Voilà!’ he declared to the rest of his family when he appeared a little while later, Mr Hargan at his side.
‘Oh my.’ Hetty was simultaneously relieved and disappointed that Trixie was not here to witness this moment – relieved, for her mirth would certainly have wounded Timothy grievously; and disappointed, for the sight would certainly have cheered her from the listlessness that was causing her to remain abed tonight.
Arthur took a little while longer to find his words. ‘I am … speechless.’
Timothy accepted this as his due. ‘Innovation can be bamboozling,’ he explained sagely.
Lady Allerton, ever the supportive parent, clapped her hands. ‘How marvellous! You will make a great stir tonight, I am sure. Does it have a name?’
‘I’m calling it the Allerton Flop.’
‘Wonderful, darling,’ Lady Allerton beamed.
‘Oh, you – you mean to put our name to this, then?’ Arthur enquired.
He could not, and would not, look at Hetty.
‘I should not begrudge the family sharing in the honour,’ Timothy said magnanimously.
A little choking noise had Arthur turning to see Hetty, hiding herself behind her fan, eyes brimming with laughter. His own mouth quivered. ‘Very good of you. Are we – should we – dash it, Timothy, not “Flop”! Mightn’t we choose another word?’
Timothy was not attending. He had located Mademoiselle de Nicolet in the crowd, surrounded by her usual flock of gentlemen.
He knew, from experience, that there would be no coming anywhere near her for several hours, and – as he explained to Mr Hargan, who needed a great deal of help when it came to the feminine mind – nor should they try, for there was nothing less dashing than the craning of a neck.
‘We would be better served to undertake some mingling, and await the right moment to strike.’
‘Don’t let us keep you,’ Arthur agreed in a rather stifled voice, and Hetty could barely wait until the pair were safely out of earshot before dissolving into laughter
‘By God, have you seen the like?’ Arthur murmured, once they had recovered themselves.
‘It might become all the rage,’ Hetty pointed out, smiling. She was rather thrilled to have regained their usual rapport – their previous disagreement seemed, thankfully, to have been forgotten.
‘Good Lord, I hope not—’
‘Goodness me.’ The Marquis, approaching from behind, had his eyes also fixed upon Timothy. ‘Are such arrangements normal in England?’
The smile slid from Arthur’s face. ‘It’s called the Allerton Flop,’ he said shortly. ‘I’m surprised you have not heard of it.’
‘Are you quizzing me?’ Nicolet wondered; then – not seeming particularly interested in the answer – he turned to Hetty. He had learnt his lesson from the night before, and had come to do request her hand for a dance.
‘May I hope, Miss Clithero—’
But Arthur, too, had learnt his lesson.
‘My dance, I think, Hetty!’ he interrupted, bearing her off to the floor before the Marquis even had the time to finish his sentence.
‘Rag manners, Arthur,’ Hetty said in a low voice, casting over her shoulder a glance of apology that she did not quite feel – for, in truth, she was by no means displeased by such high-handed behaviour.
As they took their places, Arthur was frowning in thought.
He had not yet had occasion to speak to Hetty about the Marquis.
Returning home from his contretemps with Trixie, he had found Hetty still out upon a shopping expedition with the very gentleman in question.
Since they had also dined abroad that evening, he had had no opportunity to bend her ear in private and though broaching the subject in public had not been his intention, the thought of seeing Hetty having to dance with the cad was suddenly too much to bear.
And so, when the movement of the dance permitted it, he told her, in a low voice: ‘I am afraid, Hetty, that I should advise you to distance yourself from the Marquis with utmost urgency. Some information has come to my attention that casts a very great shadow upon his character.’
The movement of the dance had them separated for a moment. Hetty cudgelled her mind for anything Nicolet could have said or done to warrant such suspicion, but could conjure nothing.
‘What is it?’ she asked when they were returned to one another.
‘Behaviour that is not befitting a man of honour,’ Arthur said darkly.
‘You cannot say such a thing and give no details,’ Hetty said rather impatiently. ‘Can you not speak frankly?’
Arthur shook his head. ‘I can hardly do so here. For tonight, you must simply avoid his company as best you can.’
Hetty regarded him rather incredulously. Did Arthur truly intend to issue such a decree without any further explanation? ‘Must I?’
Arthur did seem to hear her. As the dance finished, he peered through the crowd. ‘Let us find the Morgans, I can leave you with them while I—’
Hetty’s initial pleasure at such high-handed behaviour was giving way to frustration. ‘I am not a horse to be passed about, Arthur,’ she reminded him.
‘If you knew what I knew, then you would understand.’
‘How can I, when you will not tell me?’
‘Let us not quibble. You must trust me.’
‘I am not quibbling.’
They frowned at each other.
‘Mrs Morgan has just arrived,’ Hetty said, looking over his shoulder.
Arthur let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Hetty—’
‘I believe this is your dance with the Grandduchess,’ she overrode him, ‘so you need not trouble yourself to escort me.’