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Authors: Jean Burnett

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I told him the whole story of the near disaster with my ensemble and how Adelaide's quick thinking had saved the day. My maid further endeared herself to me by emphasising that Madame Renée had loaned the fake diamonds to me because I had none of my own.

My patron was so overcome by this account that he gave her a half crown on the spot which she received politely while contriving to give the impression that it was no more than her due.

It is true that up to that moment the ball on the eve of Waterloo had been the social zenith of my life, but the Prince of Wales's banquet in the Royal Pavilion would certainly approach it for splendour and cachet. If only my family could see me at this moment. How far I had come from those parochial assemblies in Meryton!

Arrayed in my pink satin splendour with my false jewels gleaming in the half light of the carriage, I muttered under my breath, ‘Wickham, if you could see me now.'

Sadly, my companion was unable to share my joy on this occasion. Apart from patting my knee and telling me that I was ‘As beautiful as an angel' he appeared to be distracted and upset, offering little conversation and staring morosely at the floor. He had not recovered from the affair of the murdered nobleman which obviously affected him greatly. This subdued creature was most unlike the Getheridge I had come to know. He was usually loquacious to a fault. His tongue was a perpetual clapper.

As the carriage drew up at the Royal Pavilion and footmen hurried forward to assist me, I knew a feeling of sheer triumph. At that moment my companion shocked me by announcing that the banquet was being given in honour of Grand Duke Nicholas of Russia, who was presently visiting England. All the great and the good from our country would be present, as well as many from continental Europe. Thank goodness Adelaide had procured the correct gown for me.

The building was ablaze with lights and the heat in the room was phenomenal, in contrast to the January chill outside. The air was full of heavy oriental perfumes as we joined the long line of people processing through the yellow, green and golden halls with their pink marble columns.

I hoped for a glimpse of Princess Charlotte and her new husband, Prince Leopold. Mr Getheridge did not respond to my nudges and requests as to the identity of the distinguished guests. He remained gloomy and nervous, looking about him guiltily and starting visibly when we were accosted by a lone gentleman.

This man was an astonishing sight. Tall and thin as a beanpole and dressed entirely in white, he looked like a ghost from another age in his tight breeches and court dress. I detected a touch of rouge on his wrinkled cheeks and surely that was a nutty brown wig perched askew on his head, reeking of oil?

I smiled behind my fan at this extraordinary apparition as he made an exaggerated bow and gave my companion a malicious smile.

‘Ah, Getheridge, how good to see you. And who is your delicious companion?' I was introduced, a trifle unwillingly I thought, to Lord St Just while the strange creature twirled a lace handkerchief and asked solicitously after Gethridge's household at Hampton Lodge.

I knew this was a reference to my patron's Brighton mistress Maria Bertram, the fearsome woman Selena had warned me against. At the very mention of Hampton Mr Getheridge blanched even a shade paler and whisked me away with a curt farewell to the beanpole.

We made our way through the throng to the magnificent red and gold dining hall where the tables were already adorned with some of Careme's magnificent creations. I gazed in awe at a four feet high concoction of almond paste, puff pastry and icing sugar snow.

The prince, the Grand Duke, and the other important guests were seated at a high table, while we lesser mortals were seated at two long tables before them. Mr Getheridge and I were placed far down on the left side. I had a feeling that either bankers were regarded as little more than servants, or the prince did not want to be reminded of the man who controlled his purse strings.

I caught glimpses of the Grand Duke who was a very tall, fair, handsome man with a serious expression and a military bearing. Our Regent, in contrast, was in high spirits. His conversation and witticisms were passed around to all so that we might laugh immoderately at his
bon mots
. He was speaking of his love for Italian opera which affected him deeply – like drowning in a bath of pure melody. I had heard that brandy had the same effect on the royal personage. His jokes involved a play on words at which my patron pretended to roar with laughter.

‘Why are Lord Palmerston's dashing pantaloons like two French towns? Because they are Toulon and Toulouse!'

I raised a polite smile.

All of the forty courses on the menu were placed on a central table, with some towering creations the like of which I had never seen before. Alas, the heat and the heady perfumes in the room combined to destroy my appetite. I normally eat little, but I forced myself to sip a little spicy soup. Mr Getheridge's spirits having revived, he urged me to try one of Carème's most celebrated inventions –
vol-au-vents à la Nesle:
large pastry cases containing meat, surrounded by a rich sauce. He transferred some meat balls on to his spoon, holding them aloft in a salute.

‘Chicken balls, my dear!' he declaimed, to my great embarrassment. ‘You must try some, they are effective for both men and women!' Not content with behaving in this gauche and vulgar manner, he urged our neighbours at the table to join in. Cries of ‘chicken balls, balls, balls!' could be heard around us as more offal was consumed with suggestive comments and leers.

During a quieter moment I was obliged to listen to the elaborately painted harridan on my right who complained bitterly about the state of society in general. With a glance of contempt at my patron's nodding head she asked me why I was consorting with such ‘a poor, drawling, cold-hearted, crazy-headed creature'. I assured her that Mr Getheridge was quite unlike her description and she turned away with a sneer. I concluded that her family must owe the bank a considerable sum or had been refused a loan.

To reduce my embarrassment I fixed my eyes on a wonderful concoction in the middle of the table – a huge apple meringue hedgehog with almond spikes. I deflected my companion's attempts to feed me the chicken balls with some difficulty, saying that only the apple meringue would pass my lips. He hid his disappointment and procured a dish for me. I was astonished at the speed at which the vast array of food was consumed by the guests, especially those at the top table. I was glad when we eventually rose and followed the royal party from the table, my escort having eaten enough for the pair of us.

A crowd entered the breakfast room where the gaming took place and I followed them, having dispatched Mr Getheridge to search for a conveniently missing glove. I insinuated myself into a likely looking group and embarked on a bout of
vingt-et-un
. I concluded the game with two hundred pounds in hand but my favourite card trick was almost discovered by a sharp-eyed fellow who was only distracted when I accidentally poured red wine over his immaculate lap.

At this point the heavy, perfumed air, the heat and the fumes of the wine caused me to mistrust my own eyes. I became convinced that one of the uniformed retainers bore a startling resemblance to Jerry Sartain. I blinked slowly, and when I opened my eyes I found a gentleman seated across the table was signalling to me in a coy but meaningful manner. I indicated with my fan that I was willing to speak with him and he escorted me from the room. There was no sign of Mr Getheridge.

The gentleman's intentions were obvious as he led me along a corridor into the bare, half finished part of the pavilion. I protested that I did not wish to dally on a building site when my unknown admirer turned abruptly towards a panelled wall and pressed a switch. The panel opened revealing a narrow, dark and uninviting staircase. I recoiled but my companion seized me by the waist and urged me forward.

‘This staircase leads to the King's Head Inn. We will not be disturbed there, my dear. The prince had it constructed for that purpose.' I broke free and gave the man a hard shove causing him to topple down the stairs with a loud yell. I closed the panel and sped off realising that I had solved the mystery of the noises at the inn. Selena would be gratified.

Immediately I lost my way, taking many turnings in search of the revels before reaching a small anteroom. A door bearing the Royal Arms led into a larger chamber. The door was ajar and I could hear voices. I applied myself to the opening and saw Mr Getheridge talking in an agitated manner with the prince's private secretary. I could only catch a few words but the name of Adam Von Mecks was mentioned several times.

At that moment the sound of approaching footsteps forced me to flee again. Once more I rushed blindly along into the uninhabited section of the pavilion. As I turned back and ran around corners I could hear music in the distance. I must be heading in the right direction. My heart was pounding and I was becoming quite damp from my exertions. My hairdo would be ruined. It would collapse like one of Monsieur Careme's sugar confections after the prince had prodded it with his fat finger.

I slowed down and almost collided with a footman who appeared from nowhere. Dizzy with emotion and relief I seized the man's lapels and begged him to conduct me back to the state rooms.

‘Are you in trouble again, my dear?' the footman remarked as I looked up at the sardonic smile of Jerry Sartain.

I gasped out, ‘So it
was
you! Whatever are you doing here?'

‘More to the point, what are
you
doing here? The arrangement was that you would remain in the gaming room earning money for both of us.' I have been forced to follow you as you leapt around like a March hare.' I knew I should not allow him to speak to me in this fashion but, against my will, I heard myself meekly apologising and explaining my adventures up to that moment.

‘Are you going to tell me why you are posing as a footman?'

‘To keep an eye on you, of course; you cannot be trusted not to get yourself into ridiculous predicaments.' I did not believe this explanation for one minute. I wondered if he knew about the corpse on the sofa but he made no mention of it.

‘It is not a pleasant situation for me,' he went on. ‘The footmen sleep nine to a room in folding beds and the atmosphere is far from fresh, I assure you.' He took my reticule from my unresisting hand and removed the money. With some reluctance, I thought, he returned a portion of it to me.

I smiled at him as he led me back to the state rooms. ‘The livery suits you well.' He gave me a peck on the cheek and pushed me gently towards the gaming room.

What a fool I was, simpering and complimenting him like a love-sick swain. Our positions have reversed.
I
was paying court to
him
and he knew it very well. I must take care that I do not propose marriage to him. This penchant for penniless villains must be overcome at all costs.

As if summoned, Mr Getheridge appeared from the gaming room, mopping his brow and looking gloomy once again. He did not comment on my prolonged absence. I wondered if he had even noticed.

‘Ah, there you are my dear. Shall we take some cold drink and a little fresh air in the gardens? The heat is becoming oppressive.' Indeed, the hot, jasmine laden air was playing havoc with my toilette and my constitution. Unfortunately, the contrast of the cold air outside was so great that we were soon shivering and retreating inside once more.

By this time my patron was so overcome with anxiety and depression that he spoke of retiring to Bath for a while. I realised that the Von Mecks affair must have affected him profoundly if he was contemplating such a drastic step. I had it on good authority that Bath had become dreary beyond measure in recent times. He appeared to want me to accompany him. Jerry would not like that at all.

‘How long do you intend to remain in Bath, sir? Is it possible for the bank to manage without your presence?' At the mention of the bank Getheridge's face fell even more. He passed a hand across his eyes and murmured to himself, ‘The affairs of the world are pressing upon me. I need to get away for while; I must rest, perhaps take the waters.' I recoiled in horror. To be in Bath would be ghastly enough after London and Brighton, but to take the vile tasting waters in the company of the elderly, scrofulous, broken down dregs of society was too awful to contemplate.

I gave an unenthusiastic nod in answer to his remarks. It occurred to me that the inestimable Adelaide might have heard something concerning
l'affaire
Von Mecks and my patron's part in it. I had a sudden yearning to be back in my bed, alone, if possible. The surroundings of the Royal Pavilion and my delightful gown notwithstanding, I was fatigued in the extreme. At least I had fifty guineas to show for the evening.

‘I find that I have an excruciating headache,' I told him. In truth, I was wilting like one of Careme's carved celery sticks at the end of the evening. Mr Getheridge agreed to summon the coach and seemed happy enough to deposit me at the door of the inn. He again complained of feeling unwell and I left him contemplating the mournful pleasures of the Bath spa waters.

Chapter Nine

I found Selena and Miles ensconced in my chamber, being served refreshments by Adelaide despite the late hour. As I sank down on the bed I noticed that my friend was in a state of great excitement which she was endeavouring to suppress with little success. I was mortified that she did not enquire about my evening. It is not every day that one is invited to a royal
levée
.

‘You will never guess what has happened in your absence, Lydia,' she burst out.

‘Never guess,' echoed Miles.

‘It's true, madam, you'll never guess,' chorused Adelaide. I felt peeved and tired.

‘Have you all gone mad?' I raised my voice in an unladylike manner. ‘Of course I cannot guess. I was elsewhere at the time – in the Royal Pavilion as a guest of the Prince Regent,' I added for good measure. They brushed this aside.

BOOK: Bad Miss Bennet
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