Page 58 of Henrietta

‘I am, however.’

The afternoon was warm, and they were not the only ones to have halted with just such an intention. A waiter, dodging about the street to take orders from horses and carriages alike, soon had theirs taken. Though it was possible to enjoy one’s sorbet within the establishment, it had become habitual practice of the ton to order their confections to enjoy outside, in their carriages or the square itself. It had been Trixie’s intent to coldly refuse all sustenance, but the offer of a jasmine-flavoured ice proved too tempting, and really, why ought she punish herself when Arthur had been the wrongdoer? As a compromise, when the dessert was delivered to her, she began to eat it with such hauteur that Arthur could not help but let out a snort of laughter.

It was the worst thing he could have done. Outraged to be treated with such disrespect, Trixie’s mind was immediately made up. Later that very afternoon she sent a note round to the Captain to confirm that she would indeed, accept his invitation to the masquerade.

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