The servant opened the door into the saloon, and Belami beheld a woman much like the one he had been imagining. She might be any middle-aged, respectable matron. Prinney liked them respectable-looking. She wore a dark evening gown, displaying a plump collarbone and round, dimpled arms. As his eyes moved up to her face, he found himself being closely examined by a pair of very sharp blue eyes.
“Lady Gilham,” he said, and bowed.
“You are mistaken, sir. I am Lady Gilham’s companion, Mrs. Morton. Lady Gilham is indisposed this evening. I shall be happy to relay any message from the prince, however. Is he back at his Pavilion?” There was a hungry gleam in those eyes.
“No, ma’am, he is still in London. And my message, I am afraid, must be delivered to Lady Gilham personally. When might I see her?”
“I don’t believe I caught the name, sir?” the woman said, making a pointed, inquisitive perusal of her caller. In fact, she held his card in her hand, but the news that he was here from the prince had upset her to such a degree she forgot what was on the card. She had observed the quality of the jacket, however, the expensive emerald ring glimmering on his finger, and the haughty manner that bespoke the aristocracy. She could also see quite clearly that he was extremely handsome, such a young gentleman as might amuse Lady Gilham.
“Belami,” he answered simply.
“Pray be seated, milord,” she said, peering at the card.
Her manner softened to welcome. “I’ll send up and see if Lady Gilham is feeling better. It was only a touch of megrim. Company will cheer her up. This business with the prince has been hard on her,” she explained with an air of offense, but somehow she managed to imply that the offense had not touched the caller.
Then she called into the hall to summon the servant instead of using the bellpull. Mrs. Morton poured him a glass of wine, and they chatted about inconsequential matters till Lady Gilham had been sent for and finally appeared at the doorway a quarter of an hour later.
Belami arose and stared in amazement at the vision before him. She was only a girl, not much older than twenty, and she was quite startlingly beautiful. Something about her reminded him immediately of Deirdre and engaged his sympathy for that reason. Her hair was dark as night and styled simply. She had a soft, doe-eyed look about her and her pale cheeks were flushed with nervousness.
Her toilette was simple—a dark gown with a strand of pearls at the neck and no other jewelry except her wedding band. She had a girlish figure, small-waisted but full-bosomed. She hesitated a moment at the doorway before tripping in, looking fitfully from her companion to her caller.
“Good evening,” she said softly, and smiled. There was a sad, poignant quality in the smile, as though it were wrung from her at high cost. Almost as though she had forgotten how to smile.
Mrs. Morton performed the introduction. “Lord Belami has a message for you from the Prince Regent,” she added with a meaningful look at the young woman.
“A private message,” he added, emphasizing his words with a pointed look at the companion.
“Oh, don’t leave me!” Lady Gilham exclaimed, her white hands fluttering helplessly.
“I shall be right in the next room, my dear. You must not judge all gentlemen by your most recent and unhappy encounter.” With this little jibe, the dame sailed from the room, and Lady Gilham turned a frightened gaze on her caller.
“Won’t you—that is—pray be seated, milord,” she said nervously.
She perched on the edge of an upholstered chair and began pleating the material of her skirt with twitching fingers. Her eyes were downcast, with long lashes fanning her cheeks.
Belami smiled and attempted to put her at her ease. “I’m not going to bite you, you know,” he said playfully.
“What is the message?’’ she asked without any alleviation of her nervous state, but at least she lifted her eyes to his face.
“It concerns the letters you received. I am directed to buy them from you.”
She drew a sigh of relief. “Thank God!” she exclaimed. “Do you have the money?”
“I have one thousand pounds,” he said quietly.
“But that’s not enough! We need five thousand. Five thousand was the price!” she exclaimed, a worried frown forming on her pale brow.
“I’m afraid that is the price, ma’am. You must know five thousand is exorbitant,” he added, carefully watching her reaction.
She sat silently a moment, thinking. Then she lifted her head and looked at him, her dark, doe eyes filled with worry. “No, it is not enough,” she said simply. “I must sound like a dreadful shrew. I wouldn’t insist if... I can get more elsewhere, you know,” she said with that frightened look still in her eyes as though fearful of his reaction. But he just sat, looking. “That is my message, my final decision,” she said and arose, glancing at the door.
“Wait!” Belami called, jumping up and taking a step toward her. “Lady Gilham, do you really want the disgrace and degradation of having those intimate letters published for the world to snicker over? You won’t remain untarnished yourself.’’
“I am already thoroughly tarnished, milord. Your royal friend has seen to that,” she said, quick anger flashing across her lovely face. “As he has seen fit to boast of his conquest of me, I might as well have some recompense for it. I am ruined for any chance of a respectable marriage. I must have something to live on.”
“I assure you the conquest is not spoken of abroad,” he told her.
“If he can sprinkle titles and sinecures on his other mistresses, he can give me a paltry five thousand pounds. It is reasonable, considering his alternative,” she said with a toss of her head. Anger had washed away that air of the shy, young girl. What Belami was looking at now was a very determined woman.
“You refer to the publication of the letters,” he said, his interest piqued at her sudden change of mode.
“That will do—for a start,” she said.
While he stood looking, the anger faded and tears welled up in her eyes to splash down her cheeks. She was back to being a frightened little girl, and he felt an urge to gather her up in his arms and comfort her.
“Perhaps if you could let me see the letters,” he said, as something had to be said. Negotiations must not be severed entirely.
“We can’t talk now. Not with her listening at the keyhole,” she said in a low voice, tossing her head toward the door through which Mrs. Morton had recently departed.
Belami felt that he had at least ingratiated himself with Lady Gilham. Earlier, she had wanted the chaperone to remain in the room. It was an easy leap to suspect the chaperone was behind the exorbitant sum asked.
“When then?”
“She goes to visit a friend at Devil’s Dyke tomorrow. Can you return then? I shall be quite alone.”
“At what hour?” he asked eagerly.
“She leaves at ten. I shall be home all day alone. Do come early. I must get this settled. It’s driving me to distraction.” She shook her head and dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief.
“I’ll come at ten-thirty,” he promised.
She nodded her agreement with a little sniff to stop her tears. “What—what did he say when he sent you on this mission?” she asked hesitantly.
After a brief, thoughtful pause, Belami saw no reason to encourage her hopes. “He said he hoped to avoid scandal and was willing to pay the sum I mentioned for the letters. That’s all.”
The forlorn expression hardened into bitterness. “That’s all I was to him, just a possibility of future scandal. He is a wicked man, your friend. Wicked, treacherous, deceitful—like all men,” she finished with a disillusioned look.
Such beautiful youth as he beheld ought not to be disillusioned, he thought sadly.
“I don’t suppose it’s easy being a prince,’’ Belami said, hoping to assuage her anger.
“He should try being a pauper!”
“He’s surrounded by sycophants. It’s enough to make a saint a cynic. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
“Very well, but unless you are prepared to raise the price, there is nothing to discuss. Good evening, milord.”
She turned her back on him and walked away, not out the door, but farther into the room, leaving him to show himself out. There was a scurrying sound in the hallway, leading him to believe their discussion had indeed been listened to. Tomorrow they would have a chance for a better, longer chat. He had some hope of talking her price down and some fear she might talk his up.
As he drove home, he pondered what tack to take with Lady Gilham. She was hurt, offended, and she was angry. She was also, apparently, poor.
“We need five thousand,” she had said. Who was that “we”? Mrs. Morton and herself’? Five thousand was out of the question, but he might have to bump it up to two thousand or twenty-five hundred. It was true the prince lavished more on flirts who didn’t need it as badly. Belami felt out of sorts with the world and disillusioned himself, till he remembered Deirdre was at home waiting for him. How fortunate, how positively blessed he was to have found and won her. And when he at last got her away from the duchess, things would be perfect.
Chapter Three
The duchess had not yet made her toilette, which allowed Belami a few moments alone with Deirdre. Without quite being conscious of it, he was mentally comparing her situation with that of Lady Gilham. Here was Deirdre, heiress to her aunt’s large fortune and betrothed to himself, who also had a fortune. Life seemed unfair. Poor Lady Gilham had to haggle and bargain and risk her reputation for a meager competence. He admired her spirit in tackling Prinney, even if circumstances had placed him on the opposite side of the matter.
‘‘What was she like?’’ Deirdre asked eagerly when they pulled their chairs close to the grate.
“Rather like you, in appearance,” he said, smiling at the memory. ‘‘Much younger and prettier than I expected. More a victim than a predator, I think.”
“Oh, really?” Deirdre asked in a voice a shade less friendly than before. In fact, a definite shadow of apprehension flitted across her face. Dick was far too broad-minded and French where young women were concerned. “Apparently she is much livelier in disposition. I would never be so dashing as to have an affair with Prinney. Neither would I threaten to publish his letters when he jilted me.”
“You might be a little more charitable in your assessment,” he suggested. “She hasn’t your advantages, Deirdre. I must say I admire her courage. She seems to be in desperate need of money,” he added, gazing into the flames.
“Does she have children?”
“No. That is, she didn’t mention it. Perhaps that’s it,” he added, frowning. “She did mention that ‘we’ need the money.”
His fiancée knew by Belami’s frown that his mind was still back at Lady Gilham’s house, and she resented it.
“How is her establishment? Is she living in a hovel?” she asked.
“No, no, it’s decent, but by no means grand.”
“I should think Gilham left her something,” she said, hoping to wear away Dick’s sympathy for the attractive young widow.
“I suppose so.”
“You didn’t tell me whether or not she agreed to the prince’s offer.”
“No, she’s adamant about her price. I have to return tomorrow. There was a companion there this evening. She wants more privacy,” he explained with a shocking naiveté for one of his experience.
“You’re returning tomorrow to see her alone?” Deirdre asked, disliking the affair more by the moment.
“Yes.”
After a brief, strained silence, she said, “Why don’t you invite her here instead, Dick? It will be easier for you, and the surroundings so much more pleasant.”
He cut through this charade with ease. “Don’t you trust me?” he asked. She tossed her head, but didn’t answer. “I don’t know whether I’m flattered or angry. Both, I think,” he decided.
“Of course I trust you,” she said then, but with patent insincerity.
“Then it’s Lady Gilham you mistrust? She’s not what you think at all, Deirdre. She’s young, vulnerable. I felt sorry for the girl,” he was foolish enough to admit.
“Indeed! You must not go transforming her into a saint, Dick. She’s a widow who had an affair with a man old enough to be her father, and now she’s holding him to ransom. I don’t call that very vulnerable!”
“You’re a hard judge.”
“You are no judge at all. How much are you going to give her?” she asked with a definite stiffening in her posture.
Before the discussion disintegrated into a lovers’ quarrel, the heavy tread of the duchess was heard on the stairs, and soon she had herself bundled up before the grate, placing herself carefully between the lovers.
“Let us hear all about the trollop who is out to fleece Prinney,” was her opening remark, uttered with great relish.
Deirdre saw Belami stiffen up and felt, for the first time since her betrothal, a doubt as to how firmly she had caught him. He had been a famous womanizer before the engagement. And the engagement was not even a week old. A tiger didn’t change his spots overnight. She must keep a sharp eye on the negotiations with Lady Gilham or it would be Dick who was supporting the hussy next.
When he had repeated his tale to the duchess, she said, “She sounds a proper conniver to me. She conned the prince, and she has conned you, my lad. Take care she don’t set her cap for you. She oughtn’t to be given a penny. The cart’s tail is the place for her sort. Is dinner ready yet?”
During dinner, there was more of the same sort of talk, with the duchess deriding Lady Gilham, Deirdre adding a few comments, and Dick mounting a defense of the woman, which was soon talked down.
Dick began to stiffen. He regretted having brought the ladies to Brighton with him. He’d have done better to come alone and finish his business quickly. Right now he should be at the Old Ship, trying to scrape an acquaintance with George Smythe, instead of arguing black was white with the duchess.
“You have remarkable confidence in your judgment, ma’am,” he said as dinner drew to a stormy close. ‘‘You’re ready to stand judge on a perfect stranger.”
“I know a trollop when I see one,” the duchess answered, eyeing the table for any remaining treats.
“But you haven’t seen this particular one,” he pointed out. Then he added hastily, “And, in my opinion, she is not a trollop but an unwise girl.”