Another cheer went up as the balloonist, a Mr. Peter Green, was escorted through the crowd. And another cheer rose as the cords were cut away and the gas-filled balloon began to rise.
Felicity's eyes filled with tears as she watched it. Lord Arthur's overwhelming masculine presence was making her extremely uncomfortable. She felt she would like to float away, like Mr. Green, far away from the troubles and worries of her masquerade, far up into the clouds, far away from staring, curious eyes. Lord Arthur silently handed her his handkerchief, and she stifled a sob and blew her nose. Silence fell on the crowd as the balloon began to climb and climb. Then sand fell down from it like white smoke, the wind caught it, and it began to bear away steadily to the east. Felicity, like the crowd, watched and watched until the balloon grew smaller and smaller in the distance, until it finally appeared into a bank of cloud.
And then all chaos broke loose. A crowd of people had been sitting on the wall of a house that bordered the tea gardens. As they swayed and shuffled to get down, the wall broke. There were terrified screams, and the crowd went mad. They pushed this way and that against the carriages. Lord Arthur's light curricle tilted wildly. Miss Chubb was thrown out, and Dolph leapt down after her to try to rescue her from the stampeding crowd.
Lord Arthur's groom was holding the horses’ reins and brandishing his whip as he tried to keep the crowd clear of the terrified horses.
“We're going to be crushed with the carriage,” cried Lord Arthur. He jumped down and lifted Felicity into his arms and began to force a way through the crowd, booting, kicking, and cursing as he cleared a path. He looked back over his shoulder. His groom had cut the horses free and was leading them safely away-just in time, for the curricle had been upended.
“Nearly safe,” said Lord Arthur in Felicity's ear. His arms were tightly around her, and above one hand he could feel the swell of her bosom. Her light body seemed a throbbing, pulsating thing. The effect of holding her so close was making his head swim. He looked down at her. She had her arms tightly around his neck, but her eyes were downcast.
He carried her clear of the crowd and stood for a moment, filled with an overwhelming reluctance to free her.
“Look at me, my princess,” he said softly. Felicity turned bewildered eyes up to his face and saw a light burning in those black eyes that made her tremble. He suddenly held her very tightly against him, smelling the light scent she wore, and feeling the trembling of her body.
Then he set her down, and, turning a little away from her, he said in a rough voice, “There is a posting house quite near here. If you can walk that far, I shall hire some sort of carriage to take you home. You had better hold my hand. There are a great many unsavory people about.”
It would be all right to hold her hand, he thought. Any man, holding a beautiful young girl in his arms would have felt the way he did. But mere hand-holding was safe enough. He took her hand without looking at her. But a burning sensation seemed to run up his arm.
By the time they had reached the inn, he realized he wanted Felicity more than he had wanted any woman in the whole of his life. And he was engaged to be married.
“You are holding my hand very tightly,” said Felicity in a small voice, “and we are well clear of the crowd.”
He released her hand. He had meant to ask for a private parlor so that she might be able to have some refreshment before he escorted her home. But he knew he could no longer be alone with her without wanting to touch her.
In a loud voice, he demanded a carriage, any carriage, brushed aside the landlord's apologies that there was only a gig, said he would take it, and drove Felicity home, only breaking his silence once to assure her that Dolph could be trusted to protect her companion.
She was in such a nervous turmoil that she should have been glad to see him go, but when he swept off his hat and bent over her hand to kiss it, she found herself saying, “Shall we meet again?”
“Alas, I do not think so,” he said. “I shall return to the country within the next few days.” He half turned away and then swung round again. “But should you need any assistance, ma'am, tell Dolph, and he will know where to find me.”
Felicity trailed into the house and stood for a moment in the hall, dwarfed by all the rented magnificence of tiled floor, soaring double staircase, and oil paintings in heavy gilt frames.
Mr. Silver, a book in his hand, came out of the library at the far corner of the hall.
“Good afternoon, ma'am,” he said formally. Mr. Silver, like the rest of Felicity's employees, was well aware she was not a princess but always addressed her as if she were royal.
“Oh, Mr. Silver,” cried Felicity. “Is Madame Chubiski returned?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“She was with me at the balloon ascension when a wall collapsed. There was rioting, and we became separated. Lord Arthur's friend, Mr. Godolphin, was with her.”
“Would you like me to go to Pentonville to look for her?” asked Mr. Silver anxiously.
“No, I am sure she is unharmed. But join me in the drawing room for some tea, and tell me how John Tremayne's education progresses.”
They drank tea, and Mr. Silver reported that John was progressing favorably, but both strained their ears for a sound of the return of Miss Chubb. When a footman came in to light candles, Mr. Silver rose to his feet. “With your permission, ma'am,” he said, “I would like to go to Pentonville. I cannot feel easy in my mind. Madame Chubiski is rather shy and unused to London.”
“Shy? Unused to London, perhaps, but I would hardly call Madame Chub… iskishy. ”
“I can assure you she is too gently bred a lady to be wandering about with a young boy of whom we know very little.”
“Then, by all means go,” cried Felicity.
Evening settled down over London. The parish lamps in the street outside were lit, and still Miss Chubb did not return.
At last Felicity heard the sound of a carriage stopping outside the house and ran out onto the front steps. But it was only Mr. Silver returning alone.
“I found no trace of her, ma'am,” he said, his lined face anxious. “There were two people killed when that wall collapsed, and many more were injured in the rioting.”
“Oh, what shall I do?” cried Felicity. “I cannot just wait here any longer, doing nothing. I know…”
She ran into the house and called for Spinks.
“Tell me,” she said to the butler, “do you know the address of Lord Arthur Bessamy?”
“Yes, ma'am. When you told me to invite him to your rout, I made it my business to find out,” said Spinks. “Lord Arthur lives in Curzon Street at Number 137.”
“That is only around the corner,” said Felicity, going into the drawing room and picking up her hat. Mr. Silver followed her in.
“You cannot go to Lord Arthur's house,” he said severely. “That will not do at all.”
“Abstain from fleshly lusts, which war against the soul,” intoned the butler from the doorway, making them both jump.
“Oh,Spinks! ” said Felicity crossly. “Do behave yourself. I am only going to call on Lord Arthur to enlist his help in finding Madame Chubiski.”
“Then, I shall go,” said Mr. Silver quickly. “For you to call at a gentleman's town house for any reason at all is just not done.”
Mr. Silver departed quickly, and once more Felicity was left to wait.
In ten minutes’ time the tutor returned with Lord Arthur. “You are fortunate, Princess,” said Lord Arthur. “I was just leaving for my club when I received your message. I am sure you have nothing to worry about. Dolph is much more competent than he looks.”
“But you do not understand,” wailed Felicity. “This is not like my companion at all. She may have been struck on the head; she may have been abducted. Dear God, she was simply covered in jewels…”