Now he shook with rage. Just wait until those servants and yokels in Cornwall heard about this!
He could barely contain himself until the opera was over. Two people had left Felicity's box, but she was still there herself with a male companion. Mr. Palfrey did not recognize Lord Arthur. What if they did not stay for the farce? It would be hard to reach them.
He rose to his feet and scurried along the corridor behind the boxes, shaking off the clutching hands of the prostitutes.
In his rage and confusion, he opened the doors of several wrong boxes before he hit the right one.
“Well, Felicity Channing,” he said in a voice squeaky with outrage. “And what have you to say for yourself?”
The little figure with her back to him remained absolutely still. The man beside Felicity rose to his feet. Now Mr. Palfrey recognized Lord Arthur.
“What the deuce do you mean by this outrage?” demanded Lord Arthur, towering over Mr. Palfrey. “This lady is the Princess Felicity of Brasnia.”
“Princess, my foot!” screeched Mr. Palfrey. “That's my stepdaughter, the minx. And those are my jewels.”
He made a move forward to grasp Felicity's shoulder and then gasped as Lord Arthur pushed him back.
“Leave immediately,” said Lord Arthur, “or I shall call you out.”
“But that is my stepdaughter,” cried Mr. Palfrey. “She pretended to die in order to trick me.”
“Your Royal Highness,” said Lord Arthur, “before I throw this fellow downstairs, do you wish to take a look at him? Perhaps he is a former servant of yours whose mind has become deranged.”
“Servant!” shouted Mr. Palfrey. “Do I look like a servant?”
Felicity stood up and turned about.
She looked coldly at Mr. Palfrey. “I have never seen this man before in my life,” she said steadily.
Her eyes were cold, and her expression haughty. All in that moment, Mr. Palfrey began to fear he had made a terrible mistake. The diamonds on her head and at her throat blazed with such a light that he could no longer be sure they were the Channing jewels, for their prismatic fire nearly prevented him from seeing the individual stones. But it was the beauty of the girl in front of him that took him aback. For Mr. Palfrey had convinced himself that Felicity was plain. In his memory, she was a drab little thing with carroty hair, not a regal goddess like the lady facing him.
He became aware that everyone in the house had begun to stare at Lord Arthur's box. Lord Arthur looked on the point of suggesting a duel.
“Pray accept my apologies,” babbled Mr. Palfrey. “The resemblance is astonishing. You remember me, do you not, Lord Arthur? You were there when my poor Felicity was found missing.”
Lord Arthur continued to regard him as if he were something that had crept out from under a stone, but Felicity spoke again, her voice strangely accented. “No doubt,” she said, “grief over the death of your stepdaughter has sadly turned your brain.” Then she sat down again with her back to him.
Stammering apologies, Mr. Palfrey bowed his way out.
“I have the headache,” said Felicity. “I wish to go home.”
“First Madame Chubiski with a headache, and now you,” said Lord Arthur. “Come along. You are looking very white. Did that silly little man upset you?”
“Yes. What is all this about his stepdaughter, my lord? And do you know him?” Felicity trembled as she waited for his reply. For if he had not known she was an impostor before, surely he knew now.
“I met him once,” said Lord Arthur in a bored voice. “His stepdaughter, also called Felicity, was running away from him. She fell over a cliff in a storm.”
“How terrible!”
“Indeed, yes. I trust you do not have such dreadful happenings in Brasnia.”
Felicity wanted to cry out to him that she was sure he had not believed one word of her nonsense, but there was still a little element of doubt, still a little hope that he believed her. She did not know why it was, but she felt uneasy and breathless and uncomfortable with him, and wretchedly lonely and afraid the minute he went away.
In the carriage ride home, with Lord Arthur riding on the box-for it was a closed carriage and she would have been compromised had he traveled inside with her-Felicity wondered desperately what to do. Thank goodness Miss Chubb had felt ill and had left with Dolph. Those two would surely have made up Mr. Palfrey's mind for him. She would need to leave London. She would need to get away, for she was sure that if Mr. Palfrey saw her with Miss Chubb, then the game would be up. And it would be folly to continue to see Lord Arthur. He was engaged to another woman.
To her dismay, Lord Arthur followed her into the house in Chesterfield Street.
She turned in the hall to tell him he must leave and then her eye fell on the enormous gold-crested card. She picked it up. It was an invitation to the Queen's drawing room in two weeks’ time.
“The royal summons, eh?” said Lord Arthur, reading it over her shoulder.
“Do I have to go?” asked Felicity.
“It would certainly look most odd if you did not.”
Felicity thought rapidly. Two weeks. She would leave town in the morning and return just for the Queen's drawing room, and then Princess Felicity of Brasnia would disappear forever.
“Will you come driving with me tomorrow?” Lord Arthur asked.
“N-no,” said Felicity. “I am unwell and need country air. We shall be leaving in the morning.”
He went very still, and then he said lightly, “And where are you bound?”
“I had not decided.”
“May I suggest Brighton? It is quite near London, and it is possible to find comfortable accommodation out of Season.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps that would be best.” Felicity held out her hand. “Good-bye, Lord Arthur,” she said firmly. “I doubt if we shall meet again.”
He took her hand in his and smiled down into her eyes. She looked up at him with a dazed, drowned look. He dropped her hand and then placed his own hands lightly on her shoulders. His mouth began to descend toward her own. He kissed her very lightly on the lips, and then raised his head and looked at her in a sort of wonder. His arms slid from her shoulders to settle at her waist, and then he jerked her tightly against him and kissed her again, and both went whirling off into a warm sensual blackness while the clock in the hall ticked away the seconds, and then the minutes, as his mouth moved languorously against her own and passion sang in his veins.
“Is that you, Felicity?” came Miss Chubb's voice. And then her heavy tread sounded in the corridor upstairs.
They broke apart, breathing heavily as if they had been running.
“You shouldn't have…” whispered Felicity.
“Brighton,” he said firmly. “Go to Brighton.”
He turned on his heel, and then he was gone, leaving Felicity standing in the hall, her hand to her lips.
The council of war went on long into the night. John Tremayne was to ride ahead to Brighton and rent a house and then ride out to the first posting house on the road outside Brighton to give them the address. Felicity's dressmaker's dummy was to be sent to the dressmaker with the promise of double money if a court dress were made and ready in time for the Queen's drawing room.
“Brighton is certainly an excellent place to choose,” said Mr. Silver. “What made you choose Brighton, ma'am?”
“Oh, I don't know,” said Felicity vaguely. For she was sure there would be protests if she said the suggestion had come from Lord Arthur. Mr. Silver considered Lord Arthur and his friend, Dolph, to be corrupt and evil men who encouraged ladies like Miss Chubiski to drink to excess, and Miss Chubb herself had become more and more worried about Felicity and Lord Arthur. Felicity had not told her about the embrace. Miss Chubb, she knew, would be deeply shocked.
Lord Arthur made ready to go out in search of Dolph the next day to see if that young man would fancy a trip to Brighton. But the fact that he was engaged to be married to Miss Martha Barchester was forcibly brought home to him when his footman handed him a letter. With a sinking heart, he recognized the seal. He crackled open the parchment. The letter was from Miss Barchester, saying that she and her parents were staying at the Crillon Hotel. Lord Arthur would no doubt be delighted and amazed to see her so soon. His presence was expected at the earliest moment.