Chapter Nine

T he family spent the day at Campden Hill and in the evening drove back to London.

Before Harry left, she visited with Rachel to bid her good-bye. "You must try to come to the queen's costume ball at Buckingham Palace next week. It will be so much more fun if we can both be there in our short skirts."

"As a matter of fact, I shall be attending. Lord Butler has invited me, and has offered to pick me up in his carriage. I don't know if I shall have enough courage to wear a costume with a short skirt, however."

"Well, to be truthful, I don't know what I'll be wearing either. But I know I'll have more fun if you are there. Bye-bye, Rachel. Thank you for making Mother's birthday celebration so special."

Two hours later, after their cook, Mrs. Gilbert, fed them some chicken broth with dumplings, the Hamilton sisters retired to bed. Their conversations centered about the tarot card readings that "Mademoiselle Rachelle" had provided.

"My cards were better than anyone else's, and moreover, I'm supposed to get my wish within a three!" Trixy could not hide her excitement.

"What do you think, Harry?" Jane asked. "Do wishes really come true?"

"Some do, I suppose. But my tarot cards were mostly swords , so I don't have much hope. I also got the Fool and the Hanged Man. I couldn't have received worse cards."

"Oh, Harry, they weren't all bad," Trixy reminded her. "You got the Lovers ! I wish that I'd gotten that card. It must be the most exciting thing in the world to have a lover!"

Harry climbed into bed and thought about it. "The cards say that it is the woman who determines the quality of the love relationship. The man merely responds. There may be some truth in that."

In the middle of the night, Harry began to dream:

She was riding in an open carriage with D'Arcy. They were driving up to a beautiful castle that stood atop a green hill.

"Welcome to Lambton Castle, my love."

"Ahhh, it is even lovelier than I imagined. I have such a passion for buildings, and this is an exact replica of a medieval castle."

"Wait until you see the interiors," he promised. He took her hand and helped her from the carriage. "When Father had it built, money was no object."

The great hall was spacious, its walls decorated with ancient swords and burnished armor. A long oak table, polished to a mirror finish and complete with twenty-four carved chairs, sat before a massive stone fireplace. The floor was covered with a thick Oriental carpet, and ironbound chests stood against the walls.

"What are the chests for?"

D'Arcy walked over and lifted one of the lids. "They are to hold all the gold coins I receive from selling Durham's coal."

Harry lifted her arms and twirled about with joy. Then she began to ascend a grand staircase. She looked behind and beckoned, making sure D'Arcy would follow. When she ran out onto the ramparts, he caught up with her and led her to the crenellated wall.

"I was saving it as a surprise, but I got word today that I have been appointed lord lieutenant of Durham."

"Congratulations, D'Arcy." She brushed her fingertips across his cheek and gazed into his blue eyes. "Without a doubt, you will be the handsomest lord lieutenant this county has ever known."

He slipped his arms around her and drew her close. "Harry, will you marry me?"

She lifted her arms about his neck and laughed up into his attractive face. "Yes, D'Arcy, I would love to be your wife and become the next Countess of Durham."

His lips captured hers in a long, sensual kiss. Then suddenly the air was filled with the cascading silver and gold stars of fireworks that lit up the dark sky. The castle pyrotechnics ended in a loud explosion.

It brought Harry out of her dream, and she sat up in bed with her heart pounding. Then she realized it was a loud crack of thunder that had awakened her. She got out of bed to close the window and stood staring at the flashes of lightning that lit up the sky. When her heart stopped racing, she remembered her dream. D'Arcy asked me to marry him, and I said yes!

"The theme for this year's Bal Costume is the Restoration period. I wager every male attending will be disguised as King Charles the Second," Harry declared.

"And every female will be Queen Catherine of Braganza," Trixy added.

"Well, certainly Queen Victoria will, but I prefer going as the insatiable Barbara Castlemaine," the duchess jested.

"But that wouldn't be a disguise," Harry teased.

"Oh God, I'm turning into my mother! I just remembered that she went to a royal masquerade ball at St. James's Palace dressed as Barbara Castlemaine."

"Really? And who were you dressed as?"

"I blush to tell you that I was pretty, witty Nell Gwyn, complete with saucy red curls. I remember singing a very naughty ditty to your father—though he wasn't your father at the time."

"In your day, masquerade balls had one purpose in mind—dalliance. The guests were encouraged to wear risqué costumes, and indulge in flirtatious liaisons. Everyone wore masks to hide their identities, and the king and queen turned a blind eye, pretending it was all innocent fun and games," Harry declared.

"You have read too many books where these masquerades have been romanticized. My father totally disapproved. He said that licentious costumes led to licentious behavior, and, thinking back, he was quite right."

"But Queen Victoria's ball, in contrast, will be as exciting as a Sunday school dance. The guests will parade around the Buckingham Palace ballroom wearing ultrarespectable costumes. Exposed bosoms are considered scandalous. I swear, if any lady was daring enough to wear an authentic Restoration fashion, it would be the last royal ball she ever attends."

"Fortunately, costumes that represent other countries around the world are always acceptable. I have a fancy to dress as a Russian, since I have a flair for the dramatic."

"Mother, I warrant that's a perfect choice for you, and it has given me an idea for my own costume. No, Trixy, I won't tell you. It's to be a surprise."

Harry hurried from the room and went in search of her brother James. She found him in the library polishing the hilt on an old sword. "Don't tell me you've been challenged to a duel by Lady Emily's brother?"

James laughed. "It's for the costume ball."

"Let me guess. . . . You're going as a cavalier."

"How did you know?"

"What other disguise would any red-blooded young noble choose? I need your help regarding my own costume, James. But first I have to swear you to secrecy."

"You're going as Lady Godiva!"

"No, silly. It's just that Rachel and I made a pact to show off our legs at the queen's Bal Costume. So I've decided to go as a Scottish lad."

"A Scottish lad? Good Lord, Harry, you never grow tired of shock and surprise."

"Remember the kilt you wore when we were invited to Balmoral? You were about twelve, so I think it will fit me."

"It must be up in the attic, unless Mother sent it home with Rose along with all my other clothes I've outgrown over the years."

"I doubt there'd be much call for kilts in Soho," she said dryly. "Let's go and look."

The pair spent the next half hour searching through trunks, and at last found what they were looking for.

"Yes! Just as I was hoping, the entire outfit is here—the black velvet jacket, the kneesocks, and, most important of all, the sporran!"

"Do you truly have enough nerve to wear that to the palace, Harry?"

"Only after I've shortened it," she said with a wink.

On the night of the ball, Harry's face was devoid of all powder and paint. She brushed her long black hair back smoothly and fastened it with a leather thong. She covered her eyes with a black mask, and then she placed a Gordon plaid tam-o'-shanter on the side of her head, and pinned it to her hair so it wouldn't fall off.

When D'Arcy Lambton called for her at Hampden House, Harry made sure her evening cloak covered her costume.

D'Arcy was wearing a brocade coat, satin knee breeches, and a powered wig.

"Oh, you look marvelous. Your Regency outfit looks positively authentic."

"It should. It belonged to my grandfather Earl Grey." He stared at Harry's scrubbed cheeks and pulled-back hair. "You look like a boy tonight."

"That's precisely what I'm supposed to be. Will you be courageous enough to dance with me?"

"Since I'm privy to the secret that beneath your disguise there beats the heart of a passionate woman, I'll be courageous enough to do more than dance with you, sweeting."

"Let's hurry. I can't wait to see what costume Rachel will wear tonight."

At Buckingham Palace, when a footman took Lady Harriet's cloak, D'Arcy's mouth gaped open when he saw the short kilt and Harry's deliciously long legs exposed for the entire world to see. "Good God, Harry, you make me feel randy as a Regency buck!"

"Lucky you," she teased, then added with a wink, "Lucky me!"

They joined the circle to parade around the throne room. Harry received many disapproving stares over her daring costume, but she blithely shrugged them off. "By the way, I spoke to my father and told him you had an ambition to become the lord lieutenant of Durham."

"Good girl! What did he say?" he asked eagerly.

"He informed me that Queen Victoria makes such appointments upon the recommendation of her prime minister."

"So, do you think your father will recommend me to Aberdeen?"

"Not a chance. They dislike each other. Intensely!" Then she smiled. "Father will do better than that. I warrant he will speak directly to Prince Albert."

The reception rooms were crowded with people in costume. Everyone of consequence in London had accepted the prestigious invitation to the queen's Bal Costume at Buckingham Palace.

The parade music stopped, which was the signal for everyone to find a dance partner. D'Arcy hesitated about leading a Scottish lad onto the dance floor, and Harry was secretly enjoying his discomfort.

Will Montagu was partnering Jane, and when they saw D'Arcy and Harry, they stopped to chat. "Great minds think alike," Harry quipped when she saw that Montagu was in full Highland dress. "You must save me a dance, Will. It will set tongues a-wagging."

Jane looked aghast at her sister. "Harry, your knees are bare!"

"Aye. So are Will's. The only difference is that I put rouge on mine."

Harry watched the dancers whirl by and when the music stopped, she found herself standing beside the queen, who was garbed in a magnificent Restoration gown, sans the low neckline of course.

Victoria smiled at the Earl of Durham in his brocade coat and powdered wig. "How very elegant you look, Lord Durham." She glanced at the youth in the kilt. "And who is this young gentleman?"

D'Arcy cleared his throat. "It's . . . it's young James Hamilton, Your Majesty."

Harry's mouth fell open.

"James, of course! Forgive me for not recognizing you," the queen apologized.

Harry bowed low, and then quickly fell back into the crowd. "You were embarrassed to acknowledge me because I was showing my legs. You have the courage of a louse, D'Arcy Lambton."

"You forget yourself, Harry. That was Her Gracious Majesty the Queen of England. It would have shocked her beyond belief if she'd recognized you flaunting your limbs."

"You are afraid I'd put your lord lieutenancy in jeopardy!" she teased.

"Nonsense! I was only thinking of your reputation."

"Go and get me a drink, and I will forgive you," she promised. In the crowd, Harry spotted Lord Butler. He was easy to recognize because he was wearing his brilliant captain's uniform with its shiny brass buttons. She made her way across the floor and was delighted to see that her adventurous aunt had found the courage to expose her legs.

"Well done, Rachel. Your doublet and hose turn you into a most fetching page boy. Would you believe it? When the queen asked who I was, D'Arcy introduced me as James! When I challenged him, he swore it was to protect my reputation. He's such a coward."

Rachel laughed. "Has D'Arcy seen your tattoo yet?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Ho! Now who is the coward?" she teased.

"Tattoo?" Captain Butler looked at Harry in disbelief.

Harry rolled her eyes. "Don't ask!"

"Where is D'Arcy?" Butler questioned.

"He went to get me a drink, but he must have gotten lost in the crowd."

"Here's Thomas and Beatrix. Oh, your gown is ultrafeminine, Trixy," Rachel declared. "You look so lovely, you make me wish I hadn't dressed as a boy."

Harry saw Anson's eyes sweep over her from head to foot. She also saw the amusement written there that he couldn't quite conceal.

Captain Butler ran an appreciative hand over the elaborate gold braid on Thomas's coat. "Is this the admiral's uniform of your famous ancestor George Anson?"

"It is indeed. Perhaps it's presumptuous of me to wear it, but he's the only Anson who ever achieved greatness."

"You never told me you had a famous ancestor," Harry said. "I'm curious as a cat."

"He became admiral of the fleet and won many great naval battles against the French. He circumnavigated the world, and captured ships laden with gold. He is the one who brought back the many treasures that once furnished Shugborough Hall."

The treasures your father sold to pay off his gambling debts.

"You are not being presumptuous when you wear his uniform, Thomas. You are honoring him." Green eyes met pewter and held for long, drawn-out moments.

Abercorn, dressed as King Charles, joined them. "Your mother is off dancing with Prince Albert, and I have just had the privilege of partnering our gracious queen. It appears my services are needed here, since one of my daughters is without a partner."

"D'Arcy went to get me a drink, but has obviously been waylaid." Harry raised her arms and her father led her onto the floor without a flicker of disapproval at her costume.

Halfway through the dance, Harry spotted D'Arcy, who was having an animated conversation with none other than Prime Minister Aberdeen.

"I can't believe it! D'Arcy is hobnobbing with your detested stepfather."

"Did you happen to tell him that it is the prime minister who recommends lord lieutenants to the queen?"

Harry looked up at her father as comprehension dawned. "I'll be damned."

"Don't be offended. It shows expedience and ambition—traits that will serve him well, both in business and in government."

"But he's fraternizing with the enemy. Shouldn't loyalty count for something?"

"Indeed it should . . . in a husband. But you are not married yet, Harry."

As the dance ended, Abercorn waltzed Harriet over to the spot where Anson was standing. "Thomas, I shall leave my daughter in your capable hands." He turned to Beatrix and gallantly offered to partner her in the next dance.

"You need not dance with me, Thomas. If I'm perceived as a male, it may spark gossip, and if I'm recognized as a female exposing my limbs, it will shock sensibilities."

He raised his arms in invitation. "What are friends for?"

Harry smiled her acceptance and they moved onto the floor as the music began. The moment she went into his arms, she realized with alarm that she would have to put up her guard against his devastating animal attraction. Her physical response to him was potent. She took a deep breath and searched for a topic of conversation that would distract her thoughts from the overwhelming magnetism of the dark devil.

"You are the member of Parliament for Lichfield, Staffordshire. What is it like there?"

"It's quite lovely. Staffordshire is the heart of England. It's agricultural rather than industrial. Stafford, the town closest to Shugborough, is the main coaching stop between London and Chester. It's also the main route to the northwest and Ireland, so it is relatively prosperous. The railways skirted us in favor of Birmingham in the Midlands, so that is the town that has exploded in size and manufacturing. Lichfield, a few miles south of Shugborough, has a medieval cathedral reputed to be the loveliest in England."

Harry searched her memory. "I believe it has three spires."

"It has indeed."

"I remember from my visits to Shugborough." I can smell jasmine and honeysuckle. She closed her eyes and almost drifted into a romantic fantasy. A voice inside her head warned, Stop it, Harry! She opened her eyes quickly. D'Arcy Lambton is far better husband material than Anson. Thomas is dominant and demanding, and if I became his wife, I would be so enamored, I would allow him to rule the roost. D'Arcy has such a pleasant, easygoing nature, he will allow me to have my own way and make my own decisions.

Thomas continued with his description. "Lichfield is known for falconry, sheepdogs, heavy horses, and ferret racing."

A picture came full-blown in her imagination. "It sounds like—" She hesitated.

"Absolute perfection," Thomas murmured as the dance ended.

"There you are, Harry!" D'Arcy arrived with a glass of wine in hand. "I've been searching for you everywhere."

She smiled and took the wine. "I've been right here, all the time."

"I haven't had the pleasure of dancing with you yet." D'Arcy seemed torn.

"Would you feel better if I removed my mask and let my hair down?"

"I'd feel infinitely better, my love."

"Hold my wine." Harry unfastened her mask, removed the thong from her hair, and shook her tresses until they cascaded about her shoulders. Then she took back her glass and drained it. She turned to Thomas and placed the empty glass in his hand. "What are friends for?" she murmured outrageously, and was rewarded by the amusement she saw in his dark eyes.

As they danced the next three dances, D'Arcy was clearly enjoying himself. Holding her in his arms, he whispered intimate compliments, and when he held her at arm's length, he gazed enraptured at her legs. Then he would draw her close, and brush his hard thighs against hers.

The master of ceremonies announced that once more the guests must parade in a circle to show off their magnificent costumes, so that prizes could be awarded. After that, the supper rooms would be opened.

"Oh, Lord, the last thing I want to do is parade again. I've been gawked at enough for one night," Harry declared.

D'Arcy waggled his eyebrows. "Your wish is my command, lassie." He took her hand and led her from the ballroom. They zigzagged through a throng of people, who all seemed to be going in the opposite direction. They finally found a chamber that was less crowded, and made their way out onto its secluded balcony.

D'Arcy enfolded her in his arms and captured her lips in a possessive kiss.

Harry began to giggle.

"What the devil is so amusing?"

"Forgive me, D'Arcy. It's your powdered wig. I feel preposterous being kissed by a man who resembles a fop."

"That is soon remedied." He swept the wig from his head and tossed it aside.

"That's better. The moonlight turns your hair to pale gold," Harry murmured. Unable to resist, she reached up and ran her fingers through his blond curls. This time, when his mouth sought hers, she opened her lips in invitation.

D'Arcy's hands reached beneath her kilt and he caressed her bum with the palms of his hands. He pressed her forward into his erection and moaned deep in his throat.

"Harry, there's such a mob here, we could slip away to Carlton House Terrace and never be missed."

"D'Arcy, I can't. If I leave here and come to your house, you know very well what will happen."

"I can't wait any longer, Harry." He caressed the inside of her mouth with his tongue. "And why the devil should we wait? The Season will be over when Parliament recesses in August. In less than three weeks, we'll announce our betrothal." He took her hand and pressed it to his throbbing sex. "Don't be a cocktease, Harry. You can feel the state that I'm in."

Though she was impulsive and wildly curious about sex, she had more good sense than to give in to a randy male's sexual demands.

"Harry, if you love me, you'll come with me now."

"D'Arcy Lambton, what you are feeling isn't love—it is lust ." She pulled away. "I want to wait. I can't— I won't— come with you tonight."

D'Arcy heaved a sigh of pure frustration. "You drive me mad, Harry!" He reached inside his brocade coat and took out a key. He slipped it into her pocket. "I'm trusting you with the key to my heart, as well as my house, Harry. I know you're daring enough to overcome your ridiculous Victorian scruples and come to me."

Harry slipped her arms about his neck and leaned into him until their mouths were almost touching. "It makes me feel very wicked to have your key tucked beneath my heart. Perhaps I am falling in love with you, D'Arcy. The temptation to turn up in your bed one of these nights is almost irresistible." She laughed. "Almost!"

Young James Hamilton was having the time of his life. Dressing as a cavalier was the best decision I ever made. Females pursued him relentlessly and some even lined up to dance with him. He didn't need to steal kisses; the young ladies offered their lips freely. At first, he tried to discern their identities beneath their disguises, but soon gave up.

James eagerly searched for Emily Curzon-Howe, but found it rather difficult because of all the different costumes. He was soon receiving so much attention that he stopped looking for Lady Emily.

When the master of ceremonies announced the second parade, James stood watching the circle of costumed masqueraders, and applauded when the prizes were handed out. His glance swept over each lady as he tried to decide which one he would partner next.

A young female in a white-feathered mask walked a direct path to him. "Jamie!"

"I've been looking everywhere for you." Pleased to finally encounter Lady Emily, he swept his eyes over her elaborate costume. "Your gown is lovely." He touched one of the glittering crystals that encrusted her shapely bodice. "I think you should have won a prize."

She took his hand, and he willingly followed her, hoping for his own prize. They went through French doors at the side of the ballroom that led out to a stone balustrade. The minute they were alone, she reached up to remove his eye mask. Then she opened her bodice to reveal her bare breasts.

"What do you think of these, Jamie?"

James was bemused. Clearly, the voice did not belong to Lady Emily. He raised his hand to remove her mask, and suddenly he was filled with horror. "Princess Vicky!"

The French doors swung open. Her Gracious Majesty the Queen of England, who had watched her daughter disappear from the ballroom, stared in outrage at the shocking scene before her. "Victoria! Seek your chamber immediately."

Young James Hamilton frantically searched the ballroom until he found his sister. "Harry, I'm in the most god-awful trouble!"

Early the next morning, Harry and her brother stood before their father in the library. "James is in the most god-awful trouble. You must help him, Father."

When his son told him what had happened, Abercorn was incredulous. "Are you telling me that the Princess Royal bared her breasts to you?"

"She did. And it's not the first time she's indulged in lewd behavior toward me."

"Meaning?"

James glanced at his sister. "Last time we were at Windsor, she put her hand on my groin, and . . . rubbed herself against my thigh."

"Why on earth did you go out on the balustrade with her?"

"I thought it was Emily Curzon-Howe."

"I see," Abercorn said quietly. "Well, since Queen Victoria caught you in such a compromising situation, you have no alternative but an abject apology. You will accompany me to Buckingham Palace this morning, and I'll try to get an audience for you with Prince Albert."

"But it was the queen who saw us." James was racked with misery.

"My dear boy, you cannot discuss anything of a salacious nature with Her Majesty. It is simply not done. The queen's outward demeanor is puritanical to a marked degree."

"Do you think she will have told Prince Albert?"

"I am certain of it. Victoria shares every thought with him and seeks his opinion on the most insignificant matters. I assure you, she will not consider Princess Vicky's welfare insignificant ."

Young James squared his shoulders. "I warrant I have no choice."

Abercorn added a warning. "Your apology had better be sincere. You've been accepted at Oxford, but a word from the royal family could change that in an instant."

At Buckingham Palace, Abercorn bade his son take a seat and wait until he was summoned.

Then the duke entered Prince Albert's office, a chamber familiar to him. He waited until the prince had given his two secretaries instructions for the morning, and spoke only when they were alone.

"Your Highness, I have brought my son to apologize for the incident that happened last night at the Bal Costume. If you would honor him with a moment of your time, I would be indebted to you."

"Ah yes, the unfortunate incident. Show him in, Abercorn."

With trepidation, James followed his father into the prince's office and waited until Albert spoke first.

"Well, James?"

"Your Highness, I humbly beg your pardon for taking the Princess Royal out onto the balustrade last night. I am fully responsible for my disrespectful behavior and freely admit the blame is entirely mine. I give you my word of honor it will never happen again, sire."

Prince Albert gave him a rueful glance. "I accept your apology, Lord Hamilton."

Both Abercorn and his son waited for the prince to say more, but after a moment, they realized the audience was over.

"Thank you, Your Highness." Young James bowed his head and departed.

Prince Albert signaled Abercorn to remain. The queen's consort had few friends in the British aristocracy, and even fewer intimate confidants. He considered Hamilton one of them. "Come and sit down, James. Your son was most gallant to take the blame onto himself for the unfortunate incident last night."

"I expected no less, Your Highness."

"As you can imagine, Victoria and I discussed the matter for hours after the ball. We decided that we could no longer ignore Vicky's lack of restraint. Much to the queen's embarrassment, our oldest daughter is . . . physically . . . precocious. We have decided the best course is to arrange her engagement to young Prince Frederick of Prussia. Today I am issuing an invitation for him to join us at Balmoral."

"Forgive me, but an engagement at fourteen years old might raise eyebrows."

"We are aware of that, James. It will be a private engagement. We won't announce it to the public for at least two years."

"I am indeed sorry that my son caused you so much worry and concern."

Albert waved his hand. "We've known about Vicky's precocious behavior for some time. This has merely precipitated our future plans for the Princess Royal."

Abercorn bowed his head. "You are extremely understanding and generous, sire."

On the ride home, James thanked his father for his help. "I appreciate all you do for me, Father. Thank heaven the matter is over and done."

"Not quite, James. You mentioned Emily Curzon-Howe. Reading between the lines, I take it you have an intimate relationship. If Earl Howe learns of it, the repercussions could be detrimental to your future—you'd be forced to offer for the young debutante."

James flushed.

"I think it advisable to find yourself an opera dancer."