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They went downstairs and joined the assembly. A footman offered them glasses of sherry from a silver tray. The Earl greeted Lady Josephine with a cold kiss on the cheek, then went off to join some of his naval officer friends.
“Stay with me, if you can, Hermie,” Lady Josephine whispered. “I am nervous.”
“What, you?” replied Lady Hermione. “Jo, you can handle anything. It’s I who should be nervous; my lady mother will be arriving shortly, ready to make a public fool of herself with the Prince.”
“It’s the Earl who makes me nervous. This is his territory—it’s a beautiful house, but I just don’t feel safe here.”
“I’ll stay with you. Don’t worry,” Lady Hermione assured her friend.
Just then, the butler came in and murmured something to the Earl. The Earl stood to attention and announced to the assembled guests, “Everyone, please rise to greet His Royal Highness the Prince Regent.”
The Prince, whom Lady Josephine remembered well from her Court presentation, swept into the room. Every man bowed low; all the ladies dropped into deep curtsies.
“No ceremony, dear friends, no ceremony,” said His Royal Highness, as he moved among the guests and greeted first this one, then that one. The Prince had two couples in his party—a couple of infamous Court beauties and their complacent husbands—along with Lady Adeline, who was unescorted.
Lady Adeline, a woman in perhaps her early forties, was clearly Lady Hermione’s mother. The resemblance was uncanny, the upswept platinum blonde hair, the well-shaped facial features and the curvaceous figure. Yet where Lady Adeline sparkled conversationally, Lady Hermione remained reserved. Where Lady Adeline flirted, Lady Hermione retreated into shy, maidenly modesty.
Lady Hermione had one thing her mother lacked, though, the freshness of youth. Lady Adeline was beautiful, but hardened. Too many late nights in smoke-filled rooms, too many glasses of wine drunk over too many hands of cards had coarsened her fair complexion and marred her once-girlish charm.
Still, the Prince was clearly attracted to her, and it was she whom he led into dinner. The Earl approached Lady Josephine and offered her his arm. The other couples paired off, in order of precedence. The Duke of Clover kindly offered an arm to Lady Hermione, who otherwise would have been unaccompanied. And so the group proceeded into the dining room.
Again, as Lady Josephine entered, she caught her breath. With the Duchess of Clover deceased, and given the Duke of Clover’s frequent travels, there had been little entertaining done at Cloverdene—and certainly not on the grand, princely scale of Worthington Hall.
Apparently there would be some four-and-twenty guests—“an intimate little gathering of friends.” Yet the long table was fully set with ancestral china, with gleaming silver and with sparkling crystal. Nine courses were served, with an appropriate wine for each course. Liveried footmen stood behind each guest’s chair, ready at a moment’s notice to serve from a platter or refill a glass.
Although she socially outranked the Worthingtons, Lady Josephine felt quite like a country bumpkin.
She did not see Ace anywhere. No doubt he was taking his meal below stairs with the other servants. How lonely she felt—how much she would have preferred his company to that of these shallow people! Perhaps he would find a way to slip into her room tonight. Although, since she was in the Earl’s own house, she must be very careful.
