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After much deliberation it was decided that Tony would wear the midnight-blue satin knee-breeches with white silk stockings and the newly purchased buckled high heels.
“The points on this damned collar are so high, they’ll poke my ears off,” she complained, while Mr. Burke, impressed by her swearing, patiently fashioned the snowy neckcloth into a waterfall. A powder-blue waistcoat buttoned across her breasts, flattening them, and the new white tiewig covering her own dark locks was fitted on. Then Mr. Burke eased her into the blue-and-gold brocade coat.
Roz observed her critically. “You need a snuffbox, darling.”
“No, I prefer cigars to snuff,” Tony said matter-of-factly, and Roz almost fell off her stool.
The powder was barely whisked from her shoulders before a footman was knocking upon the door to summon Lord Lamb to Adam Savage’s carriage. Her guardian was not one for small talk, so Tony kept a silent tongue on the ride to Devonshire House.
Enclosed in the dark carriage, sitting in such close proximity, Tony allowed her imagination to take flight. Instead of men’s knee-breeches and a tiewig she pictured herself in a deliciously feminine crinoline that showed off her tiny waist and upthrusting young breasts. She would be daring enough to paint her face and she would wear more than one provocative black patch. Perhaps she would place one upon a cheekbone to draw attention to her wide green eyes, or one at the corner of her rouged mouth to invite kisses. Even more daring would be one upon the curve of a breast to draw a certain man’s eyes inside her bodice. She flushed at her own risqué thoughts.
“I bought you something.” The deep masculine voice sent a shiver down her spine. The intimate setting invited exchanging presents for small favors of appreciation such as kisses.
Savage thrust something made of silver into her hands, which immediately transformed her into Anthony.
“A cigar case; how thoughtful,” Tony said faintly.
“It’s filled with my custom-made brand. If you prefer a milder blend, visit the tobacconist in the Burlington Arcade and order whatever you fancy.”
Savage gave both their names to the majordomo, who announced them with great pomp and circumstance. The raised heads and eyebrows were for the man who towered at Lord Lamb’s side.
Indian Savage wore his own black hair unpowdered. His linen was immaculate, yet stark in its plainness. He wore black; his only concession to fashion were black satin knee breeches. Even his stockings were black silk, rather than white.
The crowd in the drawing room was gathered about a young man and woman. Tony envied the beautiful girl her pale green gown of tulle. She was extremely animated, a born coquette, flirting outrageously with her fan, while her powdered curls bounced upon her daringly bared shoulders. The man with her was a glittering figure in his own right. He wore white satin knee-breeches, his coat was spattered with blue spangles and gold-braided epaulets. Though he wore a powdered wig, it was obvious that the handsome young man with the fresh complexion was fair and had the bearing of a hussar. As he turned to make a remark to the man beside him, Tony saw the flashing diamond star upon his breast and realized with a jolt that it was the Prince of Wales.
“Obviously this is to be a royal occasion,” said an amused voice, and she looked into Savage’s sardonic ice-blue eyes.
The next moment the Duke of Devonshire was greeting Savage with friendly familiarity. “I apologize that Georgiana is not beside me to greet our guests, but His Highness tends to monopolize her.”
“Your duchess is very lovely,” Savage complimented, and Tony felt like scratching out his eyes.
“She’s young,” Devonshire excused. “We live entirely separate lives. Her friends at Carlton House bore me to tears, I’m afraid.”
So,Tony thought,that’s the infamous Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire. She has the most exciting salon in Court circles, yet she can’t possibly be more than a couple of years older than I.
Savage and Devonshire began talking politics almost immediately and Tony knew she was out of her depth. She watched as the people in the drawing room turned their attention from the Prince of Wales to Adam Savage. Although seemingly unaware, he drew every eye.
It wasn’t long before dinner was announced and Tony saw the women elbowing each other aside so that they could sit close to the rich nabob from the East. The Duke placed Savage on his right and Lady Isabella Sefton virtually pushed Lord Lamb aside so that she could lay claim to the chair on the other side of Savage. Tony silently wished them all in hell and moved to the opposite end of the table where the beautiful Georgiana held sway.
She fanned her eyelashes at Tony. “You have me at a disadvantage, sir.”
“Lord Anthony Lamb, Your Grace.”
She tapped him playfully with her fan. “My friends call me Georgy.”
“Mine call me Tony.”
“Ah, now I can place you. Your parents lived in Ceylon. You’ve only just come into your title.”
Tony realized how very astute she was in spite of her frivolous reputation. Everyone remained standing about the table and Tony realized the whole room waited for His Royal Highness to take his seat first. George and Georgie, however, cared not a fig for the other guests and kept them waiting with total indifference.
“May I present His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales? George, this is Tony Lamb.”
Antonia bowed with great ceremony and the Prince of Wales bowed back. Then everyone relaxed and began to chatter at once. In quick succession Tony was introduced to the prince’s equerry, the Earl of Essex, and to the playwright, Richard Sheridan, affectionately called Sherry.
Finally Prince George decided to sit, and this was the cue for a great scraping of chairs. Tony waited politely, thinking to sit in whatever chair was left vacant, but His Highness took hold of his arm. “Sit by me. Tell me who the devil is that dark giant who arrived with you?”
For a breathless moment Tony couldn’t believe she was holding a conversation with the man who would become the King of England, and then a very curious thing happened. She suddenly saw him as a flesh-and-blood young man totally unsuited to the royal role into which he’d been born. He was playing a part just as she was, and it suited him no better. He was vastly immature; a boy, really, who looked as if he longed to be a dashing hussar when he grew up.
