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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

A fter the opera, Albion and Diana added the third member of their party for the ball. His name naturally took precedence when it came to Lord Mandeville’s footman’s grand announcement.

“His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent, and his suite: Lord Albion Higgins and Lady Diana Higgins.”

They ducked under an arch laden with bluebells to enter one of the most spacious and elegant townhouses in all of Mayfair.

The polished maplewood dance floor was chalked with curlicues, serving as decoration and an obstacle to prevent the esteemed guests from slipping.

Ferns spilled out of hanging baskets, neatly manicured shrubbery filled metal pots, and flowers in tall crystal vases graded every table.

A row of rectangular mirrors reflected candlelight to make the room appear even larger.

The touching melody of Leonore's aria from Fidelio filled the air.

But for all the finery, this was naught but a thinly disguised marriage market.

Eager-eyed debutantes and slightly more subdued ladies, who had already been through this routine a season or two, bore velvet wristlets with small notebooks and pencils affixed.

Their dance cards. A simple device that held the key to their futures.

So little of that future was under their control.

They could only wait to be chosen by one of the gentlemen gathered on the other side of the room, assessing the ladies in a not-so-subtle manner.

Diana said a quick and silent prayer that her alliance with Albion had spared her this indignity.

She thought of the book Albion’s brother, Duncan, had written: The Curious Customs of the Human Ton .

At least in other realms, such behavior was recognized as nonsense.

She stood taller, hoping the ladies, particularly the debutantes, would ask after the design of her Orcan gown.

Who among them in this room could play the role of the gallant Phantom?

Dare to risk their life for the sake of others?

Diana studied at the bachelors. Then, determined not to assume the Benevolent Phantom was a gentleman, she also took stock of the ladies.

The Phantom might not hobnob with this set, though she’d wager whoever it was had sufficient wealth to carry the expense of the trips to Chamberly and the daring escapes without suffering for lack of the customary creature comforts.

She had not time to dwell on the matter overly long.

They entered the ballroom to applause, bows, and curtsies s guests vied for a spot nearer His Royal Highness.

Despite her troubles, Diana couldn’t help but burst with pride at such exalted social status.

More impressive, in her view, for Albion having arrived in London as an outsider

With typical good nature, Albion approached the fellow who had made the announcement and tapped his shoulder.

When the footman turned, he startled before composing himself at the sight of a finely dressed orc in his formal black dress coat, expertly pleated white cravat, pristine waistcoat, and sleek gray breeches.

Albion leaned down to whisper something in his ear, and the footman blushed before nodding. He pounded the wooden staff again on the polished floorboards.

“Deepest apologies to his lordship and wife … Lady Daisy Higgins.”

After Albion helped her deposit her opera cloak with a butler stationed at the front door, the Prince Regent took Diana’s hand, chuckling at the misunderstanding.

“The name of a beautiful flower for a stunning Orcan bride is more than a mere private affectation, I see.”

“The moniker befits her. Do you not think so, Prinny?”

“Oh, yes, yes. As does the fine Orcan design of her gown. ‘Daisy’ is perfectly charming. Do you prefer it as well, my lady?”

“It is a sign of my devotion to my husband and suits me well enough.”

Satisfied that there was nothing but amicability between his two companions, the Prince Regent patted her arm and released it, leaving her alone with Albion.

For the briefest of moments, she hoped he might set his habitual persona aside.

Even that tiny flicker of hope soon extinguished, however, when she caught the dull look on her husband’s face, explicitly giving the impression of a gentleman who cared only that his dress coat was cut in the latest style and he had good fortune at the card tables.

When he was so much more than that. But he would not allow her to see that man. Not any longer.

Diana noticed a vase brimming with delicate white orchids from his lordship’s greenhouse.

The Benevolent Phantom was said to use a particular type of orchid in his correspondence.

She wondered if Albie had made note of their inclusion in the decor.

No doubt he would declare how they inspired him to yet more spasms of creativity in verse.

Shame that. Albion’s talents lie not in poetry but in his painting. She could see this from the drawings on the card he’d sent, the belated Valentine, and the rare glimpses of his sketches.

As Lord Mandeville’s music masters stood for a brief break between sets, any further prospect of attempting to enjoy the night deflated.

On the opposite side of the dance floor stood none other than Sir Reginald Addington, dressed like a specter in a dark tailcoat and breeches that might have been the height of fashion several seasons prior.

Albion would know such things, but she was in no mood to ask her husband at present.

To her horror, Reginald wasted no time in skittering across the polished floor, taking care not to ruin the chalked design but slipping a little in the process. He accosted the Regent, easily blocking any attempt Diana might make to detach herself from the royal orbit.

“Your Royal Highness,” Sir Reginald said with the deep bow one would expect of a sycophant. “What a pleasure to see you this evening. I only regret I hadn’t the chance to speak to you at the opera.”

“Quite.” Though custom dictated the Royal Family remain above politics, the Regent made no secret of his allegiance to the Whigs, while Reginald’s commitment to the Tory worldview was widely known.

“What say you about that opera, Reg?” His Royal Highness added a sardonic note to his use of Albion’s moniker for Sir Reginald.

“One finds the choice of material fitting to contemporary issues, does one not? Such as those in Chamberly. Why, the Comtesse de Flarine herself attended the production tonight on my special invitation and hopes to see more souls moved by the performance.”

Though inextricably tied to the Tory stance of non-interference, Reg smiled as if the comment had no intention of being a sally.

“Astute as ever, Your Royal Highness. While we might disagree on how best to attend to that situation, we can all agree on the bravery of her ladyship’s dear sister, Lillian Stewart, in accompanying the Sisters of Benevolence on their current mission of mercy to that land.”

Diana fought to keep her expression neutral.

The Prince Regent’s character changed at once. “How’s that? Why, Lady Diana—Lady Daisy—you omitted such. How astounding.”

“Lillian is modest. She would not want undue attention paid to her work.”

“Oh, come now, my dear,” Reginald prattled on.

“For all we know, Lady Lillian may join forces with the Benevolent Phantom. It seems we can’t escape that fellow.

One wonders if she is in on his schemes to rescue those unfortunate residents of Chamberly who have attracted the Duke of Rostin’s displeasure.

A most curious and unsettling business, I should think. ”

Not once in her life had Diana fainted. Nor had she ever feigned doing so. Yet now she felt unsteady, as though Reginald had struck her.

It was only her good fortune that Albion then affected a loud and decidedly unsubtle yawn.

Its rudeness stunned even the Regent, who remained silent alongside Sir Reginald.

But only for a moment. His Royal Highness then snickered, causing the would-be courtiers in the little circle closest to him to join in.

“Oh! Blast it. Do forgive that impertinence, Reg,” Albion said in his laziest drawl. “It is only that I struggle to stay awake at the mere mention of that chap.”

“Your obsession with the Phantom really does grow wearisome, Reg,” the Regent added.

Reginald tried, and largely failed, to hide his distaste for her husband. “You have no use for the man, Lord Albion?”

“Use of him or not, haven’t we all tired of that name? The Phantom’s pudding that the chef sees fit to serve at my club. The hat that some clever fellow on Bond Street named after the gent. Yet I’ll go straight to the devil if I didn’t purchase one myself!”

“Really,” His Royal Highness said, interested as ever at matters of a gentleman’s style.

“What a racket, I say! And all to cause the ladies to swoon.”

“I think we ladies are made of stronger stuff, husband,” Diana murmured.

“I promise you this, Reg,” Albion said, uncharacteristically ignoring Diana while slapping Reginald on the back so hard the fiend winced.

“I shall not fight the tide. What is the human saying? When in Rome? So I daresay we must embrace the ladies’ outlandish attachment to the Benevolent Phantom.

Stuff it all if this very conversation doesn’t inspire a verse.

I should retire to a private corner to commit my thoughts to paper. ”

“Can’t stop the muse from stalking you, eh, Albie?” the Regent said.

“Quite. But that shan’t stop us from taking a turn at Faro in good time, will it, Prinny?

Lord Mandeville agreed I should lend to the evening’s entertainments as banker.

In the meantime, I shall see if Mandeville’s chef has deigned to include an ode of his own to that dratted Phantom fellow in his selection of desserts and hors d’oeuvres.

Might you do us both the honor of keeping my wife company, Reg? ”

“It is indeed an honor, Lord Albion.”