Fitzroy raised his glass, the amber liquid reflecting the light from the large windows. “Cheers, and congratulations. I didn’t get to properly greet the bride at your wedding. But better late than never.”
He eyed Diana in a way that made Evan’s blood run hot. The bounder. He remembered the satisfaction of punching Fitzroy in the nose at the art exhibition, drawing claret, and he had to force himself not to repeat the action.
“I don’t remember issuing you an invitation to White Haven, Fitzroy.”
A self-indulgent smile crossed the viscount’s face. “Oh, you didn’t have to. The Prince Regent did that for me. I’m sort of an envoy, making sure everything is in readiness for His Highness’s visit.”
The mantra that had been driving Evan’s life for months reared its head once more.
One does not say no to the Prince Regent.
Though the country and the man himself might be better if someone did every once in a while. Much as he would love to chuck this interloper out on his ear, if he was here in an official capacity, they’d have to suffer him.
Contemplating the soaring foyer, Fitzroy sucked in a breath through his teeth. “It will have to do, won’t it? Though it all feels a bit rustic. Still, what else can you expect in the country? I suppose the prince can bivouac for a few days.” Condescension dripped from his voice. “Though it won’t be up to his high taste.”
Diana glared. “You wouldn’t know good taste if you ran over it in the street.” Her words were like arrows. “I’m sure the prince will have no complaints with our hospitality.”
Evan wanted to cheer her on. She was a magnificent sight when riled.
Fitzroy must’ve thought the same, for his gaze focused on her once more, and he bowed, as if awarding her a point in a duel.
Percival slouched into the entryway. He glanced at Evan and Diana and grinned. “Hello, Whitelock. Surprised to see us?”
“Fairly.”
“I know. It’s an awful cheek to just barge in, but you’ll have to make the best of it. When you’re invited to accompany your ruling monarch on a trip to the seaside, you don’t say no, do you?”
Something about Percival was subtly different from the last time Evan had seen him. He wasn’t pouting or petulant. He had a fizz to him, some sort of inner excitement that gave him more personality than his former behavior implied.
Marcus had mentioned that Percival was throwing money about, money that had come from some source unknown to Marcus. Was this new confidence a result of having plenty of blunt?
Evan fisted his hands. They had him in a forked stick, and everyone in the room knew it. He couldn’t throw them out, and he couldn’t stomach them.
If the prince got wind of any of their difficulties, he would forever regret making Evan a member of the peerage.
Evan certainly regretted it.
CHAPTER 14
EVAN STOOD WITH Diana on the front steps of White Haven, watching the parade of coaches and wagons approach down the curving gravel drive from the gate house a quarter mile away. He lost count as they disappeared behind the trees and reappeared closer.
“How many do you think there are?” he asked as the staff at White Haven lined up, women on one side of the entrance, men on the other, all carefully pressed and presented.
Even old Greville Monroe, bent over his cane, looked respectable now that he wasn’t trying to blow anyone’s head off with an antique blunderbuss. Louisa and Shand eyed one another like always, scowl for scowl. Evan rolled his eyes, returning to the immediate situation.
“Did you know there would be such an army?”
Diana shook her head. “I had no idea. I thought maybe twenty, but look at all those coaches.”
The house would never hold them all. Would it be considered bad form to shelter them on the lawn in tents? They could set up a mess tent and parade ground and call it Camp Whitelock.
“At least there will be one friendly face.” Diana raised her hand to Marcus, who rode near the front of the caravan.
Grooms stood ready to take the horses and carriages to the stables, while the footmen would manage the baggage. The staff had been drilled in their duties, and even Louisa promised to hold her tongue.
But it was up to Evan and Diana to manage the guests, to entertain them and see that everyone was well tended. His heart thudded against his waistcoat. He wasn’t ready for this.
Percival and Fitzroy stood on the steps behind him, and as the prince’s carriage rolled to a stop, they crowded forward, to the point of edging past Evan and Diana and usurping their position as hosts.
Let them, the sycophants. He stood still, keeping Diana’s hand through his arm. They would present a united front—though it might be a pretense—and be dignified.
Marcus swung out of the saddle, handing off the reins and ignoring Percival and Fitzroy in favor of greeting Diana. He smiled, and he held out both hands. “Lady Whitelock, you look enchanting.” He planted a kiss on her raised cheek before shaking Evan’s hand.
Diana did look enchanting. Her pale-green dress touched her in all the right places, making her look womanly and elegant, and she’d woven a golden ribbon through her curls that matched the trim on the gown and highlighted her beautiful eyes. Grace and breeding in every inch of her. But her renewed grip on his arm said while she might look composed, she was nervous.
The Prince Regent took quite a while to descend from his gilded ornate carriage, his face red with the effort. When his gold-buckled, red-heeled shoe touched the step, he winced.
“Oh dear,” Diana murmured. “It must be his gout acting up.”
Evan wanted to laugh at the sight of Percival and Fitzroy, one on either side of the prince, trying to gauge where best to grab him to assist him to the ground.
Finally, the prince batted their hands away, flapping the lace at his cuffs and stepping onto the gravel. He stood still, looking at the house for a moment, before his florid face broke into a wide smile when he spied them. “Whitelock.”
Evan bowed deeply, and Diana sank into a low curtsy.
“Welcome to White Haven, Your Highness. It’s an honor to have you here.”
The prince looked satisfied, as if he agreed. “The place looks magnificent. You’ve done well. I hope the inside is as lovely as the outside.”
When he glanced left and right at the long rows of servants, they bowed and curtsied as well. Behind him, chaos reigned as people emerged from carriages, horses whinnied and stamped, and baggage rattled.
Diana sucked in a breath, and Evan followed her gaze. Emerging from a black carriage, her father hunched and lowered himself before straightening. The Duke of Seaton was a shadow of his former self. He’d lost weight, and his clothes hung on his frame. His dark eyes were dull, and his nose red. Cracked blood vessels spidered his cheeks, and his hair, usually impeccably smooth, was rough and overlong.
Marcus had said the duke had been drinking heavily, but now Evan could see the effects himself. The only thing that appeared the same was the hooded quality of his eyes and the hardness of his mouth. The duke moved Percival aside with a glare and placed himself beside the prince as if it were his rightful spot.
The prince ignored Diana’s father and brother, instead offering her his arm. “It was a brutal journey. I could use some refreshment and a comfortable chair.”