Read Online Murder While I Smile by Joan Smith - Free Book Online

and left. He said he had some things to do at Westminster after his long absence from town. I haven’t heard from him—but he returned in his hunting carriage,” she said, with dilating nostrils.
    “The devil you say!”
    “Don’t mean a thing,” Coffen said, and was ignored.
    It was well known that what Luten hunted in that particular unmarked carriage was women in whose company he did not wish to be recognized. As far as Corinne was concerned, it was confirmation that he had been with the comtesse.
    “We all know what it means. I’m sorry, Reg,” she added. “I know you fancy yourself in love with the comtesse.”
    “A double villainy!” Prance cried. He felt a strong jolt of some emotion composed of anger, pain, jealousy, sympathy for Corinne, and even joy. The drama of it appealed to the rogue in him. Betrayal, heartbreak, jealousy—and infinite possibilities for future scenes of high melodrama.
    “Daresay there’s some simple explanation,” Coffen said. “Shall we be off?”
     

Chapter Seven
     
    The carriage drove at a good clip to Pall Mall and soon entered the Corinthian Portico of Carlton House, the prince’s London residence contrived by Henry Holland, James Wyatt, and John Nash. Inside, they dismounted and the groom removed their carriage. They were met at the door by the butler, flanked by a bevy of footmen in dark blue livery trimmed with gold lace, and led into the finest marble entrance hall in all of London. A plethora of porphyry columns soared ceilingward like trees in a forest. Etruscan griffins glowered from cornices.
    As they advanced, they caught a glimpse of marvelous rooms with magnificent cascades of crystal chandeliers, silver walls, and pier glasses throwing back another forest of columns. They were led down a circular double staircase, past bronze statues and assorted artworks to an apartment below.
    For this informal gathering they were directed to a room vaguely Corinthian in architecture, but overlaid with so much finery and such a surfeit of magnificence that its original character was lost in a blur of crimson and gilt. There were Gothic windows, spandreled ceilings with gold moldings. The room was overly hot and brighter than the outdoors at noonday.
    “One would think a gentleman of his fading looks would want a darker room,” Prance murmured.
    Corinne smiled demurely. “Like the comtesse, you mean?”
    “Cat! Save your ill temper for Luten.”
    Of the three dozen people present, mostly gentlemen, half stood sipping wine and chatting while the other half strolled about, examining the new acquisitions on the walls. Coffen was relieved to see Beau Brummell was not present. Conning the throng, Corinne recognized Countess de Lieven, the wife of the Russian ambassador. The prince’s current favorite, the comely Lady Hertford, was magnificent in a magenta gown. The gentlemen were his card-playing friends and a clutch of Tory ministers, there to curry favor. It promised to be a very dull do. There was not a single handsome gentleman present of whom she could speak to Luten later.
    Lord Yarrow was with the prince, helping him praise the paintings. When Yarrow spotted Lady deCoventry’s party, he drew the prince’s attention to them and beckoned them forward to be presented.
    Coffen, who had never been close enough to touch the prince before, though he had occasionally glimpsed him in passing, gazed in awe at the corpulent figure stuffed into the blue satin jacket weighed down with ribbons and medals. His brown hair was elegantly barbered, but the luxuriance of his brown whiskers owed more to art than nature. The sagging royal neck might nestle in a fold of cravat, the gray eyes might water, but when the prince opened his mouth, all imperfections were forgiven.
    He was called the First Gentleman of Europe, and his reputation rode more on his graceful manners than his pudgy shoulders. “Lady deCoventry,” he said with a bow, and inquired politely for her brother-in-law,