Free Drop of the Dice by Philippa Carr Page B

nearest his heart. He had charm, grace, elegance and above all that overwhelming desire to please.
    ‘He is a great asset to any gathering,’ was Arabella’s comment.
    Jeanne said: ‘Oh, but what a pretty gentleman!’ And when I told him what she had said he was not in the least offended. He burst out laughing and said he must make sure to remain pretty for Jeanne.
    His imperturbable good humour was catching and there was a great deal of laughter when he was present. Life seemed a joke to him. When the men went hunting, one of our neighbours—a ‘country boor’, Carleton called him—made a point of splashing through a muddy stream so that the dirty water spattered Lance’s pearl-grey riding habit. Lance brushed it aside, I heard, with nonchalance and made the perpetrator of the so-called joke more uncomfortable than he was.
    He was always wagering something. It was a favourite expression of his: ‘I’ll wager this…’ or ‘I’ll wager that…’
    One day when we were all at Eversleigh Court round the dinner table the talk turned to the arrival of the new King and Great-Grandfather Carleton was saying that it was a pity we had to call on a German to give us the sort of rule we wanted.
    All the family were staunchly Protestant. I was the only one who wavered and that was solely because Hessenfield had been a Jacobite. But I did realize that I knew very little about the controversy and I had heard so much at Eversleigh about the errors of Catholicism that I was ready to accept the fact that the Protestant succession was best for the country.
    ‘But even with our staunch Protestants the new King is not popular,’ said Arabella.
    ‘Anne called him the German-Boor, and it is a fitting description,’ said Great-Uncle Carl.
    ‘But we don’t want the Jacobites back,’ cried Carleton. ‘And George seems the only alternative.’
    ‘At least he is in the line of succession,’ put in Arabella. ‘I remember hearing about his grandmother… oh, long ago, when I was a girl. She was the sister of King Charles who lost his head—and a very beautiful Princess, they said. She married the Elector Palatine. Sophia was her daughter and as George was Sophia’s son he has a claim to the throne.’
    ‘The Jacks wouldn’t say that while we have the son of James panting to take the crown,’ said Lance, laughing as though it were a great joke. ‘They’ll never put him back. The people don’t want it. But they’ll have a good try.’
    Uncle Carl flashed a look at him which might have been a warning.
    Lance tapped the side of his nose exaggeratedly to show that the point was taken and he was still smiling as he went on: ‘Old George is not so bad, I hear. He’s a good friend… to his friends, and he’s quick to forget an injury. He’s good-tempered, and as mean as a man can be. He regrets spending a groat. He’s completely ignorant of literature and art and doesn’t want to be otherwise. ‘Boetry?’ Lance made what I guessed to be a good imitation of a German accent. ‘Boetry… vat ist not vor shentelmans.’ But of course his English is not nearly as clear as that. Poor old George, I believe he did not want to come here one little bit.’
    ‘People won’t like a German,’ said Arabella.
    ‘They’ll get used to him,’ added Priscilla.
    ‘I believe people get used to anything in time,’ went on Lance, ‘even Mesdemoiselles Kielmansegge and Schulemberg.’
    ‘And who are they?’ I asked.
    ‘Do have some more of this roast beef,’ cut in Priscilla.
    ‘We thought the sloe gin was particularly good this year,’ added Arabella.
    This was another instance of their protection. I knew at once that there was something shocking to be learned about the ladies Lance had mentioned and that I was being shielded once more, so I repeated, looking directly at Lance: ‘Who are they?’
    ‘They are the King’s mistresses,’ he answered, smiling at me.
    ‘Clarissa is… er…’ began Damaris, blushing a