Free The Tainted Snuff Box by Rosemary Stevens Page A

face.  He accepted the glass of brandy from Sir Simon, deeming it safe to drink now.
    “Was she a pretty girl, Brummell?  Damned waste if she was,” Sir Simon went on.  Then, not waiting for me to answer, he addressed the Prince again, lowering his voice.  “That puts me in mind of something I almost forgot, your Royal Highness.  I have one of those special foreign prints of nude ladies that I am occasionally able to obtain.  Would you care to view it now?  You won’t be disappointed,” he said and winked at Prinny.
    I stood without speaking.  As I told you, I draw back at some of the Prince’s diversions.  This sounded like one of them.  Sir Simon’s endless toadying to the Prince’s every desire evidently knew no bounds.
    Prinny must have perceived my disapproval.  “Brummell, I’ll see you later today.  I want a report from you before we dine this evening regarding that matter I told you to keep an eye on.”
    I bowed as he and Sir Simon exited the room, Sir Simon’s voice coming back to reach my ears.  “. . . Have a fine appetite myself.  Would your Royal Highness care for a cold collation before you view . . ..”
    I hoped the chef was not serving frog’s legs.  If he was, the toadying Sir Simon’s limbs were in jeopardy.   
    And the day was not over yet.
     

Chapter Seven
     
    By The Dressing Hour that evening, I felt the level of my frustration demanded a quiet evening in my room, a well-prepared dinner, a couple of bottles of Chambertin wine, and Chakkri my only company.  Unless I could persuade Freddie to take her meal with me and the feline.
    But it was not to be.
    By dinner the Prince wanted a report on Mr. Ainsley, yet had maddeningly spent the afternoon closeted in his library with the very gentleman himself.
    Upon my seemingly indifferent questioning, a chatty footman outside the door proved useful.  He imparted the information that his Royal Highness did not wish to be interrupted as he was deep in discussions of architectural designs with Mr. Ainsley.  I was assured that half-a-dozen armed footmen were with them.
      Though I lingered in the general vicinity of the library as long as I could, wanting to catch Mr. Ainsley, I finally had to give up and go abovestairs to my bedchamber to dress for the evening.
    Along the way, I sought out Freddie, hoping for a few minutes of her company.  I was anxious to be sure that her nerves had not been completely overset by the afternoon’s events,
    and—very well I admit it—that she had not been too charmed by Signor Tallarico.
    I sent word to her room, only to have Ulga inform me that the Royal Duchess was lying on her bed with a cool cloth to her forehead and could not be disturbed.  There would be no opportunity before dinner for a private chat.  Devil take it.
    I did run into Perry and inquired about the deceased young lady on the beach.  Neither he nor Lord St. Clair nor Mr. Kearley had recognized her.  Mr. Kearley would do what he could as magistrate for the district, then the girl would be buried in an unmarked grave.  A twinge of pain squeezed my heart when a mental image of her sprawled on the beach came into my mind.  I shook my head over a life cut much too short.  Opening the door to my chamber, I mused that someone, somewhere, must be frantic over the girl’s disappearance. 
    My thoughts were redirected when Robinson handed me a welcome glass of wine.  We selected proper evening attire:  Fine white linen shirt, black breeches, and figured white waistcoat topped by a long-tailed, slate-blue coat.  I always carry my father’s Venetian gold watch but, other that, wear no jewellry.  My quizzing glass does not count as jewellry.  It is a social necessity.
    While I dressed, Chakkri slept like one dosed with laudanum in the center of the bed.  As punishment for my petting Humphrey, the cat would no doubt ignore me entirely until he determined I had suffered enough. 
    “If I may ask, sir, when will we be