She grinned, I was relieved to see. When she'd first arrived at Lichfield, any mention of the castle prison we'd both been sent to in Yorkshire made her shiver with awful memories of her time there. It was good to see her putting that experience behind her.
Another footman-there were an awful lot of them-escorted us up the stairs toward the music. Lady Vickers introduced us to our host and hostess in the ballroom, but I had no illusions about our importance to them. We were merely there thanks to Lady Vickers herself, not because we held any interest for Lord and Lady Hothfield. Their greetings were polite enough, but it was Seth who earned most of their attention.
"It's been so long since we saw you, dear boy," Lord Hothfield exclaimed, slapping Seth on the shoulder. "You look as fit and strong as ever. What have you been up to?"
He didn't get a chance to explain, or lie, before Lady Hothfield spoke. "You haven't changed." She tapped Seth's chest with her fan. "Always such a handsome boy." She swapped the fan to her left hand, opened it then giggled behind it. "How we have missed you, dear Seth. How long has it been? Too long, I say."
Seth's face reddened. I bit my lip to stop my smile. He'd told me the day before that he wasn't looking forward to seeing Lady Hothfield again. Their last meeting had been in her bedchamber, over a year ago, before Lincoln had employed him. I'd been utterly flabbergasted by his admission, because she wasn't at all the type of woman he admired or desired. Indeed, she was much older than Lady Harcourt, one of his most recent lovers. It had taken a few probing questions before I realized that Seth had most likely slept with her for money. In fact, he'd only answered my questions after I promised to help him avoid Lady Hothfield.
I was about to do my duty and ask him to join me when his mother ushered him away. Lady Hothfield's gaze lingered on Seth until he disappeared into the crowd.
Lincoln, Alice and I followed, only to divert as Lady Vickers introduced her son to a small gathering of ladies. He cast a hapless glance at us over his shoulder, but I thought it best to leave him alone for the time being. He needed to get these initial introductions over with at some point. It was, after all, his mother's reason for attending.
"This room is lovely," Alice said, gazing up at the six dazzling chandeliers above. "And don't all the costumes look marvelous? Did you see Queen Elizabeth?"
"I couldn't miss her with that hair." I pointed my chin at a Roman senator and his wife, dressed in the outfit of an ancient Roman noblewoman. "I like what she's wearing. Next time, I'll try that."
"Do you recognize anyone you know?" Being taller than me, Alice could see over some of the heads and further into the ballroom.
"It's hard to tell with their masks in place," I said.
"There's Lord Gillingham," Lincoln said, nodding at one of several Georgian fops in the room.
"So it is. I can tell from the walking stick."
"And his wife is over there."
My gaze followed his to a group of women, their ages indeterminate thanks to their masks. "Which one?"
"The medieval princess in green."
"Are you sure? Her hair is darker."
"She's wearing a wig."
"Then how can you tell it's her?" Alice asked.
Lincoln hesitated before saying, "She's the right height and weight."
"There must be dozens of women here the same size as her," I said, indicating the hundred or more guests. "Come now, Lincoln, tell us. How do you know?"
Again, he paused. Was he reluctant to give up this knowledge? "It's no single thing. Some of her face is visible. Her mouth and chin, her throat and ears."
"Her ears?" Alice laughed, only to stop abruptly upon Lincoln's glare. He managed to instill as much steel with one eye covered by the patch as two perfectly good ones.
"She also has a broad set to her shoulders, and tilts her head to the left when she's listening. Her hands are quite large and she tucks them behind her back most of the time, perhaps because she feels self-conscious."
I looked down at my hands. They were average sized, but I could well believe they were smaller than the shape-shifting Lady Gillingham's. According to Lincoln, who'd seen her in her beast form, she resembled a wolf, and not at all human. I was wildly curious to see her change, but didn't dare ask. If she was self-conscious about her hands, imagine how she'd feel about a hairy, beastly body?
Alice blinked slowly at him through the holes in her mask. "You're entirely serious, aren't you? Are you so observant with everyone?"
"He is," I told her. "It's a skill."
If I didn't know Lincoln so well I would have been jealous that he observed so much about another woman, but I knew he probably had a dozen little ways of telling me apart from others my size. Lady Gillingham was not special.
"Oh, look, here comes another pirate," I said as a gentleman of impressive stature approached. "His costume is not nearly as unique as yours, though, Lincoln."
"It's Marchbank," he said.
I squinted as the man joined us. I could see the scars on his face now that he was closer. The broad brimmed hat, long black wig and large eye patch had hidden much, but not those.
"Good evening, Charlie, Fitzroy," he said. "Excellent costumes."
I introduced him to Alice then we fell into a discussion about the costumes. No one mentioned the recent events at Lichfield. The night General Eastbrooke had almost killed Lincoln, tried to kill me, and had blown up our kitchen was rarely discussed, even by those of us enduring the rebuilding of the kitchen. I, for one, had difficulty digesting the horror, and part of me didn't want to. It wasn't so much the horror of the injuries and destruction but of the general's betrayal. He'd been the closest thing to a father that Lincoln had, and yet he'd gone to great lengths to attempt to control and undermine him.
"I wonder what the prince and his cronies will wear," Marchbank said, watching Lincoln closely.
Lincoln went very still. "Prince?"
"I see you haven't heard."
Lady Vickers took that moment to burst through the crowd, her grin as broad as her handsome face. "You will never believe who is set to come tonight."
"The prince," I said.
Her smile wilted but only for a moment. "Isn't it exciting! I wonder who he'll bring with him. He always attends parties with a group of lively, charming royals. Such a charming man himself. I do hope his sons come, although I don't think they move in the same circles, more's the pity. You simply must meet him, Charlie, and you too, Alice. And Fitzroy, if you wish. I'll introduce you."
"You know him?" Alice asked.
Lady Vickers waved her hand airily. "We've met." It was hardly the same thing, but she seemed so excited that I didn't want to say anything to deflate her.
"Which prince?" I asked, glancing at Lincoln. He stood stoically, his hands at his back, and his face bland, although I could tell from the stiff set of his shoulders and firmness of his jaw that this news affected him. His father was the Prince of Wales, first in line to inherit the throne.
Lord Marchbank and the other committee members knew. No one else did, perhaps not even the prince himself.
"The prince," Lady Vickers said, as if I was a dimwit for asking. "The Prince of Wales."
"I thought you already knew," Marchbank said heavily.
Lincoln didn't respond. "We didn't," I said. "This is a surprise."
Lincoln had never looked shocked at anything, yet his unblinking immobility was the closest to it I'd ever seen. He'd been caught unprepared for this meeting, something he loathed.
"I'm not sure I want to be introduced," Alice said. "Perhaps I'll wait here by the wall, out of the way. But Charlie should go."
"I insist." Lady Vickers' voice rose with her excitement. "Particularly if he brings some young gentlemen with him, if not the young princes themselves. They're the perfect age for you, Alice."
"Me!" Alice blurted out. "I'm just an ordinary girl."
"You're a beautiful, charming girl, just the sort to catch the eye of any gentleman. Charlie is too, of course, but we all know she's not available."
I studiously avoided glancing at Lincoln. Alice thanked Lady Vickers for the compliments but expressed a wish to avoid meeting the prince and his party. I agreed with her point of view. From what Lincoln had told me about the one encounter he'd had with his father, at another ball some months prior, the prince thought of women as playthings, there for his enjoyment. I didn't want my friend embroiled with a rich, titled scoundrel. I didn't want her going the way of Lincoln's mother-abandoned and with child. Alice had no family who cared for her, and we were her only friends. I would protect her from men like that. Fortunately, I didn't think I'd have any difficulty on that score. She was one of the most sensible girls I'd met.
Lady Vickers, however, seemed determined. She alternately begged and reasoned with Alice, until she finally gave up and ordered Alice to meet the prince when he arrived.
"There you are," Seth said, joining us, all smiles. Smiles which he directed mostly at Alice. His mother's lips tightened. It was then that I realized why she'd pressed Alice so hard to meet the prince. She hoped someone else would capture her eye-someone other than her son.