door. It opened, as if of its own accord, and a tall young man in scarlet and gold regimentals strode into the room. From his actress mother Captain Fitzclarence had inherited his dark good looks, while his royal father had provided him with something more practical: a commission in the Life Guards. Just nineteen, he was quite five years Celiaâs junior.
âI am come to fetch you, Celia,â he announced.
âHigh time, too,â Celia grumbled, motioning to Flood to fetch her cloak. âIâm bloody starved. I want my supper.â
âI was detained by Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Berkshire,â he protested. âWhat a sight! She is like a little doll stuck all over with emeralds and diamonds.â
âHow nice for Her Grace,â Celia returned. âMay we go now?â
âNot just yet,â he replied. âHer Grace has expressed the desire to meet you. She awaits you in the Green Room. I am to take you to her.â
Flood, her mistressâs cloak in hand, was brought up short by this announcement. Her mouth fell open and her eyes swung to her mistressâs face.
âIâm afraid Iâm in no mood for one of your jokes, Clare,â Celia said, frowning.
âItâs no joke,â Fitzclarence assured her, seizing her by the hand. âYou are desired this instant. Upon my honor, âtis true,â he insisted in response to her obvious doubt.
âOh, yes?â Celia scoffed at him, her hands on her hips. âAnd what, pray, does the Duchess of Berkshire want with me?â
âThe name of your modiste, perhaps,â he quipped. âOr, possibly, acting lessons? I suppose she means to congratulate you on your performance. Is it so strange? You were utterly divine tonight.â
For once, flattery seemed to have no effect on the actress. âBut, surelyâSurely I am quite beneath the notice of such a lady,â Celia protested. âIâm hardly Sarah Siddons, am I? Iâm only an actress, for heavenâs sake!â
âOh, thatâs perfect,â he congratulated her. âThatâs just the right touch of humility. Play it just like that, my dear, and youâll have the old bitch eating out of your hand in no time at all.â
âNo, thank you,â Celia said tartly. âIâd rather not be nibbled on, if itâs all the same to you.â
âHer Grace might be after wanting you for a private performance, Celia darling,â Rourke suggested. âThereâs money in that.â
Celiaâs expression hardened. âCelia St. Lys is not available for private performances,â she announced. âIf anyone wants to see me, he or she can bloody well buy a ticket.â
âI wouldnât put it quite like that to Her Grace,â Rourke advised her lightly.
âI shanât put it to Her Grace at all,â Celia declared. âI havenât the slightest intention of putting myself on display in the Green Room tonight. Iâm tired and Iâm hungry. I want my supper. Tell Her Grace Iâve left the theatre already.â
âBut Her Grace does you great honor,â Rourke protested, âand âtis a great fool youâd be to go offending her.â
âHeâs right, Celia,â Fitzclarence told the actress. âSheâs not just any old duchess, you know. Sheâs one of the patronesses of the ton.â
Celia laughed scornfully. âSo? I ainât a debutante. What can she do to me? Revoke my vouchers to Almackâs? Somehow I think Iâll survive Her Graceâs disapprobation.â
âDonât be a fool, Celia,â he cautioned her. âOne cannot snub a duchess.â
âWhy not?â she wanted to know. âWhere is it written that an actress may not snub a duchess? This may be my only chance to do so.â
âShe has brought her son with her,â said Fitzclarence persuasively.
Celia lifted her brows.