Saffina's Season by Flora Dain Page A

wearing for tonight’s ball were mirrored in the portrait. Except on canvas, they were all I wore.
    My second thought was this was a disaster. How was it possible? But an awful light dawned as a new arrival joined the prince with a bow. Beaming and smug, he was introduced as the artist.
    Signor Canelli.
    “Your Highness, allow me to present the subject of your gracious commission. All was done as Her Ladyship requested. I have the greatest honor in presenting to you my latest work.”
    Next to me I felt Jacquard stiffen.
    “What the deuce?” With a snarl he spun me around to face him. Ignoring the surprised looks all around us, he glared down at me, eyes blazing. “Saffina? Is this your surprise? Are you out of your mind ? For pity’s sake, tell me you’ve not pleasured that bloated buffoon of a prince?”
    I gazed up at him, pleading with my eyes.
    “Hush, sir. It’s all a mistake. Let me handle this.” I laid a reassuring hand on his arm then pushed my way through the crowd.
    I’d tackle Jacquard later, when we were alone. First I must right a terrible wrong that I’d done a younger and far poorer man— Martin .
    Meanwhile, another drama was being played out before the crowd. The prince was goggling from me to Lady Hornsea and back, as if trying to decide which of us was his favorite, when all at once, his mind was made up for him.
    Lady Hornsea took a swing and slapped him hard on the cheek.
    “You wretch. You said it was me—”
    Instantly friends of the prince and a couple of footmen dragged her off, trying in vain to calm her shouts. The prince gave me a wry grin over the heads of the crowd.
    I quickly joined him, greeting him with a curtsey.
    “Your Highness, the painting is lovely, but it’s not meant for you, nor for public gaze. And, as far as I know, this is not the artist.”
    The room fell silent as I gazed around serenely.
    Signor Canelli spluttered, staring from me to the prince. “ What? But your highness, she held the scarlet fan. I understood the lady in question—”
    In a flash I saw it all. The fan. Lady Hornsea must have dropped it, and I’d picked it up.
    I gave the prince and his painter a regal smile, looking innocently from one to the other. “The gentleman is mistaken, Your Highness. I gave my commission to a Mr. Martin Lucas, a brilliant young artist who lives in Chelsea. This gentleman was simply acting as his assistant,” I added airily.
    The Italian looked outraged, but I stood firm.
    The prince, sensing mischief, grinned and kissed my fingers with a flourish. “Capital, capital. By Jove, ma’am, a pretty jest. So you’re in line for me too, eh? But I’ll not take you up on it. More than my life’s worth to risk Endale’s wrath, what? From what I hear, he’s not a man to cross.” He gave me an elaborate wink. “Don’t mind Lady Hornsea, ma’am. She can sit for another.”
    I curtseyed low then hurried away, glad he thought it a joke. As I pushed through the crowd to get back to Jacquard, I heard whispers all around me.
    “Whose name did she say? Martin Lucas?”
    “Where does he live? Chelsea, is it?”
    “So who is the new mistress? Lady Endale? Or Lady Hornsea?”
    But Jacquard was at the far door, already on the point of leaving. As I scanned the crowd, he looked back for an instant, searching for me. He met my gaze with a flicker of anguish, then was gone.
    Desperate now, I tried to get close but my way was barred. Word had reached the other salons on the first floor. People were crowding in to see what was happening.
    When I finally reached the main entrance, I saw our carriage still parked across the street. In a panic I raced over to where my maid stood waiting with the coachman.
    “Thank goodness you’re still here,” I panted. “Is His Lordship inside?”
    The coachman looked scared. “No, milady. He’s away to Endale Hall. He set off on horseback. He said you’re to follow in the carriage, if you wished.”
    If I wished ? Chilled, I kept my