The Paper Princess by Marion Chesney Page A

take place the following year in the local church. On the acceptance of his proposal, Lord Arthur had taken Miss Barchester in his arms and kissed her. Her kiss had been cool, and her lips had been tightly compressed.
    But because his physical outdoors activities had taken care of his more earthy feelings, Lord Arthur saw nothing wrong in her virginal response. Ladies were not expected to be passionate anyway.
    Dolph, calling on a visit a week before the Season was due to begin, thought his friend looked remarkably well— healthy, happy, and a trifle pompous. Lord Arthur drove him out round the estates and the village, and everywhere forelocks were tugged by men, and women curtsied.
    “Quite feudal down here,” remarked Dolph, privately thinking that all this adulation was not doing his rather arrogant friend one little bit of good. “Don't know but what I don't prefer that independent lot down in Cornwall.”
    “Cornwall!” said Lord Arthur sharply. “Have you been there recently?”
    “No, never been back,” said Dolph, casting Lord Arthur a sideways glance. “M'uncle wrote to say he was crushed down with that girl, Felicity Channing's death, although I suppose it's only the gout as usual.
    Seems Mr. Palfrey has restored his reputation. Of late he's had whole fleets of boats dragging all around the coast for a sign of the bodies.”
    “Dear me,” said Lord Arthur. “Left it a bit late, hasn't he?”
    “Well, he says he won't rest until Felicity has had a Christian burial. The locals say he must have been fond of her after all.”
    “I wonder,” said Lord Arthur.
    “Talking of Miss Felicity, I had the most awful shock t'other week.”
    “See a ghost?”
    “Yes, how did you guess! Have you heard of the Princess Felicity of Brasnia?”
    “Of where? My dear Dolph, there is no such country.”
    “There is. Everyone's heard of it. Somewhere around Russia.” Dolph waved a chubby hand to the east.
    “As I was saying, all London has been abuzz with talk of this princess. You know, her beauty is said to be rare and her jewels magnificent. She has been in residence all winter, but no one had seen her. But last week, she went out driving for the first time. What a sensation! People fighting and screaming to get a look at her. At first, I didn't see her face, I was so knocked back with the idea of someone wearing a diamond tiara in the middle of Hyde Park during the day. Then I looked at her properly and nearly dropped down in a faint. I could swear I was looking at Miss Felicity Channing.”
    Lord Arthur let the reins drop, and the horses slowed to an amble. “And... ?” he prompted.
    “I rode straight up to her carriage and, like a fool, I cried, ‘Miss Felicity! You are alive!’ She had one of those double glasses, and she raised it at me and looked at me with such hauteur that I nearly sank. ‘You were saying somezink?’ she asked, and of course, I realized all at once it was not Miss Felicity at all.
    How could it be? I stammered out my apologies, and she bowed her beautiful little head with those fantastic diamonds flashing and burning, and she said, ‘We are giffink a rout on the tenth. You come?’ I gave her my card and swore that nothing would keep me away. I'm the envy of all the fellows. Everyone desperately fighting to see if they can get an invite, sending presents and poems, and lying in wait outside her door. Duffy Gordon-Pomfret even slept on her doorstep, but her butler, a most odd man, came out, shook him awake, read him the parable of the talents, then told him if he had nothing better to do with his time, he might be better employed in finding a job of work. Work!” said Dolph, shaking his head in amazement.
    “I would like to attend that rout,” said Lord Arthur slowly.
    “I'm sure you would,” said Dolph gleefully. “But you can't. All of London wants to get through her door.”
    “When did you plan to return to London?”
    “Well, unless you're going to throw me out, I meant