At length, they descended the last staircase, and Matteo returned to Scarlet’s side so the baron and his wife could enter together.

The master of ceremonies announced, “Lord and Lady Pinckney.”

Lady Pinckney whispered over her shoulder, “Ta ta, Comte Durand. I will see you in but a few moments.”

The baron shook his head good-naturedly. “She will not rest until she has claimed you as her own showpiece amongst the ton.”

Matteo grimaced through his smile and then shuddered as the couple moved forward and into the ballroom to greet the prince.

Laughing, Scarlet placed a hand again on his arm. “You will not have to try overly hard to win her over, I’m afraid.”

“What a horrible creature. Did she really slight you, or did I misunderstand?”

Scarlet sighed. “You understood. She is mostly harmless. People see her for what she is and don’t pay her much mind.” She reached for his arm, to feel his strength. “But she does rankle every now and again.”

They stood at the entrance to one of the larger rooms on this level. Opened doors and hallways extended to their right and left in one long corridor of connecting rooms. To their front, out the back door, a series of tents increased the living area and continued onto the lawn, decorated in all manner of flowers and greenery.

Matteo rested his hand along Scarlet’s lower back. “I apologize for my words earlier. I spoke in haste and in anger. It is not you at all who causes the weight of my worries. Of a truth, you are my only balm.” His eyes communicated such a tender regard that she swallowed the growing lump in her throat and blinked back moisture.

They stepped forward, and Scarlet pointed to their names on the master of ceremonies’ paper. “Not to worry, Comte Durand. As you will very soon discover, there is much in England to cause such feelings to surface now and again. The best we can do is paint our most cheerful, smiling faces and enjoy the ridiculous when we come across it.” She winked at him.

The footman read their names. “Lady Scarlet Cavendish, wife of the former Rupert Cavendish, Marquess of Whitmore, accompanied by His Royal Highness, Matteo Durand, Prince Legitime of France.”

Matteo faltered. “What have you done?”

“Smile, Your Highness. Your kingdom awaits.”

Prince George always asked the footmen to make mention of Rupert in all her introductions at Carlton House, and for the first time she felt impatient at his continued insistence. But she couldn’t suppress her grin at Matteo’s new title.