Page 2 of The Scandal of the Deceived Duchess
He’s not here because the Duke of Uxbridge gets as drunk as you do, Your Royal… Pffft…Highness. I cannot discern which one of you two gentlemen is more debauched? The fat Prince Toador the fat Duke of Toad.Sir Percival bowed laconically. “Your Royal Highness, I only do what’s best for you.” He paused. “Do you wish to use the privy before you get dressed?”
The Regent arched one eyebrow. “Yes, Waverly, I think I shall.”
“Very good, Your Royal Highness.” Sir Percival whispered to Wallis, “You are in charge of privy duty this morning.” He had to hide his amusement because of the horrified expression on the man’s face.
“Is anyone going to help me,” snorted the Prince as he attempted to get off the bed. He resembled a beached whale as he rolled this way and that on the vast mattress.
“But of course, Your Royal Highness. Dawson, Wallis, chop chop,” said Sir Percival. The three men promptly advanced toward the bed. “One, two, three…heave.”
The Prince Regent stood swaying before them in his linen nightshirt with his initials emblazoned in red silk on the right-hand side of the garment. His face was red flushed from the exertion of lifting his corpulent frame off the bed, or was it because he and the Duke of Uxbridge had indulged in too much food and drink the previous evening? Most probably both.
The preceding evening’s dinner that was more of a banquet of lucullan proportion had consisted of two double portions of partridge, trout, and four beefsteaks (one of the regent’s favorite foods), each in their own savory sauces. Phenomenal amounts of vegetables accompanied this bacchanalian feast. The two men had shared copious amounts of champagne, wine, and brandy throughout the evening.
“Your banyan, Your Royal Highness,” said Sir Percival, bowing, and proffering a burgundy red silk garment for the prince to slide over his bulk. The regent smiled, clearly satisfied with the garment that was the epitome of elegant morning dress in Regency England. It was a taste the English had picked up on in the Orient.
“What would I do without Jonathan Meyer? He does make the finest clothing, you know.” The Prince pirouetted on the spot in imitation of a spinning top. “Mm, we might have to call upon him again. This is rather snug around the midriff – I think he made a mistake with my measurements.” His face lit up. “I shall summon Beau Brummell; he will know what to do. It was he who recommended the man as a tailor in the first place, you know.”
With those words, the prince marched off in the direction of the privy like a charging bull. Following close on his heels went Wallis. The two other men quickly busied themselves with the preparations for when the prince returned. Sir Percival had trouble getting over the prince’s hubris – it was evident to him that the regent had grown in size since he last wore the vestment.
“No, no, no, I shall first have breakfast, Waverly,” commanded the prince on his way back from his visit to the loo. He flapped his hand frantically at the clothing held in his direction as if a nest of hornets had just inhabited them.
“But of course, Your Royal Highness…will it be the usual?” asked Sir Percival, dreading the prospect.
“Yes, yes, I think it shall. Arrange for it to be brought to me in my dining room,” said the prince almost salivating onto the carpet and rubbing his hands with glee.
The prince’s route took him along the entire length of the lower ground floor at Carlton House that was composed of a suite of low ceilinged rooms, which included a gothic dining room, a library, a Chinese drawing room, and an astonishing gothic conservatory constructed of cast iron and stained glass.
This suite of rooms was equipped with folding doors that provided impressive enfilade when opened. Like most mornings, the doors were closed. However, when open, the entire length could be used for one enormous banqueting table. All of the ground floor rooms faced the elaborate garden fronting the Mall.
By the time Sir Percival arrived, the Prince Regent was already attacking an assortment of foods as if it would be his last meal. His breakfast consisted of two pigeons and three beefsteaks, three parts of a bottle of mozelle, a glass of dry champagne, two glasses of port and a glass of brandy.
Sir Percival watched on in consternated horror throughout and shuddered at the denouement of the meal. He had never been to Africa, but he could imagine that a pride of lions feasting on a carcass had nothing on the prince regent. The two footmen standing in the chamber stared straight ahead, knowing of the prince’s wrath should they be caught ogling.
“Ah, that’s better,” said the prince, emitting a contented burp, flowering his words. “Waverly, I shall be having my medicine now.” He gnawed on a bone in an attempt to find another tasty morsel – to his great chagrin he was unsuccessful.
Sir Percival nodded to one of the footmen who promptly jutted into action. Within moments, he returned with a small vial neatly presented on a silver salver.
As well as alcohol, George, the regent, was also addicted to laudanum, a liquid form of opium. He’d take 100 drops in preparation for a public appearance, enough to knock most people senseless. There was no limit to his desires, nor any restraint to his profusion.
The regent lifted his bulk from the seat. The action looked like a volcano prior to eruption. “Waverly, I shall get dressed now.”
Sir Percival bowed as the prince promenaded past him, back in the direction of his private suite. He already dreaded the next hours. It was his least favorite part of the day.
Chapter 2
Carlton House – The Adoubement
Amelia Carlyle stepped out of the carriage in front of Carlton House. She was with her father, Mr. Thomas Carlyle Esquire and her mother, Felicity. She had never been to visit the prince regent before. Her gaze shifted upward in an attempt to take in the vast structure before her.
The building faced the south side of Pall Mall, and its gardens abutted St. James’s Park in the St. James district of London. John Nash, who was busy altering the layout of London on the Prince Regent’s request, included the location of Carlton House in his plans. The soon to be ceremonial route from St. James’ Park to Regent’s Park, via the newly established Regent Street still under heavy construction to Portland Place and Park Square were based on the position of the front entrance to Carlton House.
It was as the regent wished since taking on the formal task of representing the monarchy after his father, who had been declared unfit for the role due to the illness that some called madness. George the Third was known as the man who had lost the American colonies. However, he was much loved by the populace nonetheless.
Behind Amelia, there were more transports waiting to discharge their eager passengers. All around her, the coachmen yelled, “Ya, ya…” and clicked their tongues as they coaxed their horses forward with the lash. The procession was endless. Everybody of note had been bidden to the Regent’s home to witness the knighting of the men who had done their bit for king and country.
Amelia’s father was one of those men. It had always been his lifelong ambition to come so far. Thanks to his ownership of a shipping company and his adept handling of that asset, he had attracted the attention of Prime Minister Robert Banks Jenkinson, 2nd Earl of Liverpool, who had suggested to the Prince Regent that he receive an accolade to reward him for his efforts.
Amelia did feel proud and to a certain extent happy for her father. A large proportion of her father’s ships supported the war effort against Napoleon by supplying the troops on the Iberian Peninsula with much-needed food, medicine, and other victuals. Of course, Amelia knew that he made a hefty profit on the side–what astute businessman wouldn’t. Yet, that was not what worried her.
