Page 56 of The Scandal of the Deceived Duchess
“Good evening, you must be Mr. Jake Farrows,” said a man Jake assumed to be in his fifties. Contrary to his good friend Sir Thomas, he was as thin as a reed. It almost appeared that his clothing might slide off his frame. His face was a different matter. It effused confidence and something else that Jake recognized as ruthless business acumen.
“Yes, Sir…delighted to makeyeracquaintance,” Jake said, holding out his hand.
“Excellent, I am Sir Arthur Cartwright, 4th Baronet of Wycombe…your servant, Sir,” he said, getting to his feet and taking Jake’s hand. Then, he swept his arm over the table. “You are very fortunate this evening Mr. Farrows…we are in exalted company.”
Jake arched his eyebrows as he scanned the other men at the table. There was one very fat man in his fifties and two much younger men. One of them was fiendishly handsome in a slightly effeminate way. But that was not what caught his eye the most. It was his attire. The other gentlemen present were impeccably dressed, but this man carried his clothing as if he were born in it. There was nothing too different about the colouring or the fabrics or his waistcoat – small details like the way he wore his neckcloth or how his waistcoat fell made him stand out. It almost made Jake feel totally inadequate.
“May I present to you George Augustus Frederick, His Royal Highness the Prince Regent.” Sir Arthur bowed theatrically, indicating with a floating arm in the corpulent man’s direction.
Jake’s eyebrows arched of their own accord. He could not believe that he was in the presence of the prince regent. This was worse than being on board theTritonin the middle of a sea battle. His heart seemed to stop beating, and his breath got stuck in his throat, as he bowed automatically. When he finally straightened, he thought that he was going to pass out.
The fat man was the Prince Regent. Jake could barely hide his surprise at the royal’s chubbiness. He reminded him of a whale he’d once seen while sailing with Jonathan. And the elaborate outfit - it made him look like something from the court of Versailles of old.
“Mr. Farrows was just passing by to pick up a spot of news, weren’t you, Sir,” said Sir Arthur, becoming unfriendly the moment the introductions, that included the chief members of the ‘Dandy Club’ in the form of Beau Brummell and Lord Avanley, had been completed. The Prince Regent turned away upon hearing this, clearly disinterested. The other two men immediately began to regale him with talk.
Jake sneered at him. “And I think I can imagine what the news might be.”
“There’s no need to be un-sporting about it,” said Sir Arthur, noticing his scorn. “I am afraid there is nothing for us to discuss this evening concerning the duel. Sir Thomas flatly refuses any form of entreaty. He is rather keen on getting this thing done, Sir.”
“Well then, I suppose I better get going,” said Jake, starting to turn around.
“A duel, a duel, how exciting,” said the Prince Regent, getting to his feet. “Who is taking part?” He almost jumped up and down on the spot with excitement.
“It is nothing of consequence, Your Royal Highness,” said Sir Arthur, trying to avert the conversation going any further.
“It’s between my friend, Jonathan Mitchell, Commodore in the United States Navy and Sir Thomas, 1st Baronet of Windom, Your Royal Highness,” Jake said while bowing.” He paused. “They will be fighting with pistols,” he added for Sir Arthur’s benefit.
The regent arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “Now this is truly exhilarating – an American here in the middle of a war.” He frowned. “What on earth is he doing here?”
“My friend is here for an English lady, Your Royal Highness,” said Jake.
“How absolutely scandalous – I love it! We shall make a grand festivity of it. There will be an orchestra, plenty of tasty morsels and dancing to conclude the event. It will, of course, be hosted at Carlton House – I will broach no argument on the matter – I absolutely insist.”
“Your Royal Highness, don’t you think dancing and a banquet might be construed as tasteless and slightly how shall I say gauche,” said Sir Arthur, looking extremely worried.
The regent laughed in a high-pitched tone. “My dear, Sir Arthur, I think everyone will be thrilled. It is not often we get the chance to host such an event – an Englishman against an American. Nothing could be more aptly suited, especially with a war going on.” The regent chuckled again. “And besides, I really don’t think anyone will have any trouble with an American getting shot, eh?” The prince laughed hysterically, inducing the others except Jake to join in.
“Your Royal Highness…I don’t think that this is a good…”
“How dare you interrupt me when I am in mid creative flow, Sir Arthur.” The prince thought for a few moments. “Yes, you shall tell your friend…his name…what’s your friend’s name, Sir?” He continued to mumble something and looked at Sir Arthur fiercely while tapping a finger on the table.
“Sir Thomas, 1st Baronet of Windom, Your Royal Highness,” added Sir Arthur in assistance.
“Yes quite…that’s the one. You shall inform him that the duel shall be held at Carlton House.” When Sir Arthur sighed and made to sit down, the prince frowned. “Now, what do you think you are doing? Didn’t I tell you to do something?”
“Now?”
“Of course, now, you fool.” The prince inspected his nails. “Your company bores me anyhow…so, off you go and be a good gentleman…make haste; the poor man must be informed of his fate.” When the chastened peer scampered off with his tail between his legs, the regent turned to look at Jake with a large smile on his face. “And you, dear sir, shall tell me all about America…you are American, eh?” When Jake nodded, the prince laughed. “Excellent! Now spare no details. I want to hear it all, good sir.”
Chapter 28
The Cut
London, England, October 1814
“At least it is a lovely day,” grumbled Amelia’s mother in a sullen tone that did not convey the voice of what she was describing. She had been miserable ever since Lord Templeton French had walked out of her house on that fateful day. She sensed the harbinger of bad things to come. It was inevitable. Society was like some flesh-eating plant; there were those that managed to survive dancing before it, and then there were those that were devoured – it was as Darwin would one day suggest: ‘survival of the fittest.’
Amelia looked up to the empyrean. Mother was right. The sky was a clear blue. A few fluffy bodies of cumulus that looked like white candyfloss hung in the sky. They gave the blue canvas upon which they floated an added flourish and a soft touch that spoke of a bright day. It was autumn at its finest; the time of year when the season was still not certain whether it wanted to keep the vestment of summer or don the apparel of winter.
