Page 4 of The Scandal of the Deceived Duchess
Looking around the elaborately decorated throne room, Amelia wanted nothing more than to escape her predicament. Her body felt so constricted by all of the skirts, hoops and trains on her frame. She felt like the feathered former host – the ostrich. Like the bird, her person was rounded and full because of the skirts that were enhanced with panniers that stood out very wide on either side of her body but leaving the front and back flat. The only thing that differentiated her from the bird were its spindly legs.
All around her, the women’s clothing was so elaborate, displaying a broad swath of beautifully embroidered fabric. Amelia could not see the point of it all. She was a loyalist or a monarchist, yes, but why did Queen Charlotte, the regent’s mother, insist on this pathetic pageantry?
In France, or when a private function was hosted in England, women would wear garments with the ‘empire silhouette’ imitating the ensemble worn by the former Empress Joséphine Bonaparte. These loose, formal dresses had a fittedbodice ending just below thebust, thus giving the appearance of a high waist, and a gatheredskirt reaching the ankles.
This is ridiculous…I know that papa is receiving his knighthood today…and yes…it is an honor. But why do I have to look like a stuffed meringue?she thought. Amelia hazarded a glimpse at the queen. She gasped. She had never seen her before. She could not believe how unattractive she was. Her nostrils were too wide, her complexion overly pale and her forehead exceptionally low.
Amelia immediately chastised herself for being so insensitive. Queen Charlotte had always been an extremely dutiful wife to the mad king, providing him with fifteen children. The prospect made Amelia shudder – the poor woman must have been constantly pregnant.
This thought made Amelia study her dress more closely. She ran her dainty hands down the sides of the skirt, pressing slightly until it flounced back. She frowned. She very much resembled a young debutante.What was on her parents’ mind?she wondered.
The Prince Regent, George Augustus Frederick, who was also still the Prince of Wales, nodded. Amelia’s father was the first man to step forward. He hesitated for a heartbeat. Then taking a deep breath, he advanced further toward the Prince Regent.
He rested one knee on the knighting stool with the velvet-padded surface and lowered his head. This elaborate piece of furniture was carved with a gilt frame in the Louis XVI style.
The Regent did not utter a word. He just raised the knighting sword and tapped both of Amelia’s father’s shoulders. After which, an elongated, dark-blue velvet box was handed to him, containing the order of his rank and the deed was done. He was Sir Thomas Carlyle, 1st Baronet of Windom. And that was that. The entire process was repeated for the other candidates and the ceremony was over.
Like a crash of rhinos, the Prince Regent dashed off in the direction of the door that led to the gallery overlooking the garden and the Mall. When Amelia next saw him, he was attacking the assortment of delicacies on a long table that had been set up during the knighting ceremony. She watched him a while longer until she was interrupted.
“Amelia dear, I would like to present Lord Templeton French, oldest son to the Duke of Brandon,” said her father in a proud voice.
When she turned around, she saw her mother gushing with all sorts of emotions, none of which Amelia shared. She gulped. It was the arrogant-looking man she saw earlier.
“Well, do say something, Amelia,” chided her father. “She must be so overwhelmed by her father being knighted and now this – to be presented to the son of such an illustrious peer of the realm,” chittered her father in an attempt to ingratiate himself of the duke’s son.
Amelia could have killed him. He was behaving like a sniveling and groveling fool. However, she felt slightly uneasy under Lord Templeton French’s intense scrutiny. It was not a nice look and definitely not what she was seeking in a man. Before her was a male specimen who most definitely was a misogynistic sort with sprinkles of the vile to add to his unpleasantness. She did not know why she thought that, but her gut spoke volumes to her – the man had the visage of a coward.
“How do you do, Miss…oh, no; you are now the Honorable Amelia Carlyle. You must be pleased?” he said, chuckling like a fruitcake, while he scanned her body lecherously in a forlorn attempt to find some spot of her that was unclothed.
For the first time, Amelia was happy that she had so many garments on. Although not unattractive, this man had rapiers for eyes, unkind lips and sharp features. He stood in such contrast to her sweetness and softness of both character and appearance.
All Amelia could do was feign female timidity and some semblance of awe –Goodness, if only I was not so well brought up,she thought. It was all the invitation he needed – the introduction continued with her parents gushing admiration and awe beside the tedious lord.
However, what had vexed her the most was the cadence of his voice. It started off as a squeak that soon morphed into a series of trills and unconvincing attempts at baritone deepness. Lord Templeton French may never have ended puberty. It was what Amelia thought all the while he was telling her about how incredibly marvelous he was.
When the tone of his voice miraculously lowered into a deep hum, she steeled herself for the continuation of the introduction – she prayed for some change in his manner; Amelia wanted to believe that perhaps her initial opinion of the man was wrong; the pitch of his voice perchance only a small anomaly.
When Lord Templeton French started regaling her with the details of his group of acquaintances that were, to her mind, obviously more accomplished and important for they constituted the ‘Dandy Club’, she knew that she had been right all along: this man considered himself more stylish than Beau Brummell, a greater ‘Corinthian’ and sportsman than Lord “Beau” Petersham, Charles Stanhope, The Viscount of Petersham and even wittier than William Arderne, The Baron Alvanely.The hubris of the man,she thought.
What a windbag; you’d never catch any member of the ‘Dandy Club’ boasting of their accomplishments with such obvious self-aggrandizement,continued Amelia, her mind providing more fuel for her dislike. She prayed his monologue would be brief as she bored her emerald-green eyes into him, hoping, praying that he might back off.
“It is an honor to meet you, My Lord,” said Amelia, curtseying. It was all that came to mind as a riposte as excellent upbringing instinctively took a hold of her.
“The honor is mine, my dear,” he said, bowing and brushing his lips on the back of her hand.
Amelia cringed –my dear; I’ll show you my dear, you arrogant toad.There was something inherently wrong with what was going on. Her parents were oblivious to the happenings or were they? As she had been brought up, she made a few compliments about his exalted lineage and how accomplished his family was and closed her mouth –deed done – oh, no. He has more to say.
Lord Templeton French was about to open his mouth again. Amelia saw that he flitted gazes at the profligate buffet to his left.I don’t want to share food with you. I just want to leave and be as far away from you as soon possible.
“Lord Templeton French, do tell us how does your dear papa fair? I pray the gout is not as acrimonious as one hears.”
God, mother, you are so out of touch. But thank you - you saved me from having to converse further with the man – for how much longer I wonder?
While Lord Templeton French spoke with her parents, he constantly shot furtive gazes in her direction. When he smiled, it seemed like it was an effort or that he had just spent an hour on the privy.
The color drained from her face when the young lord, who was no older than twenty-four, mentioned that he would love to introduce her father to his. The words were accompanied by another glimpse in her direction – the grin that escorted it was more of a sneer.This is all getting out of hand. Father has to stop this. I know where this is going.
Her mind worked at twice its usual pace as her father started to discuss business with the duke’s son. Amelia heard none of the words. All she could do was stare at the man’s malevolent looking mouth as it moved. Each time he spoke, his lips twitched upwards unpleasantly. What was worse was that he was lecturing her father about the shipping business, even though it was apparent that he had no clue on the subject.
