Allegra couldn’t help it. She giggled. “I never expectedto be so rudely tossed into my duchessdom this quickly, my lord,” she told him. “We should have been gone when Prinny and young Mister Brummell arrived. They say we will not go to Italy next spring as some French general is harrying the Venetians.”
“I will make it up to you when the French stop harrying the Venetians,” he promised her. “Besides, I am longing to make love to you in a gondola, my darling Allegra. Mad, passionate love beneath the moon as we glide by the Piazza San Marco on a warm summer’s night.”
“Sir, I think you quite mad,” Allegra told him, arising. “Ohh!” She whirled about, rubbing her bottom which he had just lovingly smacked.
“I could not resist,” he told her with a grin.
She laughed, then told him, “Go back to your own bedchamber now, my lord. I wish to dress, and so must you. His Highness will want to hunt, I have not a doubt.”
The duke had no sooner finished his morning ablutions and descended the stairs to his dining room when he heard Prinny and his traveling companion coming down behind him. A swift glance about the room told him that breakfast was more than ready.
“Good morning, my lord,” Crofts said calmly.
The Duke of Sedgwick nodded his greeting, delighted and amazed at the same time that his household was running so smoothly. Allegra was truly a wonder, he thought to himself.
“Good morning, Your Highness,” Crofts said pointedly.
The duke turned quickly, and welcomed his guests. The footmen seated the gentlemen and began bringing about the silver dishes and covered platters that held the breakfast. The prince almost purred as he helped himself to a rare and juicy beefsteak, and allowed thefootman to ladle a sauce of cream, braised onions, and peppercorns over it. He murmured his approval of the eggs poached in heavy cream and Marsala wine and dusted with nutmeg. He hummed with delight as the various platters were presented to him. Then he ate, and he ate, and he ate, washing down his meal with a goblet of wine that never seemed to empty itself. His companions ate more sparingly.
When he had finished he leaned back in his chair, sipping his wine. “We are in the mood to hunt,” he announced.
“Of course, Your Highness,” the Duke of Sedgwick said, rising. “Will you be hunting with us today, Brummell?”
“Brummell doesn’t hunt,” Prinny chuckled. “Such raucous activity would disturb the perfect cut of his neckcloth, eh, Brummell?”
“Indeed, Your Highness, it would,” Brummell answered without rancor. “Not to mention getting mud all over my excellent boots. My man spends at least an hour a day on each of my boots. It would send him to Bedlam if I dirtied my boots before noon.”
“I have not asked after Princess Caroline’s health, Your Highness,” the duke said politely as they left the dining room.
“Fat, breeding, and dirtier than ever,” Prinny said with a shudder. “If she whelps me a son she will have done her duty, and I can be done with her. I only married the bitch to get an increase in my allowance. The renovations for Carleton House have beggared me.”
“It is to be hoped then that Your Highness will get his wish,” the Duke of Sedgwick said. He found he was appalled by the prince’s attitude towards his wife. Caroline Amelia Elizabeth, Princess of Brunswick, was her husband’s cousin. She was ill educated, having beenraised in her parents’ unsophisticated court. Her mother was the eldest sister of King George III. She was the worst possible choice for a wife for the future George IV, but her mother had prevailed upon her brother, and so the match was made.
Caroline was not stupid, but she was uncultured. She was clever and witty, but willful and filled with high spirits. Her sharp tongue could be cruel and thoughtless. She had grown up with a rather dull mother who knitted stockings and netted embroidery at her homey palace outside of Brunswick. Caroline’s father lived happily apart from his wife and family in his capital with his mistress, Frau Hertzfeldt.
The princess had been brought up without religion so that she might adapt to whatever faith her husband espoused. She could barely read, wrote poorly, and had scant knowledge of the world outside of her mother’s palace. She had no musical abilities, could not paint watercolors, and did not dance well at all. She disliked fashion and had no sense of either style or color. Everything about Caroline was diametrically opposed to her husband. Consequently they had nothing at all in common.
She was not a male heir and so virtually no attention had been paid to Caroline of Brunswick, yet attention was what she desperately sought. Her personal hygiene left much to be desired. She cared little for her appearance, and could not be guided by those who knew that how a princess presented herself to the world made a great deal of difference to those by whom she must be accepted.
Her eldest sister had been a Duchess of Württemberg and had disappeared under rather odd circumstances while in Russia with her husband. It was rumored she was unfaithful to her husband with the Grand Duke Paul. The Duke of Württemberg had returned homewith his children. The Russian tsarina, Catherine the Great, imprisoned the duchess in the castle of Lode on the Baltic. Two years later the news of her death was announced, although how she had died and when she had died was never revealed. And her younger sister, it would seem, also had an eye for the gentlemen. It was even possible she was not a virgin on her wedding night for there had been rumors of an affair.
Meeting his bride-to-be for the first time Prinny was horrified by the sloppily garbed girl whose body odor was quite discernible to his fastidious nostrils. “Harris, I am not well; pray get me a glass of brandy,” he cried to the Earl of Malmesbury, who had brought the princess to England. Then the prince left the room, not hearing Caroline say to the earl, “Mon Dieu! Is the prince always like that? I find him very fat, and nothing as handsome as his portrait.” Nonetheless the wedding took place three days later in the Chapel Royal in St. James Palace.
The Duke of Sedgwick had been there. He remembered how drunk Prinny had been, wandering about the chapel singing nursery songs to himself, having to be led back to the altar by his furious father. He managed to consummate his marriage, but then spent the rest of the night drunk, lying in the fireplace grate as his bride was happy to relate to any who would listen. From that one coupling, however, came the princess’s current pregnancy, for Prinny never slept with her again. He would not even live with her, but went about his life as if his marriage had not occurred at all.
Quinton Hunter had married Allegra for her fortune. There had been no polite deception about it, but many couples wed for wealth and status. How a gentleman treated his wife, however, was a different matter altogether. Had he not fallen in love with Allegra, QuintonHunter would have still treated her with respect and courtesy. He pitied Prinny’s wife. Even Henry VIII had come to a comfortable arrangement with Anne of Cleves. There was no excuse for such discourtesy, or unkindness.
“The horses are ready, Your Grace,” Crofts said, coming to his side. He gestured towards the open door.
“Excellent! Excellent!” the prince said with a smile. He turned to Brummell. “Find the library, Georgie. We’ll be back in time for a hearty luncheon.”
Crofts nodded imperceptibly to his master.
Allegra ate a petit déjeuner in her own apartments. Then she dressed, preparing to meet her guests when they arrived. Downstairs Crofts informed her that the duke and the prince had gone out riding. Mr. Brummell was in the library, and luncheon would be served at one o’clock.
“Do we have enough supplies for the kitchens?” Allegra asked. “This prince eats enough for three men, I fear.”
“Cook gave the list to Perkins, and he departed for town early this morning, my lady. He should be back shortly with the cart.”
