Continuing straight ahead, he entered the main anteroom, where many of the Regent’s cronies were clustered, waiting for George to make an appearance, if he deigned to. The door on the left, which led to the Regent’s private rooms, was closed.
Montgomery approached a man he recognized whose name he thought was Henry, but he wasn’t sure and couldn’t be bothered to make sure. He didn’t like this group of toadies and didn’t pretend to. The only reason they were here was to share in the Regent’s extravagances and dissipated lifestyle. But they could still supply useful information.
“What is the mood today?” he asked the fellow. “Money, women, or politics?”
“Prinny isn’t saying. He did ask for you, though. You do seem to be his favorite savior.”
The jealous tone was noted. Montgomery didn’t doubt every man in the anteroom wished to be in his position. Did they even consider that failure could lead to an immediate ousting? George could be that fickle. And where would they be without the Prince Regent’s favor? Back with their families or wives or running again from their debtors. The difference between him and them was he didn’t care if he was ousted from the Prince’s inner circle, though the bigger difference was that he wasn’t there with ulterior motives and needed no favor from the future king.
He liked living on the edge. He could blame his brief stint in the army he supposed. But lately the danger was getting out of hand, with thugs breaking into his rooms and chasing him down the streets brandishing axes. Lord Chanders didn’t have the nerve to challenge him to a duel, Lord Halstead was all too eager to, yet he hadn’t done anything to provoke either man, although he’d led them to think so. That was the point, after all. He wasn’t fed up yet with being the Regent’s personal scapegoat, but shifting Prinny’s scandals onto his own shoulders came with a steep price that tarnished his reputation.
Still, Montgomery viewed his clandestine royal service as another way of serving his country now that he was off the battlefield. It was exhilarating. And there wasn’t much difference between dealing with his own scandals or those handed to him by George. Dodging bullets on the front lines did something to a man, catching bullets and surviving could have turned him toward a more cautious way of life, but it didn’t. The second bullet that had struck him had sent him home to recover for six months, and his father made him promise not to return to the Peninsular War where he’d been stationed or anywhere else on the continent where British troops were advancing or defending. That was two years ago. But his father couldn’t get him to promise to stop courting scandal.
He’d enjoyed a new woman every week, losing interest before any one of them could be called his mistress. But he’d developed a reputation for being something of a rake, which was what had led George to him. George admired prowess of all sorts, including the less valiant kind. But at least Montgomery steered clear of married women. He wished George would do the same. It wasn’t as if the Prince didn’t have a number of longtime mistresses he could visit instead.
Montgomery moved to the Regent’s door, knocked once, and entered without waiting for a response. “George?”
It had been established that formalities weren’t his forte the very night they were introduced with Montgomery saying, “Pleasure to meet you, George. You can call me Monty.” Granted, he’d been a little foxed at the time or he might have thought better of insulting the Prince Regent with anything less than “Highness.”
But while a number of gasps were heard that night and someone would have gotten around to admonishing him as soon as the shock wore off, the Prince Regent had laughed and said, “I think we’ll be friends, Monty.”
And so they were, after a fashion. Montgomery didn’t join George’s entourage and follow him around like that group in the anteroom, but he did come when summoned. He’d come the first time because he was curious, but all George had wanted was a private game of chess with him and someone new to talk to about his love of art, his excitement that he was working with John Nash to redesign and grandly extend his Brighton Pavilion, where he took his holidays by the sea, and his worry that a scandal might be descending on his head over a foolish mistake he’d made in dallying with the wrong woman.
Montgomery had been amused. Scandals didn’t worry him, but obviously a royal couldn’t be so cavalier when the entire country kept their eyes on him, and those who advised him on all matters social and political would be outraged. He’d decided that night to fix the problem that was worrying the Regent if he could, and he did. But the first time he got George out of a pickle, as it were, without being asked to, had established a precedent. George started asking for discreet favors after that, and the man was getting himself into one pickle after another.
“In here!”
Montgomery followed the voice to the lavish drawing room. George was in the large, well-padded chair he favored, however he was too wide of girth for it and would probably have trouble getting out of it on his own. That might be why there were two footmen standing nearby whom George dismissed as Montgomery approached.
The Prince Regent was aging badly. Only in his early fifties, he had too many vices he didn’t try to curb. A bottle of laudanum stood on the table beside him, along with a decanter of brandy and a basket of pastries more than half-empty.
Even though it was the middle of the day, George wasn’t dressed to leave his rooms, merely wearing trousers and a white linen shirt. Even his feet were bare. While the Prince of Wales had ended his long friendship with Beau Brummell when he became Prince Regent after his father’s madness took a turn for the worse, he still favored the long trousers that Brummell had single-handedly made fashionable.
Bets had actually been made that George would return to the knee-length britches and stockings of the last decades because of that rift, but he didn’t. He’d confided to Montgomery that he’d been forced to cut all ties with his old Whig friends, including Brummell, when he became Regent four years ago. Just one of the trials and tribulations of being the Prince Regent.
“I received your summons, George,” Montgomery said as he took a seat on the sofa.
“That was three days ago, you’re late,” George complained, though mildly.
“Your servant might not have been able to find me in a timely manner. I’ve been hiding rather unsuccessfully from the last lord you cuckolded. Chanders sent thugs after me, the bloody sod. Not to mention, Lord Halstead continues to send me challenges to a duel, four of them to date.”
“So just duel with the chap already. You were in the army. You ought to be an excellent shot.”
“I am, which is why I won’t duel.” It was stated flatly but with absolute conviction.
“You prefer to be labeled a coward?”
“I prefer not to kill a man just because I’m accepting blame that’s not rightfully mine.”
Montgomery was well aware that statement could be considered an insult to the Prince, but George merely raised a brow at him before reaching for another pastry.
“Did you find somewhere else to hide?”
“I’m staying at my father’s town house for a few days until I can find another flat. Those thugs won’t try breaking into a house filled with servants. But unfortunately, one of my brothers is also in residence, in town this week on business. And he’s heard the rumors that I’m cavorting with married women. I believe he sent for my father, but I expect to be out of there before the earl arrives to berate me.”
“I knew your father in my youth. Liked him then, don’t want to be yelled at by him now. I hope you said nothing to your brother.”
“Of course not. I don’t mind the yelling.”
