With that bleak future, she shored up her resolve.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Nothing at all,” Glynnis said. Nothing she could tell him, at any rate.
“Poppycock,” he declared. “Women are always thinking something, and you have a definite thought in your head. I can practically see it.”
She shrugged. She didn’t feel like lying to him. Instead, she took a turn around the room, admiring the decorations the prince already had in there, a leather-topped round table upon which sat a crystal vase of flowers, and a round mirror framed in gold. Hargrove went back to staring out the window giving commentary upon how slowly Prince George was moving.
“Blast it all! He has stopped completely to talk with that fellow with the garish waistcoat. I think the man even has a feather attached to his hatband.”
She ignored him. Nothing could hurry the prince. Hargrove had said that himself. Better they should have requested tea and looked calm and confident.
“Why don’t we ask for—?”
“He’s coming now. Thank God. I’m sure he’ll find everything plummy with you here to praise it, and I’ll be heading home to all that’s good in my life before you can hop the twig.”
She nodded and waited. In a few minutes, Prince George entered, not with a stride, but with a shuffle, breathing hard.
“I say, what a morning! I’m exhausted. Yet here you two are. Maybe I’m too tired to deal with this art nonsense.”
She would swear she heard Hargrove growl, a low rumble in his throat.
“Good day, Your Highness.” She curtsied low. “Please, why don’t you take a seat. I recall how comfortable that sofa is from the day I fainted. Such good taste you have in furnishings. And we can show you what we have while you remain in utter ease.”
“Very good. You’re a sensible female. Hargrove, have you greeted me?”
Looking a tad insolent, he moved away from the window a few feet and bowed.
“Good day, Your Highness. I’m glad to see you looking so well.”
“I do, don’t I?” And then the prince did as Glynnis suggested and sat heavily upon the red velvet sofa. “Miss Talbot, you may present.”
“This is not the entire collection, sir. But these are certainly among the best.” She approached a painting Hargrove had propped against a chair. “See the columns behind the winged cherubs. Don’t they remind you of the columns around the front of the rotunda right here at your seaside home?”
She made a point of peering closely because the columns were barely visible and did little to make the painting look like the prince’s preferred styles of oriental or classical.
As expected, the Regent leaned forward and narrowed his eyes.
“Perhaps,” he said doubtfully. Then he glanced at Hargrove. “Why didn’t you get Veronese’sWedding at Cana?”
“I tried, sir.”
The prince made a face. “And yet all your trying led to fiddlestick’s end.”
“But the colors, Your Highness,” Glynnis hoped toseemhelpful, at least as far as Hargrove was concerned. “Don’t you think they well match those already here? You favor the dark reds and golds, do you not?”
He sighed. “I do, but those are muted. I like rich bright colors.”
Glynnis nodded and went to the very opposite of rich and bright.
“This one, sir, is very pleasant to look at, suitable for a dining room.”
Prince George sighed. “I don’t think it suits my dining room here at all. I suppose it could hang at Carlton House. Do you know I have 453 paintings in my collection at last count?”
Glynnis wasn’t expecting him to agree to placing it in London.
She had to put the nail in that coffin quickly. “I had no idea, sir.” She glanced at the painting again. “Despite thehumblenessof the subjects, it would be perfect for the majesty of your London home.”
