Out of view of the prince, Hargrove shook his head at her commenting on the painting’s subject, but it was too late.
“What are they doing?” Prince George demanded, no longer looking the least bit favorable as he viewed the scene. “Are those a couple of beggars crouched over crumbs?”
“It was painted by Velázquez!” Hargrove explained.
“I don’t care. It’s all brown! Except for that silly orange. Who would stick an orange in the top of a vase? No, it shall not do at all.”
“Sir,” Hargrove protested, “with that many paintings, what’s a few more? Wouldn’t you like to have 455? And as Miss Talbot said, I have more at the house I’m renting. I believe 460 is a magnificent number befitting your stature.”
“No,” the prince said, and nothing more. He turned his attention back to her.
“This one, then,” Glynnis persisted, crossing to the only statue they could carry. “Only see how it reminds one of your own marvelous physique, Your Highness?”
Made of marble, the naked man with arm raised holding a staff had made both footmen puff and huff while carrying it in, despite it being only four-feet tall. They’d brought in its three-foot pedestal separately. After setting the sculpture upon it, the effect was quite grand.
James nodded and smiled at her words.
Prince George nodded, too. “Yes, especially in my military youth. Not that I cannot still sit a horse when necessary, eh, wot-wot?” And he tugged his jacket around his corpulent belly, although there was no hope of buttoning it closed.
She exchanged glances with Hargrove. Everyone had heard the prince’s stories of his glory days, leading men into battle atop a charger despite having never been part of a military campaign or even once going to war.
“They say this is meant to be Napoleon as the Roman god Mars,” she added, seeing James instantly slap his hand over his eyes. Regardless, she continued, “It is said he modeled for this smaller one before Canova created an even larger one, about eleven feet. Emperor Bonaparte thought ittooathletic, if you can believe it.”
The prince’s face darkened, and Hargrove was shaking his head like a fiend. Everyone knew Prince George’s jealousy over Napoleon’s greater reputation for battle sense, not to mention the former emperor’s well-respected courage. He’d earned actual glory while the Regent had received scorn for being a gourmand and a philanderer.
“I hate it,” the prince declared, and he rose to his feet. “None of this is of any interest to me. Hargrove, you’ve disappointed me greatly. Take it away. And unless you have something much better still residing in your squalid rental house on the ocean front, then don’t bring any more of it for me to see.”
With that, the Regent strode out a little more solidly than he’d wobbled in. Glynnis knew he must have been in a tweague for His Highness hadn’t even said good day to her.
***
“WHAT DID YOU JUST DO?” James demanded, trying not to shout.
Miss Talbot had started off so well but managed to put Prinny off each piece. She merely blinked at him.
“Why didn’t you let the art speak for itself?”
“I was only trying to help,” she promised. “I thought he was going to take the paintings to Carlton House and keep the statue here.”
“He would have kept the blasted statue if you hadn’t mentioned Napoleon.”
“Pish!Surely you would have had to tell him eventually.”
“Would I, though?” James muttered. He would have vowed it was a statue of Prinny himself if it had helped matters.
“Now we have to cart this all back to my house, and then what?” he fumed.
Then what, indeed!He would have to take it with him if he was ever allowed to return to London, and then he would offer it up to whichever nobleman wanted it.
Still annoyed at the turn of events, it took him until they arrived back at his rented house to realize Miss Talbot seemed entirely unperturbed. Barely in the door, she asked his butler for a pot of tea and some biscuits, almond or lemon, if he had them. And then she went upstairs to the best drawing room and put her feet up on a tufted ottoman.
Fanning herself, she watched him pace.
“We shall try again with the rest of the pieces,” she promised. “Have some tea. Everything will seem better afterward.”
Stopping before the unlit, cold hearth, he stared at her. “Tea will not make this better. Prinny didn’t even set a firm day or time to view the rest of it. Moreover, you already told him that was the best.”
“Of the largest pieces,” she clarified. “At least when we take the remainder, it will be easier to transport.”
