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BONFIRE OF PROPRIETIES
The next few days passed for Angelica in uncharacteristic gloom. She went to her rehearsals, increasingly disenchanted with the part of Amanthis, a silly girl if ever there was one, and the production, which Mr Dunbar was attempting to inject with shock and sensation. Her own mood was in stark contrast to the excitement in the city as everyone prepared for the biggest party of the century. One hundred years of the Hanoverian kings combined with the euphoria of peace at last after the signing of the Treaty of Paris and the banishment of the Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte. The exhilaration included a celebration of the sixteen-year-anniversary of Admiral Nelson’s remarkable victory in the Battle of the Nile and a naval battle enactment was planned for the Serpentine in Hyde Park.
On their walks through St James’s Park, Angelica and Isobel Fitzjames watched the building of the great bridge and pagoda designed by the Regent’s favourite architect, Mr Nash. It was such a magnificent construction it seemed an extravagance as the backdrop for a firework display in a country impoverished by so many years of war, but no such consideration quelled the excitement of the people. Miss Fitzjames was full of her own excitement. ‘The Duchess has given her blessing,’ she said shyly. ‘Lord Latimer and I will be married in the spring.’
‘Oh Miss Isobel, this is wonderful news. Are you happy?’ Angelica grasped her hands and met her eyes.
She blushed. ‘Yes, very happy. I could not believe I could be so. When I first met you, I was close to despair. The great grey Thames seemed a preferable destination to Lord Fulsham’s bed.’ Her face clouded with the memory, then coloured, embarrassed by her own frankness. She hugged Angelica with uncharacteristic fervour. ‘But look how life can surprise with bliss. It will with you too, Miss Angelica, I know so.’
Angelica had never felt so far herself from marital happiness and changed the subject. ‘Are you and Lord Latimer attending any of the Jubilee spectaculars next week?’
‘We’re joining the Duchess’s picnic in Hyde Park to watch the naval battle on the Serpentine and then making our way down to St James’s to see the fireworks.’
‘I’ll be in Hyde Park too for Mama’s picnic. The firework display is sure to be a spectacular end to the evening.’
Miss Fitzjames turned to look closely at Angelica. ‘You don’t seem to be your usual self. Are you unwell?’
Angelica looked away. ‘I think I’m just fatigued. Perhaps not quite recovered from my illness.’
They arrived back at Berkeley Square and Miss Fitzjames collected her maid and walked on to her mansion in Grosvenor Square, restored to her by Mr Asprey, having returned to the gaming tables once more. Angelica shuddered at what she had asked from this honourable man. What a blind and self-centred woman she had been – worse even than the spoilt and unworldly character she so objected to in her latest play. She hung her head with shame at the thought of how she had imposed on him time and again, and how he had never let her down, whatever the cost to himself.
What Angelica could not know was that Ivor Asprey was himself rattled by how she had released some suppressed energy that had awoken him to the power of love united with desire. It was an unruly force he thought he had banished from his life for ever, but now it crackled within, resistant to restraint. For a man who had come to pride himself on his control and authority in the world, it was alarming to find he longed to embrace this more vivid life. How dangerous love could be to all the settled virtues he had sought: what enchantment had Miss Leigh cast over him?
* * *
The day of the Jubilee celebrations dawned clear and warm. It was a national holiday and rehearsals at the theatre had been cancelled even though The Child of Nature was two days from its first night. The sunny streets were filled early with roistering crowds who were already drinking and full of the pleasure of the day, heading towards the royal parks for a variety of extravaganzas. Angelica was happy to join her mother and Mr Breville at the picnic in Hyde Park but as the sun began to set the promise of an enactment of the Battle on the Nile drew all revellers to the Serpentine. There, replica boats, fully rigged and magnificent in their massed number, floated peacefully on the green water. The ducks and waterfowl paddled around unconcerned by these vast interlopers, and dogs and children gambolled in the shallows.
Crowds of revellers ate and drank at the water’s edge, waiting for the mock battle to begin. Emerging out of the surge of spectators, Angelica saw the tall figure of Lord Latimer with Isobel Fitzjames on his arm and Dante Locke beside him. She made her excuses to her mother and joined her friends. ‘Miss Leigh!’ His lordship waved and the small group threaded their way through the crowd to meet her.
Isobel Fitzjames and Dante Locke grasped a hand each and they led her back to their space at the water’s edge. Lord Latimer gazed down at her and chuckled. ‘We have had such goings on in Uncle Ivor’s house. Has Elinor not told you yet?’
Angelica met his gaze with a smile. ‘No, she’s coming to tea next week. But she did seem to be bursting to tell me something. I have an idea what it might be.’
Dante Locke frowned. ‘Charlie, don’t gossip; fools may prattle and the knave betray but you’re a friend!’
‘Oh don’t be such a prosy fellow!’ He laughed and turned to Angelica. ‘There are lovebirds in the trees of St James’s Square. The blue-stocking governess and Uncle’s topping secretary are getting rivetted. Elinor is over the moon. Thinks she contrived it all.’
‘I thought that might be it. Happy news, indeed. I know your niece has wished for this to happen.’ Angelica felt a pang at all the conjugal happiness that surrounded her. Then his lordship continued, ‘Oh, and Ivor’s fault-finding Lady—’
At that point the battle enactment began with an enormous explosion which made the crowd scream in alarm; birds took off from the water in panicked flight and the dogs barked. A mighty cheer went up as a ship keeled over, spilling ‘French’ sailors into the water amid large plumes of black smoke.
Angelica felt the mayhem depicted at sea mirrored the turbulence in her heart as she wondered what Lord Latimer had been about to say, dreading he was to tell her of the overdue engagement of Mr Asprey and Portia Linus. But no one could be heard above the cacophony of the cheering crowds and the series of bangs and explosions as boats blew up and enemy sailors splashed about in the Serpentine before dying noisily on the shore. She dared not ask him to elaborate and so, left with her own thoughts, determined if Mr Asprey could not be hers she would never marry but instead commit herself to an independent life, earning her living in commerce alongside Mr Breville.
As the Battle of the Nile began to fizzle out with boats lying like beached whales, and sodden sailors shivering on the grass, the friends walked towards St James’s Park where the firework display, the crowning spectacle of the day, was expected to begin. Together with a motley crowd consisting of members of the haut ton and the hoi-polloi, they headed south; aristocratic privilege and beauty rubbed shoulders with the poorest of London, the urchins, pickpockets, card sharps and thieves. Everyone was in the highest spirits, most lubricated by alcohol of every kind.
It was again possible to hear each other speak and Angelica caught Lord Latimer’s sleeve and gathered her courage to ask the question that had been consuming her. ‘You were about to say about Lady Linus and your uncle.’
‘Well, it’s not quite about them, it’s more that Portia Linus has found a more worthy subject for her campaign of moral reform.’
‘What do you mean?’ Angelica could not allow her hope to rise.
‘She’s given up waiting for Uncle Ivor to propose and is now seen about town with a reprobate in far greater need of salvation.’
‘What can you mean, my lord? Don’t speak in riddles.’
‘Yes, Charlie, really bad form. You’re tattling like a fishwife.’ Dante Locke was known for being high-minded about such things.
‘Oh all right then. She’s set her cap at a gambling lord, Abercrombie, who just happens to be dripping in lard, but I think it’s the possibility of reform that she finds even more attractive than his twenty thousand a year. Poor devil!’
