The Regency (57 page)

‘
Good at figures,' he said modestly. 'Shall I tell you the
rest? 98 earls, 85 countesses, 39 viscounts, and 214 lords and
ladies. Can't remember all the rest — admirals and generals
and such. Cost Prinny a bit,' he remarked thoughtfully.

‘If he pays,' Lucy said succinctly.

‘
Has to pay for the food, at least. Can't get any more credit
on that,' Danby observed. 'Buckingham says it's in bad taste,
considerin' the weavers are starving in Lancashire.'

‘
What on earth have the weavers to do with it?' Lucy
asked, mystified.

The last-comers did not enter the gates until after one
o'clock, and even by then it was plain that more people must
have come than were officially invited. The Prince, enormously
fat again now that he had recovered from his illness of
last winter, was dressed in the scarlet uniform of a field
marshal, his huge chest decorated with stars and ribbons,
badges and aigrettes. He smiled and bowed and was charming, dividing his attentions in the most accomplished way.

‘
He's wearing as many diamonds as I am,' Lucy said, but
with a smile. She had a little of a soft spot for the Prince, who
had always been kind to her.

He received the French royalty in a room lined with blue
silk, ornamented with gold
fleurs-de-lys.

‘
A pretty shabby lot, these Bourbons,' said Lucy. 'All
except the Duchess of Angoulême — she looks as though she
had some spirit.’

Danby regarded her with interest. 'She looks sad, poor
creature.'

‘
Wouldn't you?' said Lucy. The Duchess was the daughter
of the murdered Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. She had
been married to her cousin, the Duc d'Artois, the stolid,
pudding-faced son of her father's younger brother. Though
she was now thirty-three, she was still attractive, having a
great deal of her mother's fabled beauty: petite, auburn,
bright-eyed. What must it be like, Lucy wondered, to have
your father, mother, brother and aunt murdered by revol
utionaries, and to be sent begging round Europe, when you
had been brought up a princess at the richest court in the
world?
The interior of Carlton House was always a little over
powering, but today it looked even more extraordinary, with
great masses of flowers, multicoloured geraniums and roses,
stacked everywhere amongst the lavish decorations and
ornaments, the bronze horses and ormolu clocks, the red
porphyry dragons and ebony elephants, the japanned cabinets
and Chinese enamel vases, the marble columns, gold friezes
and crystal chandeliers.

From the top table across the end of the great hall, where
those of the rank of marquis and above would be seated for
dinner, other tables ran in all directions, down the hall,
through the library, across the vaulted, Gothic-cathedral
conservatory, and out into the gardens under coloured awnings.
Two thousand place-settings of silver and crystal had been
laid, but only those, like Lucy, who were seated at the tables in
the main hall, had a glimpse of the most extraordinary feature
of the decorations. In front of the place where the Prince
was to sit was a tiny temple containing a silver fountain, from
which water gushed, forming a cascade, and ran in rivulets
down the centres of the tables, in specially-devised channels
lined and edged with living moss, spangled with tiny flowers.
Here and there it ran under fantastic bridges in the Chinese
style; and in the miniature rivers swam gold and silver fish.

‘
Prinny's outdone himself this time,' Wiske remarked to
Lucy as they took their places behind their chairs, waiting for
the royal party to come to the top table. Lucy only grunted, occupied in looking about her, at the rows of magnificently
dressed women, the flashing of jewels on white bosoms, the
army of liveried servants lining the walls. I must remember
this, she thought. One day, when I'm old, I may tell my
grandchildren about it, for who knows what the world will be
like then? Even amongst the grand receptions I've attended,
this one is remarkable, and such things may not go on for
ever.

Dinner took four hours, and after it there was dancing,
which went on until six the next morning. There were four
bands, and floors had been laid out in the gardens, some in
the open air, some under marquees, as well as in the house
itself. Two suppers were served in the continental style, and as soon as dusk fell, lamps were lit in such profusion that it
was impossible to tell when it got dark.

Lucy did not stay to the end, for after midnight things
began to get a little rough, and she was tired of all the noise
and movement. Wiske called for her coach, and by a quarter
after midnight they were on their way, jolting over cobbles
into the dark, warm night, away from the blaze of lights
which lifted Carlton House out of its black surroundings, so
that it seemed to float in the sky like a dream-palace.

Lucy let down the window on her side of the carriage, and rested her head on her forearm, enjoying the rush of tepid air
on her face. Danby Wiske, sitting back against the squabs,
watched her with pleasure as the light from the newly-
installed gas-lamps along Pall Mall illuminated and eclipsed
her alternately.

‘
What a strange evening,' she said at last, her voice quiet,
almost bemused. 'Don't you feel it was strange, Danby?
There we were, guests of the Prince, Regent of England, as secure in his place as anyone could be. And there were the
French Royal Family, exiled in our country while Boney sits on their throne and calls himself Emperor, with a new son he
calls the King of Rome to come after him. And out there in
the wide world, armies march and fight, and ships patrol the
seas, and men bleed and die, all to try to oust the Emperor
and put that fat old man in the powdered wig on the throne in
his place. And we all wore our feathers and ate a dinner and danced and flirted and talked about each other, and — and it
suddenly all seems so strange to me. Why did we do it? What
was it for?’

She raised her head and looked towards the place where he
sat, for in the darkness she couldn't see him. 'Don't you feel
that, Danby?’

His voice came back to her, calm and sensible. 'No.'
She smiled a little. 'Then why do I?’

The answer was longer coming this time, but just as
assured.

‘Indigestion,' he said.

*

Lucy slept late, and was sitting alone at her breakfast at noon
the next day, sorting her way through the usual pile of letters
and invitations in the intervals between consuming cold beef
and game pie, hot sausages and wheaten bread and coffee.
The sun poured in almost vertically through the tall windows,
and the small breakfast-table had been drawn back into the
middle of the room to avoid its rays; but Jeffrey was curled up
on the window-seat in full sunshine, enjoying the heat. He slept almost all the time now. He was an old cat after all —
fourteen — and Lucy closed her mind to the knowledge that
she would be lucky to keep him another winter.

The knocker on the street door had been busy all morning,
and Lucy was noticing it only subconsciously, for she had told
Hicks she was not receiving visitors. She looked up in surprise,
therefore, when the butler came in, and with an apolgetic
cough, mentioned that Major Wiske was below.

‘
Has he bribed you to ignore my instructions?' Lucy asked,
but smilingly. Danby Wiske was a privileged caller, and Hicks
knew it. 'Yes, let him come up. And ask him if he has break
fasted, and if not, send up another cover.'

‘Yes, my lady.’

A few moments later Danby Wiske came in, looking some
how smaller and slighter in civilian clothes, like a peacock
bereft of its tail. His neat blue coat, white waistcoat, creaseless fawn pantaloons, gleaming Hessian boots, and starched
white neckcloth were all immaculate, unimpeachable, and in
the best style laid down by George Brummell; but out of his
uniform, Lucy thought, he was indistinguishable from any
other gentleman of fashion. He might be anyone.

He advanced across the carpet towards her, and then, finding
himself stared at, halted, a little puzzled, in the streaming
sunlight. No, Lucy thought, that wasn't entirely fair. There
were a great many men in London who thought of themselves
as men of fashion, who would give a good deal to look as
entirely well-dressed as Danby. She had known him so long,
and was so used to his being there to serve her, that she had
grown out of the habit of seeing him; but the introspective mood of last night had lingered a little into today, and she
looked at him with new eyes.

Why, he's quite handsome, she thought with faint surprise.
His short, wavy hair was light brown, and in the sunlight she
saw there was a hint of reddish-gold to it, which went with his
fair skin and blue eyes. His nose was short and straight, his
chin strong with a slight, rather attractive cleft, and since she
had last really looked at him, however many years ago that
was, his face had grown in the maturity and dignity which
came with the command of men. Though he was not tall, he
was neatly, compactly built, and he had the naturally upright
carriage of a cavalryman, along with the broad chest and
strong thighs. Any woman would be proud to be seen walking
along Bond Street on his arm, she thought.

Fair and foolish, she had always considered him, her faith
ful hound; but he was a man, and suddenly, in that instant, strange to her, so that she felt disturbed, almost shy, at his
presence.

Danby, meanwhile, had decided that if he didn't speak,
they would be trapped like that for ever. 'Something wrong?'
he asked, and glanced down at himself. 'Haven't forgotten
anythin' vital? Dreamt once I walked into Lady Tewkesbury's
drawing-room without m' small-clothes. Feel a bit like that
now.’

Lucy smiled. 'No, you haven't forgotten anything. You
look as immaculate as ever. Come and sit down, Danby. Have
you breakfasted?’

He blinked a little at the warmth of her greeting, and took
the seat she offered him. 'Had a bite early, thanks. I'll have
some coffee, though, if I may.'

‘
Of course.' Lucy poured it, and passed the cup to him, and then addressed the last of her game pie. 'I can't think why I'm
so hungry this morning, after that banquet last night, but
I feel as though I could eat for ever. Do you know what I
suddenly have a fancy for? Strawberries! Roberta's bound to
have plenty. They grow wonderful strawberries at Chelmsford
House. When I've finished breakfast and changed my gown,
we'll go and visit her, and make her invite us to go out
and pick them. They always taste better when you eat them
off the plant.’