By the King's Design by Christine Trent

countryside at will. Shops like mine are vital to England’s trade and cannot be permitted to fall prey to these creatures. So I ask you, sirs, which of you will stand up for me?”
    The chamber’s laughter gave way to a few appreciative murmurs, in addition to several scandalized gasps. Then the monkeys began chattering among themselves again, Tory and Whig alike, their differences forgotten in light of this interesting new development.
    The Speaker spoke up. “Ahem, we would do well to be quiet. Members, I ask for your attention. Gentlemen, SILENCE! ”
    The chamber stilled.
    â€œMiss Stirling, I believe your complaint is with your brother, not us. I suggest that you return to Yorkshire to resume your family squabble, and not waste the House’s valuable time. You may not realize that we’ve been a bit busy, between the loss of Lord Perceval, the Americans’ declaration of war, and now Napoleon’s rampage through Russia. We are also facing another election in September. A woman’s troubles with her jackanapes brother are hardly of concern to us.”
    Belle was losing control of the situation, but she wouldn’t give up now.
    â€œPardon me, sir, but I will not leave London until I’ve been reassured that Parliament will take care of the damages.”
    â€œYou may be waiting in London an excruciatingly long time, Miss Stirling.” A slow smile spread across his face. He was toying with her now.
    â€œPossibly you are right, sir, but assuredly if you will not hear me I’ll find others who will.”
    â€œIs that so? And to whom will you plead your case if I refuse to listen? Where else could you possibly go? The prime minister and I are of one mind, so you’ll get no assistance there.”
    She swallowed. Indeed, where would she go if the Speaker were to ignore her? Who was more influential than he? But she wouldn’t be cowed by this man, nor any of the others watching their exchange with amusement.
    â€œI’ll tell you where I’ll go. I’ll go to the Prince Regent. He’ll listen to one of his subjects if you won’t.”
    This elicited a barking laugh from Abbot. “Ah, madam, I see you don’t know the prince well at all. By all means, you should seek him out for reparations. In fact, we would be glad of a return visit from you to let us know of your grand success with him.”
    And with that, she was summarily dismissed. Furious, she whirled around to fling herself back down the stairs, and stopped short, nearly toppling over a man who had slipped into the gallery at some point and was now blocking the door. He sat in a chair with a writing box straddling his lap, and was scratching his quill pen furiously across a piece of parchment, presumably to record the proceedings. He looked up to dip his quill in a pot of ink, and realized Belle was gaping at him. He moved his legs to one side to allow her to sweep past, making a single, curt observation: “Interesting.”
    Interesting, indeed. Belle returned to her temporary lodgings in the city to lick her raw wounds and plan her next steps.
    Perhaps she really would try to obtain an audience with George Hanover.
    Â 
    Lord Liverpool waited patiently from an armchair while the prince’s valet crammed his master into a corset and struggled to tie the laces tightly enough so that the prince’s figure might be made somewhat fashionably slim. A pair of pantaloons in the style Beau Brummell had made famous lay across a chair next to him.
    The Prince Regent was slavish to Brummell’s style even though the two were no longer acquaintances. In Liverpool’s opinion, Brummell had tried to best the Prince Regent at being a complete horse’s rear. Not caring for the competition, George had discarded him. Yet George could not ever discard his desire for fashion, and so Brummell’s influence lived on in starched neatness against the prince’s body.
    The