half of the House of Lords.”
“Not very sporting of them,” Dorothy said. “She is only one woman.”
“I was just thinking the same thing. One would assume that Wellington could defeat her with only the King and one or two earls to help.”
“What is she like? There have been rumors about her life in Paris. Did you find the den of decadence that some whisper about?”
“Is that what is said, Dot? I wish you had told me. I would have girded myself with more moral outrage in preparation.”
They had circled the small pond. Celine had not and now awaited his approach.
He had kissed her once over ten years ago during her first season. It had been a long embrace on a dark terrace the night before she became engaged to the Duke of Everdon. There had been others like her, girls who stuck one toe into the lake of audacity by permitting him small liberties.
Later the liberties became less small and the females less innocent, but the game remained the same. Eventually he had refused to play the role of the safely English foreigner whom every sophisticated girl should try at least once.
He acknowledged Celine as blandly as possible, but it looked as though he would not escape. Dorothy separated from their group, bore down on Celine with outstretched arms, and engaged the widow in effusive expressions of sorrow. Spared by the generous diversion, Adrian and Colin continued toward the great house.
“So, what is the duchess like?” Colin prodded.
“Trouble.”
“Is she? What fun.”
“I know that you have no interest in politics, but this is no laughing matter.”
Colin frowned. “She isn't going to boot you out of your Commons seat, is she?”
“She may withhold the nomination just to get back at me. She truly did not want to return to England.”
“Any problems there?”
“When it came down to it she refused to budge and I had to make good on an earlier threat and carry her out of her house, slung over my shoulder.”
Colin cocked an eyebrow and half a smile. “You jest.”
“Damned if I do. She wears at least ten petticoats, and all I could think was that if a strong wind should whip under her skirt, we might both take to flight like one of those big air balloons.”
Colin laughed. “With all the revolutions on the Continent, who knows where you might have been shot down. Then to find all of that trouble on the road from Portsmouth.”
“I have exaggerated that somewhat. Part of our delay came when we landed in Portsmouth itself. The monkey climbed to the top of the ship's main mast and it took half a day to get him down. I am sure that she deliberately let Prinny out of his cage.”
“Prinny? She named a monkey after the late king?”
“He was alive when she named her monkey after him. It gets worse. She and I had an interesting conversation during the crossing. We discussed last summer's
petite revolution
in France, and the deposition of King Charles in favor of Louis Philippe. The duchess thought it a splendid drama. Her exact words, and I quote, were ‘helping the citizens of Paris man the ramparts last July was the most exciting and worthwhile thing I have ever done in my life.' ”
“Now, that
is
trouble. Have you told Wellington about this?”
“Do I look like a man who wants to die?”
They had reached the second terrace. Their reflections sparkled sharply in the new plate glass that had recently been installed in the windows and French doors. All over England the great houses were embracing the new, costly, large planes, and all over England mobs were smashing them. Even Wellington's Apsley House in London had seen all of its new glass destroyed a month earlier by a rampaging mob after dissolution of the last Parliament had killed the first Reform Bill.
The glass produced an eerie effect that was very different from deliberately gazing in a mirror. It caught casual vignettes and poses and showed one in the world as others saw one. Now it displayed the contradictory appearance
“Not very sporting of them,” Dorothy said. “She is only one woman.”
“I was just thinking the same thing. One would assume that Wellington could defeat her with only the King and one or two earls to help.”
“What is she like? There have been rumors about her life in Paris. Did you find the den of decadence that some whisper about?”
“Is that what is said, Dot? I wish you had told me. I would have girded myself with more moral outrage in preparation.”
They had circled the small pond. Celine had not and now awaited his approach.
He had kissed her once over ten years ago during her first season. It had been a long embrace on a dark terrace the night before she became engaged to the Duke of Everdon. There had been others like her, girls who stuck one toe into the lake of audacity by permitting him small liberties.
Later the liberties became less small and the females less innocent, but the game remained the same. Eventually he had refused to play the role of the safely English foreigner whom every sophisticated girl should try at least once.
He acknowledged Celine as blandly as possible, but it looked as though he would not escape. Dorothy separated from their group, bore down on Celine with outstretched arms, and engaged the widow in effusive expressions of sorrow. Spared by the generous diversion, Adrian and Colin continued toward the great house.
“So, what is the duchess like?” Colin prodded.
“Trouble.”
“Is she? What fun.”
“I know that you have no interest in politics, but this is no laughing matter.”
Colin frowned. “She isn't going to boot you out of your Commons seat, is she?”
“She may withhold the nomination just to get back at me. She truly did not want to return to England.”
“Any problems there?”
“When it came down to it she refused to budge and I had to make good on an earlier threat and carry her out of her house, slung over my shoulder.”
Colin cocked an eyebrow and half a smile. “You jest.”
“Damned if I do. She wears at least ten petticoats, and all I could think was that if a strong wind should whip under her skirt, we might both take to flight like one of those big air balloons.”
Colin laughed. “With all the revolutions on the Continent, who knows where you might have been shot down. Then to find all of that trouble on the road from Portsmouth.”
“I have exaggerated that somewhat. Part of our delay came when we landed in Portsmouth itself. The monkey climbed to the top of the ship's main mast and it took half a day to get him down. I am sure that she deliberately let Prinny out of his cage.”
“Prinny? She named a monkey after the late king?”
“He was alive when she named her monkey after him. It gets worse. She and I had an interesting conversation during the crossing. We discussed last summer's
petite revolution
in France, and the deposition of King Charles in favor of Louis Philippe. The duchess thought it a splendid drama. Her exact words, and I quote, were ‘helping the citizens of Paris man the ramparts last July was the most exciting and worthwhile thing I have ever done in my life.' ”
“Now, that
is
trouble. Have you told Wellington about this?”
“Do I look like a man who wants to die?”
They had reached the second terrace. Their reflections sparkled sharply in the new plate glass that had recently been installed in the windows and French doors. All over England the great houses were embracing the new, costly, large planes, and all over England mobs were smashing them. Even Wellington's Apsley House in London had seen all of its new glass destroyed a month earlier by a rampaging mob after dissolution of the last Parliament had killed the first Reform Bill.
The glass produced an eerie effect that was very different from deliberately gazing in a mirror. It caught casual vignettes and poses and showed one in the world as others saw one. Now it displayed the contradictory appearance
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