The Wanton Princess Read online

  ‘I judge you right in that. And, surely, had he proved difficult round a conference table it could have been arranged that he should receive some compensation for the loss of Piedmont?’

  ‘Indeed it could. But the crux of the matter lies in the blind prejudice that Mr. Pitt and his colleagues have against General Bonaparte. The Prime Minister stigmatised him to me as a proved liar, an atheist, a thief, a blackguard of the meanest order; while my Lord Grenville exclaimed of Talleyrand, “That revolting ex-priest. He would sell his own mother for a guinea. His corruption and immorality stink in the nostrils of the whole world”.’

  ‘One must admit that they are both most unscrupulous men,’ the Colonel remarked mildly.

  ‘That I grant you,’ Roger returned swiftly. ‘And who should know it better than I who have for so long been closely associated with them? But that is less than half the tale. General Bonaparte would go to any lengths to achieve his ends, but he is far more than a revolutionary who has become a bandit on the grand scale. There is no subject in which he is not interested, his knowledge is encyclopaedic, his grasp of new factors in a situation immediate, his breadth of vision enormous and his powers of decision swift. All this places him in a class apart and, as an administrator, head and shoulders above any of the scores of monarchs, potentates and statesmen with whom I have had dealings in the past ten years. Given the chance he will remake France anew. Of that I am convinced. But he needs peace to do it, and that is why his offer is no trick, as those fools in Downing Street believe, but an honest one.’

  Standing up, Roger walked over to the sideboard to replenish his plate. While he was helping himself he went on, ‘As for Talleyrand, of course he is a lecher of the first order and, following the custom of Foreign Ministers for centuries on the Continent—ah, and here too until Mr. Pitt came to power—he extracts huge bribes from Ambassadors to expedite their business. But he does not allow that to influence his foreign policy, and he is as well-intentioned toward Britain as you or I. To me, knowing I am an Englishman, he has never made any secret of his basic belief. It is that no lasting prosperity can come to either France or Britain unless they make an accommodation over their differences. I have heard him say that a score of times and for years past he has been doing all he can towards that end, How I shall break to him this bitter blow of my failure with Mr. Pitt, I cannot think.’

  ‘When do you plan to return to France?’ the Colonel asked.

  ‘Not for a week or so. I’ll bide here until Georgina is well on the way to full recovery. But after I have reported my failure I hardly know what to do. This affair has sickened me of doing dangerous work for fools. I’ve a mind to retire gracefully from General Bonaparte’s service, then return here and settle down to a life of leisure. Think you, after all these years, I could persuade Georgina to marry me?’

  The Colonel was well aware of Roger’s relationship with Georgina, and he replied at once, ‘My dear boy, nothing could give me greater pleasure. I have oft wished it; and the bar to your regularising your great love for one another has been that your work has prevented you from living in England except for a month or two at long intervals. I know she feels it her duty to marry again now that her little Earl has reached an age when he needs a man to bring him up, and as your Susan shares Charles’ nursery, by marrying Georgina you could become a real father to them both. Go to it, and good luck to you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Roger smiled. ‘ ’Twould not be fair to approach her yet on such a serious matter; but I will as soon as she is well enough.’

  After breakfast Roger went out into the garden, where the children were playing in the snow with their nurse. Charles St. Ermins was now a stalwart boy rising five, and Susan, Roger’s daughter by his second wife, a pretty little thing just turned four. Her mother having died she was being brought up by Georgina and, owing to Roger’s long absences abroad, the children knew him only as an occasional visitor of a rather special kind; but he was good with small people and was soon building a snowman for them.

  Recently a new dance had found its way to Paris and London from Vienna. It was a great innovation as, in the formal dances of the past, the man had never touched his partner, except to link hands in certain movements, whereas in this audacious measure, called the waltz, the man put his arm round the woman’s waist and whirled her away across the floor. Using the pyramid-shaped skirt of a woman as a solid base and sticks with snow packed tightly round them to support the legs of the man and the arms of both, Roger spent most of the day creating a waltzing couple out of snow. His efforts delighted the children and took his own mind off his frustration.

  During the week that followed, between intervals of sitting with Georgina, he made the children a toboggan track that curved down a long gentle slope; then got out from the coach house Georgina’s beautiful sleigh, which was fashioned like a swan. Having had the lake swept of snow, he tied the two children firmly into the sleigh, then put on skates and propelled them round the long oval of ice at a speed that made them squeal with excitement and delight.

  These long days spent playing with the children gave him a pleasure that he had never previously experienced and dissipated the last doubts he had had about the wisdom of abandoning his adventurous life for good. Thankfully he realised that, the children still being so young, it was not too late to enjoy with them the best years of their lives. Soon his active mind began to make a hundred plans for their welfare and amusement and indulge in happy daydreams of a new carefree existence in which he would tuck them up in bed every night and wake with his beloved Georgina beside him every morning.

  By January 8th Georgina’s doctor declared her past all danger of a relapse. It was also Roger’s birthday, so he and her father celebrated the double occasion by dining with her in her room. When in full health she was a ravishing creature with the full, voluptuous figure that was regarded in that Georgian age as the height of feminine beauty. Her face was heart-shaped, her eyes nearly black—enormous and sparkling with vitality. Her eyebrows were arched and her full, bright-red lips disclosed at a glance her passionate and tempestuous nature. Now, owing to her illness, she had lost several pounds in weight, her cheeks were a little hollow and her lips still pale from the over-bleeding which had been inflicted on her before, on Roger’s return, he had put a stop to it. But her eyes looked larger than ever, her white, even teeth still flashed when she smiled and, in Roger’s eyes, her pallor made her more than ever desirable.

  When they had finished dinner the Colonel left them. Roger then told her of his abortive mission and his decision to retire for good from Mr. Pitt’s service.

  At that she shook her dark curls and laid a hand on his arm:

  ‘Dear Roger, disgust and disappointment may make you feel that way now, but I know you too well to believe that you would ever settle down for any length of time. ’Tis not in your nature, and you’ve been a rolling stone for too long. After a year or two the craving for excitement would drive you abroad again, if not for Mr. Pitt then on some other venture.’

  ‘Nay,’ he assured her. ‘I’d like nothing better than to be done for good with courts and camps. I’m sick unto death of living a lie and risking my life to no good purpose. I mean that. I vow it, and ’tis high time you married again. Let us be wed, Georgina, and live happily ever after.’

  She sighed, ‘I would we could, but we’ve been over this time and again before; and you know full well that ’tis not alone my belief that you would not be long content to live an idle life that prevents my saying “yes”. ’Tis only because we have never lived together for any length of time that we have never staled of one another, and when, at long intervals we are again united, both of us feel an immediate upsurge of desire for the other. The joy we derive from such a tenuous but enduring love far exceeds that to be hoped for from any marriage, and I count it too precious to jeopardise by becoming your wife.’

  Roger knew only too well the soundness of her argument; yet during the past week he had so persua
ded himself that only marriage to her could bring him lasting happiness that he endeavoured desperately to allay her fears, arguing that, now they had both turned thirty and had had many love affairs, there was no longer the same risk that they would tire of one another physically and their marriage come to grief, through one of them developing a passion for someone else.

  Finding Georgina adamant to his pleas, he played his last card and said, ‘It is two years now since we talked of this, and you said then that you must marry again so that young Charles could be brought up properly by a man; yet you are a widow still. And why? Obviously because you have failed to meet a man who you would care to have as a husband for yourself and as a father to the boy. Who better than myself could fill both roles; and even should your fears materialise that in time our desire for one another would wane, the children would form a lasting bond between us.’

  She remained silent for a moment, then she said gravely, ‘Roger, my love, it grieves me greatly to have to tell you this; but at least I find some consolation in that after your two years’ absence you must have thought it probable you would find me no longer a widow. I have found such a man. He courted me all through the Fall, and although we are not yet married, we will be in the Spring.’

  His hopes now utterly dashed, Roger stared at her in dismay. Then, recovering himself, he murmured, ‘If that is so, dear heart, I wish you every happiness. All I pray is that he be a man worthy of you. Who is this monstrous lucky fellow?’

  ‘A Mr. Beefy. He has …’

  ‘Beefy!’ Roger broke in aghast. ‘Georgina, you cannot! For you to marry a man with the ridiculous name of Beefy is unthinkable.’

  2

  War or Peace?

  Amazed and angry, Roger hurried on, ‘You cannot mean it! For God’s sake, Georgina, tell me you’re joking, and I’ll forgive the bad taste of your jest.’

  Giving him an indulgent smile, she replied, ‘Nay, Roger, I am in earnest. If there be aught comic in this it is the expression on your face.’

  ‘But dam’me, woman, do you become Mrs. Beefy you’ll be the butt of every wit—the laughing stock of London.’

  She shrugged her fine shoulders under the lace négligé. ‘I care not a fig for that. ’Tis character that counts. He is a man of high integrity: kind, generous, of a most amiable disposition, only some ten years older than myself and handsome enough to please.’

  ‘Be he plain roast or boiled I care not,’ Roger stormed. ‘I’ve never even heard of the fellow, so he cannot be a man of any consequence, nor of a family that has any standing. What in the world can have induced you so to belittle yourself? You’ve long been a reigning toast and accounted one of the most beautiful women in England. You have brains and talent. Here and in London you entertain the most distinguished men in the realm. Statesmen and ambassadors seek your influence to further their designs. You are very rich and will be still richer when your father dies. You have not only Stillwaters in your own right, but White Knights Park and the house in Berkeley Square as long as Charles remains a minor. By your first marriage you became Lady Etheridge, by your second the Countess of St. Ermins, and when you were a girl you vowed you would be a Duchess before your hair turned grey. Yet now …’

  Georgina threw back her dark curls and her gay laugh rang out. ‘And maybe I will, should fate decree an early death for poor Mr. Beefy.’ Then after a moment she added with a frown, ‘Alas, on that score I have certain fears; for I have read his palm and saw in it that he will not live to make old bones.’

  Roger had had ample evidence of the psychic gifts Georgina had inherited from her gipsy mother, and he said quickly, ‘What point is there then in giving young Charles a step-father who is doomed to an early death?’

  ‘That I did not imply,’ she countered. ‘Time, as you know, is difficult to assess by such hand readings. I know only that his death will be sudden but with luck it may not occur for ten years and, I pray, may be postponed much longer since I already feel a considerable affection for him.’

  ‘It seems he does not reciprocate that sentiment,’ Roger remarked tersely. ‘Else how is it that during your desperate illness he has not even shown the concern for you to make his appearance here?’

  ‘Since early December he has been in the West Indies. He has plantations there that are said to be worth a considerable fortune.’

  ‘But Georgina, you have no need of money, and for a woman like yourself even a sugar nabob is a nobody. Among your acquaintance there must be a score of distinguished men who could meet your requirements just as well as he and who would marry you tomorrow. Why? Why, in God’s name, enter upon this mésalliance that will place you outside the pale of high society?’

  Her arched eyebrows lifted, giving her fair face an arrogant expression. ‘Nothing, dearest Roger, could put me so far outside the pale that I could not re-enter it whenever I wished. At least I have personality enough for that. But recently I have become plaguey wearied of the fashionable world. Gaming has never attracted me and routs and balls are well enough for a young woman seeking to acquire a beau. Of them I’ve had my share and more; so it irks me now to be cornered on all occasions by gentlemen pressing me to go to bed with them. My good John Beefy will be the perfect antidote to that. I’ll become a country girl, and still have my painting for recreation. Should I tire of cows we can always make a voyage to his estates in the Indies.’

  For a further half hour Roger argued with her; but it seemed that her mind was made up so, fearing that further talking would tire her too much, he kissed her good night. As he was about to leave her room she said:

  ‘I fear my father will take no more kindly to my intentions than yourself, and I have not yet told him of them; so I’d prefer that you made no mention of the matter.’

  With a cynical little smile Roger turned and made her a bow, ‘About his attitude, Madame, you will undoubtedly prove right. And upon my discretion you may rely. I have never derived pleasure from noising abroad the follies of my friends.’

  Despite the flippancy of his last remark, as he undressed he was sorely troubled. It was bad enough that Georgina should have brought tumbling to the ground the castles in Spain that he had been building for the past week, but still worse that she should be building one herself on so obvious a quicksand. She had for so long been a sought-after beauty in the gay world of London that he could not believe that she would find contentment in a humdrum life, however pleasant a fellow this John Beefy might be; yet, knowing of old how self-willed she could be, he feared it most unlikely that she could be persuaded to change her mind.

  Still much disgruntled, early next morning he set out for London and by midday arrived at the Earl of Amesbury’s mansion in Arlington Street. The Earl’s tall, lanky son, Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel—known to his intimates as ‘Droopy Ned’ from the short sight which gave him a permanent stoop—was Roger’s closest friend. On enquiry Roger learned that his Lordship was at home but not yet down, so he went straight up to the suite that Droopy occupied overlooking the Green Park.

  Clad in a voluminous silk robe, Turkish slippers and a turban, Droopy was about to sit down to breakfast. Hungry after his twenty-five mile ride Roger gladly accepted his friend’s invitation to join him, and a footman was sent down for a second bottle of Claret.

  It was close on two years since they had met, so they had a hundred things to talk of and Roger had no secrets from Droopy. Between mouthfuls of Dover Sole, truffled Pheasant Pie and Pineapple grown in the Earl’s hothouses at Nor-manrood, he first described the coup d’état of Brumaire then the expedition to Egypt.

  Droopy showed special interest in the latter as, unlike the majority of the young nobles of the day, he took no interest in racing or gambling and abhorred blood sports. Instead, he collected antique jewellery, experimented on himself with strange drugs imported from the East and employed his good brain in studying ancient religions. This last had led to his forming an Egyptian collection, including a mummy, and he could not hear enough about the
archaeological discoveries made by the scientists that Bonaparte had taken with him on the expedition.

  At length Roger changed the subject to that of his current mission and, after he had been talking about it for some minutes, Droopy said ‘Naturally, the knowledge of Bonaparte’s offer and its rejection has not yet reached the hoi-poloi, but there will be a fine rumpus when it does. As for Charles Fox and his cronies, they can scarce contain their impatience to make capital out of it.’

  Roger raised an eyebrow. ‘You know already then of this business?’

  ‘Indeed, yes. These past few days it has been the main topic in the clubs.’

  ‘What is the general opinion in them?’

  ‘Some, like Billy Pitt, think it an attempt to trick us; the majority that the nation needs peace so badly that we should take a gamble on the Corsican’s intentions being honourable, provided the price he asks for peace be not unreasonable. From what you tell me that is the case; so it is a tragedy that his past acts have so prejudiced our Government against him that they’ll not listen to him now.’

  ‘In “prejudice” you’ve said the word,’ declared Roger bitterly. ‘They are so stuffed with their own righteousness that they’ll not concede even the possibility of a man they have condemned being capable of using for the good of all the power he has won.’