Virginia Henley (18 page)

Savage asked Tony if he preferred “ribbon-backed” or “ladder-backed” chairs for the dining room at Edenwood.

She bit her lip in indecision. The ladder-back was plainer, more masculine, but finally she told the truth. “My preference is ribbon-back. The style is French and exceedingly elegant. The interlocking ribbons are so beautifully curved, I don’t think you’ll find craftmanship anywhere in the world to compare with this.”

Savage took her advice. The dining room would be done by Chippendale. He ordered twenty-four chairs and
an oval twenty-foot dining table with matching sideboards and half-round serving tables. Since the dining room itself had curved walls to make the room a unique oval shape, the Chippendale table and ribbon-backed chairs would look like a match made in heaven.

It didn’t take long because Savage was a decisive man who knew what he thought beautiful and what he thought hideous. Tony found her taste ran along very similar lines to his. He wanted no elaborately designed commodes or Gothic torcheres. He wanted nothing decorated with intricate swags and urns. He passed up all the beds on display and exchanged a grimace with Tony over a pagoda-shaped, lacquered bedstead. Before they departed the shop, Savage bought mirrors, hall console tables, a pair of velvet-covered settees, and a small supper table with a couple of comfortable padded supper chairs.

When they left St. Martin’s Lane, Savage asked Tony if he’d like to visit the tea spitters in Mincing Lane, which was in the same area as the East India Company’s headquarters. When they got to Eastcheap, however, they had to push through the crowds that were following a cart on its way to Tyburn.

They gaped along with their fellow Londoners at the Yorkshire highwayman who was bandying words with the crowd on his way to be hanged. He stood in the cart beside his coffin, wearing a nosegay and bowing to the crowd of courtiers who offered him a flask of Dutch courage.

Tony stared at the well-dressed ladies and their escorts who were on their way to Tyburn for a bit of excitement. She shuddered.

“How can he make jokes when he is on his way to die?”

Savage shrugged and replied, “He must show game before the crowd.” His ice-blue eyes surveyed the pretty court ladies with contempt. “The English are every bit as uncivilized as the so-called primitive cultures.” He turned away. “We’ll never get to Mincing Lane in this crush. Let’s go and have something to eat.”

Tony nodded agreement and Adam led the way. They cut down Hanging Sword Alley and stopped at a place called Jack Ketch’s Kitchen. Tony viewed the tripe and trotters on display with alarm. Briefly she wondered if this place was on his list for
“making a man”
of his ward. Savage ordered them both pig’s feet and as Tony watched him liberally sprinkle them with salt and malt vinegar, she realized that he was enjoying himself.

Savage grinned at the pleasurable surge of nostalgia he experienced. “I used to eat here when I was a stripling. Couldn’t seem to fill my belly in those days.”

“Where did you live?”

Adam pointed, “Across the river. Come on, we can walk and eat.” As they sauntered down Lower Thames Street, Tony gathered her courage and began to nibble on the white, jellied trotter she held. It wasn’t nearly as repulsive as she had imagined, and after a few bites she began to chew without fear her stomach would reject it.

At Billingsgate Fish Market, Adam bought them paper cones filled with winkles. The stall supplied them each with a pin and Adam showed Tony how to pick the little blighters from their shells. By the river there was a pirate hanging in chains and a man in the pillory for publishing insulting pamphlets about the mad King.

Savage eyed the youth who strolled beside him. “Is this the first time you’ve been in this part of London?”

Tony nodded her head. Then she grinned. “It won’t be the last.” They bought something from every hawker they passed, meat pasties, black peas, roasted chestnuts, and hot cross buns. They were jostled by watermen, horse officers, foreign sailors, and drabs willing to hike their skirts for a penny. The whores would try to wheedle them; then, when they saw the men weren’t pigeons to be plucked, they shouted coarse cant after them. “La de dah, sorry wer not good enough fer yer bleedin’ Lordships!”

One cheeky-faced slut took hold of Tony’s arm. “Come wiv me, luv. I’ll suck yer duck till it quacks!”

Savage couldn’t help grinning at Tony’s discomfort. As another female approached, Tony tried to ward her off with his amber-topped cane.

“Polish yer nob, sir?” She winked.

Finally Tony burst out laughing at their outrageous suggestions.

“That’s better,” Savage approved, “there’s no call to look down your aristocratic nose at the whores of the docks.” Savage had an afterthought. “But never fuck one of them. Syphilis is rampant down here.”

Sheltered as she was, Tony knew more or less what
fuck
meant, but she was shocked beyond belief that Savage had used the word in a sentence to her. Did men use such language among themselves? She was dying to say the bad word herself and wondered what his reaction would be. “Who shall I fuck?”

Savage measured Tony with a glacial stare, wondering if he was being mocked. Then he realized Lord Lamb hadn’t the faintest notion who was fuckable and who wasn’t. Splendor of God, he was a milk-faced innocent!

“Most young men wealthy enough to have servants usually gain their first experience by tumbling a serving maid or their tenants’ daughters. Yours seemed willing enough. Here in London there are plenty to choose from. The fashionably impure are referred to as Cyprians or you can take your pick of ballet dancers or actresses. There are scores of abbesses who offer young novitiates for the edification of titled young men.”

“You mean nuns?” Tony asked with disbelief.

“Christ, of course I don’t mean nuns, not real nuns, that’s just a slang term for a girl in a high-class brothel.” Savage paused. “You do know what a brothel is?” he demanded.

Tony wanted to lie because she couldn’t bear Adam Savage to hold Lord Anthony Lamb in such contempt. “I haven’t a clue, but since you’re my bloody guardian, you’d better educate me.”

“This is thirsty work. I’ll buy you a pint,” Adam said, turning in at the Rainbow Tavern. “They used to have a fellow here who could sew with his toes,” he said, apropos of absolutely nothing.

The landlord pulled them two pints and they sat down at a table where they could talk. Savage took a deep draught of ale and wiped the back of his strong hand across his mouth.

“Once a man becomes sexually active, it’s almost impossible to abstain, and why should he abstain when there are so many willing partners? Now, I know you are not so naive that you don’t know most wealthy men keep a mistress.”

“Of course not. Roz says even married men keep a mistress tucked away somewhere.”

“The cost of a mistress can be prohibitive, especially to a young man like yourself, so there are houses, commonly known as brothels, where you pay the madam in charge for a female companion for an hour, an evening, or an all-nighter. You pay for her sexual services. In a high-class house the females are usually pretty, extremely inventive in ways to please a man, and most importantly, they should be clean so you don’t come down with a dose of the pox. London caters to every taste and pocket.”

“I see,” Tony said as a couple of things that had always puzzled her clicked into place. Her cheeks were warm but the subject fascinated her.

“Those women who tried to sell themselves were streetwalkers. It’s never a good idea to use a common whore.”

“I do know what trollops are, Savage. Around Charing Cross they are thick as fleas on a dog’s back. I was simply ignorant about houses of sin.”

Savage smiled at Tony’s prudish term. “The English are such hypocrites about sex.”

“As compared with people from the Indies?” Tony inquired.

“Compared with any! In France they are called ‘houses of joy.’”

Tony was irritated that Adam Savage was so familiar with such places. “I cannot understand what the attraction is. The girls are common, illiterate, and only want money. There are so many lovely, refined young ladies make their debuts every season.”

“The attraction is simple. It’s against society’s code of honor to fuck a debutante. They hold out for marriage.”

“That’s because of society’s double standard. Women cannot control their own destiny. They have no money, no power, they go from a father’s authority to a husband’s authority, if they are lucky enough to catch such an elusive creature.” She suddenly realized she was speaking as a female and shut her mouth.

Savage remarked dryly, “From what I’ve observed, husbands don’t wield much authority. Once a woman is married she’s fair game for fucking.”

“That is outrageous! Only a rake would pursue a married lady.”

Savage looked at Tony and spoke frankly. “There are a lot of sex-starved wives out there, and it is usually they who do the pursuing, I’m surprised you haven’t been seduced by a society matron or the mother of a friend.” Adam observed Lord Lamb closely. “Perhaps you go about with blinkers on, blind and deaf to the lures that are cast your way.”

Tony finished her ale, wiped her mouth as Savage had done, and said cynically, “Now that you’ve torn the veil of innocence from my eyes, I expect I’ll have a very full social life.”

“Let’s hope so,” Savage remarked lightly. “By the way, we are dining at Devonshire House tomorrow night. Perhaps we’ll both get lucky.”

By the time Tony came down to breakfast the next morning, Adam Savage had departed. Midmorning brought a footman with a note informing Lord Lamb that his guardian had moved into his own town house in Half-Moon Street, which was on the other side of Shepherd’s Market, closer to Green Park.

As Fenton gave Savage’s luggage to the footman, Tony could have kicked herself for not going through his belongings. He was such an enigma, she was wildly curious to learn everything there was to know about him. It was too late now, of course.

No sooner did the footman depart than Roz and Mr. Burke arrived. Tony was overjoyed to see her coconspirators; somehow they lent her confidence. They would both be able to advise her about socializing with the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire. When she contemplated dinner at Devonshire House, for one terrible moment she wanted to make some excuse why she couldn’t accompany Savage, but it soon passed. For one thing she couldn’t bear his look of contempt for not being courageous enough to attend, and for another here was her chance to make the debut into society she had been denied earlier. Admittedly it was as Anthony rather than Antonia, but wasn’t she experiencing everything for both of them?

When she thought about it she realized that impersonating her brother would give her a male perspective to which no other female would ever be privy. It was so risqué, her wicked juices began to bubble and she felt her excitement begin to rise.

After much deliberation it was decided that Tony would
wear the midnight-blue satin knee-breeches with white silk stockings and the newly purchased buckled high heels.

“The points on this damned collar are so high, they’ll poke my ears off,” she complained, while Mr. Burke, impressed by her swearing, patiently fashioned the snowy neckcloth into a waterfall. A powder-blue waistcoat buttoned across her breasts, flattening them, and the new white tiewig covering her own dark locks was fitted on. Then Mr. Burke eased her into the blue-and-gold brocade coat.

Roz observed her critically. “You need a snuffbox, darling.”

“No, I prefer cigars to snuff,” Tony said matter-of-factly, and Roz almost fell off her stool.

The powder was barely whisked from her shoulders before a footman was knocking upon the door to summon Lord Lamb to Adam Savage’s carriage. Her guardian was not one for small talk, so Tony kept a silent tongue on the ride to Devonshire House.

Enclosed in the dark carriage, sitting in such close proximity, Tony allowed her imagination to take flight. Instead of men’s knee-breeches and a tiewig she pictured herself in a deliciously feminine crinoline that showed off her tiny waist and upthrusting young breasts. She would be daring enough to paint her face and she would wear more than one provocative black patch. Perhaps she would place one upon a cheekbone to draw attention to her wide green eyes, or one at the corner of her rouged mouth to invite kisses. Even more daring would be one upon the curve of a breast to draw a certain man’s eyes inside her bodice. She flushed at her own risqué thoughts.

“I bought you something.” The deep masculine voice sent a shiver down her spine. The intimate setting invited exchanging presents for small favors of appreciation such as kisses.

Savage thrust something made of silver into her hands, which immediately transformed her into Anthony.

“A cigar case; how thoughtful,” Tony said faintly.

“It’s filled with my custom-made brand. If you prefer a milder blend, visit the tobacconist in the Burlington Arcade and order whatever you fancy.”

Savage gave both their names to the majordomo, who announced them with great pomp and circumstance. The raised heads and eyebrows were for the man who towered at Lord Lamb’s side.

Indian Savage wore his own black hair unpowdered. His linen was immaculate, yet stark in its plainness. He wore black; his only concession to fashion were black satin knee breeches. Even his stockings were black silk, rather than white.

The crowd in the drawing room was gathered about a young man and woman. Tony envied the beautiful girl her pale green gown of tulle. She was extremely animated, a born coquette, flirting outrageously with her fan, while her powdered curls bounced upon her daringly bared shoulders. The man with her was a glittering figure in his own right. He wore white satin knee-breeches, his coat was spattered with blue spangles and gold-braided epaulets. Though he wore a powdered wig, it was obvious that the handsome young man with the fresh complexion was fair and had the bearing of a hussar. As he turned to make a remark to the man beside him, Tony saw the flashing diamond star upon his breast and realized with a jolt that it was the Prince of Wales.

“Obviously this is to be a royal occasion,” said an amused voice, and she looked into Savage’s sardonic ice-blue eyes.

The next moment the Duke of Devonshire was greeting Savage with friendly familiarity. “I apologize that Georgiana is not beside me to greet our guests, but His Highness tends to monopolize her.”

“Your duchess is very lovely,” Savage complimented, and Tony felt like scratching out his eyes.

“She’s young,” Devonshire excused. “We live entirely
separate lives. Her friends at Carlton House bore me to tears, I’m afraid.”

So,
Tony thought,
that’s the infamous Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire. She has the most exciting salon in Court circles, yet she can’t possibly be more than a couple of years older than I.

Savage and Devonshire began talking politics almost immediately and Tony knew she was out of her depth. She watched as the people in the drawing room turned their attention from the Prince of Wales to Adam Savage. Although seemingly unaware, he drew every eye.

It wasn’t long before dinner was announced and Tony saw the women elbowing each other aside so that they could sit close to the rich nabob from the East. The Duke placed Savage on his right and Lady Isabella Sefton virtually pushed Lord Lamb aside so that she could lay claim to the chair on the other side of Savage. Tony silently wished them all in hell and moved to the opposite end of the table where the beautiful Georgiana held sway.

She fanned her eyelashes at Tony. “You have me at a disadvantage, sir.”

“Lord Anthony Lamb, Your Grace.”

She tapped him playfully with her fan. “My friends call me Georgy.”

“Mine call me Tony.”

“Ah, now I can place you. Your parents lived in Ceylon. You’ve only just come into your title.”

Tony realized how very astute she was in spite of her frivolous reputation. Everyone remained standing about the table and Tony realized the whole room waited for His Royal Highness to take his seat first. George and Georgie, however, cared not a fig for the other guests and kept them waiting with total indifference.

“May I present His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales? George, this is Tony Lamb.”

Antonia bowed with great ceremony and the Prince of Wales bowed back. Then everyone relaxed and began to
chatter at once. In quick succession Tony was introduced to the prince’s equerry, the Earl of Essex, and to the playwright, Richard Sheridan, affectionately called Sherry.

Finally Prince George decided to sit, and this was the cue for a great scraping of chairs. Tony waited politely, thinking to sit in whatever chair was left vacant, but His Highness took hold of his arm. “Sit by me. Tell me who the devil is that dark giant who arrived with you?”

For a breathless moment Tony couldn’t believe she was holding a conversation with the man who would become the King of England, and then a very curious thing happened. She suddenly saw him as a flesh-and-blood young man totally unsuited to the royal role into which he’d been born. He was playing a part just as she was, and it suited him no better. He was vastly immature; a boy, really, who looked as if he longed to be a dashing hussar when he grew up.

“His name is Adam Savage, Your Highness. He has just returned from Ceylon.”

“Is he a friend of yours?”

“Actually, he’s my guardian. Your Highness.”

“You lucky devil! None ever returned from the Indies without the wealth of a nabob. You can dip into his pockets when your own are empty. Damnation, sorry. Georgy darling, but everyone has someone to frank them save myself. Georgy here has Devonshire to bail her out of debt every day of her life. Do you know when they palmed Carlton House off on me it was in ruins? I’ve been forced to spend a fortune having Henry Holland rebuild it and just as it’s becoming habitable, I’m afraid I shall have to suspend further improvement for lack of blunt. I’ve commissioned Holland to build me a Marine Pavilion in Brighton. He has already employed a hundred and fifty workmen because I want it finished before next summer. Tis a disgrace that I, the Prince of Wales, have to resort to moneylenders.” He leaned toward Tony confidentially. “I’m in debt up to here,” he said, grasping hold of a powdered
curl at his temple, “and no prospect of repaying until the King dies.”

“George darling, I’ll play some faro with you after dinner. That should lift your spirits.”

The prince patted her hand. “Only if you promise to lose, Georgy darling.”

“I always lose. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Tony couldn’t believe the number of courses being served. After the soup three different courses of fish were served, then entrée after entree followed, each more delicious than the previous one.

“George, I’ve offered you fifty thousand pounds for your chef, Carême. All you need do to get money is sell something.”

“Georgy darling, you are so practical!”

Essex and Sheridan choked on their wine, but the prince continued with deep sincerity. “I wouldn’t part with my Parisian chef for a million. He is the only reason people kill to dine at Carlton House. I, too, have a reputation to maintain. I’ll have to sell something else.”

The Earl of Essex, ever the optimist amid gloom and doom, said, “Perhaps you’ll win at Newmarket next week, Your Highness.”

George shook his head sadly. “I went into obscene debt for my stud of thoroughbred racehorses. Now I can’t even afford to place wagers on them. They eat their blasted heads off, you know.” He turned to Tony with a brilliant smile. “Do join us at Newmarket next week, we’ll have a ripping time. Sherry is bringing little Amoret and my dearest friend, Charles Fox, is bringing Liz of course, so do fetch your mistress, she’ll be quite welcome.”

Tony felt her cheeks flush. The prince noticed immediately. “My dear fellow, don’t worry about Georgiana here, we can’t shock her. She’s aware of all our foibles while we know only half of hers.” Everyone laughed at his wit.

“Your guardian doesn’t keep you on too tight a rein does he?”

“No, Your Highness, as a matter of fact he takes a keen interest in horses. Looking to buy some. I believe. After dinner why don’t I introduce him to you?”

“By Jove, that would be sporting of you old chap. I’m always delighted to make the acquaintance of someone I’ve not yet borrowed from.” All the Whigs laughed.

By the time dinner was over and the ladies stood up to leave the men to their port or brandy, an unbelievable amount of food and drink had been consumed. Tony stood politely with the other men and watched the ladies retire. Now she thought with a little frisson of anticipation, was the opportunity of a lifetime. She was one of the few women on earth to have the opportunity to learn what men did and said when the opposite sex retired from the dining room. Tony almost fainted from shock. The first order of business was a scramble to open the sideboards and pull out the chamber pots.

Her eyes nearly popped from her head as over a dozen men reached into their satin breeches, pulled out their equipment, and relieved themselves with groans.

“Never had to piss so badly since the last time I sat in Parliament,” commented Sheridan.

“That’s because you drink too much. Sherry. I never start on the cherry brandy until the ladies leave the table.”

Tony lived and learned. Not only did she see that men came in different shapes and sizes, she learned they also came in many shades from mushroom through vermilion. She also knew exactly what the royal penis looked like. It was quite large with a pink head and sprang from a nest of golden curls. Tony blinked as His Royal Highness quite deliberately shook off the last drops before returning it inside his white satin inexpressibles. He then handed his chamber pot to the waiting footman and accepted a hand towel dipped in rosewater.

Tony accepted the brandy offered by a liveried footman and selected a cheroot from her cigar case. She knew her
cheeks were flaming and desperately hoped a cloud of blue smoke would cover her embarrassed stupefaction.

The conversation went over her head for the next few minutes as the liquor glasses were filled and emptied in rapid succession. Finally one or two curse words penetrated her brain, and realizing the men’s language had coarsened considerably now the ladies were absent, she began to listen more closely.

Lord Sefton approached the Prince, bowed formally, then, with that out of the way, lapsed into informality. “I’ve found out the name of the lady m’wife invited to the theater two nights ago, Your Highness.”