He was a simple man and very pig headed. His disastrous refusal to give his colonies in America a measure of self-government had led to their total loss; and his deeply religious scruples made him adamant in resisting all measures that would give equal rights to his Catholic and Nonconformist subjects. But he had gained the love of his people by his intense patriotism and the fact that he grew the biggest turnips in England-which had earned him the nickname of 'Farmer George'.
On the other hand, the Prince, now long known as 'The First Gentleman in Europe', was disliked and distrusted by both the nobility and a large section of the people. He was dissolute, a liar and a spendthrift of the first order. Again and again his mountainous debts had had to be paid, and his earlier morganatic marriage to Mrs. Fitzherbert a Catholic had been far from gaining him popularity.
As he loathed his father, he had done all he could to annoy him and, with that in view, made himself the patron of the Whigs. It was this, now that a Regency would again have to be proclaimed, that was causing great concern to the Tory peers; and, to protect their government, they were endeavoring to render the Prince almost powerless by hedging the Regency about with many restrictions.
It was not until towards the end of November that Roger saw Georgina again. By then Mrs. Marsham and Susan had been installed in Thatched House Lodge, and he was greatly enjoying having his pretty and cheerful young daughter in the house. But fairly frequently, when he accepted invitations to social functions in London, he spent a night or two with Droopy Ned.
On this occasion they had both been present at a dinner given by the Earl of Malmesbury at the Beefsteak Club, which he had taken over for the evening. The great diplomat, now retired, had been one of Roger's earliest patrons. He had become very deaf but, nevertheless, it had been an hilarious evening. Next morning Roger had decided to ride in Rotten Row. It was a pleasant autumn day, so quite a number of ladies were taking the air in their carriages. Among them was Georgina, looking as lovely as ever, her dark curls falling on the collar of an ermine cloak, and wearing an enormous picture hat crowned with white ostrich feathers. Catching sight of Roger, she jerked the string tied to her coachman's little finger, and her carriage pulled up.
11
The Trap
Roger's heart began to pound. He could not make up his mind whether he was glad or sorry to see her. But he could not ignore her beckoning hand. Dismounting, and with his horse's reins over his arm, he made a leg, then put one foot on the step of the carriage and, with a smile, asked:
'Well, how does it feel to be a Duchess?'
Georgina hesitated nervously for a moment before breaking into hurried speech, 'No different. But Roger, my dear, let's not talk of that. Oh, I pray you not to hold it against me, for I believed you dead. It seems that we are fated never to marry. I can only thank God that you are still alive.'
'I, too,' he agreed. 'Although for a while after I got back to England I wished myself dead. But does our meeting here not remind you of another occasion when we met by accident?'
'Why, yes!' she exclaimed, with a quick smile. ' 'Twas on this very spot that, in '89, we encountered each other after your return from four years on the Continent. How strange a coincidence.'
'It is indeed. What would I not give that we might roll back the years and again enjoy what followed our meeting.'
Her big eyes suddenly lighting up, she leaned forward and whispered. 'Roger, why should we not? I have always retained the little house on the height above Kensington village, for the sake of its studio. Let us meet there this evening.'
'There's nothing I'd like better,' Roger whispered back. 'But what of your Duke?'
She shrugged. 'The old fellow is still down at Newmarket. He no longer cares for London, and I made it a condition of our marriage that I should come here when I wished. I've been lying these past few nights at Kew House, his mansion in Piccadilly. It has a glorious view over St. James' Park, but for tonight I'll forgo that vista. Join me at our old haunt, dear Roger, no later than eight o'clock.'
Feeling a dozen years younger, Roger drove out that evening to Georgina's petite maison. In the old days she had used it not only to have painting lessons from Sir Joshua Reynolds and Mr. Gainsborough, whom she had incited to a jealous rivalry as her teachers; she had also secretly received there the beaux she had decided to pleasure.
Roger thought it unlikely that she would fail to bring from Kew House a supper of some sort; but, against the chance that she had found it awkward to explain a sudden demand for a picnic basket on a November evening, he had brought as a contribution two bottles of champagne, a cold roast duck and a Strasbourg pate that had recently been smuggled over.
Now dear Jenny, who for so many years had served Georgina as a personal maid and confidant, was happily married to an ex-bosun and living in a cottage she had been given on the Stillwater’s estate; so it was another buxom young woman named, as he soon learned, Harriet, who opened the door to him, took the valise he had brought and smilingly showed him in to her mistress.
Clad only in a silk chamber robe, Georgina was lying on a comfortable sofa before a roaring fire. Jumping up, she threw her arms about him and he drew her soft, yielding form into a tight embrace. When they had temporarily taken their fill of kisses, she bade him go into the bedroom and get out of his heavy clothes. When he returned he had on only his chamber robe. Taking her in his arms again, he pushed her back on the sofa, buried his face in her neck and let his hand caress her opulent thighs. She opened them to him, but only for a minute, then pulled his hand away. Her eyes were closed and her breath was coming fast, as she panted:
'Roger, you devil, desist. I vow you would seduce a saint, and I'm mightily tempted to let you have me here and now. But I'll not. Young Harriet will soon be bringing us our supper. She would be hard to shock, for I know my coachman to be her lover. Even so, I've no wish to let her see me half naked, my legs entwined with yours, and you up to the hilt in me. 'Tis not as though we had not the whole night before us.'
Roger laughed. 'Then, sweet, you'd best send for some cold water, so that I may reduce my manhood to more normal proportions.' But he let her go and rearranged his robe more decorously.
They supped beside the fire. Georgina was much amused by Roger's idea that she would even dream of giving an explanation to her chef on requiring him to produce food for her to take out of the house at any hour of the day or night. She had brought oysters, a hen lobster, a game pie and a pineapples as well as ample wine. Both of them had always had hearty appetites, so they tucked into this fine selection of good things until they were both belching between their bouts of laughter.
Over the meal Roger told her all that had befallen him since he had put her on to the frigate off St. Maxime. At his description of de Brinevillers lashed to the commode, with his nose only six inches above its pot, tears of mirth came to Georgina's eyes and she cried: