Lady of Passion

by Freda Lightfoot

  March came in as a cold month with several falls of snow, which found me ill in bed suffering from the influenza and feeling very sorry for myself. But then I heard that the colonel was back in town attending more rounds of parties and masquerades.

  ‘Tarleton has rented a house in St. James’s Place and picked up two race horses which he has named Adrastus and Antiquity,’ my good friend Fox cheerfully informed me. ‘He is often seen about town wearing his Legion uniform, particularly at his old haunt, The Cocoa Tree. He has also fallen in quite naturally with Whig friends who like to gather at Brooks’s.’

  I did not much care for the sound of this. Gambling had grown into a pet hate of mine ever since my experiences with Tommy, although Georgiana and Fox himself were notorious enthusiasts of the gaming tables, which so far as I could see did them no good at all. ‘I’m sure what the colonel does with his spare time is of no concern of mine,’ I loftily remarked, even as I itched to know more.

  ‘I’ll keep you informed,’ he chortled, accurately guessing my thoughts.

  However, by the end of March, Lord North, the Prime Minister, had resigned over the debacle of the American War of Independence. Desperately trying to hang on to the colony had cost the country dear, both in money and in lives. The king took ship to Hanover for a while, to escape the fallout.

  ‘Shelburne may be the king’s favourite but I’ll make damn sure he can never form a government,’ Fox railed. ‘The fellow may count himself a Whig, but not one I would follow. Rockingham should take office, and bring into effect the reforms we badly need.’

  Thereafter, my fat friend was too busy electioneering to concern himself over my trifling affairs.

  I, of course, was the talk of the town as not only Reynold’s portrait, but two others by Gainsborough and Romney were exhibited at the Royal Academy in April, resulting in much comment on which artist, if any, had best managed to capture my likeness. The Gainsborough, it was thought, did not succeed half so well. But none of my portraits were believed to do justice to my beauty. I was deeply flattered and, it would appear, more in demand than ever.

  Tarleton’s own portrait brought forth more mixed reviews. In the background Sir Joshua had painted the colonel’s horse, plus a flag and smoke from the battle. Peter Pindar, the satirist, called it ‘distinctly Trojan’ implying it looked wooden. He was clearly unimpressed while I stood before it in dazed admiration.

  ‘Do you approve?’ The soft voice in my ear melted my insides to water.

  I took a moment before turning to smile into those bewitching brown eyes. ‘Sir Joshua is a superb artist and can make even the dullest subject look presentable,’ I quipped.

  He chortled with delight. ‘You never disappoint with your wit, dear Mrs Robinson. May I say that I find your own portrait quite enchanting.’

  ‘Only quite?’

  His gaze moved slowly over my face, studying my pinked cheeks, the blue of my eyes, lingering longest over the curve of my mouth. ‘I prefer the flesh and blood to the painted version.’

  I was struggling to capture my breath. ‘There seem to be many people here who would not agree with you.’

  ‘But they are not standing where I am standing. Do you not find the crowds somewhat overwhelming? Would you care to take a walk in the park, and enjoy a little fresh air?’

  Smiling into his eyes I rested my hand upon his arm. I would have followed him to the ends of the earth, had he asked.

  The walk led to a drive in Hyde Park, and then to dinner, not only on that afternoon but on numerous occasions in the weeks following. Malden, who rather took my fidelity for granted, never queried where I spent the hours we were apart. Yet I was wary, knowing this double life could not continue for long. Ban Tarleton excited me as no other man ever had, so when he offered me supper in his rooms in Hill Street, I did not hesitate to accept. I wanted him.

  If supper was served, we neither of us noticed it. The moment the servant withdrew I fell into his arms. There was a frantic quality about our coupling, a desperate need to tear off clothing, to dispose of whatever prevented the melding of our bodies. He had seduced me with his sardonic glances, by the touch of his fingers as they would brush lightly upon my cheek. Now he took me in very truth and for the first time in my life I knew what it was to burn with sensual desire, and to be filled by a man. I felt as if I were a part of him, that we were one flesh. We could not get enough of each other, and wrong as it was, I felt no shame. Maria Elizabeth was fortunately staying with Mama for a while, and Malden held no rights over me. Tarleton’s bed was where I belonged, and somehow or other I meant to stay in it.

  Our feelings for each other could not be denied. We were lovers, more than lovers judging by the depth of the emotion between us. Every moment that I could escape my official protector, I spent in Tarleton’s bed. Oddly enough, Malden accepted the colonel’s presence in our lives without question. Rather as he had once accompanied Tommy and me, or come on outings with the prince, now the threesome was a different equation. Malden, Tarleton and myself would often attend masquerades, balls, and the theatre together.

  ‘I love the theatre,’ Tarleton admitted. ‘I used to tread the boards in an old playhouse with a company of officer friends. We formed our own theatrical group whose motto was “We act Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”’

  I laughed, finding the idea of soldiers performing rather amusing, never sure when to take him seriously. ‘What kind of plays did you put on?’

  ‘Oh, major works such as Duke or No Duke,’ he said, resolutely straight-faced as I laughed all the more. ‘Together with a little Shakespeare, of course.’

  ‘I do wish I’d seen you act. I’m sure it would have been hilarious.’

  ‘Would that I had seen you at Drury Lane,’ he softly murmured.

  ‘Ah yes,’ Malden agreed. ‘Mrs Robinson was a veritable star shining in the firmament, most definitely worth seeing.’

  The pair of them were firm friends by this time, often going off to The Cocoa Tree or Brooks’s together, the latter having earned a notorious reputation as a gambling hell as well as a gossip shop for Whig politicians. They got along famously and loved nothing more than to play jokes upon their friends.

  One day they brought me word that a rake by the name of Pugh had made offensive remarks about my reputation, and had offered twenty guineas for ten minutes’ conversation with me.

  ‘By “conversation”, does that mean what I think it means?’ I asked, instantly suspicious.

  ‘That is what the poor fellow imagines,’ Tarleton agreed, with a merry twinkle in his eye. ‘We thought we should grant his wish, in view of his comments against you.’

  ‘I heartily agree.’

  Grinning broadly, the pair of them scurried off to shortly return with the scoundrel in question. The three of us settled ourselves in comfort, politely inviting him to join us. I set my watch upon the table by my chair, and ignoring my two comrades directed my conversation entirely to Mr Pugh. Looking bewildered, as well he might, he offered little by way of response beyond the odd strained comment.

  Glancing at my watch again, I smiled. ‘Ah, sadly our ten minutes is up. Thank you so much for calling, Mr Pugh. I so enjoyed our conversation.’ I did not forget to relieve him of his twenty guineas.

  But we could not go on in this fashion. It seemed to me that the only decent thing to do was to openly confess to Malden about this tumultuous event that had taken place in my life. Cheating was not in my nature. I had fully intended to do so, perhaps it was the fact I was worrying so much about how to approach the issue that I failed to notice a phaeton bearing down upon me while out driving in Hyde Park, always jammed with traffic. Before I realised what was happening, my small chariot had been overturned. I knew nothing more until I woke in my own bed in the house in Berkeley Square. But it was not Malden who sat by my side, holding my hand. It was Tarleton.

  ‘I thought I had lost you,’ he cried, the moment I opened my eyes.

  ‘Never,’ I said, managing
a weak smile. It was at that moment I noticed my protector standing in the doorway. I quickly squeezed Tarleton’s hand. ‘Leave us, please,’ and taking the hint he tactfully withdrew.

  Perhaps I had underestimated the depth of my good friend’s attachment, but I could see at once that he was deeply hurt at having discovered our attachment.

  ‘How can you be so foolish? He’s a good enough fellow, I’ll admit, but he’s a soldier. He will never be faithful to you, Perdita, never wait upon your every wish and need, as do I.’

  ‘Malden – George – I never asked you to wait upon my every wish, but please forgive me for I cannot help myself. I believe I am falling in love with him. I have never felt this way before. I’m very fond of you, dear George, as you know, but I think I love Ban Tarleton. He is my life now.’

  Anger sparked in him, an emotion I had rarely seen before in my patient lord. ‘He will be the ruin of you. You know that he only seduced you on the strength of a bet?’

  I felt the blood drain from my face. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘He would ask about you as we tossed the dice for hazard, or played faro. I made our situation very clear, that you were my mistress, that we were a faithful, devoted, contented couple. He seemed to think that amusing and said no demi-rep was entirely faithful. He bet me a hundred guineas that he could seduce you. Not only that, but once having used you, he would then return you to me.’

  I felt sick. ‘You lie!’

  ‘If you do not believe me, ask him. He seemed to imply that women of your sort, a courtesan, are happy to share their favours.’

  My cheeks, my hands, my entire body burned as if with a fever, and yet I was shivering with cold. Every surface of my skin prickled and itched, my heart pounding with pain. ‘I do not believe you!’

  How could I? Such a claim, if true, would destroy me.

  ‘Very well, you have made your feelings perfectly clear, Perdita. I will leave you to your war hero.’

  Malden moved out that very day, having already generously signed the house over to me in a bid to offer me some security. However, he made no offer to pay the rent, not that I would expect him to, but a house of this size, in prestigious Berkeley Square, would be quite beyond my means to maintain alone.

  My most pressing concern was to speak at once to Tarleton. He was not at his lodgings, so I sought him in the most likely spot, The Cocoa Tree, and there he was, deeply absorbed in some game or other. I strode right over.

  ‘May we have a word in private?’ I asked, not wishing our personal business to be overheard by the gawping onlookers gathered about the table.

  He barely glanced at me. ‘In a moment, Mary, I’m rather tied up at present.’

  It was almost an hour later before he could tear himself away from the game and give me his undivided attention. As we strolled through Green Park I informed him that my relationship with Lord Malden was at an end. My outward calm masked a rage and fear that was building inside me with a terrifying force, and I finished my account by asking the question that was burning into my soul.

  ‘He tells me that you seduced me for a bet. Is that true?’

  He paused, swivelling about to laugh in that merry boyish way of his. I had already discovered his fun-loving nature, that he was outgoing and sociable, a true party animal who loved a good joke. These practical japes, his ease and self-confidence, might irritate at times, but he also possessed the most gentle manners and a charm that could inspire great loyalty, not only among his friends but with his men, who had saved his life more than once.

  ‘It was but a prank, Mary,’ he confessed.

  ‘A prank! You took me to your bed for a prank?’

  ‘No, I took you to my bed because I wanted you. The prank was upon your protector. Don’t tell me you care for that overdressed peacock?’

  ‘That is not the issue, but you clearly won the bet, so I dare say that is the most important thing so far as you are concerned.’ And turning on my polished heels, I stormed off. I could hear him calling after me, but I did not even look back. I was done with Ban Tarleton.

  My pride, as ever, had led me to make such a stand, but however justified, I’d never felt more miserable. Looking back over my life I felt I had suffered more than I deserved from the betrayal of men who claimed to love me, from my father to Tommy, to the prince, and now the man I already thought of as the love of my life. Not that the colonel had spoken of his feelings towards me in quite those terms, but he had certainly implied them by the crackle of fire that had ignited between us from our very first meeting. Yet he was as bad as all the rest.

  I knew in my heart that parting from him was the right thing to do. Gambling to excess could destroy lives, and taking up with another such as my beleaguered husband would not be a good idea, although who did not dabble in this day and age? It was a national passion, an obsession.

  I felt utterly bereft. How could this man have become so important to me in such a short time?

  Cast adrift without a protector of any sort I turned to my friend Charles James Fox for help. He too was a gambler, and a drinker, as were all my Whig friends. Fox claimed once to have gambled from Tuesday night until Friday with no sleep, taking time off only to debate in the House of Commons. He’d apparently won thousands in a game of hazard, only to lose it all again plus several thousands more in the process.

  But he was a caring, open-hearted man, ever ready to give a friend a helping hand. He gladly leant me a sum to tide me over, even though I knew his own finances hovered on the brink of bankruptcy.

  On the first of July when Rockingham died suddenly, Fox was up for consideration as a candidate for the premiership, which did not surprise me. First elected to Parliament for Midhurst in Sussex back in 1768 at only nineteen, he was a most able and popular member, and a skilled orator. He had that rare facility to see the good in people, making them feel important and wanted. People warmed to his charms because they saw him as modest and caring, simply because of the time and attention he gave to them. How much of this was genuine and how much political was hard to judge, but it was in complete contrast to the gambling, dissolute side to his character, ever his downfall.

  The king, however, chose to appoint the Earl of Shelburne, whereupon Fox instantly resigned from his position as Foreign Secretary. I, and his other friends, attempted to console him, and calm his anger.

  ‘It is not the first time, nor probably the last that I will be obliged to resign from government. I do not regret supporting Rockingham and shall now throw in my lot with North.’

  Sheridan issued a mild warning. ‘Have you considered that were you to set aside your quarrel with the king, and this political manoeuvring, the rewards that come with high office might prove beneficial to your high gambling debts?’

  ‘You know that money, dear fellow, has never swayed me.’ He laughed. ‘A man of honour must live by his principles, even if his wit, and skill at the cards, frequently fail him.’

  Fox’s dispute with the king had not been helped by his strong friendship with His Majesty’s eldest son. He acted rather like a father-figure to the young prince, one he was more willing to accept in that role than his own. For this reason alone, Charles James Fox seemed the very person I needed to help me.

  ‘Twelve months from now His Royal Highness will come of age, and I know how long these matters take to negotiate. More than ever I need His Highness to honour the bond he voluntarily gave me.’ I handed the papers to Fox. ‘The £5,000 staved off my creditors but did not cover all the debts I had accrued on the prince’s behalf. I must think of my future security, and that of my daughter, having lost my career for his sake.’

  ‘I’m sorry you have been treated so poorly by His Royal Highness. I would have you know that the problem is not of George’s making.’

  ‘Oh, I do realise that. He was ever kind to me, and only relinquished me under pressure from the king.’

  ‘I fear the entire Hanoverian tribe is ruled by the Royal Marriages Bill. I was against it
as my own mother’s family disapproved of her marriage to my father. I believe a person has the right to marry whoever they choose, which sadly did not endear me with the king. I was obliged to resign from the government on that occasion too. I took my revenge, however, by befriending his son. But as I have no other pressing claims upon my time at present, you can safely leave this matter with me, Mrs R,’ he said, kindly patting my hand. ‘I’m quite sure something can be arranged.’

  Since Fox was so willing to devote himself entirely to my campaign, I gladly agreed to put myself at his disposal to drive him about town in my pony phaeton. He had, in any case, been obliged to give up his own carriage, and indeed his house due to bankruptcy proceedings brought against him. But I had no hesitation in offering him accommodation, as he was a good friend to me, and was willing to pay for the lodgings.

  He loved to stand at my window, railing at his rival Shelburne who lived in Landsdowne House opposite, easily visible from this vantage point. ‘You don’t mind my standing here, do you, Mrs R? Only I like to keep an eye on what the fellow is up to, his comings and goings, don’t you know.’

  The local press were likewise keeping an eye on Fox and myself, reporting on our own ‘comings and goings’ which were not at all complimentary.

  The Morning Post, as ever, was most critical, claiming Fox was wasting his time and talents ‘on the turf, in gaming houses, and sacrifices to the Cyprian Goddess’.

  The suggestion being that we were engaged in an affair.

  ‘Why they always make that assumption is wearying,’ I sighed, as I wrote to the paper a strongly worded denial that our friendship was anything other than ‘perfectly political’.

  Nevertheless, gossip continued to be rife, claiming Fox was ‘languishing at the feet of Mrs Robinson’, or calling me the ‘Harlot of the Day’ and Fox a ‘kept man’, while lampoons and cartoons set about demolishing the pair of us. One, called Perdito and Perdita – or – the man and woman of the people, was a caricature showing me holding the reins as I drove him about town.