“And that’s you, I suppose?” asked Anna, snidely.
“I did not say that. I only am of the opinion that I can convince the duke to help us leave the country.” Amelia pressed her fingertips together straining the joints. “The duke made me feel more like his daughter than my father ever could.”
“Why don’t ye marry him then?” asked Anna, snickering.
“Anna, stop trying to sabotage this discussion,” hissed Amelia.
“I am sorry.” Anna stopped pacing up and down and sat down on the bed. She cradled her head in her hands and sighed.
“If you really don’t like the idea of involving the duke then we must think of something else. And very little comes to mind other than just running off,” said Amelia, eying her friend in the mirror.
Anna lifted her hands and sighed again. “I do not like the idea of involving the father of the man you are supposed to marry – no, I definitely do not like that idea. But, you are also a very good judge of character and I trust you.”
“Thank you, Anna. That means so much to me. I trust you too.” Amelia smiled for the first time that day. “We will make it back to America; I know it.” She got to her feet and walked over to Anna and sat down on the bed next to her. She took her hand. “You do believe that, Anna?”
Anna turned her head until she looked her friend in the eyes. “Aye, I believe it. It was enough trouble getting to know the blokes. I had a dream that we would meet them. So, why would God rip us apart after all that to not to let us get back together again? It just doesn’t make sense.”
Amelia chuckled. “As always Anna, you hit the nail right on the head.” The expression on her face soon darkened. “Had I only not been such a stubborn old donkey, we might still be over there with the men we love.”
“Don’t ye ever blame yerself for it. Ye couldn’t have known. Also, it is a lot more difficult for ye,” Anna paused in an attempt to find the right words, “to act normal.”
Amelia pleated her brow. “You don’t think I am normal?”
“No, I do not. Had things been different, I would have continued working here and found some bloke to marry me and that would have been that; we would’ve loved one another, and it would’ve been all right.” She rolled her eyes theatrically. “Ye, on the other hand, have all of these rules to follow. No wonder ye didn’t know what hit ye when ye started to have all of these feelings for Jonathan. It went against everything ye were brought up to believe.”
Amelia relived the moments she had spent with Jonathan. Anna was right. She did not know what was happening to her. It had crept up on her in a clandestine fashion. Before she knew it, she had kissed Jonathan back. She had tried to resist, but her feelings had gotten the better of her. Thinking back, she would have it no other way.
“All right then. The Duchess of Waverly’s ball is tomorrow. I am almost certain that the duke will be in attendance. I will approach him and state my case.” Somehow, Amelia no longer felt as certain about that course of action.
“I suppose we will know then,” said Anna, placing her arm on Amelia’s shoulder.
“I of course will not mention anything about you. This is my sacrifice. If I fail to convince the duke, then we will have to find a way to get you to America without me,” said Amelia, her jaw firming.
“No, I will not leave you. It is my duty to remain by your side.”
“As a lady’s maid maybe, but not as my friend.”
The expression on Anna’s face hardened. “No, I will not leave you to the wolves,” she repeated. “It is my duty to endure. That is what friends do.”
“Look, you owe it to Jake to do everything in your power to return to him. You made a promise,” said Amelia. “And besides, what kind of a friend would I be to deny you your happiness because I failed to secure mine…if there are to be any casualties, then it shall only be me.”
Anna reflected for a moment. “We will both make it back to America or not at all. And that is my final word on the subject.”
Amelia could’ve cried. Anna’s fortitude and loyalty astounded her. In a way, she had expected nothing less from the tenacious Scotswoman, but hearing it spoken out loud meant so much more. Maybe, we should escape after all? What if I am wrong about the duke? I will ruin both of our lives.
“Of course, those two laddies could make it easier for us by turning up here and whisk us away to safety in their arms. Why do we have to do all of the work, eh? If they are gentlemen, shouldn’t they be fighting for us?” Anna squeezed Amelia’s hand. “I think we should be patient.” She snapped her head in Amelia’s direction. “When is the wedding to take place, anyway?”
“There is no fixed date yet,” murmured Amelia.
“Exactly! These big events take time to prepare. I think we should wait it out a little more. Nothing good comes out of being hasty…what do ye think?”
Amelia nodded. “You are right. We shall only take drastic action when the wedding date is set. Before then, we wait it out. We could, of course, write them a letter and say that we are well.” She had so much to say to Jonathan, but she did not know where to begin.
“Yes, I agree. And you did say that the Americans and the British are currently entertaining the notion of conducting negotiations in Ghent.”
Amelia dipped her head. “The duke mentioned as much during luncheon. The fact is not supposed to be common knowledge, but he told me nonetheless.”
“Good, that is that. We will write our men a letter…”
“All right, Anna. Fetch the quill, ink, and paper. We shall begin,” said Amelia in a tone that did not broach argument.
Chapter 22
The Duchess of Waverly’s Ball
London, England, May 1814
There was a flurry of colorful activity in front of Waverly House. Anyone of importance had been invited to the ball. It was even rumoured that the Prince Regent himself was in attendance. Naturally, the famous ‘Dandy Club’ consisting of the regent’s closest friends and confidants would also grace the occasion with their presence. The most celebrated member of this illustrious group was of course Beau Brummel, a man who many claimed thought himself more important than the regent.
“Isn’t this exciting, Amelia,” chittered her mother. Her frame shuddered lightly in imitation of a race dog before the race. “And to be in the company of your charming fiancé. Oh, you are so lucky, Amelia. You will be the envy of the entire ball.”
“Yes, the ladies will go pea green with envy,” said Lord Templeton French, dripping self-importance. He helped his future mother-in-law out of the carriage. His behaviour was worse than usual, if that were even possible. Lord Templeton French had not uttered a word to his betrothed the entire carriage ride over from the Carlyle’s’ home, preferring to devote all of his attention to Amelia’s mother.
Amelia watched them exchange some more verbal waste. They had spoken of nothing other than the upcoming picnic hosted by another illustrious family the following Sunday. She felt trapped in a gilded cage that would only become more constricting the longer she remained in it. Amelia could’ve screamed out loud. She prayed Jonathan would somehow miraculously appear and whisk her away from these people.
Lady Carlyle, 1st Baronet of Windom, looked rather spectacular in her empire-style dress made of shimmering silk. Mother had insisted the garment be in white so as to display the family’s wealth. The color white soiled so easily and was difficult to clean, meaning that the dress had to be replaced at a considerable expense after usage.
As she was engaged to be married, Amelia no longer had to look as demure as a debutant. Her long flowing dress, also in the empire style, fluttered with gossamer finesse around her slender frame. It was in light green. Usually, Amelia loved the color. However, its appeal had somewhat waned since her mother constantly insisted that she wear it because of her eye color.
In her hand, she held a fan. It was hand painted and made of ivory and with elements of gold. Amelia snapped it open and shut in a staccato rhythmic moti
on. This subconscious gesture spoke of her demeanor, for the language of the hand fan spoke a thousand words. What she was currently doing denoted the fact that she considered Lord Templeton French cruel. All she had to additionally do was draw it through her hand to tell the man that she hated him.
As usual, Lord Templeton French was impeccably attired in a fashionable dark suit. A stylish red cravat was wrapped around the starched neckline of his white shirt with elaborate flourish. Amelia did not recognize the knot. Most probably, it was another one of Beau Brummel’s designs – the man invented new ones on a daily basis.
“I can’t wait to see how the duchess has decorated the ballroom this time,” said Amelia’s mother. She had already interlinked her arm with Lord Templeton French’s. The two of them started to make their way to the elaborate portico belonging to Waverly House. Amelia and her father followed in their wake. She was happy to be with her father rather than the insufferable lord. She worried that there would be plenty of opportunities to spend time with him during the ball. She hoped that Lord Templeton French would consider their situation the same as that of a married couple, for two people in such a union hardly danced together at formal functions.
Amelia pressed her lips together. She hated it when her mother behaved as if she had been a member of high society all of her life. She had never been to the duchess’s London residence before even though her behavior denoted the contrary. Papa was wealthy and now he held the title of a baronet but that was in no way enough to get an invitation to this ball. It was all down to the fact that Amelia was the betrothed of the Duke of Brandon’s son.
Secretly, Amelia prayed that the old duke would be in attendance. She thought of her talk with Anna the other night. In a sense, she still partially disagreed with her friend. She believed that the duke would help her if she told him everything, including the fact that she was engaged to Jonathan. In her heart of hearts, she was certain that he was a nice man who would do the right thing when he was faced with the decision. However, they had decided to be patient and that is what Amelia would be.
“This is rather grand,” said Amelia’s father as they stepped into the enormous building.
In typical Palladian fashion, Waverly House consisted of a corps de logis flanked by two service wings. Somehow, the severity of the design of the three floors that appeared almost box-like caused Amelia to think the structure resembled a warehouse.
However, it was said that Waverly House was one of the earliest of the great 18th-century townhouses in the city. This was evident because at this time the design of a large townhouse was almost identical to that of a country house of the same period. From her extensive studies of architecture, Amelia knew that the building’s main purpose was to project wealth and consequently power. Waverly House did that with bravura.
The inside was far more impressive than the exterior. In the foyer, stairs led up to a piano nobile. It was the only room that rose through two storeys, creating the sense of endless ceilings. Inconspicuous pairs of staircases were tucked away into modest sites at either hand, for the upstairs was strictly private. Enfilades of interconnecting rooms, of which the largest space was devoted to the library and flanked by more central halls that adjusted the traditions of the symmetrical Baroque state apartments. In a sense, it was a design that did not lend itself to large gatherings.
When Amelia, still with her father, reached a suite of connecting reception rooms circling a central top-lit stair hall, she gasped. It was magnificent – before her was the most elaborate staircase she had ever seen - they then flowed in a convenient circuit at the end of the ballroom.
The staircase conveyed guests directly to the piano nobile from a low entrance hall, in a newly created recess formed by creating a bow at the centre of the rear garden façade. Now she knew why the people that had visited Waverly House referred to it as the ‘Crystal Staircase.’ It had a glass handrail and newel posts. It amalgamated perfectly with several of the principal rooms, that together formed a part of a vast and heavily gilded ballroom. It was like being in a fairy-tale.
“There is the Duchess of Waverly,” chittered Amelia’s mother. “She has gotten rather plump as of late.”
Amelia rolled her eyes as she continued to walk into the centre of the ballroom. All the while, her mother and Lord Templeton French continued to gossip about the other guests. Her father remained silent. When they came to a halt by the side of the dance floor, Amelia’s father pointed discreetly at a group of men conversing. “That would be the ‘Dandy Club,’” he said.
Amelia let her gaze float over the large hall. The first dance had not yet been announced so the guests milled about chatting. “And the Prince Regent is with them,” she said matter-of-factly.
“He invariably is,” answered her father in a disinterested tone. His avaricious eyes looked for more lucrative prospects. Amelia knew that he was in the hope of finding a politician or some other person to further his business interests. When he laid eyes on someone, he said, “Will you be all right, Amelia. I have to go to the French ambassador. Now that the war is over, he will be looking to establish commercial ties with us.” He did not wait for a reply.
Amelia watched him glide over the ballroom to his prospective target. It always astounded her how devoted he was to his business. Nothing, not even her mother, would get in his way when he scented profit. Another glimpse in her mother’s direction proved that she was just a vehicle for her design. Lord Templeton French was in the process of introducing her to the Duchess of Waverly.
“Bored already, my dear?” said a familiar voice.
“Your Grace, I hoped you would be here,” said Amelia to her future father-in-law. She smiled at him warmly.
He chuckled. “Even I have to make an appearance occasionally. Balls aren’t really something I enjoy, but my wife insists on it.” The Duke of Brandon pointed discreetly at an attractive woman in her fifties conversing with some ladies. “Too many inflated windbags in attendance at these events,” he added.
Amelia smiled. “My betrothed appears to be in his element.”
“Ah, yes. That would be because he still has so much to prove.”
To Amelia, it seemed that the duke was disappointed with his son. In that moment, she wanted to tell the duke of her plans. She wanted to open up to the sweet man and tell him all about Jonathan. Then, Anna came to mind. She had promised her that they would be patient.
“Come with me, my dear. There are some interesting people here at least,” said the duke. “Let me introduce you. When you are married to my son, the likes of them will be life-saviours during those lengthy and very boring banquets. They always have a mind to be entertaining.
Amelia inclined her head and interlinked her arm with his. She let him guide her in the direction of the group of men she had watched with her father before.
“Ah, Brandon, I see you haven’t forgotten your best friend.” said a haughty voice that bade no argument. It belonged to a man who invariably got what he wanted.
“I would never forget you, Your Royal Highness,” said the Duke of Brandon, bowing his head slightly.
“Quite…and who is this charming lady you have with you,” he raised his hand to forestall the duke, “no, do not say anything; we are acquainted are we not?”
Amelia had trouble hiding her surprise. The regent remembered her from the knighting ceremony. She curtseyed. “Yes, we are, Your Royal Highness. You rescued me from some rather tedious business talk during my father’s adoubement last year.”
“Yes, I recollect. How could I forget such a lovely young lady? Your beauty shines like a beacon in this otherwise drab environment…no man could overlook you,” said the regent, looking pleased with himself. “So, this is your future daughter-in-law, eh, Brandon?”
“Yes, this is the lovely Amelia Carlyle, Priney,” said the Duke of Brandon, using the regent’s sobriquet.
The pudgy man’s face lit up. His cheeks seemed to take on an even redder flush. “Your son is a luck
y man, Brandon. Any one of these rogues would love to court such a fine lady. Fortunate for you, Amelia, that your mother kept you so well tucked away for they are notorious scallywags.” The Prince Regent swept his arm over the waiting ‘Dandy Club’ theatrically.
In the group was: William Arden, 2nd Baron Avanley, Sir Henry St. John-Mildmay and Henry Pierrepoint and of course the notorious Beau Brummel; together they formed the ‘Regency Bucks,’ which was another sobriquet for the grouping.
They were all men dressed in the finest style. The black or navy-blue tailcoat was of course de rigueur at one of these formal gatherings. Under them a white silk waistcoat descended below the tailcoat covering the top of the trouser. Each man wore a crisp linen shirt and black shoes with silver buckles or laces. The only way they really distinguished themselves was with the neckcloth. Avanlay had opted for black silk, Mildmay, yellow, Pierrepoint, green, and Brummel sported a daring cloth in pink.
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