The Decadent Duke

by Virginia Henley

  Jane gave her daughter an approving glance.

  As soon as the portrait is done, I’ll go to Scotland and visit Father. I’ll beg him to return with me for my presentation at court. He likely won’t bother to come if I don’t cajole him. The thought that her father had little interest in her drained away her confidence and was replaced by an overwhelming vulnerability. She closed her eyes and made a wish. Now all I have to do is talk Mother into letting me go.

  “The bracken has already started to turn color.” Georgina gazed from the coach window, drinking in the unparalleled beauty of the Scottish countryside.

  Helen Taylor, the Scotswoman who had been her wet nurse when she was a baby, was her traveling companion. “Aye, the last half of August is still summer in London, but up here autumn is already painting the landscape and, come September, the nights will be verra chilly, ma lamb.”

  “We won’t be able to stay long. I gave Mother my word of honor that I would be back in London by the middle of September. That’s the only reason she allowed me to come.” That, and the fact that I promised to ask Father to pay for my coming-out ball.

  The coach driver maneuvered through the narrow streets of Edinburgh, where they planned an overnight stay before continuing to the Highlands. When he pulled up before the fashionable town house in George Square, a familiar manservant hurried down the steps and opened the coach door.

  “Welcome tae Edinburgh, Lady Georgina. His Grace didna’ tell me he was expecting ye.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Father is here?”

  “His Grace has business up on the rock, but he’ll be back afore long. Let’s get yer baggage inside and get ye settled.”

  Inside, Georgina greeted the housekeeper. “Would you order a bath for Helen, please? After that unforgiving coach ride, she needs a long soak in some hot water.”

  “Both me and ma old bones bless ye, ma lamb.”

  “A tot of whiskey wouldn’t be amiss, either,” Georgina directed. “I shall unpack for us.”

  When the Duke of Gordon returned, Georgina ran into her father’s arms. “I’m so happy to find you here in Edinburgh. It will save me that arduous journey to Castle Gordon. I ...” Her words trailed off as she saw the woman who accompanied her father.

  Jean Christie, Alexander’s longtime mistress, bobbed a curtsy. “Lady Georgina.”

  The plain female was meekness itself, exactly opposite to the flamboyant Duchess of Gordon. Her father had never hidden the woman, and Georgina had met her on many occasions, but today she was taken aback by the fact that she was ripe with child. Dear God, how many is this, the fourth or the fifth?

  “Please excuse me, my lady. I know ye’ll both wish to be private,” Jean said before she quietly withdrew.

  Georgina quickly tried to mask the dismay she felt. The Duke of Gordon was Keeper of the Great Seal of Scotland and often had official business at Edinburgh Castle, but surely he hadn’t taken his mistress with him. “You were up at the castle?” she asked.

  “Aye, while Jean was visiting the doctor. I brought her to the city while the weather is still good. Will ye no’ travel back to Castle Gordon with us? Ye can join me for the annual autumn woodcock shoot.” He noticed her suppress a shudder. “We’ll talk about it at dinner, my wee lass. Then ye can tell yer old dad what’s troubling ye.”

  As Georgina bathed her hands and face and changed her clothes, she realized that the joy she had felt at coming to Scotland to see her father had begun to ebb away. But she went down to dinner determined to keep disappointment from taking over.

  She was relieved that there was only the two of them in the dining room for the evening meal.

  “Ye look very grown up tonight, lass.”

  “I had my eighteenth birthday last month.”

  “Really? I canna keep track of birthdays.”

  Too many children by too many mothers, Georgina thought. “I just sat for my portrait wearing my court gown.”

  “Since I didn’t get ye a gift, I’ll pay fer the portrait. Who painted it?”

  “John Hoppner.”

  “Just like yer mother to pick someone expensive. Did he do a good job?”

  “Yes, I like it very much. It makes me look alluring.”

  “Isn’t the object of a debutante’s first portrait to make her look young and innocent?” he asked with a twinkle.

  “Convention would have it so, but then I come from a most unconventional family,” she said pointedly.

  “At least on yer mother’s side,” he agreed.

  “Don’t expect me to be disloyal to Mother. I love you both.”

  “And that’s how it should be, my sweet lass. Now, what’s upset ye enough to send ye running off to Scotland?”

  How the devil do I answer that? I can’t say that Mother will ruthlessly shove me on the marriage market and sell me to the highest title without sounding disloyal

  to her. “I realized this would be my last chance for a holiday before the winter season starts with a vengeance. And I also came to make sure you come to London for my court presentation to Queen Charlotte.”

  Alexander frowned. “Aye, well, that might prove a bit tricky. Jean’s bairn is due to be born in early October.”

  The disappointment Georgina had been holding at bay now flooded over her. Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed with difficulty. “I understand,” she said quietly.

  “Good lass. Now, why don’t we go trout fishin’ tomorrow in the River Esk? It’s not the Spey, but it’s the best around Edinburgh.”

  “I’d enjoy that, Father. I’ll bring my sketchbook.”

  “And I’ll wear ma kilt. We’ll have an early start, say five o’clock?”

  Georgina smiled. “I’ll be ready. I’ll ask the cook to pack us a picnic lunch.”

  Upstairs, she told Helen that she was going to bed early so she could be up at five. “I hope it won’t be difficult for you to be here without me. Jean Christie is here.”

  “Och, the woman is so self-effacing, she’ll present no problem to me, ma lamb. Does she make ye feel uncomfortable?’’

  “No, no, not really. I was just taken aback when I saw she was having another baby.”

  Helen nodded with understanding. “What canna be cured must be endured.”

  "Vou are a wise woman.” Georgina sighed. “Good night, Helen.”

  During the course of the next fortnight, the Duke of Gordon and his daughter enjoyed countless hours together. They fished in the River Esk, went sailing in the Firth of Forth, and played golf. Her father had a kilt made for her in black-and-white Gordon plaid, along with a bonnet and a black velvet doublet. He bought her a sterling silver brooch fashioned like a thistle with a huge purple amethyst at its center.

  When her father went to Holyrood Palace on official business, Georgina accompanied him. It was a place that fascinated her because of its compelling atmosphere. As always, she went to the chambers that had been occupied by Mary, Queen of Scots, and stared at the bloodstain on the wooden floor where Mary’s husband, Darnley, had reputedly been murdered.

  So much misery has been caused by the adultery of husbands and wives. I don’t want a marriage like you had, Mary. Nor do I want a marriage like my own parents have. Georgina closed her eyes and made a fervent wish for a husband who would love her so deeply he would never look at another.

  Alexander took his daughter to a popular oyster cellar in the Cannongate, where the famous fiddler Neil Gow played, and the Scottish dancing began at ten o’clock sharp. To honor the Gordons, who had long been his patrons, Gow played a strathspey that the duke himself had written.

  “Oh, I wish Neil Gow could come to London to play at my coming-out ball,” Georgina said wistfully.

  “So yer mother is throwing one of her fancy balls, is she? Ye’d better warn her not to stick me wi’ the bill.”

  Georgina tried not to feel hurt at his blunt words, but she didn’t quite succeed. He was one of Scotland’s wealthiest nobles, and could well afford a party to celebrate the deb
ut of his youngest daughter. But I’m not his youngest daughter—he has others who are not legitimate. Is it possible he loves Jean Christie’s children more than he loves us? She quickly pushed the thought away. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Georgina Gordon!

  After two weeks she could tell her father was itching to get back to his Highland castle and his autumn woodcock shoot. Georgina bade him a fond good-bye as she and Helen Taylor boarded their coach to go back to London. It had been a bittersweet visit, though she had thoroughly enjoyed the activities she and her father had shared.

  She had made numerous sketches of him, and she was gratified that he wanted to keep them all. She did keep one she made while he was fishing in the River Esk. As the carriage bowled along at a brisk pace, she took out the drawing and examined it.

  “This sketch of Father reminds me of someone,” she told Helen. “Who the devil can it be?”

  “The duke is an authoritative figure, yet extremely handsome with his black hair blowing in the wind.”

  Georgina suddenly knew whom her father brought to mind. John Russell, Marquis of Tavistock! Though younger, the surly sod is an authoritative father figure with jet-black hair. Damnation, I wanted to frame this sketch and hang it in my bedchamber, but every time I look at it, I shall be reminded of the old man. She quickly thrust the offensive likeness back into her drawing case.

  "V’m happy to see you are a young lady of principle. You said you would be back by mid-September, and here you are!” Jane said. “I shouldn’t be surprised ... You take after me in every way.”

  “Father was in Edinburgh, so I was saved a long journey.”

  “Really? What was he doing in Edinburgh, pray tell?”

  Georgina had more good sense than to mention Jean Christie. “I believe he was visiting Edinburgh Castle and Holyrood Palace in connection with his duties as Keeper of Scotland’s Great Seal.”

  “I see. And did the great man agree to pay for your coming-out ball, by any remote chance?” her mother asked dryly.

  “Father offered to pay for my portrait.”

  “As he should. I already informed Hoppner that the Duke of Gordon would foot the bill. What about the expense of the ball?”

  Georgina did not repeat his warning about sticking him with the bill. “I’m not even sure he will be able to come to London for my presentation at Court.” In fact, I know he won’t!

  “Hmph! Other fish to fry, I warrant.”

  “He no doubt has pressing business matters.”

  “Funny bloody business, if I know the Cock o’ the North!”

  Georgina laughed. Funny bloody business indeed. If I didn’t laugh, I’d cry.

  “Well, now that you are back we must not waste a moment. I’ll send a note around to Madame Chloe and ask her to come tomorrow. You must be furnished with an entire new wardrobe, Georgina. I shall do all in my power to make your Season a spectacular one. I warrant it will be the best investment I will ever make.”

  Georgina’s emotions hovered between resentment and resignation. Successful Seasons are measured by marriages, not fancy gowns and balls. She sighed. Ah, well, as Helen wisely said, what cannot be cured must be endured. "“I shall put myself entirely in your hands, Mama.”

  After she unpacked and hung her things in the wardrobe, Georgina took the sketch she had made of her father from her drawing case. She stared at it long and hard.“ was just being fanciful. It looks nothing like John Bloody Russell!”

  She had made a sketch of her brother, George, in his colonel’s uniform. She removed it from its frame and replaced it with the one of her father. She hung it up on the wall, and stood back. Alexander, Duke of Gordon, Cock o’ the North, his hair blowing in the wind, stared back at her. Georgina fingered the silver and amethyst thistle pinned at her throat. You do love me! I know you do!

  Next morning, Georgina sought her brother in the breakfast room. “Hello, George. I need a special favor from you.”

  “Anything for you, Georgy. What is your pleasure?”

  “This morning I have to consult with Madame Chloe about my new wardrobe, but this afternoon I would like to go up in the visitors’ gallery at the House, and I need an escort.”

  “Ah, got your eye on someone, have you?” he teased.

  “Of course not! Louisa and I visited regularly to listen to the speakers. I take a keen interest in politics, George.”

  He ignored her denial. “Better not set your cap for someone in the House of Commons—only the members of the House of Lords will measure up to Mother’s standards.”

  “Since both Houses are now back in session, I shall visit the Lords next week, if you will be good enough to escort me.”

  Jane came into the breakfast room. “There you are, Georgina. Madame Chloe has just arrived.”

  George winked at his sister before their mother dragged her away to be measured, fitted, and pushed, pulled, and pinned.

  Though it was traditional for young debutantes to be gowned exclusively in white, Georgina insisted her new wardrobe must contain some color.

  She knew exactly what shades complemented her dark hair and creamy complexion. Pale hues of peach, primrose, lavender, and green were most flattering. When her mother objected to the vivid peacock Georgina lusted for, she compromised and agreed to a sheer white overskirt that would mute its brilliance.

  She needed fans and slippers to match every outfit, as well as cloaks and capes, some of which were edged with swansdown or white fox fur.

  “I have a coiffeuse coming this afternoon. You definitely need a couple of new wigs and some jeweled ornaments. I shall be fitted for a new one myself, while she is here,” Jane declared.

  “Sorry, I’m going out with George this afternoon.”

  Jane did not argue with her daughter. If George were with his sister, he would be safe from the man-eating females who ran shamelessly after him. “I’ll have the coiffeuse come tomorrow.”

  Georgina, garbed in her best walking dress of cream linen with a summery hat adorned with flowers, matched her steps to her brother’s as they made their way to the House of Commons. “It has occurred to me that Mother’s obsessive determination to give away her daughters in marriage does not extend to her only son.”

  “Her possessiveness is fanatical. She has interfered in my life every bit as much as she has in yours and your sisters’. Of necessity, I have learned to be secretive about my interest in the opposite sex. Mother put an end to every relationship I sought if the young lady were suitable, and shoved me into the arms of females who were highly unsuitable, if you get my meaning.”

  Ves, I do. She encourages your rackety life, hoping to keep you sated with pleasure so that you will never marry. She believes that no lady breathing is good enough for you.”

  “Well, of course she’s right,” he teased.

  Georgina grinned. “I’ve heard you referred to as the Prince of Wales of the North.”

  “A most unflattering comparison. Prinny must weigh at least ten stone more than I do.”

  Georgina’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “s there a special young lady you are secretly interested in?”

  He winked. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret.”

  They climbed the stairs and entered the gallery, which wasn’t too crowded today. There were one or two wives present to listen to their husbands, and a few male heirs viewing their fathers below on the floor of the Commons.

  Georgina did not take a seat, but stood at the rail and looked down. She saw him immediately. He was the only member of parliament not wearing a wig, and his black hair stood out in stark contrast to the white powdered heads.

  Her glance moved to Mr. Pitt, who stood on the floor with a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Though we successfully put down the attempted Irish rebellion, we must not be complacent. If solutions to the religious and political problems in Ireland are not found, malcontents will try again and again to overthrow the monarchy. I firmly believe the only answer is a union of Great Britain and Ireland.”r />
  Loud shouts, both agreeing and disagreeing with the prime minister, broke out. And it took a few minutes for order to be restored.

  Georgina watched John Russell get to his feet. He did not need to climb on the bench to be noticed. He was a head taller than most members.

  “The house recognizes the honorable member from Tavistock.”

  John Russell spoke without notes, and his deep, somber voice carried easily to the gallery. “Mr. Prime Minister, honorable members. You are well aware that my vote is for full Irish independence.”

  Cheers and jeers met his words.

  Unperturbed, Russell continued. “Since most of you are still living in the Dark Ages and will not even consider this, I would throw my weight behind Prime Minister Pitt’s suggestion of an Act of Union, providing . . . providing we allow Catholic emancipation.”

  Once again there were cheers and jeers.

  Pitt held up his hand. “Irish Catholics have been permitted to vote since 1790, but any bill allowing Roman Catholics to become members of parliament will be blocked by His Royal Highness, King George III. I remind you we serve at the pleasure of the king.”

  “The king is mad!”

  Georgina couldn’t tell who made the shocking declaration, but pandemonium reigned as members banged their shoes on the benches.

  Charles James Fox got to his feet and held up both arms. The members quieted so that he could be heard. “Once again, I humbly propose a Bill of Regency.”

  His words were met with laughter and cheers from his fellow members of the Whig opposition.

  Mr. Pitt responded. “We are aware of the honorable Member’s ambition to become prime minister of this House. Sadly, I cannot accommodate you at this time.”

  John Russell’s deep voice rose above the mirth. “It is no laughing matter that ninety percent of Irishmen are excluded from sitting in the Irish parliament because they are Catholic. And you are right, Mr. Pitt—we do serve at the pleasure of the king. But I respectfully remind you that the king serves at the pleasure of the people.” The entire House broke into applause.

  Georgina hung on to his every word. I find the man himself detestable, yet I totally agree with his sentiments.