Read Online Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series) by Jean Plaidy - Free Book Online Page B

a dangerous pace, for the Prince liked speed. He was a man of contrasts, for while he would spend hours with Lord Petersham discussing the shape of shoe buckles, the cut of a coat, the material most suited to a neckcloth, the excellent idea of having one’s snuff boxes to match one’s ensemble and the season, he could also take a turn in the boxing ring, for he practised fisticuffs regularly under the skilled tuition of a certain Angelo, who also taught him to fence. He could sing pleasantly, dance well, was at ease in the saddle and could write fluently and with grace. He could join in an intellectual discussion and shortly afterwards be indulging in an infantile practical joke. With his gifts he should have been an ideal son; but with his indiscretions and his waywardness he gave his father many a sleepless night.
    He was not thinking of this as he rode to Brighton, his mind was on a subject which was never far from his thoughts: Women. The situation at the moment was satisfactory enough; there was always comfort in numbers, he had discovered. The most agreeable time had been when Grace Elliot and Lizzie Armistead shared his attentions. Grace had been something of a romp, never attempting to be faithful and making no pretence about it. He was by nature sentimental, but just having escaped from Perdita at that time Grace with her frank unabashed attitudes had been just what he needed. There had been a daughter which might have been his – or one or two other men’s – but Grace had christened the child Georgiana, which was a nice touch since she made no demands. Now she had gone to that Frenchman, the Duc d’Orléans, who was resident in London for a while. Good luck to Grace; she wouldn’t need it, for she would always know how to look after herself. He had heard that Orléans made her a handsomeallowance. She would deserve it, for Orléans was an ugly fellow who suffered from a horrible skin disease which made his hair fall out and his skin a hideous colour.
    And Lizzie Armistead? There was a fascinating woman. Lady’s maid at one time to none other than Perdita, and it was at the house in Cork Street that he had met her; but others had seen her first. Charles James Fox for one. Trust Fox to pick out a winner among the women. If only he could do as well at the races he would be a rich man. As it was, he was in constant financial trouble. Not that it worried Charles as long as he kept his grip on politics. He’d be Prime Minister one day and he wouldn’t have a more faithful friend and supporter than the Prince of Wales. That – and Lizzie. What more could he want?
    Lizzie had gone back to Charles and he was living with her now in her house at Chertsey, the house she had managed to acquire through her own skilful management of her affairs. It was funny. There was Charles, the son of Lord Holland, and at one time the possessor of a fortune, several times bankrupt, now living on the bounty of the lady’s maid who had saved enough from her generous lovers – the Prince included – to put into a little house in Chertsey where the most brilliant politician of his day should have a refuge.
    Lizzie and Charles were two of his best friends. What interesting, amusing and exciting people. How different from the household at Kew, with his sanctimonious father, his dreary mother, his poor sisters who had never had – nor would ever have if his parents had any say in their upbringing – any chance to enjoy life. How could poor Charlotte, Augusta, Elizabeth and the rest know anything about the brilliantly gay, the witty and amusing outside world and people like Charles and Lizzie, Richard Sheridan the playwright, Edmund Burke the philosopher, Georgiana the brilliant leader of fashion, beautiful and witty. Poor little Princesses wilting away at Kew when there was the world to be explored.
    He thought of Lady Melbourne with whom he had liked to fancy himself desperately in love. He had always wanted to be seriously in love;