“How old?” Frances Jersey asked with disbelief.
“Mylateforties,” Roz amended.
“Mmm,verylate forties,” Frances murmured cattily.
Tony shot her a dirty look. “Have you not told Lady Jersey about your virile major?” she asked as a parting shot, before she escaped upstairs.
Frances turned to Roz with raised eyebrows. “Virile? Major?” she repeated all agog.
The corners of Roz’s mouth lifted mischievously. “He’s very dashing, in a militant way. At first I wasn’t too attracted because he’s bald, but, Frances, I swear to you, without his clothes he is the mostnakedman I’ve ever seen. It’s extremely stimulating.”
Frances was speechless. Rosalind was satisfied that she had paid her back for the earlier insult.
Tony escorted her grandmother to Almack’s and stayed as long as she could bear it. The thing that appalled her was the innocence of the young girls her own age. Actuallyinnocencewas a misnomer. The young women had been kept downright ignorant of the reality of the opposite sex and the ways of the world. When she could stomach it no longer, she made her excuses to Roz and decided to walk back to Curzon Street.
Tony hadn’t walked a block when she felt a creepy feeling as if she was being followed. She glanced back, saw nothing, but nonetheless quickened her pace. She chided herself that she was allowing her imagination to run riot. Her ears were pricked for any furtive footfall, but all she heard was her own labored breathing.
She forced herself to calmness and once more glanced behind her. She saw something that looked like the shadow of a man. Though she had been keeping all thoughts of Bernard Lamb at bay, he now sprang full blown into her imagination. She quickly crossed the street, because the other side was better lit. She tried to reason with herself. There was no possible way Bernard could know she had attended Almack’s tonight. Unless of course he’d been following her since her return to London.
She sighed with relief as she saw a group of young bucks ahead of her. As she got closer, however, she saw that they wore the striped pantaloons of the Zebras from Eton. They were drunk and rowdy and actually attempting to smash the gas lamps along the street. To avoid them she cut down Clarges Street, which led into Curzon. As she turned the corner, a wedge of fear filled her throat as a tall figure raised what looked like a swordstick. The scream lodged in her throat as she lurched away from him. Relief washed over her as the gentleman merely touched his hat with his stick in polite greeting and passed on.
Tony picked up her feet and ran the last few hundred yards to the front door of the town house. She didn’t bother finding her key, but hammered loudly upon the door until Mr. Burke opened it. He took one glance at Antonia’s white face. “Shall I fetch the bucket?”
Tony fell into his arms. “No, no, Mr. Burke, but I could use a brandy!”
Before she went to bed Antonia jotted down in her journal how she had allowed her imagination to take control of her. It acted as a purge and she climbed into bed, laughing at her own foolishness!
Two evenings later was the gala entertainment everyone, but everyone, had been looking forward to. It was a rout al fresco to be held at Vauxhall Gardens. It was to have everything—musical entertainment, a banquet, a dance, and a new play at the Vauxhall Theater, where the Prince of Wales’s private box was shaped like a huge, glittering crown. The pièce de rèsistence was to be a fireworks display, telling the story of the descent of Orpheus into Hades.
By dusk the crowds had begun to cross the Thames to get to Vauxhall, which was across from Westminster Abbey. A mist had begun to float in from the river, which only added to the danger of the public gardens. The ton found Vauxhall an adventurous and glamorous place of amusement because it was frequented by pimps and prostitutes.
Between the highest and lowest denizens of society were vast crowds who simply found the place an irresistible gaze. Tony met some of her acquaintances lining up for wherries to get across the river. She attached herself to their party for the sheer security of numbers. Philip Frances, one of Prince George’s younger friends, was probably closest to her own age and they struck up a conversation. It seemed, however, that all he wanted to talk about was dueling and Colonel Dan Mackinnon’s gun collection. Tony repressed a shudder and, when they arrived at the gardens, attached herself to Amoret and Sheridan.
The gossip was all about Prince George and Mrs. Fitzherbert. Amoret confided that George had been asking all his friends if they thought he could defy the King and marry without his consent. Most were dubious that it was possible because of the obnoxious Marriage Act that proclaimed a member of royalty could not wed without the King’s consent before his or her twenty-fifth birthday.
“Why don’t they simply live together for a few short years until he’s twenty-five?” Tony asked Amoret.
“Mrs. Fitzherbert prefers death to dishonor. Respectability is her god. But between you and me, she won’t let him fuck her until she’s the flaming Princess of Wales!”
“Haven’t they made love yet?” Tony asked in disbelief. “No wonder the Prince is filled with lust.”
“There’s only one cure for lust,” Sherry quipped. “Embalming fluid!”
“Blimey, this place invites lechery,” Amoret laughed, pointing down the walks bounded by high hedges and trees that led to secluded groves and grottoes.
Tony noticed that the mist was turning into fog and it gave the gardens an eerie atmosphere. The hundreds of lamps usually illuminated the whole twelve acres, but tonight the lamplight was dimmed by the patches of fog that floated over the trees and clung low to the gravel paths.
Tony caught a glimpse of a tall dark man with a flamboyantly dressed woman. It might not have been Adam Savage and Angela Brown, but it might just as well have been for the devastating effect it had on her. “It’s damp out here. Let’s cut through the pavilions and rotundas to get to the theater,” Tony suggested.
Some of the buildings were adorned with statues and paintings, while others were decorated by replicas of the sun, the stars, and all the constellations. The number in their party dwindled as many stopped at wine booths and others followed a marching band.
“Don’t you think we should dine before we go into the theater?” Amoret suggested.
Tony shrugged. “There’s such a crowd here, we’ll never get seats.”
“That’s true,” Amoret agreed. “Everyone will want a seat where they can observe the royal box as well as the stage.”
“All George wants is a private box at mons Venus,” Sherry quipped.