‘That’s all very well for you,’ Victoria retorted acerbically, eyes snapping with wrath. ‘You didn’t have the little beast rip apart two of your best hats, bite quite the best cook you’d ever employed, and then crown his iniquities by urinating upon the poor Prince of Wales during a morning call.’
‘It didn’t.’
‘I assure you, it did,’ Victoria insisted, sternly repressing a smile. ‘You should have seen his distress. A new coat, too.’
‘So that’s why Hay’s pet was sent into exile. But you needn’t worry. I doubt even Hay could induce Mr Astley to sell him a zebra.’
‘A zebra?’ Victoria echoed warily.
‘Yes, a zebra. That’s what makes an outing to Astley’s imperative. Or possibly, the imperative arises from the fact that your neighbour’s son has been bragging about having seen the zebras already.’
An outing with the children suited George’s needs perfectly at the moment. It would keep her out of her house, and make it impossible for Dauntry to corner her. The busier she kept herself, and the less she was home, the better.
Eventually this feeling would pass. The urge to kill him would fade. The desire she felt for him would disappear. Eventually…
So, it was with determination that she set off with them two nights later, accompanied by both Alençon and Aubrey’s godfather, Bennett. Bennett had given her a sympathetic look when he’d joined her in the Morpeths’ drawing room, but he’d held his tongue. If he’d pleaded his friend’s case she wasn’t sure what she might have done, but odds were it wouldn’t have been suitable in front of the children.
Upon entering Astley’s Royal Amphitheatre, they were met by the proprietor himself, Mr Philip Astley, and ushered to a prime box. The duke clapped his old friend on the shoulder in greeting, and was assured by him that he would be back at the end of the evening’s entertainment to lead them backstage for a special treat. Alençon winked at George as he took his seat, and they all settled in for the show.
The night began with a much reduced Romeo and Juliet performed entirely by poodles that had Bennett in stitches. By the end of the performance he—along with a large number of others—was howling right along with the dogs.
Across the dog-filled arena, a sudden movement caught George’s eye as the dogs were herded out to be replaced by a troop of ponies that danced the gavotte. While the ponies circled and pranced, George stared blindly past them at the Marquess of Tregaron entertaining the Bagshotts.
The curtain at the back of the box moved aside and George wrenched her gaze away. She didn’t need to see Dauntry playing the doting bridegroom. Her stomach—not to mention her temper—wouldn’t be able to handle it.
Down in the arena trick riders, little more than boys themselves, were leaping on and off cantering horses, standing on their backs while they galloped round the ring, doing backflips off them to thundering applause. Beside her Hay shook with excitement, while his little brother stood in his seat, only Bennett’s restraining hand locked onto his coat keeping the boy from tumbling over the railing.
The promised zebras finally arrived, accompanied by female trick riders, their forms scandalously displayed in extremely brief costumes with only fleshings to cover their lower limbs. The boys’ eyes widened, and the adult men leered. Throughout the theatre, gentlemen sat up and took notice, perhaps for the first time all evening.
A titter rose up from the gallery below, and the sound seemed to twist around her throat. George took a deep breath, inhaling the mingled scents of horse, sawdust, and the unwashed masses.
They weren’t laughing at her, but it felt as though they were. She clenched her hands in her lap and refused to give in to the urge to glance back across the arena, to look for Dauntry.
The show culminated in a mock Roman chariot race with teams of dogs harnessed to miniature chariots driven by monkeys. They careened around the track, completely out of control, until there was a tremendous crash that caused the grooms to rush out into the arena en masse.
The spectators erupted into partisan shouts as the grooms struggled to rein in the chaos in the arena. Bets were furiously laid, children shrieked a high-pitched accompaniment to the monkeys. Bennett kept a hand locked on Aubrey’s coat.
When the chariots had disappeared—two of them being ignominiously dragged from the arena still attached to madly barking dogs and scolding monkeys—the crowd began to clear. George kept her attention solidly on Hayden and Aubrey. The younger boy had begun to wilt in his chair. He rubbed at his eyes with his fist and yawned.
George gathered him up, pulling him into her lap. He burrowed into her, rubbing his face against her like a puppy.
Mr Astley returned to invite them to join him for a tour. The boys were allowed to pet the zebras, while Bennett and Alençon flirted with their riders. Hayden flashed her a cheeky smile. No doubt his nemesis, Ned Arden, would be hearing all about this on the morrow.
Chapter Fourteen
The Marquess of T— is reported to have stormed out of a recent performance of Hamlet. Can it be that there is something rotten in more places than Denmark?
Tête-à-Tête, 11 December 1788
A footman let down the steps of George’s well-sprung traveling coach, the thunk as each step unfolded loud in the quiet morning street. He handed George up into the coach and helped her new maid, Ellen, in after her. Caesar leapt in after them and immediately disposed his bulk across the entire back-facing seat.
Ellen smiled indulgently and squeezed in beside him, allowing the dog to rest his head in her lap.
It had been raining, sometimes snowing, on and off overnight. The molten sky seemed to threaten a renewed attack. There was a loud, echoing boom as her final trunk was strapped to the boot and the coach lurched into motion.
George tucked the fur carriage rug more tightly about her and set
