‘If there is a coronation. The whole thing is like to turn into a huge farce and make the King look more ridiculous than ever.’
‘So Papa said, but it will make for a very interesting Season, don’t you think?’ she said, with a mischievous smile. ‘Just think of all those people who have not been to town for years and years, all bringing wives and daughters, who will doubtless wish to be amused.’
‘You think they will come to see your play?’
‘I do not see why not. You never know, you might find yourself a bride among them—’
‘Heaven forbid!’
‘Why not? You know it is high time you married.’
‘Oh, Vinny, not you too. It is bad enough having Little Mama giving me jobations over it without you adding to it. I will marry when I am ready. And for love.’
‘No, really?’ She laughed. ‘For love? Who is she? Do tell…’
‘Certainly not. And you have no reason to roast me. I collect you had a Season two years go that cost the Duke a fortune, and you turned away every eligible who so much as hinted he was interested.’
‘It was not fair to encourage them when I had no intention of accepting them, was it?’
‘But why not accept one of them?’
‘For the same reason you have given. I will marry when I am ready.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘When I fall in love.’
‘And how will you know when you are in love?’
It was a question which had occupied Lavinia ever since her come-out, but one she could not satisfactorily answer. Her friends and contemporaries seemed not to be able to answer it either, notwithstanding that many of them were already married, some even with families. ‘I shall know,’ she said airily, rinsing out her brush, then changing the subject abruptly, added, ‘You have not told me why you are here.’
‘Do I need a reason? I heard you had arrived in town and decided to pay a call.’
‘A mere courtesy call, then. I will tell Stepmama you came. She is out shopping.’
‘I wanted to see you too. I have something to show you.’
‘What is it?’ She turned from her work to face him and a spot of paint-stained water flew from her brush, narrowly missing his pantaloons.
He stepped back adroitly. ‘Vinny, put that brush down or you will ruin my clothes and then I shan’t tell you anything.’
She did as she was told while he picked up one of the cloths from the table and bent to clean the watery paint from the toe of his boot.
‘Come on, James, let me see.’
‘Go to the window.’
She hurried across the polished floor to one of a long row of windows that looked out over the street. The road was busy with the usual traffic of carriages and riders going about their business, but immediately below the window was the carriage James had arrived in, its pair of matched horses being held by a young urchin to whom he had given a copper or two. ‘Oh, James, a high-perch phaeton! Have you just bought it?’
‘Yes. Do you like it?’
‘Oh, I must look at it properly.’ She whipped off her apron and hurried from the room, down the grand staircase, across the tiled floor and out of the front door, followed by a smiling James.
‘My goodness,’ she said, stopping beside the phaeton. ‘Those wheels must be at least six feet high.’
‘So they are.’
‘But it is a horrid colour. Yellow and black is far too ostentatious. It’s the colour a newly rich industrialist would choose to flaunt his wealth.’
He laughed. ‘Probably because I bought if from a newly rich industrialist. He turned it over and his wife made him get rid of it, said it was dangerous.’
‘And do you think it is dangerous?’
‘Not in skilful hands. Would you like to come for a ride in it?’
‘Now?’
‘Why not? You can leave that painting for an hour or two, can’t you?’
Lavinia did not hesitate. She was always ready for mischief and the thought of parading in Hyde Park, head and shoulders above everyone else, amused her. ‘I will go and change. Wait for me in the drawing room. Ten minutes, no more.’ She was dashing back up the stairs to her bedroom before she finished speaking, leaving him to amble slowly into the drawing room to wait.
She was back within the stipulated time, dressed in a blue taffeta carriage gown and matching pelisse, her unruly curls tamed under a fetching straw bonnet trimmed with blue ribbons tied beneath her chin. That she should have been chaperoned did not cross her mind, or, if it did, was immediately dismissed on the grounds there was no room for more than two in the carriage; anyway, James was like a brother.
He helped her climb up into her seat, sprang up beside her, flicked the reins and the horses began to trot steadily towards Piccadilly.
‘It’s like being on top of the world,’ she said. ‘Papa had a high-perch once, but he didn’t keep it long. When he married Stepmama and little Freddie came along, he decided it was no longer a suitable conveyance. I only ever rode in it once; he said it was vulgar and unstable and he didn’t know why he had been persuaded into buying it.’
‘Perhaps I should not have asked you to accompany me until we had asked him.’
‘We could not.’ She paused, watching him skilfully negotiate the turn into Piccadilly. ‘He is gone to the Lords and like to be there all day. He is being asked to give his advice over the question of the Queen’s coronation, though I wonder at the haste. The Prince Regent—I mean the King, I keep forgetting—has been married to Caroline and living apart from her for years. Why has he left it until now to do something about her?’
‘Because, in case it has slipped your attention, my sweet, she has arrived back in England expecting to be crowned with him. And he is determined that will never happen.’
‘How is he going to prevent it?’
‘Divorce her, I suppose.’
‘But his behaviour has been every bit as bad as hers. Would he dare risk it?’
‘I suppose he thinks the risk worth taking. If he can divorce her, he might remarry and beget an heir.’
She laughed. ‘But he is too old and fat, surely?’
‘He might not think so. And who else is there? His brothers have not been exactly helpful in the matter of legitimate heirs, have they? Plenty of little Fitzes, but none the law can recognise.’
‘There’s the late Duke of Kent’s baby.’
‘Victoria, yes. But she’s a girl.’
‘So what?’ she said sharply. ‘The only reason women are considered inferior is because men have made them believe they are. And I am not the only one to think that. Stepmama believes it too, as you very well know.’
He laughed as they turned in at the gates of the park and turned along the carriage ride. ‘Vinny, are you looking for an argument?’
‘Not at all, unless you are dying to give me one, in which case—’
‘Argue with you! Never! It is more than my life is worth.’
‘Good, because I want you to let me drive.’
‘Certainly not!’