Royal Revels Read Free

unfortunately, so confused in his mind that he no doubt has only the vaguest memory of those days, if he has any memory at all,” the prince answered with a very sly smile. Was he planning to claim a spoken agreement by the king?
    “Surely the consent must be formal and written,” Belami said, but he had, in fact, no idea if this was the case.
    “We are wallowing in details,” the prince said impatiently. “The fact is, Maria and I married in good faith before God and the wedding is morally valid and binding. Are we to put man’s laws before God’s? These ‘acts’ can be managed as King Henry VIII was obliged to do. Not that I mean to say I want a divorce. Nothing could be further from my mind. I want only the right to call my true wife my wife,” he said with a noble attitude.
    “What about Princess Caroline?” Belami inquired, carefully avoiding the words “your real wife.”
    The prince lifted his hands and hunched his shoulders.
    “That is another detail to be worked out. Some honorary title and a settlement must be made.”
    “What has brought you to this decision?” Belami asked, guessing he had only seen the tip of the iceberg.
    “It is not for myself,” the prince assured him. “No, it is for England and for my son.”
    “But you don’t have a son; you have a daughter,” Belami said, almost beyond rational thought. He felt as if he had fallen into a nightmare.
    “I do have a son, Belami!” the prince declared, wearing the reckless smile of a gambler. “I have, and I have found him. Maria had him shipped off to America, never telling me of his existence, the naughty girl. You must know there were periods of regrettable disagreement in our marriage. For long periods I didn’t see Maria, and it was during one of these that our son was born and shipped off to America.”
    Belami held his face under tight control. One did not laugh or scream at a prince. “What is your son’s name?” he asked, but he already had a good notion of the reply.
    “He goes by the name of Mr. Smythe—George Smythe. You understand the significance of this?” he asked, staring hard at Belami.
    “Is it that George is your own name?” Belami asked in confusion.
    “Just so, and Maria’s maiden name was Smythe. Fitzherbert was her second husband’s name. It proves, in my mind, that George Smythe is my son. But you must see him and judge for yourself. He has Maria’s eyes, I think, with something of his father’s hair and physique.”
    Belami heard a strange ringing in his ears. Had poor old Prinney finally gone completely mad like his father? What could be in his head to be rooting about in the past, unearthing such mischief? What did he plan to do with his real wife, the king’s cousin, and with his daughter, Princess Charlotte, the most popular woman in the kingdom? Did he actually think his subjects would sit still to see her consigned to illegitimacy?
    “I speak of my youthful physique, of course,” the prince was saying when the ringing in Belami’s ears stopped.
    “Is he here now?” Belami asked.
    “Ah, no, McMahon and some of my advisers thought it wiser to leave him in Brighton till I get these few details ironed out.” Ridding himself of a wife and daughter and repealing two acts of Parliament were sunk to “details.” Certainly the man was mad.
    “Might I see Mr. Smythe when I go to Brighton to take care of the other business?” Belami asked. He was eager to get away now and talk to Colonel McMahon.
    “I hope you will look him up. He isn’t well connected with the right sort of chaps because of being raised in America. I would take it as a personal favor if you would befriend George. Show him his way around society. You will be a very proper model for him, Belami. We admire your style,” the prince said with a smile and a bow of his head.
    “I’m eager to meet him.”
    “It will be best if you not tell him you act on my request. He will be more at ease if he thinks you just a friend and