Royal Revels Read Free Page A

not an emissary.”
    “Yes, that might be best,” Belami agreed. “I’ll go and find Colonel McMahon now,” he said, then began bowing himself out.
    “You’re a fine fellow,” the prince proclaimed, chatting amiably from his chair as Belami inched away. “A dashed well-cut jacket you have got on. We must take George to meet Weston, what?” A glass of wine teetered in his fat pink fingers.
    Belami got out the door and closed it behind him. It was not only the infernal heat of the chamber that caused him to wipe a film of perspiration from his brow as he went in search of McMahon.
    The colonel was awaiting him around the first corner. “I judge by the blank look on your face that His Highness has let you in on it,” McMahon said in a sardonic way. He was a tall man with a military bearing and a down-to-earth manner.
    Belami shook his head, dazed. “Where can we go to talk in private?” he asked.
    McMahon led him to his office and poured him a glass of wine. McMahon leaned his shoulders back against his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. “The cat sits poised to swoop amongst the pigeons,” he said in an ominous voice. “You’re an intelligent man, Belami. I’m sure the consequences of such rashness as we anticipate are clear to you. The prince is barely able to hang on to his position by the skin of his teeth as it is. If he takes it into his head to inflict Mrs. Fitzherbert’s bastard on the populace as their ruler, there will certainly be a revolution.”
    “Is it true then? Is Smythe her son?”
    McMahon sat silently for a moment. When he spoke, he said, “I don’t honestly know. There’s a superficial resemblance. Fitzherbert could have had a son and had him shipped off to America.”
    “Hasn’t anyone asked her?” Belami inquired in astonishment.
    “This is entirely a new turn. Smythe only fell into favor during the New Year’s festivities at Brighton. The prince has written to Mrs. Fitzherbert, but she hasn’t answered his letters in years. She sends them back unopened. Actually, she wouldn’t have received the latest yet. It was sent to London from Brighton, and when we arrived here we learned that she had gone out of town for the holiday. She had her house closed up. We haven’t been able to find out where she has gone. She lives quite out of society nowadays. But it makes little difference whether Smythe is her son or not. He’s illegitimate in any case.”
    “True, but if he’s not even her son, it will be easier to turn the prince away from this folly,” Belami pointed out. “It sounds like a ruse to me.”
    “If you’re fingering Smythe as a rogue, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. He was more surprised than any of us. He makes no claim to being of royal blood. It’s all Prinney’s idea.”
    “Does he not have a set of parents?”
    “No such luck. He’s an orphan. A nice, simple lad, good-natured. It’s the coincidence of his name being George Augustus Smythe that did the damage—along with a certain physical resemblance.”
    “Half the male population of England bears the name of the royal princes. That’s pretty flimsy,” Belami said doubtfully.
    “Their last name isn’t Smythe,” McMahon pointed out. “I feel partly responsible myself. I am the one who brought them together, quite by chance.”
    “How did you happen to meet Smythe?” Belami asked with quick interest.
    “He came to England last autumn, hung around London for a while, then went to Brighton, probably because living was cheap off season. He met an old army acquaintance of mine at the Old Ship Hotel, where Smythe is staying. They played cards there at night. I dropped in and invited the army man—Captain Stack is his name—to the Pavilion to join us for faro there. Just as an afterthought I asked young Smythe to join us. Company was thin at the time and Prinney likes to see a new face. I could see right away that Smythe was a success. It seemed harmless, another friend of the Beau Brummell