The Prince and the Quakeress: (Georgian Series) Read Free Page A

there to guard our interests,’ she suggested gaily.
    ‘There is no need for that, Madam,’ he replied gravely. ‘The Battle of Culloden showed the Pretender what happens to those who threaten the throne.’
    ‘I see you are a loyal Scotsman.’
    He took her hand and kissed it. It was very courteous and gallant and very bold, but they were in a tent and it was an informal occasion. Never had she felt so informal in so short a space of time.
    Frederick wanted to get on with the game and was raising the stakes. Bubb was his reckless self and Augusta noticed that while Lord Bute did not betray any anxiety he played cautiously so as not to lose. How wise!
    She waited for the game to finish, that conversation might be resumed. Then Lord Bute mentioned the theatre and it emerged that he was very fond of the play and since he had come to London it had been his great hobby to organize masquerades in his own house where he had insisted that all his relations join him and form a company to perform for their own pleasure.
    Now Fred was interested. What plays? Lord Bute explained. Nothing was too comic, nothing too tragic. He himself was actor-producer and stage-manager. Even Frederick had laid aside the cards now; Augusta was leaning forward, her cheeks flushed. A fascinating subject made doubly so by such a fascinating talker.
    ‘You could be useful in our productions,’ Augusta pointed out. ‘I am sure the Prince will agree with me on that.’
    The Prince did.
    ‘The Prince will wish you to visit us and see our theatre at Cliveden.’
    The Prince thought that an excellent idea.
    It turned out that Lord Bute had lived for nine years on theIsland of Bute where he had amused himself studying agriculture, botany and architecture, which, Augusta declared, sounded quite absorbing. The Prince thought so, too. Only Bubb was a little bored but he never liked them to show too much interest in other people, being afraid that he might be ousted from the Prince’s favour.
    Augusta sat back in her chair listening to Lord Bute’s musical voice with the accent which had suddenly become so attractive, and the sound of rain pattering on the tent. Such a pleasant sound she would think it ever after. She hoped it would go on because when the rain stopped this pleasant tête-à-tête was likely to do the same.
    But the elements were favourable and although Bubb went to the door of the tent and scowled up at the darkening skies, the rain persisted.
    So in that tent she learned the background of this most fascinating man. He was thirty-four years old – six years younger than Fred – and had been born in Edinburgh. He was his father’s elder son and his mother had been the daughter of the Duke of Argyll. He had come south to Eton for his education and while there had met that gossip Horace Walpole; eleven years before this meeting in the tent he had married the daughter of Edward and Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. Augusta, who was conscious of such aspects, immediately thought that he would have married a pretty fortune there. His wife and family were in London now with him; and he had been driven to the races in a carriage which he had hired from his apothecary.
    It was a stroke of good fortune, he remarked, that he had come and been so honoured as to have been invited into the tent.
    Augusta was delighted to note that Fred was as interested in Lord Bute as she was – perhaps not quite so much, but then Fred was superficial by nature.
    She believed that he, like herself, was a little dismayed when Bubb announced that the rain had stopped and they could now start on the homeward journey.
    Lord Bute took his leave.
    ‘The Prince will wish you to call on us at Cliveden,’ Augusta reminded him; and Fred endorsed this.
    Never, declared Lord Bute, had he received a command which gave him more pleasure.
    ‘We shall look for you… soon,’ Augusta reminded him.
    He bowed.
    ‘And where is your apothecary with his carriage?’
    ‘Madam, he left an