Authors: Emery Lee
After only a few lessons, Lady Messingham had proven a quick study with nimble fingers. She could competently perform the false cut and had nearly mastered the simpler variations of the partial shuffle. Yet after teaching her the finer points of various games, Philip found her little beyond an indifferent player. What she lacked was instinct, an intangible trait inbred rather than acquired.
While he held little reservation about her risking a few shillings at whist or loo at the more genteel gaming tables, he harbored serious misgivings if she ventured to the venues of any true gamester.
But where to safely test the waters? They had played once together at Belsize House, but he was avowed not to allow her to return. Renowned after hours as a place of illicit assignations for married ladies and a haven for more disreputable gamesters and blacklegs, many of whom he knew only too well, it was entirely unsuitable for a lady.
George Selwyn inadvertently provided the answer to Philip's dilemma when he grumbled of having to attend a fete in his brother Charles's honor. While Philip frequently jested that George had been raised in the royal bedchamber, it was in truth little exaggerated. His father, Colonel John Selwyn, was close to the Prime Minister and held a position among the king's Gentlemen of the Bedchamber. His mother and his brother Charles had also been part of the royal household, with respective posts as Woman of the Bedchamber and equerry to the departed Queen Caroline.
“Since Charles lost his post as equerry, my mother has determined, in her boundless ambition for her eldest, that he should now embark on his political career,” George said. “She's holding what will surely be a mind-numbingly dull dinner this evening for the purpose of inducting him into the inner political sanctum.”
“With your mother in charge, I daresay Charles will soon find himself well-launched and quite at sea,” Philip said with a laugh.
Although Colonel John Selwyn's connection to the court dated back to the Marlborough wars, it was actually Mrs. Mary Selwyn who had the truest insights, having closely attended Queen Caroline. Until her death two years prior, the real power behind George II had been universally acknowledged and much satirized:
You may strut, dapper George, but 'twill all be in vain,
We all know 'tis Queen Caroline, not you, that reign.
You govern no more than Don Philip of Spain.
Then if you would have us fall down and adore you,
Lock up your fat wife, as your Dad did before you.
Mrs. Selwyn's soiree would undoubtedly include a few low-stakes rubbers of whist, whereby Philip could partner Lady Messingham. Such a venue would ideally suit his purpose.
“Bosky, ol' friend, I seek a boon⦔
***
When Lady Messingham returned from her morning call to Lady Hamilton, a gilt-edged invitation to dine with the Selwyns awaited her. She absently tapped the invitation to her lips. It was a private dinner party. Though the Selwyns themselves were not noble, they were notoriously well-connected, and where two or more aristocrats gathered, play inevitably followed.
She had already paid enough of her debt with her pawned jewels to keep her temporarily out of the magistrate's clutches, but she still needed to get them back, before word leaked out about her circumstances. She had to find a way to come about quickly.
Surprisingly, Philip had come through for her after all. He had not only taught her the necessary skills, but had now provided the opportunity to ply them, and as a friend of George, Philip would be unremarkably present to oversee her play.
With a sigh, she smoothed the furrow of worry from her brow.
***
“Lady Messingham.” Mrs. Selwyn stiffly greeted her guest, who had arrived fashionably late. “What a surprise to be honored with your presence
so
soon
after your husband's demise.”
“I only honor Nigel's wish that I not go into deep mourning and isolate myself completely from society. Besides, what harm can there be in attending a quiet dinner party?”
Mrs. Selwyn affected a mocking sympathy. “How painful to your sensibilities to bind you to such a promise⦠or should I say⦠how convenient to be compelled by said promise to blatantly defy all social convention.”
Lady Messingham's eyes flashed, but she schooled herself to reply civilly. “Nevertheless, I was pleased to have received your invitation, Mrs. Selwyn.”
“Let us not be coy, Lady Messingham, as we both know it was only George's singular insistence that compelled me to issue the invitation. Since you appear such a
particular
acquaintance
of young George, I ask you pointedly,
madam
, precisely what is your association with my son?”
“A particular acquaintance?” The younger woman's lips quirked at the insinuation. “I assure you, Mrs. Selwyn, you suffer under some misapprehension. I am only recently introduced to young George through a mutual friend.”
“Really? Given your recent conduct, one might be led to presumeâ”
“Presume what, madam?” Lady Messingham's eyes glittered dangerously. “That I have designs on your son? A young man ten years my junior with little fortune and few prospects?”
Involuntarily, her mind conjured a completely different young man with similar fortune and prospects. She shook away this vision to lean into Mrs. Selwyn in a dangerous whisper. “Or perhaps you imagine that I use poor, hapless George to get to his elder brother, the heir?”
Mrs. Selwyn cast a panicked look across the room at her eldest son, Charles.
Lady Messingham chuckled aloud at the absurdity. “I think you have been far too long among the intriguers at court, madam. Fear not for your sons. Had I any such designs, I would surely look to a more⦠mature gentleman.” She suddenly flashed a beatific smile that stopped said lady's approaching husband dead in his tracks.
“My dear Colonel Selwyn!” Lady Messingham purred.
The elder gentleman unconsciously adjusted his corset before bowing over her extended hand. “Lovely to see you again, my Lady Messingham.” He beamed, oblivious to his wife's jealous glare.
“I was just telling Mrs. Selwyn how pleased I was to accept your invitation. After I disclosed to George my
grande
passion
, he assured me I would find satisfaction within your company.”
Mrs. Selwyn's pupils narrowed to a pinpoint at the boldness of the remark while the colonel shifted uncomfortably. “Your grande passion? Satisfaction? I assure you I am at a loss as to your meaning.” He glanced nervously at his wife.
“Why, I speak of whist, of course! Did I not say as much?” Lady Messingham replied artlessly.
“Whist?” the colonel repeated blankly.
“Indeed, whist. I have recently learned the game and am eager to try my skill. I had spoken of spending an evening in one of the more genteel gaming venues, but my gallant Mr. Selwyn would hear of no such thing. He feared my inexperience would be taken advantage of by those disreputables who inhabit even the best public houses these days. Young George assured me that your company would be comprised of only the finest, most honorable scions of society.”
“Quite right, my dear.” The colonel relaxed his spine and his shoulders dropped in relief. “You have no cause to fear any amongst our august circle.” He gestured grandly to encompass his assembled guests.
Scanning the room for the man she sought, Susannah passed over the portly, near-slovenly form of Minister Walpole, accompanied by two ladies, one presumably his wife. Beside them stood his sister and brother-in-law Lord Townsend, and Lady Yarmouth, mistress to the king. Farther down the room, clustered the martial figures of Lord Stair and General Wade, with whom Nigel Messingham and Colonel Selwyn had served under Marlborough in the late wars.
“August company indeed,” Lady Messingham agreed. “Who is that young solemn-looking gentleman talking with your son Charles?” Lady Messingham asked.
“Ah, that would be the Honorable Mr. Pitt.”
“Mr. Pitt?”
“A young MP whom Sir Robert has long wished to muzzle. It appears he is well on his way to becoming the most formidable force in the House of Commons, and a perpetual thorn in Sir Robert's side.” The colonel chuckled.
She continued to search the far end of the room and her vision finally lit upon Philip Drake lost in conversation with George and a coterie of young aristocratic bucks. As if he felt her presence, he looked up straight into her face, and with a slight nod excused himself from his company.
“My Lady Messingham.” His bow was very formal and correct, as if they were newly acquainted. “Dare I request the honor of escorting you to dinner?”
Mrs. Selwyn looked from one to the other and interceded before Colonel Selwyn could open his mouth to protest. “What an excellent idea! I'll have the place cards changed at once. Now John, let us leave the young people to their discourse.”
The colonel barely had time to bow before Mrs. Selwyn pulled him safely away while murmuring under her breath, “I daresay
that
pair deserves one another! I hear his father cut him off long ago. Quite penniless he is. And
she
is unquestionably fast! Imagine flouting polite society as she does.”
“But the Drake family name goes back to the Conqueror,” the colonel protested.
“Nevertheless, the association with either of them can surely do George no good at all. I will speak to him at once.” She slanted the couple a backward glance. “I shall place them together at the foot of the table with the other⦠less desirables.”
Then with a smile she made her way to pay homage to the Prime Minister.
***
To Philip, dinner proceeded much as George had lamented it would. He and Lady Messingham were neatly exiled from their host and hostess, relegated to the far end of the table with Mr. Pitt.
Their position allowed them to hear only snippets of conversation at the upper end, causing Philip little dismay. Dinner progressed with dull discussions of next year's elections, who would control which rotten borough, and which MP would place himself in which lord's pocket. To Philip, it was both familiar and contemptible ground.
Bored to distraction, he wondered what had possessed him to petition George for the invitation. Philip suppressed a yawn and felt a jab from Lady Messingham's slippered foot against his shin. But even boredom was better than the stab of jealousy he felt in observing her flirt with Mr. Pitt.
“With the Selwyns' close ties to Sir Robert, I am most surprised to see you at this gathering, sir. I hear you are accounted the most vocal member of the Opposition.”
“The Selwyns, seasoned as they are to politics and intrigue, know which way the political winds doth blow,” Mr. Pitt said with a hint of irony. “No doubt they seek to align their progeny to whichever faction might prevail. Besides,” he grinned, “our illustrious minister likes to keep close watch over his adversaries.”
Her eyes widened. “Then have you made yourself his enemy? I would think Sir Robert a very dangerous man to cross.”
Mr. Pitt answered with a sly curve of his lips. “Outwardly Sir Robert may regard me and my colleagues with contempt, but inwardly he knows his grip on the ministry has been slipping since the death of Queen Caroline. The king himself bucks Walpole's policy of pacifism.”
Sensing Philip's resentment, she turned to bring him into the conversation, but the introduction of the Spanish War at the table's head abruptly diverted Mr. Pitt's attention.
“Sir Robert,” a gentleman MP asked, “what have you to say about this latest bungled business with Spain? Our superior navy should have brought her to her knees by now, but Vernon's incompetence has allowed France to send her own fleet to the West Indies. The merchant mariners cry louder than ever for justice in the name of Captain Jenkins, and I fear losing my constituency if their cries are not answered.”
Sir Robert turned from his tête-à -tête with Lady Yarmouth to respond with apathy. “Jenkins again? It has been six years. Does the infamous captain yet carry his severed ear about in a wad of cotton?” the minister asked with a laugh. Though Sir Robert thought to have dismissed the issue with his cavalier remark, Mr. Pitt took up the drum.
“To a nation of commerce such as ours, Sir Robert, we must defend our trade or perish! And while you dismiss them with contempt, patriots such as Captain Jenkins daily risk their lives to provide the very snuff you take and the wine you drink.”
Pausing with snuffbox in one hand and his glass of claret in the other, Sir Robert smiled at his political nemesis. “Patriots, you say? Patriots seem to be springing up like mushrooms! I daresay I could grow fifty of them in a night simply by refusing to gratify any of their unreasonable demands.”
Many of the company laughed and clinked glasses, but Pitt remained undeterred and challenging. “My good sir, for six years our ministry has failed with toothless negotiations that have left the question of unlawful Spanish search and seizure of our vessels unanswered. Where is the ninety-five thousand pounds the Spanish government was bound by
your
treaty
to pay us in recompense? Not only do they fail to pay, but add the audacity of demanding a counter-settlement from our South Sea Company.
“Like her cousin France, Spain seeks aggrandizement by continued infringement upon our North American borders; while
we
sit back
growing
fat
and
complacent
.” His fiery gaze raked over the paunchy minister.
“So brashly spoken is our
boy
patriot,” Sir Robert answered with a patronizing laugh. “He and his callow cohorts would beat the drum with no thought to the repercussions. Any act of aggression with Spain would surely bring France into the conflict. We would then see war on two fronts. Should this occur, our so-called patriots who ring the bells of war would soon be wringing their hands instead.”