Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
I return to Figaro outside Kentstone’s, take the bag from the saddle bag and place it behind a nearby fruit crate before getting on my way to the palace for an audience with the party Prince. The party Prince whose dibs are not in tune. Totally broke and yet living quite the champagne lifestyle.
I am greeted by a footman who kindly takes Figaro to be fed and watered, and I straighten myself out. I must admit, I am feeling slightly uneasy, for I can only imagine how my proposal will be met. I am led into the palace, and I make a point of admiring it, something I have neglected to do on the many times I have been here as a partygoer, for I am quite sure I will not be invited back again.
‘I present Mr Melrose,’ the butler says, opening the way for me. I enter and find the Prince sprawled in a chair being fed grapes by an attractive woman drenched in pearls and stroking the Prince’s head intermittently. It is not his queen, which comes as no surprise, since, apparently, they do not get along. Perhaps because they are as eccentric as each other.
I bow. ‘Your Majesty.’
‘Ah, Melrose.’ The Prince waves the woman off and stands, his soft, round body today encased in enough fur to keep London warm in the most brutal of winters. ‘Heston, get the man a drink.’
‘I am all right,’ I say, taking my hands behind my back. I am not here to socialise, after all. Some might consider me mad to decline, but I am here in a business capacity, and I wish to set the tone. Now, more than ever, with my highwaywoman story hanging in the balance, I need every piece of outrageous news I can get, and since our current serving monarch is as outrageous as they come, that, unfortunately for him, means he’s at my mercy.
‘I see,’ he muses, one eyebrow hitched, his painted face thoughtful as he considers me while blindly accepting the wine being offered. He takes a sip and waves a hand for the female to continue feeding him grapes.
‘I see your queen is unavailable to serve you,’ I muse, giving the female a moment of my eyes.
Another wave sends her on her way, along with Heston, leaving the Prince and me alone to discuss business which he has, wisely, decided he might not like anyone to hear.
‘I hear you have been dealing with the scandal of your sister marrying the murdering Duke of Chester.’
‘As I understand it, it was, in fact, your friend Lymington who was responsible for the crimes you speak of.’ The Prince should find better friends. Lymington a murderer, Brummel a terrible gambler. Then again, the Prince is a terrible glutton with no regard for his people’s money and what it is spent on, so I suppose they, in all of their immorality, should get along. ‘I also understand that it was proven beyond all doubt that Lymington murdered the Duke of Chester, so it begs the question why you would pardon him. Perhaps he paid you.’ That I know not to be true. ‘Or perhaps you owed him money and he wrote off your debt in return for your pardon.’ That I know is a definite possibility.
He hums, pushing his overweight body out of the chair and starting to walk and sip his wine. ‘You have a very vivid imagination, Melrose.’
‘Oh, yes, Your Majesty, I do. Be assured of that fact.’
‘Sit.’
‘Thank you, Your Majesty, but I am quite comfortable here.’ I remain where I am, by the door, for I expect I will be leaving very shortly, anyway, and should not waste time and energy accepting his invite to take the weight off my feet.
‘Then might we get to the point so I can get on with my day?’
‘Of course, Your Majesty.’ I reach into my pocket and pull out a piece of paper, setting it on a nearby table. He frowns and approaches, and his frown soon turns into a scowl as he picks it up and reads the article detailing his supposed debts. On a yell, he tosses it in the fire.
I smile. ‘There are tens of thousands more copies.’
‘I demand you to cease with the release of such a damning story.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it is full of falsehoods!’
‘I do believe your close friend Brummel is in quite some debt. I have sources to prove it.’
‘Who?’
‘I’m afraid a gentleman never divulges such information, Your Majesty.’
‘And what of this nonsense you speak of?’ He waves at the raging fire. ‘That I too, am in debt?’
‘You’re not? Oh, well, that can quite easily be cleared up by an audit of the Privy Purse and a chat with the keeper.’
He snorts, his cheeks reddening with a building rage. ‘There will be no audit.’