Royal Regard

Chapter Twenty-Seven, Part 2

"It is not... well..." He cleared his throat and wound the orrery on his desk, setting the planets spinning in their small, contained orbit, his eyes tracking the movement as if he might sail to Ceres to avoid what had to be said. "There are... verses."

With the barest minimum of movement, Nick set the glass down with a heavy sigh.

"I suppose caricatures, too?"

"Yes, well... you cannot expect the ton to allow the scandal of the year—nay, the century—to go unremarked. Not when the newspapers have shown so much interest."

Before he turned back to face Firthley, Nick took several sips of his brandy, welcoming the warmth in the back of his throat, keeping at bay the emotions he had been choking on for days.

"How bad are the newspapers?" he asked, returning to his chair, decanter in hand.

Firthley turned his glass in his hands, then leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "It is beyond the gossip columns now. No more Countess of H and Duke of W. The story has reached the front page. You both stand accused in the court of public opinion," he paused, "and you are being crucified."

It was no less than he should have expected, but until now, Nick hadn't been forced to consider the implications. If it were only his reputation, he would shake off the tittle-tattle and go about his business. No matter how tarnished, his title and wealth were in no jeopardy at all.

Bella, on the other hand, could lose everything—the Huntleigh business enterprises, her houses and servants, her welcome in any household of the ton, even her title, should the king take up against her. If, of course, she managed to survive her injuries.

"I want to see the verses. I assume you have copies?"

"When you have finished your drink. And perhaps one more."

Nick threw back the brandy, and Firthley poured him another. Once Nick had sipped it, Firthley sifted through a stack of documents in his desk drawer. He hesitated before handing Nick the pile of leaflets featuring awful caricatures of Nick and Bella, making her look ugly, grasping, and wanton and Nick lecherous, brawny, and mean.

"New ones each day, making the rounds of the coffeehouses and clubs. You understand. You've seen it before."

Countess H took two dukes to her bed
While the earl's life hung by just a thread
One duke killed the other
Which has left her no lover
Once her last offer loses his head.

Isabella played two-faced bed games
With two dukes, wanton and unashamed
By the skin of his duchy
Wellbridge might just be lucky
And stay out of the sheriff's picture frame.

The cit's widow had planned to elope
But her nuptials were just forlorn hope
She couldn't choose which to marry
Now has two more to bury
Once Wellbridge is hung by a rope.

Nick waved it at the marquess. "This is how they are talking about her?"

"And you. Keep reading."

The most dangerous duke in the land
Took a mistress by royal command
A Frenchman made her an offer
To get his hand in the coffer
The duke is loosed by the noose from her hand.

The most dangerous duke on the dock
Whose lady led him 'round by the cock
Had no need for henchmen
When dispatching a Frenchman
So the duke finds his head on the block

The most dangerous duke undeterred
Went after the king's ladybird
Tho' she ran 'cross the channel
To dismantle her scandal
The duke's fisticuffs had the last word.

"They are saying she is Prinny's mistress?!"

This was a terrible turn, placing her in the ranks of fallen women lined up against the more popular queen. Not to mention the king would have to publicly disavow her, should gossip about the incident threaten his precarious accord with Parliament.