79. ... and the prince was there

The afternoon took a sharp downward turn with the arrival of His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, Prince George, the king's oldest son, also known as 'Prinny' to his confederates.

His entry was suitably spectacular as he manoeuvred his bulk through the house and gardens, with the General and a group of his extravagantly dressed companions, in tow.

When he saw me, and my mother, he simply inclined his head and said "Cousin". Again, we Rogeringhams have no royal blood, so I have no idea where he came across that idea. And while we bowed and curtseyed with suitable deference, he was off, with his eyes roaming the assembly looking for attractive young women, and an audience.

It might be observed that I do not have a high opinion of the man who may be our future king - God save King George and give him long life. The prince is a man of great personality, and no little charm, when he wants to exercise it. He is also most stylish, in fact it is from his set of admirers and hangers on that most of the more outlandish of men's fashions originate, as each of them endeavours to outdo the others, as they seek even a simple word of recognition from His Royal Highness.

Personally, I think the man is an arse, of the first order.

Aside from the idiocy of some of the fashions emanating from his court, he has a great pretension to military prowess, which is totally undeserved due to the fact that his mother and the government refuse to let him take ship and be even in the same country as any sort of fight. But that does not stop him from proclaiming to anyone nearby how he and Wellesley beat the French at such and such a battle, or how he led his brave soldiers to victory in such and such fight. There are also many rumours about the man, about a secret marriage to a catholic woman and several bastard children. This is all very unbecoming and completely inappropriate for a man who may actually be crowned king of England, Scotland and Ireland one day.

As I said, an arse.

And he behaved as one as well, standing in the garden, surrounded by many of the party goers, as he recounted how he and Wellesley had set the French back in the Peninsula, to the polite applause of the audience, all of whom knew it was utter horse-shit, but they indulged him anyway.

Still Lydia Bradley had crafted an excellent party and despite my feelings about 'Prinny', it was most enjoyable. Arabella and I managed to craft a 'moment' for the gossip rags, when I secured a small prize at a hoop-la stall and presented it to her. (Helena had suggested that I win Arabella a prize for precisely that reason. I also secured a second one, which I gave to Helena, but they appear not to have noticed that one).