London, England, May 1814

There was a flurry of colorful activity in front of Waverly House. Anyone of importance had been invited to the ball. It was even rumoured that the Prince Regent himself was in attendance. Naturally, the famous ‘Dandy Club’ consisting of the regent’s closest friends and confidants would also grace the occasion with their presence. The most celebrated member of this illustrious group was of course Beau Brummel, a man who many claimed thought himself more important than the regent.

“Isn’t this exciting, Amelia,” chittered her mother. Her frame shuddered lightly in imitation of a race dog before the race. “And to be in the company of your charming fiancé. Oh, you are so lucky, Amelia. You will be the envy of the entire ball.”

“Yes, the ladies will go pea green with envy,” said Lord Templeton French, dripping self-importance. He helped his future mother-in-law out of the carriage. His behaviour was worse than usual, if that were even possible. Lord Templeton French had not uttered a word to his betrothed the entire carriage ride over from the Carlyle’s’ home, preferring to devote all of his attention to Amelia’s mother.

Amelia watched them exchange some more verbal waste. They had spoken of nothing other than the upcoming picnic hosted by another illustrious family the following Sunday. She felt trapped in a gilded cage that would only become more constricting the longer she remained in it. Amelia could’ve screamed out loud. She prayed Jonathan would somehow miraculously appear and whisk her away from these people.

Lady Carlyle, 1st Baronet of Windom, looked rather spectacular in her empire-style dress made of shimmering silk. Mother had insisted the garment be in white so as to display the family’s wealth. The color white soiled so easily and was difficult to clean, meaning that the dress had to be replaced at a considerable expense after usage.

As she was engaged to be married, Amelia no longer had to look as demure as a debutant. Her long flowing dress, also in the empire style, fluttered with gossamer finesse around her slender frame. It was in light green. Usually, Amelia loved the color. However, its appeal had somewhat waned since her mother constantly insisted that she wear it because of her eye color.

In her hand, she held a fan. It was hand painted and made of ivory and with elements of gold. Amelia snapped it open and shut in a staccato rhythmic motion. This subconscious gesture spoke of her demeanor, for the language of the hand fan spoke a thousand words. What she was currently doing denoted the fact that she considered Lord Templeton French cruel. All she had to additionally do was draw it through her hand to tell the man that she hated him.

As usual, Lord Templeton French was impeccably attired in a fashionable dark suit. A stylish red cravat was wrapped around the starched neckline of his white shirt with elaborate flourish. Amelia did not recognize the knot. Most probably, it was another one of Beau Brummel’s designs – the man invented new ones on a daily basis.

“I can’t wait to see how the duchess has decorated the ballroom this time,” said Amelia’s mother. She had already interlinked her arm with Lord Templeton French’s. The two of them started to make their way to the elaborate portico belonging to Waverly House. Amelia and her father followed in their wake. She was happy to be with her father rather than the insufferable lord. She worried that there would be plenty of opportunities to spend time with him during the ball. She hoped that Lord Templeton French would consider their situation the same as that of a married couple, for two people in such a union hardly danced together at formal functions.

Amelia pressed her lips together. She hated it when her mother behaved as if she had been a member of high society all of her life. She had never been to the duchess’s London residence before even though her behavior denoted the contrary. Papa was wealthy and now he held the title of a baronet but that was in no way enough to get an invitation to this ball. It was all down to the fact that Amelia was the betrothed of the Duke of Brandon’s son.

Secretly, Amelia prayed that the old duke would be in attendance. She thought of her talk with Anna the other night. In a sense, she still partially disagreed with her friend. She believed that the duke would help her if she told him everything, including the fact that she was engaged to Jonathan. In her heart of hearts, she was certain that he was a nice man who would do the right thing when he was faced with the decision. However, they had decided to be patient and that is what Amelia would be.

“This is rather grand,” said Amelia’s father as they stepped into the enormous building.

In typical Palladian fashion, Waverly House consisted of a corps de logis flanked by two service wings. Somehow, the severity of the design of the three floors that appeared almost box-like caused Amelia to think the structure resembled a warehouse.

However, it was said that Waverly House was one of the earliest of the great 18th-century townhouses in the city. This was evident because at this time the design of a large townhouse was almost identical to that of a country house of the same period. From her extensive studies of architecture, Amelia knew that the building’s main purpose was to project wealth and consequently power. Waverly House did that with bravura.

The inside was far more impressive than the exterior. In the foyer, stairs led up to a piano nobile. It was the only room that rose through two storeys, creating the sense of endless ceilings. Inconspicuous pairs of staircases were tucked away into modest sites at either hand, for the upstairs was strictly private. Enfilades of interconnecting rooms, of which the largest space was devoted to the library and flanked by more central halls that adjusted the traditions of the symmetrical Baroque state apartments. In a sense, it was a design that did not lend itself to large gatherings.

When Amelia, still with her father, reached a suite of connecting reception rooms circling a central top-lit stair hall, she gasped. It was magnificent – before her was the most elaborate staircase she had ever seen - they then flowed in a convenient circuit at the end of the ballroom.

The staircase conveyed guests directly to the piano nobile from a low entrance hall, in a newly created recess formed by creating a bow at the centre of the rear garden façade. Now she knew why the people that had visited Waverly House referred to it as the ‘Crystal Staircase.’ It had a glass handrail and newel posts. It amalgamated perfectly with several of the principal rooms, that together formed a part of a vast and heavily gilded ballroom. It was like being in a fairy-tale.

“There is the Duchess of Waverly,” chittered Amelia’s mother. “She has gotten rather plump as of late.”

Amelia rolled her eyes as she continued to walk into the centre of the ballroom. All the while, her mother and Lord Templeton French continued to gossip about the other guests. Her father remained silent. When they came to a halt by the side of the dance floor, Amelia’s father pointed discreetly at a group of men conversing. “That would be the ‘Dandy Club,’” he said.

Amelia let her gaze float over the large hall. The first dance had not yet been announced so the guests milled about chatting. “And the Prince Regent is with them,” she said matter-of-factly.

“He invariably is,” answered her father in a disinterested tone. His avaricious eyes looked for more lucrative prospects. Amelia knew that he was in the hope of finding a politician or some other person to further his business interests. When he laid eyes on someone, he said, “Will you be all right, Amelia. I have to go to the French ambassador. Now that the war is over, he will be looking to establish commercial ties with us.” He did not wait for a reply.

Amelia watched him glide over the ballroom to his prospective target. It always astounded her how devoted he was to his business. Nothing, not even her mother, would get in his way when he scented profit. Another glimpse in her mother’s direction proved that she was just a vehicle for her design. Lord Templeton French was in the process of introducing her to the Duchess of Waverly.

“Bored already, my dear?” said a familiar voice.

“Your Grace, I hoped you would be here,” said Amelia to her future father-in-law. She smiled at him warmly.

He chuckled. “Even I have to make an appearance occasionally. Balls aren’t really something I enjoy, but my wife insists on it.” The Duke of Brandon pointed discreetly at an attractive woman in her fifties conversing with some ladies. “Too many inflated windbags in attendance at these events,” he added.

Amelia smiled. “My betrothed appears to be in his element.”

“Ah, yes. That would be because he still has so much to prove.”

To Amelia, it seemed that the duke was disappointed with his son. In that moment, she wanted to tell the duke of her plans. She wanted to open up to the sweet man and tell him all about Jonathan. Then, Anna came to mind. She had promised her that they would be patient.

“Come with me, my dear. There are some interesting people here at least,” said the duke. “Let me introduce you. When you are married to my son, the likes of them will be life-saviours during those lengthy and very boring banquets. They always have a mind to be entertaining.

Amelia inclined her head and interlinked her arm with his. She let him guide her in the direction of the group of men she had watched with her father before.

“Ah, Brandon, I see you haven’t forgotten your best friend.” said a haughty voice that bade no argument. It belonged to a man who invariably got what he wanted.

“I would never forget you, Your Royal Highness,” said the Duke of Brandon, bowing his head slightly.

“Quite…and who is this charming lady you have with you,” he raised his hand to forestall the duke, “no, do not say anything; we are acquainted are we not?”

Amelia had trouble hiding her surprise. The regent remembered her from the knighting ceremony. She curtseyed. “Yes, we are, Your Royal Highness. You rescued me from some rather tedious business talk during my father’s adoubement last year.”

“Yes, I recollect. How could I forget such a lovely young lady? Your beauty shines like a beacon in this otherwise drab environment…no man could overlook you,” said the regent, looking pleased with himself. “So, this is your future daughter-in-law, eh, Brandon?”

“Yes, this is the lovely Amelia Carlyle, Priney,” said the Duke of Brandon, using the regent’s sobriquet.

The pudgy man’s face lit up. His cheeks seemed to take on an even redder flush. “Your son is a lucky man, Brandon. Any one of these rogues would love to court such a fine lady. Fortunate for you, Amelia, that your mother kept you so well tucked away for they are notorious scallywags.” The Prince Regent swept his arm over the waiting ‘Dandy Club’ theatrically.

In the group was: William Arden, 2nd Baron Avanley, Sir Henry St. John-Mildmay and Henry Pierrepoint and of course the notorious Beau Brummel; together they formed the ‘Regency Bucks,’ which was another sobriquet for the grouping.

They were all men dressed in the finest style. The black or navy-blue tailcoat was of course de rigueur at one of these formal gatherings. Under them a white silk waistcoat descended below the tailcoat covering the top of the trouser. Each man wore a crisp linen shirt and black shoes with silver buckles or laces. The only way they really distinguished themselves was with the neckcloth. Avanlay had opted for black silk, Mildmay, yellow, Pierrepoint, green, and Brummel sported a daring cloth in pink.

A notoriously vane man, the Prince Regent wore a whalebone corset under his shirt and a bright-yellow waistcoat and a claret-colored tailcoat. An especially high cravat helped to disguise his double chins and fleshy jowls.

Amelia looked at Brummel closely. He was a handsome man, albeit not as good-looking as one might have thought. He came from a middle-class background but always strove to imitate an aristocratic lifestyle – in truth, he changed the way the upper-class gentleman dressed by revolutionizing their clothing and cultivating beauty in a man’s person. Also, he despised ostentatious jewelry on a gentleman. Wagging tongues claimed that this was because he did not have the funds to procure any.

“So, Brandon. When’s the big day, eh?” asked the prince, licking his lips and picking a pastry filled with smoked salmon, chives and sour cream that a servant handed to him on a silver salver. “I will of course receive an invitation?” added the regent.

The Duke of Brandon moved closer. “But of course, Priney. A wedding just wouldn’t be the same without you. You are almost as important as the bride.” This remark invited a certain degree of mirth from the other members of the ‘Dandy Club’.

The Prince squinted his piggy eyes that appeared to get lost in the flesh of his eyelids. “Good, that is what I like to hear. There can never be too many parties in one year, eh?”

“Here, here,” said Avanlay, concurring.

“I agree. Weddings are such lovely events. There’s so much champagne…and many beautiful ladies – I dare say, none of them will be as lovely as you,” said Pierrepoint, inclining his head slightly to Amelia.

Amelia blushed. They were all so charming. They stood in such direct contrast to the man she was to marry. Each of them represented the pinnacle in what was the man of leisure. Their days were spent at their tailors, clubs or in the country when it was the season.

“What say you, Mildmay?” asked the Prince. “Do you enjoy weddings?”

“I’d dare say Amelia is the loveliest lady in this room – so, I will most certainly enjoy her wedding. It’s just a shame that I will not be the groom. That would make the event all the more enjoyable.” He moved his head closer to Amelia. “And don’t tell my wife I said that;” he added with a twinkle in his eye.

The gathering of men chuckled. The Prince was the loudest of them all. Crumbs fell from his lips like snowflakes when he laughed. It was a known fact that he liked to overindulge.

“So, you see, my dear, you are not without admirers,” said the regent. “If young Templeton French ever bores you, you can always find a suitable gentleman among this lot.” Amelia smiled. At the same time, another flush crept up her neck to her face.

“I hear you recently got back from a rather arduous adventure in the Americas?” intoned Pierrepoint.

“Yes, Miss. Carlyle was the victim of an abduction. An American frigate attacked her ship and she was held by her captors for months,” said the Duke of Brandon, answering for Amelia.

“Oh my, that must have been frightening,” said Avanley.

“Is the Americans’ taste in clothing as bad as they say?” asked Brummell, diverting the conversation to his preferred topic. “I hear they are the most appalling dressers.”

“Maybe you should travel to the United States and show them how it is done,” said Mildmay.

“You might be able to improve your finances, Brummell. I dare say, you will eventually end up in debtors’ prison with your debts,” said Lord Templeton French, joining in the conversation.

“You are an insufferable bore, young man,” said the regent. “Brandon, I suggest you teach that son of yours some manners. I will not have the topic of finances brought up in this merry round…very bad form…very bad form, indeed.”

The Duke of Brandon scowled at his son. “My son will apologize for his remark. He knows it was out of place. I fear that the champagne must have gotten to his wits.”

“Yes, that must be it,” said the regent.

“Has anyone gotten the latest news from the war in the Americas?” asked Pierrepoint, changing the subject.

The Prince Regent’s face lit up. “It will be over soon once the men from the Iberian campaign join the ranks. According to the latest correspondence from the theater of war, Admiral Cochrane and Rear Admiral Cockburn are doing a fine job of it.” He lowered his voice. “They harass the coastline close to their capital city…and once they receive reinforcements, they will attack Washington.”

The men murmured their approval. On cue, they started exchanging what they knew of the army and navy’s plans. Amelia heard none of it. She worried for Jonathan. Intuitively, she knew that he would be in the middle of the fighting. What would happen if he and Jake succumbed to a British musket? The thought was enough to make her sway on her feet.

“Are you all right, Amelia?” asked the Duke of Brandon with a look of concern on his face.

Amelia nodded meekly. She wanted to open up and tell him of her fears. She wanted to shout out to the world that she was in love with a man – not an Englishman but an American. “War is such a ghastly business.” Was all she managed to say.

“I quite agree. We have a lady in our midst. We must not bore her with tales of the war.” The prince lifted his glass. “To our brave admirals…to Admiral Cochrane and Rear Admiral Cockburn. May they make short order of the Americans and end this conflict.”

Everyone present repeated the toast. In the following moments, the first dance was announced. “May I have the honor of this dance, my dear?” asked the Duke of Brandon.

“I would be delighted,” answered Amelia, meaning it.

On the way to the dance floor, she listened to the conversations, taking place all around her. Almost all the talk was lurid and lewd gossip, discussions about the hunting season, the newest fashion and much more superfluous rubbish. It made her think of what Jonathan was going through. Here, the people behaved as if nothing was going on, but she knew that a few thousand miles away her man’s life hung in the balance.

Amelia pressed her lips together and thought of what she would do next. As she walked in silence with the duke, she somehow pulled the notion of her entire existence apart – she did not like her options. She snuck a furtive glance in the duke’s direction.

Should I confide in him or not? This was the thought that stuck to her mind as the first dance commenced with the advent of the strumming of many violins and some cellos. It was a waltz. To Amelia, the sound was cacophonous. What would become of Jonathan Mitchell?