Northern Exposure - 78. Chapter 78

July 2, 1801

Portland Place

George Granger ate his breakfast as he read the morning papers, feeling surprisingly relaxed despite the exertions of the past few days. Yesterday, the King had officially closed Parliament, which was Granger’s first opportunity to wear the robes of an earl. His father had graciously given Granger the robes he’d worn as the Earl of Bridgemont, which was another signal that their relationship was starting to heal. Meanwhile Daventry had managed to rummage up similar robes from the Marquess of Hertford. Granger had teased Daventry mercilessly about borrowing clothes from the cuckolded husband of Lady Hertford, who was having an affair with the Prince of Wales. Closing Parliament signified the end of the ‘season’, after which the ton would leave London, returning by October when the new session of Parliament began.

The weekend before Parliament was shut down was almost a solid party, one which had left Granger, Daventry, and Cavendish all considerably worse for wear. But they’d fought off the demons of their hangovers and persevered through the tedious ceremony. Earl Spencer and his wife had thrown a dinner party yesterday to congratulate Granger on his advancement in the peerage, and he’d spent the evening in Vauxhall Gardens, socializing with friends who had shown up for the music and the fireworks which were launched as soon as the sun went down.

Granger had been of a mind to get up and head to Brentwood the first thing that morning, but he had opted to set a more leisurely pace and leave tomorrow. He’d already sent the children ahead. Today he was planning to host a dinner for a number of people, including Count Semyon Romanovich Vorontsov, His Imperial Majesty’s Ambassador to the Court of St. James. Granger had seen him at social engagements, and he’d been at the King’s levee when Granger had been made Earl of Brentwood, but today the man was coming over to spend some time with Granger before the dinner party. He was clearly anxious to learn more about his new emperor, and it was humorous that Granger knew the Tsar so much better than Vorontsov.

“You are eating alone,” Daventry noted, as he came in and joined Granger.

“Not anymore,” Granger said, and rang the bell. The servants hastily brought a plate for Daventry, then left them alone to converse. “Did you find out the extent of your holdings in Rugby?”

“Sadly, they will not allow me to rival your wealth, but will add another 6,000 pounds a year to my income,” Daventry said.

“That was quite a generous gift from the crown,” Granger noted.

“It was indeed, and I have made a point to thank Prinny repeatedly for it, even though he was but a peripheral figure in the effort,” Daventry said in annoyance, referencing the Prince of Wales.

“I have done the same thing,” Granger said, then got a bit somber. “I sometimes fear for our country when he becomes king. I had once almost admired him, but now I find it hard to pick out positive attributes to flatter.”

Daventry laughed. “And now, my dear friend, you understand the hell that is constantly being in attendance at his court.”

“You are to be credited for your patience and forbearance,” Granger said.

“You do not have a hostess for your dinner tonight?” Daventry asked, a question that got a marked frown from Granger.

“Ah, but I do,” Granger said, and paused for effect. “Davina is going to fulfill that role.”

“Lady Preston?” Daventry asked, even though that was obvious. “I did not know that you two were on that good of terms.”

“Neither did I,” Granger said. “My mother was initially going to act as my hostess, but she is feeling a bit overwhelmed after the past few days, so Davina stepped in for her.”

“I am still surprised,” Daventry said.

“Freddy has gone off on a hunt or some such thing with the Duke of Cumberland, so I suspect she is bored,” Granger said, grimacing. It was hard for him to think of his brother and the Duke of Cumberland without having that reaction. “I think her ulterior motive is to attempt to heal the rift between us.”

“I am surprised that it is important to her, considering how she reacted at the reading of Lady Kendal’s will,” Daventry said.

“With Caroline out of the picture, she probably figures there is a better chance for her to access my purse,” Granger said cynically.

“Especially when she has a run of bad luck at the tables,” Daventry noted.

“She is a much more astute politician than my brother,” Granger said, stating the obvious. “She would prefer me as an ally rather than an enemy. For my part, I have no desire to be at odds with her. She is a dangerous woman.”

“I have found that most women are dangerous,” Daventry said, making Granger chuckle.

“I do not have your depth of experience,” Granger riposted.

“Then perhaps it is time for you to change that. You must acquire a mistress, someone socially acceptable enough to fulfill that role,” Daventry said in a lascivious way.

“I think that at this point, that would merely be an albatross around my neck,” Granger said. The last thing he needed was a new woman in his life, demanding his attention and his money. Daventry gave him a steely look, which got an irritated frown in return. “My wife has done everything she could think of to destroy my reputation. I certainly do not need a new challenge in that regard.”

“You are assuming that there are no available women who are more adept at fitting into society, and serving at your side, even in an unofficial role?” Daventry challenged.

“I am assuming just that, but I am also seeing that I will not have to worry about it unduly until next season,” Granger said. Perhaps he would get lucky and he would be sent out to sea by then.

“So what will you do now?” Daventry asked.

“I am going to spend a week or two at Brentwood and at Windsor, then I am going to Bridgemont with my mother. From there, I plan to travel north to inspect my inheritance. After I return to Brentwood, I will probably travel to the Isle of Wight and stay at Cowes,” Granger said.

“To check on your fountains,” Daventry teased.

“They are most soothing,” Granger joked back. “And what are your plans?”

“I am going to inspect my new holdings in Rugby, and visit my other tenants, much as you are planning, but I am not going to Windsor,” Daventry said. “It would be tedious, at best.”

“It will be,” Granger agreed. “And will you not go to Brighton?” Brighton was where the Prince of Wales summered. When he was there, it seemed as if the entire town was his fiefdom.

“And that will be my equivalent of your time at Windsor,” Daventry said, getting depressed at that thought. “I will probably call on you at Cowes, both to enjoy your company, and for a pleasant reprieve from His Royal Highness.”

“You are always welcome,” Granger said.

“Will you go to Weymouth?” Daventry asked. Weymouth was the town where the King summered. “I am assuming you will make an appearance at Brighton.”

“I have not finalized plans to do either one of those things, but as Cowes is roughly in between those two destinations, I should be able to make quick trips to placate royal egos,” Granger said with dread.

“When you are in Brighton, I will make sure you have fun,” Daventry said, making Granger chuckle.

“I think it is more accurate to say it will be interesting,” Granger joked.

“This is most likely true,” Daventry said. “I received a letter from Her Imperial Majesty, the Dowager Empress.”

“And was she begging you to return to Russia, so desperate was she for your sexual skills?” Granger asked, snickering.

“Rather, she transferred £50,000 to me,” Daventry said.

Granger raised an eyebrow. “That is certainly a generous sum. It seems to me that you had once noted that you were a whore for your country. It would seem that you are a well-paid one.”

“I would like to think that such an amount is merely representative of my significant lovemaking skills,” Daventry sniffed, making both of them laugh.

“I am sure that is true,” Granger said.

“It will be interesting to see if the Tsar gives you more than the Empress gave me,” Daventry said.

“Are you implying that I slept with His Imperial Majesty?” Granger joked, even though the memory of being with Alexander caused a twinge of longing.

“No, but you did save his life, and surely that is worth something,” Daventry said.

“I am quite content with how things have turned out, and don’t require anything from the Tsar,” Granger said honestly.

“You may maintain your noble attitude, while I will go and enjoy my £50,000,” Daventry quipped. “I must be off.”

“And where are you going today?”

“I must attend to Prinny,” Daventry said with a sigh. “Being around him is making an overseas assignment seem much more attractive.”

“I would be most obliged if you would avoid such an entanglement for the near future, at least if you want me to accompany you,” Granger said.

“Your request is duly noted,” Daventry said, then rose from the table. He left the house and Granger opted to retire to his study.

He had no sooner sat down than Cheevers arrived, carrying a silver tray with a letter on it. “My lord, we just now received this communiqué from Lady Brentwood,” he said. The staff had been incredibly proud of his elevation in the peerage, and they had seamlessly adapted to addressing him as Lord Brentwood instead of Lord Granger.

“Thank you, Cheevers,” Granger said, and took the letter. Cheevers vanished quickly, as a good butler should do, giving Granger the privacy to digest this latest letter from his wife.

June 30, 1801

Heathford

George,

I am sitting here at my desk at Heathford, having just read your latest missal to me. I really cannot believe that after all we have built together, with the way I have assiduously attended to our affairs, that you would so callously throw me to the wolves. You always speak of honor as if it is something you cherish, yet you treat your own wife without a shred of decency.

If you were as perfect as you would like to pretend, then you might have the slightest of pretexts for pillorying me for a simple affair. But we both know, George, that you are not perfect, and we know that if society were to look at your flaws, they would be considerably more damning than the liaisons you would condemn me for. You should hope that I am more charitable, and pray that I opt not to destroy you as you have destroyed me.

I have done nothing worse than what other Whig women have done. I have indeed had an affair or two, and while I have not skulked in the shadows like some common harlot, I have conducted myself with a degree of decorum that is certainly not inconsistent with others, such as the Duchess of Devonshire or Lady Bessborough, both of whom have gone to the continent to give birth to their bastards. Nor have I done what Lady Melbourne has done: slept with so many men the paternity of her children is all but uncertain. You return from your trip, where you have undoubtedly been no saint, and toss me out for trifles compared to what other women have done. How ironic that you have seemingly forgiven Davina for her assault on your person, yet you have no compassion for your own wife. Or is that because, in the end, perhaps that assault was not so distasteful to you after all?

You have the nerve to judge me for associating with HRH the Princess of Wales, a woman who not only has Royal blood in her veins but is a member of our Royal Family. How is it inappropriate for me to attend the wife of the heir to the throne? Yes, I know all about Prinny’s revulsion with the poor Princess, but that is less of a signifier of her character than of his. You would make it sound like I am hobnobbing with revolutionaries, when in fact, while spending time with HRH, I have had several intimate discussions with one of your contemporaries, Sir Sidney Smith, who is both proud of you and admires your successes. He is but one of many naval officers who make up the court of HRH, and most of these men are in awe of you. It is lucky for you that they do not know the real person behind the warrior’s façade. I knew very well that Prinny would be angry with me, but instead of denouncing me you could have merely asserted your own loyalty to him, and he would have been happy with that, and would have ignored me.

But that is not your way, George. Instead, you breeze back into London, use your charm to wrap the King around your finger, then throw your wife into the river to placate the hedonistic and lazy heir to the throne. Part of me relishes seeing you get your just deserts for your behavior, while another part of me hopes that does not happen, because I do not want my children to bear the stain of the scandal your liaisons could cause if they became public.

You have made your decision, and you have taken irrevocable actions that have not only ruined me, they have ruined us. Do not think for one minute I am going to just walk away and leave you in possession of Brentwood, the estate that was part of my dowry. It has become quite valuable, and if rumors are to be believed, we are both likely to see you elevated to an earldom named after the holdings I brought to this marriage.

Lady Kendal left you a fortune, and you can certainly afford to be generous in reaching a settlement with me. I would recommend that you re-read this letter and contemplate what is written between the lines. I will leave you with this final warning. Do not presume, ever, to interfere with my life and with my friendships. You have enough influence to convince Colonel Stewart to leave me and dash back to London, but the other men in HRH’s circle are not so easily intimidated. They are men who take what they want, and have no fear of petulant husbands.

Caroline.

He took a drink of his wine and contemplated Caroline’s letter. She probably expected that he would be irate at her tone and terrified at her barely veiled threat to expose him as a sodomite. He was not. For her to make such an accusation credible, she would have to provide some proof, and Granger could think of nothing she could do other than spread rumors and innuendos. He grimaced briefly as he thought of Francis Calvert, as he was the most likely candidate Caroline would use if she wanted to expose him. There had been rumors about the two of them before, and it was no great secret that Caroline had worked to transfer Calvert off the Intrepid in a fit of jealousy over the attention Granger had paid him. Yet that potential scandal had all but flamed out after Granger’s successes in the Caribbean. If there were still those in power who thought Calvert and Granger were lovers, Calvert would never have been appointed as the First Lieutenant of Bacchante and sent with Granger on their voyage around the world.

Granger remembered how nervous he had been when he had been a mere commander and he had first learned of the gossip going around about him and Calvert. Now he was an earl, a peer of the realm, and rich in his own right. That extra status was the equivalent of a shield to his reputation. People, or at least those who mattered, would consider that any attempts to tarnish him came from his embittered whore of a wife. They would look at the fact that he had fathered three children (most people knew that Elizabeth was not his daughter by blood), they would hear Daventry tell stories of Granger’s female conquests in Russia, and they would believe him when he denied any allegations Caroline could toss at him. As an insurance policy, Granger would most likely have to begin an affair with a suitable woman, but that could wait until October, when Parliament opened and the season began.

Granger sipped his drink and thought about the letter, and in what many would find a surprising reaction, he felt genuinely sad for Caroline. Her defense was based on a comparative analysis of other aristocratic women. Granger thought it was comical that she would choose the Whigs as role models, and pick three of the most wanton female Whig aristocrats in Britain. The Duchess of Devonshire was a powerhouse, a woman who was rich and influential, and the Devonshires were established enough to see her through most of her problems. Her sister, Lady Bessborough, was constantly at risk of having to flee England to avoid her own creditors and those of her husband, who treated her so abominably it was the talk of the ton. He was known to be an abusive drunk and seemed to derive special pleasure from humiliating his wife in public. Then there was Lady Melbourne, who was so twisted and evil she was often compared to the Marquise de Merteuil in Les Liaisons Dangereuses. That woman seemed to thrive on finding people in happy relationships and then transforming them into a state of misery. But the aristocratic Whigs had a philosophy about extramarital affairs, and that was that one should seek maximum enjoyment with maximum discretion. The ladies Caroline referenced had failed miserably on the discretion part of that axiom, and so had Caroline.

Granger's more aristocratic upbringing had led him to understand what Caroline did not. When he and Caroline had married, it had been considered a good match. Her family was wealthy, but did not have the extensive pedigree that Granger’s family had. She had married the youngest son of a very exalted earl, while her father was a newly minted viscount. Caroline had acted as if she were the Duchess of Devonshire, but she was not. She had assumed that all peeresses were created equally, when they were not. The Duchess of Devonshire was Earl Spencer’s sister, a denizen of that noble house. Caroline’s own pedigree was much newer, and not as illustrious. Even as his wife, she did not have the leeway that those other ladies had.

He continued to ruminate over Caroline’s letter, trying to decide whether to respond, and ultimately decided not to. He would let her ponder her words and finally comprehend her true situation. Until she did that, any contact he had with her would only be similar to this vindictive and spiteful letter. He had allowed himself to drift off, deep in thought about this situation, such that he was almost startled when a footman appeared to tell him that Vorontsov was arriving.

Granger rose, just as Cheevers ushered the Russian Ambassador into his library. “Count Semyon Vorontsov, my lord,” Cheever said.

“Welcome, Your Excellency,” Granger said warmly, in French. “Please, have a seat.” Granger gestured to the two chairs in his study, arranged with a small table in between them. Vorontsov was an interesting man. He was 57 years old, but still seemed spry despite his advanced age. He had lived in Britain since 1785 and while he had become an anglophile, he had never learned English.

“It is good of you to receive me, my lord,” he said, and took a seat as Granger directed. Granger poured them each a glass of wine, then took his seat as well.

“Nonsense, Your Excellency,” Granger said. “I am saddened that it took us so long to meet. I am sure we have much to discuss.”

“Indeed we do, my lord,” Vorontsov said. “I have received some rather interesting communiqués from St. Petersburg about you.”

“I shouldn’t wonder, Your Excellency,” Granger said, chuckling.

“Tsar Paul described you as a snake that had slithered into his court, one who would ultimately use its venom to strike and kill him,” Vorontsov said with a sly grin.

“That is hardly flattering,” Granger noted, pretending to be surprised. “I would not classify my relationship with Tsar Paul as warm.”

Vorontsov laughed at that. “Unfortunately, my relationship with him was fraught as well.”

“Indeed?” Granger asked curiously.

“He did everything he could, short of an Imperial command, to lure me back to Russia to assume the post of Imperial Chancellor,” Vorontsov said. “Then, as he began to pursue a French alliance, he decided I was completely incompetent, and confiscated all of my estates.”

“My sympathies,” Granger said. “The tension at his Court was quite evident, with everyone on pins and needles, fearing a similar fate.”

“Indeed,” Vorontsov said. “I was happy to be ensconced here in London, and even happier that I had transferred enough wealth into this country so as not to be overly inconvenienced by his action.”

“While you were safely here in London, I was held as a virtual prisoner at his palace,” Granger noted ruefully.

“I have received numerous letters from people who note you were in the palace when Tsar Paul was killed, and they suggest that you and your fellow peer, Lord Daventry, were instrumental in the change of regimes,” Vorontsov said craftily.

“Rumors in St. Petersburg are no more reliable than they are in London,” Granger said. “I think that your correspondents are looking for a way to pin the murder of Paul on foreigners instead of acknowledging that his mental state and mercurial decrees had led members of the nobility to take that step, if only for their own survival.”

“And of course, you make an excellent point,” Vorontsov said. “His Imperial Majesty Tsar Alexander has an entirely different opinion of you.”

“I was privileged to share some intimate times with His Imperial Majesty, and I will treasure those memories for the rest of my life,” Granger said honestly. “He is a very impressive man.”

“Indeed?” Vorontsov asked.

“I have found him to be entirely focused on converting Russia into a more European state, and found his ideas on government quite interesting,” Granger said.

“It is rumored that he would prefer to see Russia with a system more like what you have here in this country,” Vorontsov said.

“That was my impression as well, although if His Imperial Majesty were here to truly witness how it worked, he may change his mind,” Granger noted, getting a laugh from Vorontsov. “I think he is seeing that before such a change can happen, he will need an aristocracy sophisticated enough to carry that burden.”

“And that he does not have,” Vorontsov said, shaking his head sadly.

“He does not,” Granger said, then smiled. “Yet.”

“Change is slow in Russia,” Vorontsov said.

“Perhaps, but this Tsar has a mission, and I am mindful that Peter the Great was able to achieve an almost miraculous transformation during his reign,” Granger noted. “I think His Imperial Majesty is just as capable.”

“That is a strong and compelling endorsement, especially from someone as well-versed in foreign courts as your lordship,” Vorontsov said.

“I am merely being candid,” Granger said.

“I was quite surprised that when I met with Lord Hawkesbury, he did not speak of, much less pressure me over, forming an alliance against France,” Vorontsov said curiously.

“Then it appears I may have been successful in persuading His Majesty’s Government of the folly of such a course of action,” Granger said, adding a slight grin to his words.

“You do not want Russia as an ally?” Vorontsov asked, and seemed both surprised and offended.

“His Imperial Majesty made it clear to me that his priority is reforming Russia, and to do that he requires peace,” Granger said. “A nation would have to do something very egregious at this point to spur him to start hostilities.”

“That is not an uncommon approach by Russian Tsars, but it usually falls victim to circumstances,” Vorontsov noted. “A perceived slight by the Swedes, an encroachment by the Ottomans, or some other such incident can often override their dedication to peace.”

“You are suggesting that His Imperial Majesty would not overlook an opportunity to expand Russian influence through war,” Granger noted, then waited until he got a nod from Vorontsov. “I think the difference with this Tsar is that the threshold for such an adventure is much higher.”

“That is an interesting observation,” Vorontsov noted.

“I would further suggest that tangling with Ottomans or Swedes is significantly different than fighting a war with France,” Granger added.

“I would think that any monarch would find war with France almost a requirement,” Vorontsov said, referring to the French Revolution and the Republic which had taken the place of the Ancien Régime.

“I think that attitudes are changing, and you noted earlier that Tsar Paul was on the verge of forming an alliance with France,” Granger pointed out.

“And of course Your Lordship is correct in pointing out that perhaps my views of the French regime are inconsistent with those in Russia, but that is perhaps a symptom of my long stay here in Britain,” Vorontsov said, making both of them chuckle.

“I daresay that even His Majesty’s government is anxious for peace with France,” Granger said, since that was no great secret. “While I cannot speak for His Imperial Majesty, I can give you my impression.”

“I would be most anxious to hear your thoughts,” Vorontsov said.

“My opinion is that while His Imperial Majesty views France and the French government with disdain, he is hopeful that Napoleon Bonaparte will prove to be a leader who can eradicate some of the more radical tendencies of that country, and provide stability to both France and the rest of Europe,” Granger said.

“Do you think that is the case, my lord?” Vorontsov asked.

Granger paused to think about that question, then answered. “I do not know, but I am skeptical.”

“I am interested to hear why,” Vorontsov countered.

“I have met Bonaparte once, and have interacted with many who know him,” Granger said. “My impression is that he is a quintessential warrior. I find it hard to imagine he will be happy with peace.”

“We will have to hope that Your Lordship is wrong,” Vorontsov said.

“On this issue, anyway,” Granger said, making Vorontsov chuckle. “In any event, I think that His Imperial Majesty views France as a more distant threat at this point, and that is why he will be less belligerent than he may be with neighbors like the Ottomans.”

“Especially since, to truly tackle France, an alliance with Austria or Prussia would be a requirement,” Vorontsov noted. “Austria has been significantly humbled by France just this year, and the Prussian king appears to be afraid of the French.”

“In the meantime, His Imperial Majesty can ignore Austria, Prussia, and France, and pay attention to his realm,” Granger concluded. Their conversation devolved from there into a lengthy discussion of the people at the Russian Court, especially von der Pahlen and Panin. Granger glanced up at the clock to note that he would be occupied by dinner in the very near future, and Vorontsov caught his gesture.

“I am not sure if Your Lordship is aware that it was thought by Tsar Paul that His Imperial Majesty’s embassy here in London should have more prestigious quarters,” Vorontsov said cautiously.

“I had not heard anything about that,” Granger answered honestly.

“A parcel of land was bought quite close to St. James’s Palace, on Cleveland Row,” he noted.

“That would be close to Spencer House, would it not?” Granger asked.

“Your lordship is, of course, correct, and in fact it is adjacent to Lord Spencer’s home,” Vorontsov noted. Granger knew that plot of land well. It was in between Spencer House and the dilapidated former residence of the Duchess of Cleveland.

“That is probably the best location in Westminster,” Granger observed, wondering why Vorontsov was bringing this up.

“It is, indeed,” Vorontsov said. “His Imperial Majesty has decided that such an edifice is not necessary.”

“That is unfortunate for you,” Granger teased. Vorontsov smiled in return.

“It is not,” Vorontsov said. “I am quite comfortable as things are, and much like Russia in general, I do not like such radical changes.”

“It is lucky for you that your views and desires coincide with those of His Imperial Majesty,” Granger said.

“That is indeed a most fortuitous but rare coincidence,” Vorontsov said. “To the point, though, His Imperial Majesty wants to show his appreciation for your service to His Imperial Majesty, and has ordered me to deed that property to your lordship.”

“To me?” Granger asked, stunned. He was quite happy with his townhouse here in Portland Place, and wasn’t sure he wanted to spend the £100,000 or so to construct something that would rival Spencer House.

“To your lordship,” Vorontsov said. “I am also directed to make available some £150,000 to allow you to construct a fitting residence on that plot of land.”

Granger just stared at Vorontsov in shock. “I do not know what to say.”

“Your lordship does not need to say anything to me, but I would suggest that you send a letter to His Imperial Majesty thanking him for his gift,” Vorontsov said, smiling.

“I will most certainly do that,” Granger said.

“I had ordered some preliminary plans to be drawn up by Mr. Wyatt,” Vorontsov said. He handed Granger a large, sealed envelope. “This contains the deed to the property, along with the plans that have been drafted.”

“Thank you for these,” Granger said, recognizing that this project was already much more advanced than he had imagined. “Is Mr. Wyatt still engaged to construct this building?”

“He is not,” Vorontsov said. “He was quite enthusiastic at the start of the process, then let it lie there, doing nothing. Rumor suggests that is not uncommon for him, and has cost him some commissions of late.”

“That is very useful feedback,” Granger said. Even more than that, he was relieved. He was overjoyed at the results John Nash had achieved for him at Cowes, and would feel much more comfortable working with him than an alternative architect.