King Frederick IChapter 5
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King Frederick of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland 2 January, 1832
I could not help fancying that the cheers of the people as we departed London sounded rather more heartfelt than they had upon my arrival 19 months previously. Nevertheless, I had determined to spend as little time in the capital as possible, and intended to return to Brighton at the conclusion of this tour.
As soon as we had traveled far enough outside the capital to be assured that there were no assassins lurking in ambush, Billy and I disembarked from the carriage and took the mounts of two dragoons. It was snowing lightly, but the brisk riding mostly made up for the cold. Nevertheless, we were slightly chilled by the time we arrived at Windsor, so I ordered a bath drawn and a glass of port brought up.
I had already gotten in the bath when the girl came up with the port.
“Beg pardon, sire” she set the port down and averted her eyes.
“No matter, you’re hardly the first to see me bathing. Before Grandfather died we always took our baths in the sea at Brighton.”
She looked back up, evidently I had piqued her curiousity.
“You must have been quite popular with the girls in Brighton, sire.”
“I should say so, at the risk of being immodest.”
“You’re a sight better formed than the lads ‘round here, I’m sure of that.”
“Do you want to know my secret?”
“Oh, yes...”
“Vigourous exercise, avoiding shoes and confining clothes, and gratifying my lusts at least once a day.”
“Gratifying your lusts?”
“Yes, you see retaining emissions irritates the nerves and...”
“Perhaps I could help you...”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
She pulled up her skirts for me as I stood up out of the bath. I pressed her against the wall, pulled down the last set of undergarments, and wrapped one leg around my naked body. I entered her readily, finding no sign of a maidenhead.
“I’m not your first...” I remarked.
“You’re my first King.”
“And hopefully your last for some time.”
A few thrusts later I had spent myself inside her and was ready to dress.
Charlie Burnes, an old friend from Brighton who had been packed off to Eton after my ascension was not so lucky. He was still in full Eton dress when I approached him.
“Charlie,” I clapped him on the shoulder, “we’ve just got to get you out of that bloody school.”
“I’ll say. Freddie, this is Diana, the Earl of Hardington’s sister.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” I bowed and she curtsied. I noticed that she would have had a lovely figure if it weren’t encased in modern fashion, and I asked her to dance. Diana was a fair dancer, but I could tell after two dances that she was starting to colour.
“Perhaps we should go farther from the fire,” I suggested.
We proceeded to the edge of the dance floor and Diana caught her breath.
“I beg pardon, Your Majesty. I am not yet accustomed to tight lacing.”
“Think nothing of it.”
“You must think me quite the little girl.”
“Not at all. If I had the power I’d ban corsets from the realm.”
“Really?”
“They’re an absolute menace to your health.”
“I must introduce you to Mamma.”
We spoke for a while longer, and I was rather impressed by her knowledge of Gibbon, gleaned, as I understood it, from sneaking into her late father’s library. Unfortunately I was interrupted by my father, who had recently returned to the country after being more-or-less exiled by my grandfather, and was eager to introduce me to one of his Teutonic connections. He seemed a nice enough fellow, and I wanted to establish a decent relationship with him, but I had learned from my grandfather’s example that allowing one’s relatives to determine one’s matrimonial prospects was a recipe for disaster. By the time I had managed to extricate myself, Diana had left, but I resolved to renew our acquaintance at the next social season.
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