Royal drama in the opera house

Current Beverage: White Tea with a splash of Pomegranate

A tiresome and run-of-the-mill evening at the opera last night became a fascinating pageant of human folly, as the melodramatic windbags onstage lost the spotlight to the very real drama being played out between the Prince of Wales and his estranged wife. Needless to say, I was all atwitter with excitement.

The Princess Caroline, surrounded by several of her more charming friends (I do believe I caught a glimpse of the dashing Admiral Sidney Smith!) entered her box, waving sweetly to the populace to general applause, a vision in forest green. I do believe the princess grows younger by the year, for I daresay none of this season’s young ladies at Almack’s can compete with her fresh cheeks and easy, booming laugh! Just then, in a box not far from the princess’s, who should stroll in but the Prince of Wales himself! Clad in satin and no doubt a corset, and surrounded by his usual and boisterous crowd of admirers and hangers-on, Prinny proceeded to make quite a spectacle of himself, carrying on loudly enough to quite ruin the show—for those still paying attention to the drama onstage, that is, rather than the drama in the royal boxes.

As soon as the prince caught sight of the poor princess, oh, the mutterings and titterings began, and the poor woman was quite made an object of sport by the prince and his simpering minions. An eagle-eyed observer such as myself might have noted that the chivalric Admiral may have drawn ever so slightly closer to the princess as she withstood this embarrassment, but then I would shudder to monger gossip. Apparently blissfully unaware of any such rumors swirling in his direction, I don’t mind saying that the prince made his odious attentions toward the ladies in his company abundantly obvious. Ah, for the halcyon days of the monarchy, when such indiscretions were kept neatly behind closed doors! Nevertheless, I have rarely enjoyed a night at the opera so much!

Close Call on a Balcony

Current Beverage: Swiss Darjeeling black tea.

Well! I swear I have never been so close to discovering and revealing Lady Hyacinth in her usual compromising state as I was last night at Almack’s! Unfortunately the gentleman escaped from the balcony they had been sharing a mere moment before I arrived –bearing a glass of lemonade that I was delivering to a friend that I “thought was on the balcony. ;)” But to think! One moment sooner and I could have congratulated myself that Lady Hyacinth would finally have to be made an honest woman by whatever bounder she had caught this time!

Oh lord. On the other hand, my dear, it could be that the poor man was helpless against her practiced wiles, or had been lead to the balcony on some false pretense, and should by no means have to be shackled to the Jezebel for life! Not when there are still gentlewomen willing to forgive these errors and share the yoke with the misguided soul. And as I like to say, my dear, what’s wrong with a nice Viscount?!
And why indeed should Lady Hyacinth be rewarded for her wicked intentions and randomly bestowed allurements? Yes, my dear, I am very pleased to share that I thwarted Lady Hyacinth from her obvious and over-used attempts to ensnare a fine gentleman, and from now on I shall take great care to be sure of whom I am on the cusp of discovering in a compromising situation!

Napoleon's Scandalous Relations!

Current Beverage: Twinings' Lady Grey black tea.

You will be pleased to know, my dear, that I did not miss a thing at Josephine's assembly last night! Over my second glass of ratafia (say what you will of the obscenities one is forced to endure at such assemblies, the refreshments at the Tuilleries are always adequate) I spotted black widow Pauline Bonaparte leading another hapless victim into her web. The emperor turned his habitual blind eye as another of his decorated captains was snared by his sister's bedroom eyes and easy virtue.

Pauline was wearing a negligee-inspired muslin that clung, some might say unforgivingly to her famous curves, leaving little to the imagination in the way of decollatage. A sensible Englishwoman such as myself would have cause to wonder how she manages to avoid catching a chill, wandering the drafty chambers of the Tuilleries in little more than a glorified nightgown! The enviable if insubstantial fabric of her frock was nearly ruined by what must have been almost a bucket of water splashed on the skirt, following the regrettable trend (which Pauline no doubt started herself) of dampening the skirt so that it will cling alluringly to the leg. Despite her tawdry efforts, she no doubt achieved her aim, if her aim was to shock dowagers and cause more than one gentleman to sternly remind himself of his marital vows. Really Pauline, must you try so hard? In your constant attempts to shock, you are really turning into a bore. Leave a little mystery!