The play had certainly been amusing, and William was more than a little relieved that he had not found a likeness upon the stage, although some of his friends could not be considered as fortunate. But that was the price for a military involvement, he supposed. He stood by the window in the Melbourne’s drawing room after dinner, watching the dimly lit carriages trundle along Piccadilly. Taking a sip from his glass, he turned to look at the person next to him. “I imagine that Sheridan won’t be able to live that down in the Commons when they next meet. I must admit, I’m quite sorry that I’ll miss that.” Although he could always try to get a spot in the public gallery for the next session.














