The Duchess Page #3

seeing, as he does, a giant belly

every time he passes a mirror.

If your belly were on a woman, well,

we'd all know what to think.

My dear Sheridan,

an hour ago my belly was on a woman.

Now what do you think?

That will teach you to insult Mr. Fox

before the gaming has begun.

It's very good.

No more bets, please.

Seven.

Her Grace wins again.

Another wager?

- Are you all right, Your Grace?

- Your Grace!

Are those labor pains?

My wife is in labor.

Come along.

I think this calls for a toast.

I may have an heir

before the night is out.

Ladies and gentlemen,

I give you the sixth Duke of Devonshire.

The sixth Duke of Devonshire!

- Your Grace.

- I am in no mood for a conversation.

But, pray tell me, is my daughter...

Is your daughter at all able

to give me a son?

Take heart, Your Grace.

As long as the mother is in good health,

consider this mishap a draft,

a promise of what is soon to come.

- In our family, we...

- Yes, I know, in your family,

in your family.

Your Grace.

Can you see the light? Can you see it?

- Darling, how are you?

- Quite well.

- Is she strong and healthy?

- She's perfect.

- Did William receive you?

- Yes.

Is he upset that she's not a son?

He just glanced at her and then left.

I've hardly seen him since.

It's been a difficult time for His Grace,

my dear.

Many eyes are upon him

and not all of them kind.

She is the loveliest.

- Nurse?

- No, I will feed her.

- Are you sure, darling?

- Yes.

I am her mother, after all,

even if she is only a girl.

There.

Hell and damnation!

It is always a pleasure

when one is on holiday

to request a few words of wisdom.

And so without further ado,

it is a great honor to hand over

to our most distinguished guest.

When she arrives,

all eyes are upon her.

When absent, she is the subject

of universal conversation.

And what we see her wearing tonight,

I look forward to seeing

the rest of you wearing tomorrow!

The empress of fashion herself,

the Duchess of Devonshire.

We come away to Bath

to get away from London,

and all of London

has come away to Bath.

Somebody did indeed ask me

what kind of feather it is

that I'm wearing.

Well, there are only two specimens

of this rare bird known to man.

One of them has clearly ended up

on top of my head.

And the other, rumor has it,

is running for office in the Tory Party.

Bess Foster.

Excuse me.

- I don't believe we've been introduced.

- No, we haven't. Lady Elizabeth Foster.

- I saw you talking with my husband.

- Yes. He wanted to dance.

That's not usually considered his forte.

And you declined?

I'm ill at ease with male company

for the moment.

Thank you.

So what brings you to Bath?

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes