6. The Finest Young Dandy

1811

Always sharply dressed, impeccably groomed and pleasantly perfumed, twenty-three-year-old William Wellesley Pole was a dandy, one of a new breed of English gentlemen who took pride in being elegant, cultured and witty. In terms of his style and incredible good looks, he was peerless. La Boudoir labelled him, ‘the finest young dandy to grace the streets of St James’, and years later when they crowned Count D’Orsay the ‘First Man of Fashion’, they qualified it by saying, ‘but he would not have gained that distinction at the time when [Mr Wellesley Pole] was seen about town’.1 William was known as Mr Pole, a nickname that he embraced as it suited his raffish image. Although he was not particularly wealthy, he was very well connected being the nephew of Wellington, the great military general.2 At the age of sixteen, William had been sent to work abroad and over the following five years he was engaged in military and diplomatic service. He had been secretary to the embassy at Constantinople, fought heroically in the Peninsular War, and worked at the embassies in Vienna, Copenhagen, Lisbon and Cadiz. It was unusual for a young gentleman to be so widely travelled, because revolution and war in Europe had put a stop on Grand Tours. William was one of the few who had immersed himself in other cultures, gaining sophistication far beyond his years.

William was urbane; he loved London and was pleased to be home. The area he frequented around St James’s was a hotspot for male leisure, an exclusive urban playground filled with gentlemen’s clubs and select menswear boutiques, where he spent lavishly. As an avid follower of fashion, he was greatly influenced by his close friend George ‘Beau’ Brummell, the undisputed leader of the dandies. With the dawn of the nineteenth century, Beau Brummell had led a revolution in fashion, advocating that gentlemen’s attire should not be showy; true elegance depended on low-key simplicity. Perfectly cut, his coats were made of plain dark cloth, offset by a pristine white shirt and crisp white cravat. The dandies adopted this sober style, parading around London in dark tailcoats and glossy top hats. Male grooming was another of Brummell’s innovations and William too was fastidious about cleanliness; he washed, shaved and preened every day, unlike many other men who continued to mask body odour with heavy perfume. Manners were essential; a dandy was well bred and poised. Wit was also a prerequisite and William was a charming companion at dinners, entertaining with well-rehearsed anecdotes and droll stories. Additionally, he danced exceptionally well, making him a welcome guest at any party.

Catherine had first met William at a gathering the previous year, shortly after he had returned from his travels. She was instantly drawn to his easy good nature and amused by his witty conservation, which was seasoned with tales about his time abroad. Catherine longed to travel and William’s stories intrigued her. She was further impressed by his performances in the ballroom; William had learned to waltz beautifully in Vienna and his dancing was unparalleled in London society. Whenever there was a display at the start of a ball, Catherine contrived to be his partner. Waltzing can be exquisitely sensual; swept up in his arms, she felt as if she was floating on air, the headiness heightened by the delicious scent of him. The attraction was intense. Catherine confided to her sisters that she was captivated by his ‘fascinating manners’.3

Young gentlemen usually cultivated their favourite pastime to a very high standard and the nation was littered with fine musicians, painters and writers. Macho and thrill-seeking, William was a sportsman. A renowned horseman, he had performed equestrian feats for the crowds at Catherine’s coming-of-age celebrations.4 He could ride at full gallop, grip his mount with his thighs and then swoop down to pluck a handkerchief from the floor. Since arriving back from Constantinople, he had been teaching his friends a new equestrian sport called ‘polo’, which young Mr Pole claimed was named after him.5 This might indeed have been the case, as he certainly popularized polo in England while serving in the cavalry. Society was highly impressed that he was such a ‘capital polo player’,6 and also an innovator, bringing back new ideas from his travels. To add even further to his allure, William possessed a strong athletic physique that paid testimony to many hours spent on the sports field. Who could blame Catherine for being so captivated?

Parading in the city parklands was another amusement enjoyed by the dandies. Rotten Row, in Hyde Park, was like an outdoor salon where fashionables went to see and be seen, dressed in their finest clothes or driving a swanky new carriage. William enjoyed riding there, showing off his glossy chestnut stallion and his horsemanship. There was a ritual of ‘greeting and not greeting, doffing hats or “cutting” those out of favour’.7 Brummell is credited with perfecting the ‘cut’; he would ‘assume that calm but wandering gaze, which veers, as if unconsciously, round the proscribed individual’.8 This was the ultimate social snub, and nobody wanted to be on the receiving end of a ‘cut’, especially as it was often dealt very publicly.

On the surface William was a typical dandy: well dressed, witty and entertaining. But dandyism was not simply about appearance; it was also an ethos, an expression of distaste for the excesses of the previous generation and of empathy with the new mood of democracy. There were many paradoxes. The dandies spoke of low-key restraint but then spent copiously and gambled. Manners were paramount but they were often impolite, possessing the haughtiness that Catherine had encountered from some quarters, the caustic wit and tendency to belittle others.9 As a result there were countless contradictions and dandies could not be neatly categorized – they were individual.

For William, the most pertinent part of being a dandy was the style and image. He approved of the fashion, but did not necessarily subscribe to some of the attitudes, such as the inherent snobbery. There were times when he was conceited and arrogant, but in the main he was a genial man who was happy to converse or play sport with everyone regardless of their wealth or standing. Catherine admired his unaffectedness, particularly as it complemented her own down-to-earth nature.

Catherine craved pleasure and excitement, which was why she found dashing and daring Mr Pole so appealing. It was clear to everyone that she adored him, but although he had proposed on several occasions she was still undecided. Catherine was no fool; William had a rakish reputation and needed to prove that he was a changed man, steadfast in his devotion to her. In the meantime, she could not resist a little mischievous teasing to keep him on his toes. Whenever she chatted with one of her simpering suitors, she was lively and flirtatious, beaming at all the lavish compliments. She found the excessive flattery exquisitely ludicrous, and William’s obvious discomfort made it even more entertaining for her. One observer remarked that William endured ‘many an uneasy quarter of an hour when she bestows smiles elsewhere . . . It amuses her. But it puts him in agony.’10

Catherine was clearly in love, but her family and friends were unimpressed by young Mr Pole. Aside from the fact that he was penniless, with dubious prospects and a dreadful reputation, they suspected his interest was purely financial. Most of them believed that she would be better off with someone steady and reliable. Lady Darnley summed up the general feeling when she declared, ‘Mr Pole . . . is very ill-conducted and, I believe, not a very wise young man.’11 Other onlookers considered him a scoundrel who indulged quite openly in improper behaviour. One objectionable pursuit was his waltzing, which in Regency terms was akin to dirty dancing in the eyes of some. Fearing the nation’s morals were being undermined, The Times published a report condemning ‘the indecent foreign dance called the Waltz . . . the voluptuous intertwining of limbs . . . is far removed from the modest reserve . . . distinctive of English females’.12 Broad-minded Catherine was undeterred by all the protests and continued to delight in waltzing.

William was also criticized for his frivolous lifestyle. While visiting London, Mirza Khan, the Persian ambassador, observed that the dandies ‘do nothing all day but write letters or walk about town twirling their watch-chains, and their evenings are spent at the theatre or at parties, dancing in shoes too small for them in order to impress the ladies’.13 An Irish student studying in London wrote an equally scathing account, accurately mirroring William’s daily routine. He noted that the first act of each day occurred at noon, with a careful examination of the papers.14 After visiting his stables to inspect horses and chat with the grooms, he was out in his curricle parading the parks, visiting his mistress, then making for Tattersall’s, a key venue for horse dealing. The late afternoon was set aside for visiting print shops, hoping to see himself in the latest satirical caricatures, which gave him ‘a little celebrity’.15 Following this, plans were drawn for the evening over a beer and sandwiches in a local hostelry, and he would return home to dress. Dinner was at seven, the opera or theatre at ten, and the night finished at a club or gaming house.

A renowned Lothario, there were rumours linking William with various women including someone named Mathilda, but he assured Catherine that his days of womanizing were over. Family and friends of the heiress remained wary. One of their biggest objections was that William could never stay out of trouble for long. In August he became embroiled in a very public scandal that led to him being issued with a challenge. The resulting duel was folly of the highest order; aside from the fact that it was illegal, there was a possibility that one man would die and the other hang for murder.

The duel was fought on a trivial pretext, but in reality it was the culmination of intense rivalry over the heiress, highlighting the extent of the frenzy surrounding her. Seventeen-year-old Lord Kilworth was a strong contender for Catherine’s affections, so there was already trouble brewing between him and William. Mounting tensions exploded after a satire appeared in the press, mocking William’s pursuit of Catherine:

With the tumult of Waltzing and wild Irish reels,

A prime dancer I’m sure to get at her . . .

But by Jesus I vow, by my own precious self,

That a Wellesley shall win her and wear her!16

Annoyed by the slur, William was further riled when Kilworth laughed about the skit in public. A petty row erupted and Kilworth felt compelled to issue a challenge.

Gossip columns revelled in the unfolding melodrama, publishing correspondence that passed between the rivals. The letters were leaked by William in an attempt to vindicate himself by showing that he was not the aggressor:17

Lord Kilworth to Mr Pole, Thursday evening 8 August

Sir – Not deeming [your] answer sufficiently satisfactory . . . I must request a further explanation, or a total disavowal of the words you used at Lady Hawarden’s.

Mr Pole to Lord Kilworth, a quarter to twelve, 29 Conduit Street, 8 August

My Lord – Your letter has afforded me extreme surprise . . . I conceive that in that conversation your Lordship was the aggressor . . . if your Lordship is resolved to quarrel with me, and to throw me the glove, I have only most reluctantly to accept of it.

Lord Kilworth to Mr Pole, Friday morning – approx 12.30 a.m.

Sir – Your long and unsatisfactory answer . . . compels me to demand a meeting with you, on Wimbledon Common, at six o’clock in the morning.

Mr Pole to Lord Kilworth, Conduit Street, two o’clock a.m. Friday

My Lord – . . . I shall do myself the honour of accepting your Lordship’s invitation to Wimbledon Common, at half past six tomorrow morning.

Luckily for William, his second in the duel was Colonel Merrick Shawe, a loyal family friend with years of diplomatic experience. Accompanying William to Wimbledon Common, Shawe successfully performed the foremost duty of a second: mediating persuasively to ensure that the duel was resolved before shots were fired. On 14 August, both seconds published a joint statement in the press confirming: ‘Everything was amicably adjusted in the most honourable manner. It did not appear to the seconds that any apology was necessary, nor was any made.’18

Unfortunately, this was not the end of the matter; a further bout of verbal sparring prompted Kilworth to issue another challenge. A second duel took place at Fulham Fields on 15 August, and on this occasion shots were exchanged. Kilworth fired first and missed. William was a sportsman and a deadly shot, but he showed mercy and ‘fired his pistol in the air’.19

The duel was typical of William’s stubborn and reckless nature; he would rather risk his life than apologize for causing offence. The story delighted the media for several weeks, and there were many veiled quips about a lovely heiress that had driven two admirers to desperation, causing them to behave like common highwaymen, brandishing pistols and firing off shots. Catherine was horrified by the whole episode and furious with William for many reasons: rash behaviour, publishing private letters and making her the object of public scandal. Could she really marry a man who was so thoughtless? Although he called at her home several times, she refused to see him. He sent notes, which she ignored. He visited the opera and all the other places she frequented, only to discover that she had left London without saying goodbye to him. Worse still, Catherine would not be returning for several months. It appeared that William had been unceremoniously dumped. Desolate, he sent her a plea from the heart: ‘You may but justly suppose my dearest Miss Long how wretched and unhappy I must feel, at the idea . . . I have caused you the least pain . . . I cannot describe to you how wretched this business has made me.’20

Parliament was in recess, the season was over, and the nobility retreated to their homes in the country to escape the heat and stench of London. Catherine joined her mother, sisters and aunt, who were already comfortably settled in a house on the seafront at the fashionable resort of Broadstairs, Kent. Catherine’s mother and Lady de Crespigny were delighted that William was seriously out of favour. They seized the opportunity, trying their utmost to persuade the heiress to accept the Duke of Clarence, who had taken the trouble to rent a house close by, just to be near her. After all the recent upset, Catherine was at a low point, with her resolve wavering. Succumbing to pressure, she agreed to walk out in public with Clarence. Although this was not an affirmative, it was a promising development for the royal suitor.