REGENCY HEROES BY GUEST BLOGGER DIANE GASTON

Diane Gaston here, very happy to be a guest blogger on Number One London. This piece, slightly edited here, first appeared on Risky Regencies on April 24, 2006.

Let’s face it. I’m in this business, writing Regency Historical Romance, for the heroes.

What could be better than spending your days with some hunky gentleman in pantaloons, Hessians, and a coat by Weston, who says things like, “You’ve bewitched me, body and soul.”

Sigh!

The Regency gives us such wonderful heroes. Wealthy marquesses and dukes. disreputable Rakes (as opposed to my Reputable Rake, Harlequin Historical, May 2006, still available in ebook), corinthians, gamblers, impoverished vicars, and my favorite–

The soldier.

I’m with Mrs. Bennett when, in Pride and Prejudice, she says, “I remember the time when I liked a red coat myself very well—and, indeed, so I do still at my heart.”

That’s me. Show me a man in his regimentals and I’ll show you a potential hero.

Maybe I love military heroes because my father was an Army colonel. I grew up with that whole military mind-set of duty and honor and country. Woke up to reveille. Went to sleep hearing taps. Or maybe it was listening to all those Chivers audiotapes of the Sharpe series, hearing William Gaminara read, “Sharpe swore.”

Writing a soldier for a hero gives so much dramatic potential. The hero faced hardship, faced death, experienced scenes we would find horrific. He’s honed his body to be strong. When he returns to England from war, he must look on the society to which he returns in a whole new light. I think it makes for lots of interesting possibilities.

I have a brazillion books on the Napoleonic war. Three of my favorites are:

Waterloo: Day of Battle by David Armine Howarth. It tells the story of Waterloo from the soldiers point of view.

Redcoat: The British Soldier in the Age of Horse and Musket by Richard Holmes, This book covers everything about being a soldier during that time period.

Galloping at Everything: The British Cavalry in the Peninsular War and at Waterloo, 1808-15 by Ian Fletcher. This covers all the major operations engaging the cavalry
and discusses some of the controversy around them.

I have another book that makes me sad: Intelligence Officer in the Peninsula, Julia Page, editor. These are the letters and diaries of Major the Hon. Edward Charles Cocks, a man who loved soldiering with a passion that makes the journals occasionally boring. It makes me sad because the war takes his life. Even Wellington grieves his loss.

I’d love to write a series of Napoleonic war love stories, sort of Bernard Cornwell-style but with a really satisfying romance. I haven’t quite done it yet, but I did write a series of soldier books that featured part of the war. And my last book, Bound By Duty, ends with the Battle of Waterloo. My next book, Bound By One Scandalous Night, begins right before the battle.

Okay, let’s face it. I just want to spend my days with some hunky officer in regimentals.

Diane

Diane Gaston is the award-winning author of over 20 Regency Historical Romances.

THE WELLINGTON CONNECTION: CHILDREN

The Thorburn painting of The Duke surrounded by his grand-children in the library at Stratfield Saye. The boy in blue became the 4th Duke.

I believe that one of the reasons the Duke of Wellington remains eternally fascinating is because he was quite a complex human being who, like each of us, had many sides. One of the most endearing of these was his love of children, which is puzzling considering the stilted and often painful relationship he had with his own two sons. Wellington enjoyed the company of children from the time he was a young adult, playing with the Duke of Richmond’s children in Ireland and racing the Duke through the park whilst each of them rode a child piggyback. There are many other instances of the Duke’s playful side, including the following:

The Life of Wellington by Sir Herbert Maxwell

14th June, 1815.

“The Duke of Wellington seems to unite those two extremes of character which Shakespeare gives to Henry V.—the hero and the trifler. You may conceive him at one moment commanding the allied armies in Spain or presiding at the conference at Vienna, and at another time sprawling on his back or on all fours upon the carpet playing with the children.

A Sketch of the Life of Georgiana, Lady de Ros By Blanche Arthur Georgina Swinton

The Duke’s kindness to children is well-known; when he invited his friends to visit him, their children were always included; and on one occasion, passing through the room where some of his juvenile guests were at tea (I rather think the present Premier was one!), he was very angry at finding they had no jam, and instantly gave orders it was never to be omitted! When my little girl of five years old—his god-daughter—worked him a pincushion, he apologised for his delay in writing to thank her! When we assembled for dinner, we usually found the Duke, who had dressed early, engaged in a regular game of romps with the children, who came down on purpose for what they called the Battle of Waterloo, which commenced by one of them throwing a cushion at the newspaper the Duke was reading.

Wellington the Beau by Patrick Delaforce

Of Mary, the second Lady Salisbury. Not only were her first three children named after the Duke – Sackville Arthur born in 1848, Mary Arthur in 1850 and Arthur born in 1851; but she convalesced after each confinement at Walmer Castle. Every summer she and her offspring spent happy weeks there and the old Duke regarded them as his own grandchildren. . . . . He designed medals for them made up of shillings and ribbons, and allowed `Your Babes’ to romp where they wished. He devised a baby jumper machine for them to be suspended safely from the ceiling. The conqueror of Europe was such a genial lover of very small children.

Notes of Conversations with the Duke of Wellington, 1831-1851 by Earl Philip Henry Stanhope Stanhope

The Duke has now staying with him (at Walmer Castle) two little children of Lord and Lady Robert Grosvenor, who are gone abroad, and his conduct to these chicks displays a kindheartedness and warmth of feeling such as their own parents could not surpass, but such as the Duke displays to all. Lady Mahon was told by Lady Mary Grimston who was staying in the house, that the children having expressed their desire to receive letters by the post, the Duke every morning writes a little letter to each of them, containing good advice for the day, which is regularly delivered to them when the post comes in.

While he had a playful side, Wellington also had a sense of responsibility where the welfare of children was concerned. He and the Duchess of Wellington took in and cared for the children of family and friends whenever the need arose, including the two sons of his brother, Henry, who was unprepared to care for them when his wife left him for the Marquess of Angelsey. At Walmer, Wellington took it upon himself to visit the children of his neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins, whilst that lady was away. The two mites suffered a bout of measles and Wellington sent his own doctor to see them every day and every day wrote to Mrs. Jenkins to keep her up to date on their recovery. Below you will find further examples of Wellington’s quiet benevolence, although I’m certain there are many more that will never come to light.

Wellingtoniana: Anecdotes, Maxims, and Characteristics, of the Duke of Wellington, Volume 4 edited by John Timb

During the late war in the Punjab, Captain Field, of her Majesty’s 9th regiment of foot, was killed in action at Ferozepore. His widow sailed down the Ganges with her three children (two daughters and a son) for Caleutta, on her way to England. The daughters both died of cholera at Caleutta. Mrs. Field, with her only remaining child, then embarked for her native country; but she herself died on the passage, and was committed to the deep off St. Helena, consigning her orphan son to his grandfather, Captain Farrant, whose death occurred before the ship’s arrival. Captain Farrant’s widow (stepmother to Mrs. Field) took charge of the poor child; and her sister, Miss White, addressed the Duke of Wellington, as Commander-in-Chief, in the little orphan’s behalf. The following was the highly characteristic reply of the illustrious Duke :—

“London, Jume 23, 1846.

“F. M. the Duke of Wellington, presents his compliments to Miss White. He has received her note. The Duke, in his capacity of Commander-in-Chief of the army, has not the power or authority to order or authorise the expenditure of one shilling of public money on any account or upon any service whatever. The Secretary at War is the officer entrusted exclusively with the administrations of the laws and regulations for the grant ofpensions to the widows and allowances to the orphans of the officers of the army. The Commanderin-Chief has no control over that officer or his duties, and it is inconsistent with his duty to interfere in them. Miss White or Mrs. Farrant must apply to the Secretary at War.”

But though a high sense of duty prevented him from interfering, as Commander-in-Chief, in the child’s behalf, the touching tale failed not to move his benevolent sympathies: for, after considering how best he could befriend the case, he directed a communication to be made officially through Lord Fitzroy Somerset, that his Grace ‘had procured for him a presentation to Christ’s Hospital. The little fellow, W. Field, is now there, in No. 7, enjoying the judicious exercise of his illustrious patron’s benevolence; and, the boy’s bent being for the army, it is hoped that a commission may hereafter be obtained for him on leaving that excellent institution.

The Life of Wellington by Sir Herbert Maxwell

The following anecdote, told by Stocqueler, is well authenticated, and illustrates at once the Duke’s great love of children, and his thoughtfulness for their welfare. The son of Kendall, the Duke’s valet, was at school near Strathfieldsaye, and was spending a day with his father at Apsley House. The Duke’s bell rang; Kendall, answering it, was followed by the lad into the study.

“Whose boy is that?” asked the Duke quickly.

“Mine, your Grace,” replied Kendall, “and I humbly ask your Grace’s pardon for his coming into the room, not knowing your Grace was here.”

“Oh! that is nothing,” quoth the Duke; “but I didn’t know you had a son, Kendall. Send him in and leave him with me.”

So the boy—greatly trembling—was sent in to the Duke, who asked him if he knew to whom he was speaking. “Yes, sir—your Grace, I mean.”

“Oh, my little fellow,” answered the Duke, “it will be easier for you to call me ‘sir.’ You call your schoolmaster ‘sir,’ don’t ye? Call me ‘sir’ too, if you choose. Now I wonder if you can play draughts.” “Yes, sir.”
“Come on then; we’ll have a game, and I’ll give you two men.”

Down they sat; the boy said afterwards that he really thought he was going to win the second game, but his doughty antagonist laid a trap for him, and chuckled mightily when he fell into
it.

The games over, the Duke asked the boy a lot of questions in geography, and then said—

“Well, you shall dine with me to-day; but I shall not dine yet: would you like to see my pictures?” and he trotted him round the great gallery. Then the Duke took him among the statues—” important fellows ” he said they were—but the boy said he preferred the pictures.

“I thought so,” observed the Duke; “but tell me—which of these is most like your schoolmaster?”

Young Kendall picked out a bust without moustaches, which happened to be a likeness of the Duke himself.

“Oh! well,” laughed the Duke, “that is a very good man of his sort. Come now, we’ll go to dinner. I have ordered it early, as I suppose you dine early at school.”

“At one o’clock, sir,” said the lad.

“A very good hour,” said the Duke. “I used to dine at one when I was at school.”

They sat down tete-a-tete, the anxious father being told that the bell would ring when he was required. Having said grace, the Duke told the boy that he would give him a little of every dish, as he knew boys liked to taste all they saw. Dinner over, the lad was dismissed with the injunction—

“Be a good boy; do your duty; now you may go to your father.”

About four years later the Duke was detained on the South Eastern railway for two hours, when travelling to attend a meeting of the Privy Council. He was exceedingly indignant, and communicated his complaint to Mr. Macgregor, chairman of the company. Nothing more is known of the incident, except this, that immediately afterwards young Kendall was appointed to a clerkship in Mr. Macgregor’s bank at Liverpool, after which he was transferred to the Ordnance Department in Ireland. The presumption is fair that the Duke supplemented his income during the early years of his clerkship, which is always insisted upon in a bank, and which must have been far beyond the means of his father to do.

DINNER WITH THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON

“How do you feel about going to Philadelphia in November?” I asked Hubby one day back in September.

“Philly? Why do you want to go to Philly?” Hubby asked in return.

Channeling the wide eyed, innocent look often adopted by Lucy Ricardo, I answered, “Oh, I thought we could spend a few days in the city and then a couple of days visiting your family.”

“My family? Oh, no. Uh uh,” Hubby said, narrowing his eyes at me. “You’ve got something up your sleeve. There’s something British going on. Who’s going to be there, the Queen? Prince Charles?”

“The Duke of Wellington.”

“That’d be some trick.”

“Not Artie. The 9th Duke of Wellington.”

“There’s a 9th Duke of Wellington?”

“Long live the Duke.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What exacty are you talking about?”

“The Duke of Wellington will be giving a lecture for the Royal Oak Society at the Union League in Philly on November 19th. There’s a dinner afterwards. We can spend two days in Philly and then drive into the suburbs to see Laura and Terry and Mike.”

“Okay, I’m in.”

Now it was my turn to narrow my eyes at Hubby. “There’s a dinner afterwards. After the lecture. By the Duke of Wellington.”

“Heard you.”

“The dress is business formal.”

“What does that mean? I don’t have to rent a tux, do I?”

“No. But you do have to wear a suit. Tie. Dress shoes.”

“I do have suits, you know. And dress shoes.”

“So . . . . you’ll go with me?”

“Yeah, I’ll go.” Who was this masked man?

“Let’s try your suits on and see which one fits best.”

“We have two months! There’s no rush. I’ll try them on closer to the day.” Ah, now I recognized him. Hubby. Really, I couldn’t push Hubby about the suit. He’d just agreed to sitting through a lecture, after all.

“Er, do you know how to address the Duke?”

“Huh?”

“Should you meet him face to face during the evening, do you know how to greet him? I mean, you can’t say ‘Hey, how you doing, man?’

Hubby rolled his eyes. “Save it. Whatever it is you want me to say, save till closer to the day. I just hope it won’t be anything as weird as the wedding vows you made me say. What was that again?”

“I pledge thee my troth.”

“Yup. That’s the one. My troth. Whatever that is. And I still don’t believe that anyone else pledges their troth when they get married, even if they are British. I don’t have to bow or anything, do I?”

“Only if you want to.”

“Well, I don’t. Are we going to eat dinner tonight, or what?”

And so I waited until two weeks befor the day before broaching the subject of suits with Hubby again. Obediently, he went and got his two black suits from the closet. After dusting them off, I held one out to him. “Here, try this one first.”

Hubby donned the pants and then the jacket. “Well?” he asked. “It fits.”

“Yes, but who does it fit?”

“Waddya mean?”

“You look like you’re wearing your grandfather’s clothes. Your really big grandfather. Look how much material is in the sleeves. Arnold Swarzenegger could get his arm in there with yours. Try the other one on. Please.”

He did. And it fit like a glove. The sleeves were perfect, the length, as well. Like a glove. There is a God.

“Right. That’s the one. Take it off and I’ll bring it to the cleaners.” And so I did. And then I went to pick it up from the cleaners on Monday. I handed my ticket over and the girl behind the counter started the clothes carousel going round and round. And round. And round again. And then one last time for good measure.

Coming back to the counter she said, “Er, it’s not here.”

I blinked at her. “My ticket says it would be ready two days ago.”

“Oh, it’s ready. It’s checked in on the computer as having been cleaned and returned to us, but it’s not where it should be.”

I stared at her a moment before saying, “My husband has an important dinner on Thursday. We’re going out of town, with his suit, on Wednesday. He. Must. Have. That. Suit.”

“Look, if you give me a few hours, I promise I’ll go through every single garment we have here and try to find it. It’s here, it just wasn’t put in the proper place.”

Aside from losing my mind, or pitching a fit, I had no choice but to agree to this. There was no way in the world Hubby was wearing his grandfather’s suit to meet the Duke of Wellington.

When I called back, I was told that Hubby’s suit was given to the wrong customer. They had been calling and leaving messages on the customer’s phone, but hadn’t heard back yet. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. WWAD? For the uninformed, that stands for What Would Artie Do? Breathe. Think. Calmly. I could rush Hubby out of the house and into a menswear store. I could even buy him a new suit. But there would be alternations needed. Inevitably. Alterations that would take more than a day to turn around. It was Monday. We were flying out on Wednesday. As I had no Marshall Blucher in reserve, you’ll understand that I then allowed myself to panic.

“We’ll keep trying to reach the customer,” the girl at the other end of the phone said.

In the end, and in a close call to rival that at the Battle of Waterloo, the customer did return their calls, the suit was delivered to the dry cleaners and I went to pick it up. With about four seconds to spare.

So, Hubby and I arrived in Philly, with the suit, and the next day – the day of the dinner – turned out to be a rainy one. We’d planned on doing a few museums and walking the City, but now had to regroup. It occurred to me that Philly, like most larger cities, might have a Big Bus Tour. The doorman at hotel confirmed that this was so and even arranged for the tour operator to send a courtesy van to pick us up at the hotel and deliver us back after the tour. We were able to see the sights in comfort and warmth.

Betsy Ross’s House above and below.

The “Rocky” steps above.

After the tour, we returned to the hotel in order to get dressed for the Wellington Lecture.

“You look nice,” Hubby said.

“Do you think?” I asked. “I feel like I should either be holding menues and asking ‘how many in your party?’ or standing at the front of an airline cabin pointing out the emergency exits. Business formal, indeed.”

So, after drinks in the hotel bar, Hubby and I headed outside the hotel to get a cab. None to be had, we were told by the doorman. Huh? Apparently, Philly cabs were overloaded due to the rain. Huh? It rains in London. It rains in Manhattan. There are still cabs. We had fifteen minutes to get to the Union League. Long minutes ticked by with no cabs in sight. I could not believe that I was going to be late for a lecture I’d waited months to attend because of rain. The words “a horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse” ran through my mind, but I didn’t think Hubby would appreciate the similarity.

“We should walk,” I said at last.

Hubby looked at me as though I’d suggested getting naked and dancing the samba in the street. “Don’t be crazy.”

“We are going to miss the Duke of Wellington,” I hissed in response. “The Duke of Wellington.”

It was at this point that we were approached by a man. “I understand from the doorman that you need to get to the Union League. Get in. I’ll drive you there.”

I looked over to see that he had a private car. “Really?”

“Yes. Come on. I’m an Uber car. Get in.”

We got in. We drove the five blocks and got to the Union League with seconds to spare. I gave the driver a twenty dollar bill and am still remembering him in my nightly prayers.

Reader, we were in time for the Wellington Lecture. Words, I trust, are not necessary.

I suspect that the lecture series was prompted by the fact that The Duke of Wellington has reworked and expanded a book called The Iconography of the Duke of Wellington which was written by a former Duke in 1935. The new coffee table book, Wellington Portrayed, was on sale and you can rest assured that I bagged myself a copy.

When I reached the Duke at the front of the line, I handed him our Number One London card. He was seated at a table, he looked at the card and then looked up at me, taking note of the Wellington miniature I wore on my lapel.

“It’s our blog. We’ve been doing it for about four years. All things Wellington, all the time.”

“Really?” I couldn’t tell if this was a good really or a cease and desist really.

“Yes. And we did a Duke of Wellington Tour last year and went to all the sites associated with the Duke, including Apsley House and Stratfield Saye.”

“Did you visit Walmer?”

“Yes, Your Grace. And Horse Guards.” The Duke made no comment, but did sign my copy of his book.

And he deigned to take a photograph with his most loyal flight attendant.

DINNER WITH THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON

On November 19, 2015, I shall be dining with the Duke of Wellington in Philadelphia. I say this to people – people I know but who aren’t au fait with British history – and in response, they look at me askance whilst uttering a nervous laugh. “Right,” they say, “the Duke of, er, whatever. Right. Nice. So, er, I’m just going to go and . . . . .” They think I’m nuts. I say the same thing to people who are on point as far as British history is concerned and they say, “Oh, you’re a card! The Duke of Wellington. Right! Har Har!” Followed again, for the most part, by nervous laughter.

As though I would lie about the Duke of Wellington. Me. Lie about the Duke. I ask you!? Okay, so I won’t be dining with that Duke, but rather this Duke – Charles Wellesley, the 9th Duke of Wellington.

And whilst I’ll be dining with the Duke, so will about one hundred others. Honestly, here’s the link to the event, which is actually a lecture by the Duke followed by dinner. Victoria was otherwise engaged, so I roped Hubby into agreeing to travel to Philadelphia and attend the event with me. Now you can cue the nervous laughter.

Tickets to the event have been secured. Flights booked. Hotel room the same. Done and dusted. Now all that’s left to worry about is the night itself. Many people have dined with many Dukes of Wellington and, as far as I know, all of them have survived. Mrs. Arbuthnot and Lady Shelley dined with the first Duke many times and they came out alright. Queens and Kings have dined with subsequent Dukes of Wellington and emerged unscathed. It’s not the dining, or even the minute long meeting, with the Duke of Wellington that concerns me. Well, okay, Hubby meeting the Duke of Wellington does concern me, but personally I’m in a quandry as to what to wear. What does one wear to meet the Duke of Wellington? Or any Duke, for that matter. The event details say, “Formal Business Attire.” I can understand this as far as men are concerned, but what about women? Surely something more than a severe skirt and jacket is warranted for an evening event with the Duke?

Granted, this might be a tad too much . . . . . .

But on the other hand, surely this is too little?

Is this more like it? Or am I still off base?

I suppose I could always follow the Royal lead . . . . . but then I’d have to find a hat. Sigh.

What to wear, what to wear? It’s a quandry and it’s distracting. So distracting, in fact, that I’m not even worrying about how in the world I’m going to get Hubby into anything resembling “formal business attire.”

Please do leave a comment as to proper attire. I’d welcome the input. Hints, tips and tricks on how to get Hubby to agree to don a suit and tie when no one he knows has died would be likewise appreciated.

THE NEWS FROM WATERLOO

Everyone who has an interest in either the Duke of Wellington or the Battle of Waterloo has heard of Henry Percy, above, the officer sent from Brussels to London on a mission to deliver Wellington’s Waterloo Despatch – the official report that would unquestionably confirm the Allied victory at Waterloo.

PERCY, HENRY (1785–1825), colonel, aide-de-camp to Sir John Moore and to Wellington, fifth son of Algernon Percy, baron Lovaine, who was created Earl of Beverley in 1790, and brother of Hugh Percy [q. v.], bishop of Carlisle, and of Vice-admiral Josceline Percy, was born on 14 Sept. 1785. He was educated at Eton, and on 16 Aug. 1804 appointed lieutenant in the 7th fusiliers. He became captain unattached 9 Oct. 1806, and captain 7th fusiliers on 6 Nov. following. He was aide-de-camp to Sir John Moore at Coruña. On 21 June 1810 he was transferred as captain to the 14th light dragoons. He was taken prisoner with a party of his regiment during the retreat from Burgos in 1812, and was detained in France until the peace. In 1815 he was appointed aide-de-camp to the Duke of Wellington. He brought home the Waterloo despatches, arriving post in London on the evening of 20 June with the despatches and captured eagles, and was next day made C.B., and a brevet lieutenant-colonel from 18 June 1815. He retired on half-pay in 1821, and was returned to parliament for Beeralston, Devonshire, in 1823. Once a gay, handsome young fellow, he prematurely lost his health. He died at his father’s house in Portman Square, London, 15 April 1825, in his fortieth year, and was buried in the cemetery of St. Marylebone. [Foster’s Peerage, under ‘Beverley;’ Army Lists; Gent. Mag. 1825, pt. i. p. 567.]

Percy’s ride was recently recreated for the 200th Anniversry of the Battle of Waterloo and many legends, romantic or otherwise, have arisen from the Duchess of Richmond’s Ball, the Battle of Waterloo and Percy’s famous ride. Below you’ll see the uniform Percy wore to the Ball, during the Battle and for the duration of his ride to London – more from the Waterloo200 website here.

“This wallet or sachet of purple silk velvet and crepe, maker unknown, is traditionally said to be a lady’s handkerchief sachet. It played a vital role after the Battle of Waterloo, as it was in this case that the Waterloo Dispatch travelled back to London from Belgium. The Dispatch, carried by Major Henry Percy, was the Duke of Wellington’s account of the battle, and was the first news received by the British government of the Allied victory. The case is photographed on Major Percy’s uniform in which he fought at Waterloo.”

What we have not heard before now are the details of Percy’s journey to London and of the many others who played a part in the delivery of the Despatch. I’ve just finished reading Brian Cathcart’s excellent account of the story behind Percy’s ride and the many ways in which the Allied victory impacted Britain, English society and Europe as a whole.

The News from Waterloo: The Race to Tell Britain of Wellington’s Victory

by Brian Cathcart

From the publisher:

“This is a tragi-comic midsummer’s tale that begins amidst terrible carnage and weaves through a world of politics and military convention, enterprise and roguery, frustration, doubt and jealousy, to end spectacularly in the heart of Regency society at a grand soirée in St James’s Square after feverish journeys by coach and horseback, a Channel crossing delayed by falling tides and a flat calm, and a final dash by coach and four from Dover to London.

“At least five men were involved in bringing the news or parts of it to London, and their stories are fascinating. Brian Cathcart, a brilliant storyteller and historian, has visited the battlefield, travelled the messengers’ routes, and traced untapped British, French and Belgian records. This is a strikingly original perspective on a key moment in British history.”

Cathcart uses Percy’s ride as a platform to write about all manner of subjects related to Regency England – road travel, the telegraph, channel crossings, newspapers and banking, society and politics. The News From Waterloo is a vivid, entertaining read and should be a part of every Waterloo/Wellington/Regency library.

George the IV famously promoted Percy on the spot at the Boehm residence in St. James’s Square once he’d delivered the Despatch and placed the French Eagles at the King’s feet. What is lesser known is that Wellington himself acknowledged his debt to Percy by gifting him with a Breguet pocket watch. I urge you to read the full article on the watch which can be found here.

This is a pocket watch that belonged to Major Henry Percy, a British officer who fought at the Battle of Waterloo, and was chosen to deliver the Duke of Wellington’s dispatch back to London. Carrying news of the Allied victory at Waterloo to the British government was a vital task. In recognition of his work, the Duke of Wellington gave Major Percy this watch – made by the Parisian clockmaker Abraham-Louis Breguet, one of the most famous artisans of his time.

At the same time that Wellington bought Percy’s watch, he also purchased one for himself. Wellington had his watch fitted with an extra cover that held a minature portrait. The lady in the miniature is Marianne Patterson. You can read more here.