Indiscretions of the Queen

The Miracle

SHE was twenty-six. It was said of her: ‘She will never marry now.’

She began to think so herself. She was often in the houses of her father’s subjects; if a new baby was about to be born she expressed great interest; and each day she drove out to visit her children.

She often thought of Major von Töbingen and wondered whether he had married; the thought of his being the father of lovely children was almost unbearable. Perhaps she had been foolish; since they would not let her have the man she loved, it might have been wise to have taken one of those whom they thought were so suitable. She might at least have had her baby by now.

She was more subdued than she had been. The affair with Major von Töbingen had changed her. It did not worry her that there was scandal about her and that many malicious people said that she was unmarried because she had led an immoral life. They credited— or discredited— her with having given birth to at least two illegitimate children and they quoted as proof the occasion of the ball when the accoucheur had come to the Palace and the time when she had left Court after the Töbingen affair. What did she care? She had grown listless about such matters.

All the same she was weary of life at Brunswick. She was fond of her father, it was true; but she was conscious of her mother’s jealousy of Madame de Hertzfeldt and the latter’s toleration of the Duchess. It was an uneasy situation at the best and Caroline could enjoy no satisfactory relationship with either of them.

She began to grow a little morbid . I shall end my days at Brunswick, she thought, always longing for the children I never had. I have been a fool. I should have accepted marriage with one of the men who were offered to me. Then the miracle happened.

Her father sent for her one day and all unsuspecting she went to him to find her mother present. The Duke looked very solemn; the Duchess was needing all the little restraint she possessed to prevent herself shouting the news to her daughter.

But it was the Duke’s place to acquaint his daughter with the news and this he did. ‘Caroline, I have something of great importance to tell you. I think it is very good news. I have a letter here from your uncle the King of England. The Prince of Wales is asking for your hand in marriage.’

‘The Prince of Wales!’ A great joy came to her. She thought: I am not too late then. I waited and now I have the biggest prize. ‘It is a great honour,’ said the Duke. ‘Of course, the Prince is your first cousin and this is an opportunity which I am sure you will not want to miss.’

‘Of course you will not want to miss it.’ The Duchess could contain her excitement no longer. ‘Think of it, Caroline, you’ll be the Queen of England.

Imagine it. You— Caroline— a Queen!’

‘Yes,’ said Caroline slowly, ‘if I married him I should one day be Queen of England.’

Her father looked at her almost fearfully. He laid a hand on her shoulder and looked into those eyes which could suddenly grow so wild. ‘I would never wish to be rid of you or to send you away,’ he said gently. ‘But if you wish to marry, daughter, you will never have an opportunity like this again.’

‘It’s true, Father,’ she said.

‘You realize it, do you not?’ cried the Duchess. ‘Oh, the Prince of Wales! My dear, dear nephew! The First Gentleman of Europe. I have heard that he is the most fascinating creature. And handsome— so handsome! Caroline, you are the luckiest of young women— and when you think that you will soon be twenty- seven. It is a God-given chance. I think I should write to my brother at once. I think there should be no delay. I think—’

‘Madam,’ said the Duke coldly, ‘it is Caroline who is to marry— not yourself.’

The Duchess opened her mouth to protest. It was humiliating— the way in which she was treated. And before her children too. He would never speak like that to the Hertzfeldt woman. Oh, no, her advice would be sought— and considered.

She flashed her husband a look of hatred, of which Caroline was acutely aware. It would be pleasant to get right away.

‘My dear,’ said the Duke, ‘you need time to consider.’

‘I have considered,’ said Caroline. ‘I will accept the Prince of Wales.’

The Duchess was clasping her hands in ecstasy. The Duke looked relieved. As for Caroline she stood very still, in a mood of rare calmness.

‘My child,’ said the Duke, ‘you have made a wise decision.’

She looked at him steadily and then threw herself into his arms. His sternness relaxed and he held her tightly. The Duchess looked on but she was not thinking of them; she was seeing the wedding preparations; the marriage; and she was exulting because this difficult daughter who had been such a trial to them was now going to be the Princess of Wales.

Caroline returned to her apartments and found there the Baroness de Bode who had realized that something of great importance was afoot and since she had seen the messengers from England, she guessed it might be an offer of marriage for the Princess.

Caroline said: ‘Well, you have come to hear the news.’

‘I trust it is good news.’

‘That,’ replied Caroline, ‘I shall not be able to tell you until I am on my deathbed.’

‘What does Your Highness mean?’

‘That only at the end of a marriage can one say whether it was good or bad.’

‘Marriage!’

‘Now do not look so surprised because you are not in the least. You guessed it was an offer, did you not?’

‘From England?’

‘How strange that everyone should be more excited about my wedding than I am.’

‘Pray tell me which of the sons of the King of England.’

‘The eldest, Madam. You should not be shouting questions at me in this manner. Rather you should be treating the future Princess of Wales and Queen of England with the greatest respect.’

‘Then it is indeed? Oh, what a great day this is!’

‘You are all to be relieved of the presence of your tiresome Princess.’

‘I did not mean that. I meant that it was an excellent prospect. Oh, Your Highness, you will— take care. You will always remember to profit from your past mistakes.’

The Princess regarded her governess slyly. ‘What is gone is gone,’ she said.

‘It will never return; and what is to come will come of itself, whatever I do.’

The Baroness was about to protest when Caroline held up her hand.

‘I want to be by myself to think,’ she said. ‘I have accepted the Prince of Wales whom I have never seen but of whom I have heard much. I have accepted him because I am so tired of my life at Brunswick.’

‘Your Highness—’

The Princess shook her head. ‘I am catching at the crown and sceptre as a drowning wretch catches at a straw.’

‘Do not speak so. It is dangerous— If it were to reach the Prince’s ears—’

‘The Prince of Wales.’ Caroline was laughing suddenly, the old wild laughter.

‘He has never seen me— yet he will take me for his wife. Don’t you think, Baroness, that his feelings about this marriage will be similar to mine?’

The Baroness was silent.

Caroline cried: ‘Don’t let us be so glum. This is a time for rejoicing. The Princess of Brunswick is now about to be betrothed to the Prince of Wales.’

Frederick, Duke of York, called on the Prince of Wales at Carlton House, where he was received in the Prince’s apartments overlooking St. James’s Park.

The Prince was elegantly clad in a coat of pearl grey, the diamond star flashing on his left breast; his buckskin breeches fitted tightly to his shapely if somewhat plump legs; his neck-cloth was a masterpiece of artistry of blue and grey tints worn in the fashion he himself had made because of a slight swelling in his neck; his abundant fair hair was frizzed and curled; his white shapely fingers were adorned not ostentatiously but noticeably with diamonds; and his entire person smelled of a delicately applied fragrance.

‘Now, Fred,’ said the Prince, ‘I want the truth. What is she like?’

Frederick thought back to those visits he had paid to the Brunswick Court, and tried to remember his cousin Caroline. Quite pretty, he had thought; he had not wanted to marry her, but would it have been such a tragedy? He could not have done worse than he had. When he thought of the woman with whom he had blithely entered into matrimony for, the same reason of course that George was compelled to contemplate it now— debts— any woman seemed attractive.

‘She’s a pretty creature, as far as I remember.’

‘Yet you might have married her and did not.’

‘Pray don’t talk to me about marriage— mine at least. It’s been a fiasco from start to finish.’

‘You seem to have arranged matters to your satisfaction, I notice.’

‘Merely by refusing to live with the creature.’

‘And since,’ said the Prince, ‘you have chosen to do this and there is therefore no hope of your marriage proving fruitful, I am forced to consider my obligations to the State.’

Frederick laughed. ‘You’ll admit, George, that it is your concern rather than mine.’

‘I thought one of you might have taken on the task.’

‘With a woman who turns the house into a zoo. I tell you this, George, Oatlands Park is no longer a human habitation. It’s one big cage of animals.

Bitches with their puppies in the beds; monkeys climbing the banisters; parrots screeching. It’s a nightmare George. And the fleas―and the smells―’

‘Spare me,’ begged the Prince, taking a white-laced edged kerchief from his pocket and holding it to his nose as he sniffed its fragrance.

‘Well, I am explaining, George, that after marriage to my Duchess any woman seems desirable.’

‘Even Caroline of Brunswick?’

‘I did not say that. I thought her a pleasant creature. A little short in the legs perhaps and I fancy she does not carry herself as gracefully as she might— but then she was young and a bit of a hoyden. Doubtless she has grown out of that.

She has an abundance of fair hair and fine eyes, I believe.’

The Prince was obviously relieved.

‘So, George,’ went on his brother, ‘you will do well enough.’

‘I heartily wish this marriage need never take place.’

The brothers regarded each other sadly.

The proposed marriage was drawing them closer together than they had been for some time. In the days of their boyhood they had been inseparable. They had stood by each other and shared adventures and punishments. Frederick had patiently kept guard during the Prince’s assignations with Mrs. Robinson; many a time he had incurred his father’s anger in order to protect his brother; and the bond had been strong between them. The main reason why they had resented Frederick’s being sent abroad was because it meant they must be parted; and when he had come back, they had resumed their friendship as though it had never been broken.

The Prince had introduced his brother to Maria Fitzherbert whom he was then treating as the Princess of Wales and Frederick had been charmed by the lady.

She had become fond of him too although she did deplore the wild horseplay in which he indulged with the Prince, and she blamed Frederick for this because on his return the Prince had reverted to the practical joking and wild ways in which he had indulged before his association with her. But a rift had come through that wife of Frederick’s— that German Princess Frederica Charlotte Ulrica— who although she filled her house with different breeds of dogs, although she was indifferent to their fleas and habits, was a very haughty personage and determined to uphold her position as Duchess of York. She had therefore refused to accept Maria Fitzherbert’s right to any rank but that of mistress of the Prince of Wales— a fact which had humiliated Maria and, infuriated the Prince; and as he was at that time deeply in love with Maria, he had pettishly blamed Frederick for not having more control over his wife.

Frederick had considered this unfair, for he himself had always shown the greatest respect towards Maria— but the rift between the brothers widened; and it was an indication of the depth of the Prince’s feelings for Mrs. Fitzherbert that on her account the lifelong friendship with his brother could be impaired.

But now, Frederick no longer lived with his wife— and no one blamed him— and the friendship between the brothers was resumed, although it was clear to them both that it would never be quite the same again.

‘Cheer up, George,’ said the Duke. ‘Lady Jersey will comfort you.’

‘That’s true,’ replied the Prince dubiously. His affairs were indeed in a tangle.

Lady Jersey— that dainty, gadfly of a woman who while she fascinated him at the same time repelled him— was his consolation for this marriage with the German woman— and the loss of Maria.

Ah, Maria. He could never quite succeed in banishing her from his thoughts.

Sometimes he wondered whether he ever would.

He thought now that if instead of marriage with this stranger he was going back to Maria how delighted he would have been. But that could not be; and another horrible thought had struck him: What was Maria, who considered herself married to him, going to say when she heard he contemplated marrying another woman?

He sat down on a gilded couch and, covering his face with his hands, wept.

Frederick was not unduly disturbed; like all the Prince’s associates he was accustomed to his tears. The Prince had always wept most effectively— and in fact, thought Frederick cynically, it was quite a family accomplishment. We Guelphs are a weeping family, he mused— but none of us can perform so artistically as the Prince of Wales. The Prince applied the scented kerchief to his eyes which like his complexion had not suffered from the display of emotion.

‘Fred,’ he said, ‘the truth is I shall never love another woman as I love Fitzherbert.’

‘Still, George?’

‘Still and forever,’ cried the Prince vehemently. ‘And yet—’

‘It’s money, Fred. How am I going to pay these damned debts without it? And the price— marriage with a German Frau.’

Frederick nodded grimly. ‘The price of royalty, George.’

‘Why do we accept it? What would I not give for my freedom.’

Well, considered Frederick, suppose he had resigned his rights . Suppose he had made a public announcement of his marriage to Fitzherbert instead of allowing Fox to make a public denial of it in the House of Commons? Could it have been different? He would not have been wearing that magnificent diamond star, the insignia of his rank of course; he would not have been living in this splendid residence— this grand Carlton House with its scintillating chandeliers, its gilt furniture, its exquisite porcelain, its priceless pictures.

George should consider all that, for there was nothing he enjoyed as much as taking a derelict house and transforming it into a palace. Look what he had done at his Pavilion in Brighton. And here in Carlton House the state apartments were far more grand than anything in gloomy old St. James’s, tumbledown Windsor and homely Kew. Even Buckingham House suffered in comparison. Trust George to see to that.

Consider the Chinese parlour, the blue velvet closet and crimson drawing room, the silver dining room and most magnificent of all, the throne room with its gilded columns displaying the Prince of Wales’s feathers. Even what he called his own intimate apartments— these facing the park— were fit for a king as well as a Prince of Wales. No, George was too fond of his royalty to give it up even for Fitzherbert.

George was above all self-indulgent; his emotions were superficial and even the affection he bore for the incomparable Fitzherbert had not prevented his deserting her for the momentarily more alluring Lady Jersey. He was not the man to resign his hopes of the crown for the sake of a woman. Imagine George, wandering about the Continent in exile an impecunious prince whose debts would never then be settled by an understanding if somewhat tutorial Parliament; and how could George live but in the most extravagant manner? He was born to elegance; he was a natural spend-thrift; he could never understand the value of money. He was only aware that he wished to surround himself with beautiful things and that as Prince of Wales and future King of England he had a natural right to them.

And who was Frederick to criticize his brother? Had he not been forced into marriage for the very same reason?

So now he sought to comfort George by embellishing his picture of Caroline.

She was really quite charming, and bright and intelligent, he thought. To tell the truth he might have decided to marry her himself, but she wouldn’t have him.

Of course he was not the Prince of Wales. He remembered particularly her beautiful hair. It was very light and abundant. The Prince was very fond of beautiful hair, was he not?

The Prince nodded and thought of Maria’s abundant honey-coloured curls.

She had never powdered it although it was the fashion to do so; but had worn it naturally. But then of course few women had hair to compare with Maria’s.

The fact was in all ways no woman could compare with Maria.

He would always think of her as his wife.

Oh, damn these debts. Damn cruel necessity which snatched Maria from him and gave him in her place a German Frau. Yet it was Lady Jersey who had driven him from Maria.

But it was not serious, he told himself. I never meant it seriously. It was Maria who had taken it so. But the Duke of York had comforted him considerably.

His betrothed was not a monster, it seemed; she was not hideous like poor Fred’s wife; she was not marked by the pox like that arrogant creature; and she would not bring an army of animals to perform their disgusting functions on the gilded couches of Carlton House.

Frederick, seeing that his mission had been accomplished and that he had succeeded in bringing some relief to his brother, took his departure.

The Prince sought further comfort from Lady Jersey, but he did not find it.

How different, he was thinking, it would have been with Maria.

Frances was beautiful, there was no doubt of that. She was small, slim almost to girlishness and he was fond of fleshy women; but she was widely experienced for she was nine years older than he was and in that respect she resembled the type he favoured. Maria was six years older; he always found women older than himself so comforting. Not that there was much comfort in Frances, though she was exciting; and he was just a little afraid of her. The softness of Maria was lacking; so was the deep affection Maria had always had for him. But he had said goodbye to Maria and was now devoting himself to Frances.

Frances was a sensual woman; physically she excited him; she always made him feel uncertain; that was her forte. He always believed that she could provide greater satisfaction than any woman ever had before; and her strength was that while she did not, the promise of future eroticism remained.

That was what had attracted him and lured him from comfortable, deeply loving almost motherly Maria. And even as his heart called out for Maria he could not go and beg her to return to him because Frances Jersey stood there between them mocking, sensually alluring and, he feared, irresistible.

She did not try to placate him as so many women did. Now she said to him: ‘I cannot understand why you are so glum. You have nothing to lose by the marriage— and everything to gain.’

‘You are forgetting what marriage may entail.’

Frances laughed aloud. ‘Dearest Highness, I have a husband, as you know. A very complacent husband at this time who is always eager to serve his Prince so we need not concern ourselves with him. I have had two sons and seven daughters. I am even a grandmother. I confess I am a very young grandmother.

But you cannot say that a life so worthily spent in replenishing the earth could possibly be without experience of what marriage entails.’

‘But I am to marry a German woman— I confess I don’t like the Germans.’

‘I obviously cannot share your Highness’s aversion, for someone for whom I entertain the most tender passions has descended from that race.’

‘Germans!’ went on the Prince. ‘My father married one. And consider her.’

‘I have always found Her Majesty most gracious.’

Frances chuckled inwardly. How amusing Prim and proper Charlotte actually approved of her son’s relationship with his mistress.

In fact Frances had received instructions from Lady Harcourt. She was to lure the Prince from Fitzherbert, for only then would he consider marriage— and was high time he was married, he had to provide that heir to the throne, for his brothers were proving themselves strangely backward in doing so.

The Duke of York, estranged from his Duchess, was clearly not going to be of any use. William, Duke of Clarence, the next son, had set up house most respectably— at least as respectably as such arrangements could be— with that enchanting actress Dorothy Jordan but naturally there was nothing to hope from there. Another brother Augustus Frederick, Duke of Sussex, had just emerged from a big scandal, for he had married secretly in defiance of the Marriage Act which decreed that no member of the royal family could marry without the consent of the King until he reached the age of twenty-five (Augustus Frederick had been twenty), and the marriage had been null and void even though the lady in his adventures was about to give birth and was of noble lineage, being the daughter of the Earl of Dunmore and claiming royal blood from her ancestors.

No, there was no hope from his brothers so clearly it was the duty of the Prince of Wales to provide heirs to the throne.

The Queen had known this could not be done while the Prince adhered to Mrs. Fitzherbert; so the relationship had to be broken. Since Frances had a good chance of doing that, the Queen gave her approval to Frances’ activities.

Which showed, thought Frances cynically, how morals could be cast aside for the sake of the State— even by the most virtuous of ladies.

But Madam Charlotte would be very angry with her dear little spy Frances Jersey did she but know how Frances had persuaded him to take this Brunswick woman rather than the Queen’s own candidate from Mecklenburg-Strehtz. For the Queen had a niece from her native land, and how she would have liked to see that young woman Princess of Wales!

Alas, she was charming; she was exceedingly pretty; and she was intelligent, so Frances had heard; and if Frances was going to retain her power over the Prince— which she had every intention of doing— she naturally did not wish him to be provided with a charming and pretty wife.

So the Brunswick offering was Frances’s choice. She had heard that the creature was gauche, wild and, most heinous sin in the eyes of the Prince— not very clean in her habits, washed infrequently, hardly ever bathed and rarely changed her linen. Frances intended that the Prince should be disgusted with his bride, spend enough time with her to provide the heir, and for the rest find his pleasure and recreation in the arms of Lady Jersey, for Lady Jersey loved power and next to power, she loved worldly goods. The mistress of the Prince of Wales, if she were clever, could receive these in plenty; and no one— least of all herself — would deny the fact that Lady Jersey was a clever woman.

The Queen would never know that she had influenced him to take the Brunswicker. Poor Charlotte thought this was just another example of her son’s determination to plague her. Silly Charlotte! thought Lady Jersey, to imagine that she would work for her. Frances never worked for anyone but herself.

‘Now,’ said the Prince, ‘we shall have two German fraus at Court. I think that is two too many.’

‘If you had taken the Queen’s choice, it would have been exactly the same.

And Frederick gave a good account of the woman, I believe.’

‘I wonder whether he was trying to comfort me.’

‘I hope so. It is the duty of us all to do so.’

‘Oh, Frances, I dread this marriage.’

‘Stop thinking of it then. There are more pleasant subjects, you know.’

She was giving him one of those oblique looks of hers, and he was beginning to feel the excitement which had led him to desert Maria ‘Why should you worry?’ Her voice had taken on that deep husky note full of suggestions which he always hoped to understand. ‘I shall be there,’ she added, ‘to take care of you.’ And she thought: And of our little Brunswicker! But the Prince was completely under the spell of Frances Jersey and was, if only temporarily, able to banish the thought of the marriage from his mind.

Which was exactly what he wished to do.

Maria Fitzherbert had arrived back from the Continent with her friend and companion, Miss Pigot, who lived with her and shared all her triumphs and misfortunes. There was no comfort to be found abroad, Maria had decided‚ and so she might as well return to England. She had no desire to take up residence in her house in Pail Mall (which the Prince had given her) nor in her house at Brighton.

But Marble Hill at Richmond had always been her home and she had suggested to Miss Pigot that they return to it and live there quietly Miss Pigot understood. Dear Maria had no wish to go into society, for if she did how could she avoid meeting the Prince of Wales; and if he were to cut her (he would never do that) or if he were to be less than loving, which he undoubtedly would be since he would be everywhere in the company of Lady Jersey, how could Maria endure to meet him? For in Maria’s eyes the Prince of Wales was her husband according to laws of her church this was so; it was the State— due to that Royal Marriage Act brought in by the Prince’s own father— which would consider that the ceremony that had taken place on December 15th of the year 1785— a little less than ten years ago— was no true marriage.

Miss Pigot often thought how much happier Maria might have been if she had gone to the country after the death of Mr. Fitzherbert and stayed there‚ then the Prince of Wales would never have met her, never have made up his mind that he could not live without her‚ and Maria would doubtless have married some pleasant country gentleman who would have adored her and made her comfortably happy for the rest of her life.

She had said this to Maria who had shaken her head sadly. ‘At least I had those happy years, Piggy. I suppose I should be grateful for them. And you’re fond of him too. You know you are.’

Miss Pigot admitted that this was so. He was charming, and when he kissed one’s hand or bowed, he did it so beautifully that he made one feel at least like a duchess. And when he thanked one for some small service, the tears were often in his eyes as he spoke of his gratitude or affection. Who could not be affected by such charm? Not Miss Pigot. Nor indeed Maria.

And my goodness, thought Miss Pigot, Maria had stood out against him. It was only when he pretended to kill himself— Hush; she must not say that. Maria believed he really had tried to kill himself. She often spoke of it now remembering how much in need of her he had been. Dear Maria, let her believe that, if it gave some comfort. Poor soul, she needed all the comfort she could get.

As for Miss Pigot she believed he had been over-bled. His physicians were constantly bleeding him because when he became too excited and gave vent to violent passions he was apt to fall into a sort of fit which bleeding seemed to alleviate. An over-bleeding, thought the practical Miss Pigot, and the blood on his clothes and the pallor of his face— well, if he said that he had tried to thrust a sword into his side and kill himself because Maria refused him— why shouldn’t she believe him? But after that she had gone away and stayed abroad for a year; and then she could stop away no longer. And he had remained faithful to her all that time, which, Miss Pigot conceded, must have demanded a great deal of restraint on his part— knowing him— or a great affection. The affection was there.

Our dear charming Highness loves Maria as much as he can love anyone, Miss Pigot said to herself. That is why it is such a pity that this has happened.

For whom else would he have gone through that ceremony in Park Street?

There was a real parson to perform it and so it was a true marriage. And hadn’t he treated her as his wife? Everyone who wished to please him had been obliged to recognize Maria as the Princess of Wales. He had been devoted to her. But then of course there were other women.

How could he manage without women— different women? The two things in life he loved best were women and horses; and women were a good length ahead.

That clever Mr. Sheridan had said of him that he was too much the lover of women to be the lover of one.

How true! How sadly true! But Maria— clever maternal Maria— had understood her prince. She had accepted his infidelities, not happily of course, but as a necessity, until Lady Jersey had come along.

Who would have thought that that— grandmother, nine years the Prince’s senior, could so enslave him? But Lady Jersey was a clever woman. She had no intention of taking second place to Maria; she had therefore set out to destroy Maria’s influence with the Prince. And she had succeeded.

But it won’t be forever, Miss Pigot was sure. He will be back. I feel it in my bones. And Maria, wounded as she never had been before, had made no protest. How like Maria. She was always so dignified. A Queen— if ever there was one, thought the loyal Miss Pigot. She had not raged against him as most women would have done She had taken her congé with outward serenity. If he no longer wants me, then I will remove myself from life— since that is what he wants. Miss Pigot had believed that he would come back; that he had written that letter telling her that he would not see her again on an impulse when he was under the influence of that wicked woman. But Maria had accepted it. Miss Pigot would never forget the day she came back from the Duke of Clarence’s house with the letter which had been delivered to her there. She was like a sleepwalker. Stunned, that was it. Oh, how could he be so cruel— so wicked! What had made him do such a thing? To write to her there so that she must receive her dismissal before all those people; and when she had no notion of what was to happen either?

Hadn’t he been writing to her only the day before as his Dear Love?

He, had dismissed Perdita Robinson in the same way— by letter. But that was because he hated scenes and Mrs. Robinson according to hearsay had made scenes at the end of their relationship. True, Maria and he had quarrelled. A woman would have to be a saint not to quarrel with such a publicly unfaithful husband, for whatever the State said, Maria believed him to be her husband. So perhaps that was why.

And she had gone abroad.

‘You should have stayed,’ she had protested at the time.

‘What!’ Maria had cried. ‘Stay— like a dog waiting for a whistle from its master?’

Oh, yes, Maria was proud. But what comfort was there abroad? Maria could not bear to stay in France— that tortured country which had been like a second home. to her because she had been educated there; but it was all so sadly changed since the revolution and she could not find there the peace and solace she sought.

So they had come back to Marble Hill and here they were.

Maria had always been particularly fond of Marble Hill— a fine house which had been built by Lady Suffolk, one of the mistresses of George II, as a refuge for her old age when she should no longer please that monarch.

It had delightful grounds which had been planned by Bathhurst and Pope, and the flowering shrubs, particularly in the spring, were charmingly colourful. Maria loved the lawns which ran down to the river and were bounded on each side by a grove of chestnut trees. From the grotto, a feature of the garden, there was a very pleasant view of Richmond Hill. One glance at the house explained why it had received its name; perched on an incline it really did look as though it were made of marble, so white was it; and it owed its graceful appearance to those excellent architects Pembroke and Burlington.

Maria was sitting in her drawing room, a piece of embroidery in her hand, but she was not sewing; she was looking wistfully out over the lawns to the river.

Miss Pigot came and sat beside her, and Maria forced herself to smile.

‘How dark it is getting— so early,’ said Maria. ‘The winter will soon be with us.’

But she was not thinking of the weather.

‘You might as well say what’s in your mind, Maria,’ said her faithful companion. ‘It doesn’t do any good to bottle it up.’

‘I suppose not.’

‘If you’re thinking of him you shouldn’t try to pretend you’re not. Is there something on your mind?’

Maria was silent. ‘It can’t be true,’ she said. ‘No, of course it’s not true. And I am thinking of him. I thought going away would help to cure me, but I fear I never shall be cured.’

‘He’ll come back,’ said Miss Pigot firmly. ‘I just know he will come back.’.

Maria shook her, head. ‘I would not have believed it possible that he could have written to me in that way— so cold— after all these years— after—’

‘It was done in a had moment, Maria my dear. He’s breaking his heart over it now, I shouldn’t be surprised.’

‘I should, Piggy, very. He is at this moment with Lady Jersey, not giving me a thought— or if he is to congratulate himself for being rid of me.’

‘Now you don’t believe that any more than I do. He’d never feel like that.

He’s had a little flash of temper. And you know, my dear, you have lost yours once or twice. In your quarrels you haven’t always been the meek one, have you?’

‘Find excuses for him, Piggy. You know that’s what I want you to do.’

She looked so forlorn, so tragic sitting there that Miss Pigot went over and kissed her.

‘Dear Pig, at least I have you. That is something to be grateful for.’

‘I’ll be faithful till death.’

‘Those were exactly his words.’

‘And he meant them— in his way.’

‘In his way?’ said Maria bitterly. ‘I know what that means. Words— words and no meaning behind them.’

She was silent for a while and Miss Pigot did not attempt to break that silence; then Maria began to talk of that ceremony in her drawing room in Park Street.

‘I would tell no one but you. I promised it should be a secret and I have kept my word. I should have known what to expect shouldn’t I, when Fox stood up in the House of Commons and denied that we had ever been married? And the Prince let it pass.’

‘You left him then. Remember how unhappy you were? But you went back to him, didn’t you?’

‘He was my husband, whatever Mr. Fox said. I didn’t forget that.’

‘If he was then, he is now. So you shouldn’t forget that either.’

‘ He has chosen to forget, and I shall not remind him. What use would it be?

But I can’t stop thinking of those happy days. I think the happiest were when we were most poor. Poor! What he thought of as poor. Do you remember when there were bailiffs at Carlton House and the King would not help and so the Prince sold his horses and shut up the state apartments at Carlton House and we went down to Brighton? But we were determined to economize; we determined to settle his debts gradually— and so we took that place in Hampshire. I think those days at Kempshott were the happiest of my life, Piggy. If he had been simply a country gentleman like my first and second husbands, I think we should have been happy.

I understand him as no one else does. I could make him happy— but he does not think so.’

‘Of course he does. This Jersey affair will pass like the others, Maria. He’s a boy— rather a spoilt boy I admit— but we love him for what he is. He’ll be back.’

‘I see that you have not heard the rumours.’

‘Rumours? What rumours?’

‘He’s in debt again. His creditors have to be appeased. The King and Mr. Pitt have put their heads together and are offering him a condition.’

‘Them and their conditions! They always make conditions!’

‘This time it is marriage.’

‘Marriage. How can he marry? He’s married already.’

‘The State would not say so.’

‘Then the State would be lying. Have you and he not made your vows before a priest?’

‘We have, but if the State does not recognize them— Remember the case of the Duke of Sussex. He had made his vows but the courts decided he was not married.’

‘I know. It’s wicked.’

‘But it’s fact. I am only the Prince’s wife while he acknowledges me as such.’

‘That’s nonsense.’

‘I know that in the eyes of God and my church, I am the Prince’s wife. But he does not accept that. That is why he has agreed to marry.’

‘Agreed to marry. It’s lies.’

‘So I told myself, but rumour persists.’

‘There’ll always be rumours.’

‘But this rumour is on very firm foundation. I even know the name of the Princess of Wales elect.’

‘What?’

‘Caroline of Brunswick. Niece of the King.’

‘It’s all a pack of nonsense,’ said Miss Pigot.

But Maria only shook her head. ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘And it’s the end. I have really lost him now.’

In the Queen’s Lodge at Kew the Queen was having her hair curled and reading the papers at the same time. She supposed now there would be a spate of lampoons and cartoons about the Prince’s proposed marriage once it was announced. At the time it was, of course, a secret; but it would not be so much longer.

She sighed. She did hope that nothing would happen to upset the King; since that last illness of his— she shuddered. One could scarcely call it an ordinary illness. All those months when his mind had been deranged and she had suddenly come into power had been most uneasy. It was not that she did not wish for power; she did. She was beginning to grasp it, and she had the King’s condition to thank for it— if thank was the right word in such circumstances. But she faced the fact that the King terrified her. Whenever she heard him begin to gabble; when she saw those veins projecting at his temples; she was afraid that he was going to break out into madness— and violent madness at that.

Dear little Kew, as she always thought of it, had lost its serenity. She had been delighted with it from the first day when she had gone to live in the Queen’s Lodge which was really one of the houses on the Green. The Dutch House was close by and there the Prince of Wales had lived before he had his own establishment— first apartments in Buckingham House and then with greater freedom in Carlton House. There across the bridge along Strand-on-the-Green many of the members of the household lodged. Certainly Kew was not like living at Court; it was even not like a King’s residence. Perhaps that was why she and the King had always been so fond of it.

But Kew had changed; it was full of memories. She remembered how they had brought the King from Windsor when it had first been known that he was mad, and sometimes at night in her sleep she was disturbed by the sounds of that rambling voice going on and on, growing more and more hoarse; she thought of that occasion when the King had seized the Prince of Wales by the neck and tried to strangle him and how the hatred shone in those mad eyes of his; she remembered a time when he had embraced their youngest daughter Amelia until the child had screamed aloud in terror because she thought he was going to suffocate her. And that was love!

She would never forget the agonized look in those poor mad eyes when his beloved child had been dragged from him and they had tried to force him into a strait-jacket.

Memories of Kew! The King walking the grounds with his doctors, shouting himself hoarse, beating in time to imaginary music, shaking hands with an oak tree which he thought was the Emperor of Prussia. This had changed the face of dear little Kew.

And, thought the Queen — how can we know when it will break out again, and if it does and there should be a Regency— the Prince will do everything he can to curb my power. But she would not let him because Mr. Pitt was on her side and Mr. ‘Pitt was Prime Minister and cared little for the Prince of Wales. The Prince had allied himself with Fox and the Whigs and that was enough to make Pitt stand against him.

Mr. Pitt and I will rule between us, thought Queen Charlotte; and she wondered how she could have come to hate her eldest son so much, he, whom when he was a baby and a young boy, she had idolized. The others altogether had not meant half so much to her as her first-born; and now she hated him.

Strong feelings for a mother— and such a plain little woman. Ah, but then it was everyone. had thought her plain and insignificant for so many years that now she saw the chance of exerting her power she seized it.

The King who had determined to keep her in her place— which meant constantly bearing children— had had his way since their marriage. She had given him fifteen children. Surely, she had done her duty? But now he was a poor shambling than his living in creature— older than his years, living in constant fear that his madness would return.

And this had given the Queen her chance.

But the Prince was determined to flout her. He must marry, and he had chosen Caroline of Brunswick when her brother’s charming daughter was available.

Was it possible even yet to get him to change his mind?

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. They had now placed the triangular cushion on. the crown of her head, and started to frizz her hair and build it up round the cushion.

How ugly it is! she thought. And nothing they can ever do to me will beautify me. And what does it matter if they did. I am an old woman in any case. ‘Your Majesty, we are ready for the powdering—’

The powdering robe was wrapped about her and they began.

The powder seemed to get up her nose and into her throat today. It was all so tiresome.

But now she was ready and she would go to her drawing room where the Princesses were waiting for her.

The Princesses were there— all six of them. They curtsied and her sharp eyes took in every detail to see that they did so in the approved manner. Twelve-year- old Amelia was not as graceful as she should be; but one did not reproach Amelia; she was her father’s favourite and he could not bear her to be scolded. And considering the soothing effect she had on him, thought the Queen, I suppose we should all be grateful to the child and forgive Amelia her small weaknesses.

The Princess Royal was looking discontented. Poor Princess Royal, she was a disappointed young woman. Young woman— well, she would not be that much longer. She was twenty-nine and still no husband had been found for her. And where could they find a husband for her when there was such a dearth of Protestant Princes? The great difficulty was that any husband for the Princesses must be both Royal and Protestant. It was a grave handicap. And when one considered that there were five others all waiting hopefully for husbands— Oh dear, how depressing! What a fearful problem marriage was. The sons did it where they should not and the daughters looked for it in vain.

Perhaps it was not so clever to have had quite so many of them.

The Queen looked along the line of faces. Her little girls. She loved them.

They were so much more amenable than their brothers. They did not defy her and the King. But perhaps they would if they had the opportunity, ‘My snuff box,’ she said sternly, looking at her eldest daughter, for it was Princess Royal’s duty to present her with her snuff box on occasions like this and to see that it had been adequately replenished.

The Princess Royal presented it with a curtsey and the Queen took a pinch.

Ah, that was better! There was nothing like a pinch of snuff to revive the spirits.

‘Who is going to read to us this morning?’ asked the Queen, looking round.

‘Is it going to be you, Gouly?’

Miss Goldsworthy— Gouly, to the royal family— replied that since it was Her Majesty’s wish she would be happy to begin the reading; and the work was brought out, the Princesses and their ladies seated and the reading began.

How utterly boring! thought Charlotte, the Princess Royal. And this is how it goes on day after dreary day. And it will never change— unless the miracle happens and I escape there was only one way in which a princess could escape— through marriage, and who knew what that would bring Well, let it come whatever it was. Anything was better than this complete and utter monotony.

She was twenty-nine years old and she had been twenty-six before she had been allowed to meet anyone who had not been presented by the Queen. Now having exceeded that ripe age she was allowed what they called a little freedom.

She might speak to people without Mamma’s consent. What freedom! It was enough to make a young woman take the first lover that came along. And, thought Princess Royal, soon I shall become so desperate that that is what I shall do. At twenty-six she had been permitted to select the books she wished to read; before that she had been allowed only those which had been chosen by her mother She had never forgotten how humiliated she had felt when she had discovered Fanny Burney, the novelist who had for a time been a member of her mother’s household, censoring Swift’s John Bull for her. And meanwhile her brothers— Oh, her brothers! George most of all with his women and all the country asking, is he married or is he not? And whispering the name of that woman, Maria Fitzherbert And before that he had had that affair with the actress known as Perdita Robinson who had threatened to publish his letters and had had to be bought off with a pension for life. And all this before he was twenty-one.

Now there was this scandal about Augustus; and there was William not caring for the disapproval of his parents setting up house with a play actress. All this for the boys, while the girls were treated like nuns in a convent.

Small wonder that she was exasperated.

Soon I shall be thirty, she mourned. Thirty— forty— fifty. Who would be a princess at the dismal Court of George III? The Princess Royal glanced at her sisters. Augusta was less conscious of their plight. She was in any case two years younger; she was careless too of the manner in which she dressed— a little bit of a hoyden. She did not care so much for the restrictions as Princess Royal did but shrugged her shoulders and accepted.

Twenty-five-year-old Elizabeth had a drawing block on a little table beside her; she was sketching the group and was oblivious of Charlotte’s dissatisfaction Elizabeth wanted to be an artist, and although this was not taken seriously by the King and Queen, they saw no harm in her pursuing her little hobby. The King kindly often asked to see her drawings and congratulated her on them.

Mary and Sophia— nineteen and eighteen— were just beginning to fret under restraint; and Amelia at twelve had not begun to be aware of it. Papa’s darling, she felt herself to be a very special member of the household and seemed quite content with her fate. She had not yet discovered the boring routine to be so tiresome walking with the dogs, bringing them into the Queen’s drawing room, taking them out, making sure that Mamma’s snuff box was always filled each day and that it was placed on the table beside her.

Oh the inanity of it all! The parade on the terrace in the evening when the public came to look at them. There they were specially dressed for the occasion, fluttering their fans and smiling and bowing to the occasional expressions of approval.

All eyes were on Amelia, of course. That child would become quite conceited And she furled and unfurled her fan and went through her special antics for their benefit, and if Papa were there he would be unable to take his eyes from her. She was never subjected to the harsh criticism which had come the way of the others.

One almost longed for Thursdays which was Court Day when the King and the Queen had to be at St James’s. Not that there was anything exciting about that, it’s only virtue was that it was different.

Then Mamma would be dressed with special ceremony and travel to London with her tippet and ruffles in a paper bag, as she said, to prevent their getting on the way. She behaved like some humble squire’s lady instead of a queen. And we are expected to endure this just because it is their way of living. If the Prince of Wales were king, what a different Court that would be! She had heard Frederick say that George had once told him that one of the first things he would do when he came to the throne would be to find husbands for his sisters.

She believed he would. For at heart, in spite of the gay and romantic life he led, George was kind; and while he wanted to enjoy his own life to the full and that was doubtless the main purpose in it, he did like to see those around him enjoying theirs. Whereas with Papa— boredom was synonymous with goodness.

Oh dear, what a life we lead! And I am nearly thirty and see no hope of escape. ‘Princess Royal, take the dog out.’ The Queen’s voice sounded severe. She should have noticed, of course. ‘And Gouly, your voice sounds tired. I think Miss Planta might care to read now. You may take over her sewing.’

When the Princess Royal returned to the apartment it was to find that a paroxysm of coughing had seized Amelia.

‘Pat her back,’ commanded the Queen, which Sophia who was nearest immediately did. ‘There, is that better?’

Amelia said it was. But a little later she began to cough again. She had got that nasty cough and it was a mild source of anxiety to the Queen. She would grow out of it, she told herself; but what did terrify her was that if the King should hear the child’s coughing, it would upset him so.

Amelia was now herself— small and dainty and very pretty. The word frail came into her mother’s mind. Oh, no, Amelia was well enough. If she could throw off that wretched cough— But she would and the most important thing of all was that the King should not hear it. If he did he would begin to fret; he would make something out of it. Nothing must touch his darling Amelia and he would remember that Octavius and Alfred had had unpleasant little coughs before they died.

‘Are you better now, Amelia?’ asked the Queen sternly.

‘Yes, Mamma.’

‘Don’t cough when you are with Papa. He does not like coughs.’

Amelia would do her best. It was a breach of etiquette in any case to cough or sneeze in the presence of royalty. The lady-in-waiting grew quite hilarious explaining the methods employed to stop a sneeze. The favourite one was to place the finger horizontally beneath the nose. That was if one felt it coming in time.

Coughing could be restrained more easily.

What silly rules! thought Princess Royal. How happy I should be if some prince offered for my hand. I should not let them refuse for me— not in any circumstances. Anything would be better than this boring life at Kew. It was time now for the Queen to retire to her apartments so she rose. The Princesses rose too and dropped their bows and curtsies as their mother passed out of the room.

She went to the King’s apartments and found him seated at his table poring over State papers. This was something she would not have dared do before his illness. Now she was in command for he recognized himself as a feeble old man who had once suffered a bout of madness; and the fear of its return was never far away.

He consulted her now. She and Pitt were the powerful ones. Although some would like to see the Prince and Fox in that position.

‘The Prince is now eager for the negotiations to go forward,’ said the King.

‘That is a good sign, eh; what?’

‘To Brunswick?’ said the Queen hastily.

‘To Brunswick. My sister will be pleased, I am sure.’

‘She should be. The daughter from an obscure little Court to become the wife of the heir to the Throne of England. Very pleased indeed.’

Charlotte remembered the excitement in as small a Court when the news had come to Mecklenburg-Strelitz that the Prince of Wales— now King of England and this poor man seated there at his table— had asked for her hand.

‘Very pleased. Keeping it in the family, eh, what? I’m relieved he is thinking of settling down at last. It’s not before it’s necessary either. Perhaps he’ll soon have children. That should sober him.’

‘If anything could sober him,’ retorted the Queen. ‘I am wondering if this Caroline is the best choice—’

‘There is only a choice of two— my niece or yours. And he has made that choice. It is to be mine.’

The Queen’s mouth tightened. He had done it to spite her. He had passed over beautiful intelligent Louise of Mecklenburg-Strelitz for the sake of this creature from Brunswick. And there was nothing she could do about it.

‘I am writing to Malmesbury at Hanover,’ said the King. ‘The time has come for him to go to Brunswick and there make the formal offer for the hand of Princess Caroline.’

So, thought the Queen, it is too late then. She remained with the King while the letter was written and sealed.

Then she left him and went to her own apartments. She thought of the Princess who would be coming to the Court; she imagined how gauche she would be, for had she herself not been exactly so on her arrival? The English Court was certain to be quite different from the poor little one of Brunswick. She herself had been very young— only seventeen and Caroline was twenty-seven, so she should at least be more mature. But was that a point in her favor? A young girl would have been easier to mould.

The Queen remembered those first weeks at her young husband’s court when one of her biggest enemies had been. her sister-in-law the Princess Augusta who had determined to make her life as unpleasant as possible. Waspish and angry, doubtless because she was unmarried, she had tried to make trouble between the new young Queen and her mother-in-law, the Dowager Princess of Wales, and the latter had been nothing loath, for she had meant to keep her hold on the King and not have it slackened by the young bride, Queen though she might be.

I hated my sister-in-law Augusta, thought the Queen now. Arrogant mischief-maker. How pleased I was when she married and went off to Brunswick. And once she had gone she was never welcomed back. Nor shall her daughter be, Charlotte promised herself . I already hate the creature.

The Prince of Wales looked up from his writing table and across St. James’s Park.

He then sighed and read through what he had written.

And I don’t mean a word of it, he said to himself, and taking his kerchief flicked it across his eyes. But it was a half-hearted gesture as there was no one there to witness it.

He quickly read through the letter. ‘Whichever way the Princess is to come, I am clear it should be determined on instantly—’

Instantly, he thought. That meant that in a few weeks she could be here.

‘The very thought of it makes me feel ill,’ he murmured. ‘Yet it has to be.

There is no other way out.’

When he was married an adequate allowance would be his. Even his father and Pitt could not deny him that. And his creditors were clamouring for payment now. He was so deeply in debt that he dared not calculate how deeply. He had always had debts from the time he had been old enough to accumulate them but never thought of them very seriously until the reckoning came. Parliament settled them. It was one of the duties of Parliament. How could they expect a Prince of Wales to live like a pauper?

They realized this but they did come along with their damned conditions and he had been obliged to give way and agree to marry this German woman; at one time it had seemed the reasonable and only solution, but the closer he came to it the more the idea sickened him.

Frances kept assuring him that all would be well. He would still have Frances, and she continued to fascinate him; but deep in his heart he wanted Maria— not urgently but rather to know that she was there in the background of his life, to return to again and again, to confess, to repent and to be forgiven. Only Maria could fill that need in his life; and in his heart he knew that Maria was the woman he loved, the woman he regarded as his wife and that that ceremony which had taken place ten years ago in Park Street was a true ceremony of marriage.

Maria was his wife— and now he proposed to marry a German Princess because Parliament, the King and Mr. Pitt demanded it. They did not accept his marriage to Maria because the King had passed a law saying that no member of the royal family could marry without his consent. That was the law; and any ceremony which ignored that law— even though a priest had officiated, even though the marriage vows had been taken— was null and void. A court had proved it with Augustus. So it was clear enough and Maria must understand that it was not his fault. He had been bludgeoned into this for the sake of the State.

Oh, what a burden it was to be heir to a Crown! He let his thoughts wander back to the early days with Maria. His passion for her, that wild uncontrollable Passion when he had believed that he would do anything— just anything— in order to marry her.

‘I’d crowns resignTo call thee mine he had sung, and meant it.

Oh yes he had meant it. And he would have given up everything then and left England with her. They could have had a pleasant little house on the Continent, in France say. No, not France, that unhappy country, which had so bloodthirstily rejected monarchy— not France, which had brought home to him how uneasily crowns sat on royal heads; and this very precariousness had made them seem infinitely desirable. Infinitely, yes— and he had reassured himself there was no need to give up his crown for Maria, because he could have them both.

So the marriage had been denied by Fox in the House of Commons and it had been shown to him that although he and Maria considered themselves husband and wife, the State did not. So all was well, which it would not have been. If the marriage had been accepted by the State— for not only was Maria a commoner but a Catholic. And on the grounds of the latter alone he could have lost his crown.

I’d all resign, Except my crown might have been a more accurate expression of his feelings. Maria must understand. She must.

Maria was unlike other women. Most would have stormed and raged— at least made some attempt to get him back.. Ne remembered Perdita’s futile endeavours for which he had despised her. But Maria made no such attempts.

Maria left England; she did not answer his letter but meekly accepted his decree — as though she did not care.

But now she was back in England, how he would like to see her again. To reason with her, to explain: See my difficulties Maria. I have to marry this German woman. I know I am going to dislike the poor thing. But I have to marry her. We have to have heirs. I shall endeavour to do my duty and when it is done— I need never go near her. Frances Jersey? She’s a siren. Irresistible. But I don’t love her— not as I love you— always have— always will— Until death, Maria— But Maria made no attempt to see him. And how could he return to her now?

One of the conditions of this horrible bargain had been that he must give her up.

Only while he behaved as though there had been no marriage with Maria could he enter into one with Caroline of Brunswick. Although the State declared the marriage with Maria was no marriage, the Church accepted it. And there would be many people in the country who did.

What would the people think of a prince who, married to one woman, allowed himself to be married to another?

It was quite clear— Frances aside— that he dared not return to Maria now.

But he did not want her to think he had forgotten her. He wanted her to know how sad this situation had made him. He decided that he would go without delay to see the King.

The King received the Prince of Wales with a show of affection.

How the old man has changed! thought the Prince. By God, he looks as if he could lose his reason again at any moment. But there was one benefit from the change; he had grown more mellow; he was more inclined to see reason.

The Prince’s manner was more gentle towards his father than it had been in the past and this helped to subdue the animosity between them. The King was sad rather than angry. How many sleepless nights this son of mine has given me, he thought. But he was young and now he is beginning to realize his responsibilities.

He’ll do his duty now.

‘Your Majesty, I have today written to Malmesbury telling him to expedite matters over there.’

The King looked pleased. No sign of truculence. After all these years of resistance to doing his duty, the Prince was now prepared to take this step.

Excellent, eh, what? thought the King.

‘I hope she proves as fertile as your mother.’

God forbid, thought the Prince. Surely even his father realized that thirteen— and there might have been fifteen— was more than enough with which to burden the State.

‘I feel optimistic that we shall not disappoint Your Majesty.’

The King inclined his head and, determined to come to the point while he was in this tolerant mood, the Prince said quickly, ‘There is one matter on which I should like to consult Your Majesty.’

‘Yes, what is it, eh?’

‘Your Majesty will know that I had a connection with a certain lady which— er— no longer exists.’

‘I am glad to hear it no longer exists. It must no longer exist, for if it did that could provide very grave consequences you understand, eh, what?’

The Prince kept his temper and went on, ‘I know this full well, Your Majesty.

The connection no longer exists but I feel certain obligations towards the lady.’

The King grunted but the Prince hurried on, ‘During this connection the lady received three thousand pounds a year, which I intend to continue although my connection with the lady is completely severed. But I should like Your Majesty’s assurance that in the event of my death before that of the lady this pension should be continued.’

The King interrupted him. ‘I know I know—’ Then he softened. ‘This lady is Maria Fitzherbert, a comely widow.’ The King’s mouth slackened a little, he was looking back over the years before he had been ill; he was thinking of all the temptations which had come his way and how he had resisted them. They would be surprised, these people who surrounded him, if they knew that in his way he was as fond of women as his sons were proving themselves to be.

Sarah Lennox making hay in Holland House. What a little beauty she had been! And he would have married her. He certainly had it in his mind to do so.

And before her there had been Hannah Lightfoot, the beautiful Quaker girl. He had better not think of her. But he had done what he had thought right and married plain homely Princess Charlotte and tried to put other women out of his mind.

Elizabeth Pembroke— what a beauty! There was a woman he could love. She was at the Court and he had to see her every day and he had to remind himself that he was married to Charlotte and that it his duty to set an example. Duty.

Always duty.

Plain Charlotte instead of beautiful Sarah Lennox. Fifteen children and not an illegitimate one among them. There had been Hannah of course but that was before that was all in the past. Since his marriage he had been a faithful husband — except in thought, of course. But how could a man help his thoughts?

And because of his own feelings, he could understand the Prince’s. This Maria Fitzherbert was a good woman by all accounts. Pity she had not been a Protestant German Princess instead of a Catholic English widow. He believed she would have had a good influence on the Prince. In fact he knew she had had this because she urged him to live less extravagantly, to gamble less, to drink less, to give up his more disreputable friends.

Oh yes, this Maria Fitzherbert was entitled to a little consideration. And he, from remembering certain incidents his own past, would be the first to admit it.

‘Your— your sentiments do you credit,’ said the King. ‘I think this lady has a right— to such consideration. I believe she has always behaved in a— a very admirable manner, eh, what?’

‘It’s true— true!’ declared the Prince fervently.

The King nodded. ‘Then we will settle this matter. But it had better come through Loughborough. The Lord Chancellor is the man who should deal with it.

Tell him to bring the matter to my notice. Have no fear. I find these sentiments do you credit.’

‘I thank Your Majesty with all my heart.’

The King laid his hand on his son’s shoulder and his eyes filled with tears.

There were tears in the Prince’s also.

How pleasant— how unusual— for them to be friends. He’s changed, thought the King. He’s settling down at the prospect of marriage More amenable. More reasonable. We shall get on now. The Prince was thinking: His madness has changed him. Made him mellow— reasonable. Perhaps we can be more friendly now. Within a few days the Prince received a letter from Lord Loughborough in which the Lord Chancellor wrote that he had presented the Prince’s problem to the King concerning the provision he had thought proper to make to a lady who had been distinguished in by his regard, and asking that in the unfortunate event of his death His Majesty would see that it was provided. His Majesty wished to convey that His Highness need have no anxiety on this account.

The Prince was delighted.

He wanted Maria to know that he had not in fact deserted her. He waited her to know that although he could not see her she was in his thoughts.

He could not write to her because he had given his word that he had broken off all connection with her. But he did want her to see that letter.

He had an idea. He would send it to his old friend Miss Pigot, who would certainly show it to Maria. He sat down at his desk immediately and dashed off a letter.

Miss Pigot could not curb her excitement when she saw that handwriting on the envelope. And addressed to her! It could only mean one thing. He wanted her to make the peace between himself and Maria.

She opened the envelope and the Lord Chancellor’s letter slipped to the floor.

She picked it up, looked at it in astonishment, and then turned to the Prince’s.

He did not wish his dear friend Miss Pigot to think he had forgotten her. His thoughts were often at Marble Hill; and he sent her the enclosed letter so that she should show it to one whom it concerned which would in some measure explain the regard he had for that person.

Miss Pigot re-read the Chancellor’s letter, grasped its meaning, and rushed to Maria’s bedroom where she was resting.

‘Oh, Maria, my dear, what do you think? I have heard from the Prince.’

‘ You— have heard?’

‘Oh, it is meant for you, of course. That’s as clear as daylight. Here’s a letter from the Chancellor about your income.’ Maria seized it and her face flushed angrily.

‘I shall not accept it,’ she said.

‘But of course you’ll accept it. You’ve debts to settle, haven’t you? Debts you incurred because of him. Don’t be foolishly proud, Maria. He wants you to have the money.’

‘Is he paying me off as he did Perdita Robinson?’

‘This is entirely different. She had to blackmail. You didn’t even have to ask.’

‘I shall not take it. You may write to His Highness and tell him so, since he sees fit to correspond with you about affairs which I had thought should be my concern.’

Miss Pigot left Maria and went to her room to write. She did not however write to the Prince but to Mr. Henry Errington, Maria’s uncle, telling him what had happened and advising him to come to Marble Hill to make Maria see reason.

He arrived within a few days and talked earnestly to Maria Had she settled her debts? She had not. And did she propose to do so from the two thousand a year which she had inherited from Mr. Fitzherbert? It was impossible, she realized. And this talk of a pension seemed to her a finality.

‘Maria,’ said Uncle Henry, who had been her guardian since the days when her father had become incapacitated through illness and who had indeed introduced her to her first and second husbands, ‘will you leave this matter to me?

What has happened was inevitable. You should emerge from that affair with dignity. This you cannot do if you are to be burdened with debts for the rest of your life. You must accept this pension, which is your due. Settle your debts in time; and then return to a solvent dignified way of living. It is the best way. Don’t forget I am your guardian and I forbid you to do anything but what I suggest.’

She smiled at him wanly. ‘Uncle I am sure you are right.’

‘Then will you allow me to settle these financial matters for you?’

‘Please do, Uncle. I do not wish to hear about them.’

Henry Errington kissed her cheek and told her that he was glad she had such a good friend as Miss Pigot to be with her.

‘I have much to be thankful for I know, dear Uncle,’ said Maria. ‘And don’t worry over me. I am recovering from the shock of being a deserted wife.’

But when she was alone, she asked herself: Am I? Shall I ever? How different life would have been if Uncle Henry had introduced her to a steady country gentleman like Edward Weld or Tom Fitzherbert, then she would have settled down to a comfortable middle age.

But what she would have missed! That’s what I have to remember, she told herself . I have been ecstatically happy. I must remember that. And remember also that in the nature of things that kind of happiness does not last. Then she laid her head on her pillow and wept quietly for she had lost.

And this talk of pension seemed to her a finality.

—On the 30th of December the King announced to both Houses of Parliament: ‘I have the greatest satisfaction in announcing to you a conclusion of a Treaty of Marriage between my dear son, the Prince of Wales, and the Princess Caroline Amelia Elizabeth, daughter of the Duke of Brunswick.’

The whole Court was buzzing with the news while the Prince grieved in the privacy of Carlton House.

‘There is no turning back now,’ he mourned.

And in Marble Hill Maria heard the news and said to Miss Pigot: ‘This is the third time that I have become a widow.’

But Miss Pigot still refused to believe that it was all over.

‘He still loves you,’ she insisted. ‘Look at the way he worried about your pension. I won’t believe it till that woman’s here and married to him.’

‘Then you will believe it very soon,’ retorted Maria.

‘Never,’ cried the indomitable Miss Pigot. ‘For he can’t ever be married to her, can he? Because he’s married to you.’

But there was no comforting Maria.