The Regent's Daughter

The rival Dukes and Mary Anne

EDWARD, DUKE OF KENT, was a frustrated man. His military career had been a bitter disappointment and the only one in the world who understood how he suffered was Julie – known as Madame de St Laurent. She was the only person in the world for whom he cared; for years now he had regarded her as his wife; and he wanted no other. The family accepted her, for it was realized that as he was a royal duke there could be no marriage ceremony, and Edward therefore must dispense with it. The affairs of the Prince of Wales and Mrs Fitzherbert and the Duke of Sussex with his Goosey had shown how worthless such ceremonies were.

Julie was beautiful, discreet and in every way except one, worthy to marry into the royal family; and that one reason was that she was not royal. She would not allow this fact to give Edward the smallest cause for anxiety. Julie made it clear that she was content with her lot; and she wanted Edward to be the same. He was certainly content with Julie; it was the way in which he had been treated which angered him.

He was unlike the Prince of Wales in that he lacked that easy charm which was so much a part of his elder brother’s character. Edward was a soldier who had been trained in the grimmest of schools. He was without humour; he behaved like a Prussian; and that had made him unpopular with Englishmen.

It was his Prussian attitudes which were responsible for his recall from Gibraltar.

Only to Julie could he talk of this matter; only to her could he explain the frustration. Julie understood it and it alarmed her because she sensed his growing jealousy of his brother, Frederick. ‘Frederick, Duke of York, Commander-in-Chief of the Army!’ He always gave him his full title when he spoke of him; and the bitterness he revealed made her shiver.

It would have been too wounding to point out that Frederick’s easy-going nature ensured his popularity with the men – something which Edward, good soldier though he was, could never win.

He had begun to talk constantly of his brothers. ‘George,’ he would say with a sneer, ‘thinks of nothing but his own pleasure. He’s seen about with that ridiculous dandy Brummell and they discuss coats and neckcloths ad nauseam. And now he is creating a scandal with that Hertford woman, behaving like a lovesick schoolboy, following her round, gazing at her like a sick cow … tears in his eyes … and all the time living with Maria Fitzherbert. And this is the man who could one day be king … any day … by the state of my father’s health. But Frederick … Commander-in-Chief of the Army …’ He could not go on. His anger choked him.

‘I think you should be careful not to quarrel with your brothers, Edward,’ said Julie gently.

‘My dear, I must say what I mean. I’m a blunt soldier. My feelings have not been considered. My father has treated me like a boy in the nursery.’

Julie tried to soothe him.

He had been sent from home when he was eighteen to Hanover, Luneburg and afterwards to Geneva because his father had believed that no young man could receive education or military instruction in England to compare with what he could get in Germany. Julie had heard all about the life he had led and the strictness of Baron Wangenheim’s regime. But Edward always said with grudging admiration: ‘He taught me how to be a soldier and I learned something that Frederick, Commander-in-Chief, never did.’

He had hated Geneva so much that he came home without permission and had been sent at once to Gibraltar where he had not been popular and his Prussian methods had almost caused a revolt. ‘How like them,’ he used to say, ‘to send me to Prussia to learn German methods and then revile me for putting them into practice.’ He had been recalled from Gibraltar and sent to Canada.

‘The only piece of luck I ever had,’ he used to say; for it was there that he met Mademoiselle de Montgenet – Julie herself – with whom he fell in love and who lived with him as his wife and changed her name then to Madame de St Laurent after the St Lawrence river, the scene of their blissful courtship.

Seventeen years they had been together and they still hated to be apart; when he was sick she nursed him; and when for health reasons he returned to England to take the waters of Bath she came with him.

He had to admit that his brothers, led by the Prince of Wales, rallied round him when he and Julie set up house in Knightsbridge, and Maria Fitzherbert became a particular friend of Julie’s; and when Maria wanted to sell her house, Castle Hill in Ealing, Edward bought it and it became their home. Julie was the Duchess of Kent in all but name.

But of course he could not remain idle. He was a soldier and Frederick, Commander-in-Chief, had wanted to do something for him. Discipline on the rock of Gibraltar was bad and Edward was noted for his discipline. The Commander-in-Chief had talked to his brother – very jocular, very friendly, explaining to him the need to deal tactfully with the situation and reminding him of his unpopularity previously on the Rock.

He then began to scorn Frederick, who was in his opinion no true soldier; but he had believed he could reinstate himself in the eyes of the Army and the family and had accepted the challenge.

And the result was disaster.

He had quickly discovered that the reason for the trouble was drink. The soldiers spent half their time in the liquor shops and he found many drunk on duty. These he ordered to be severely flogged. He closed half the wine shops and forbade any but commissioned officers to go into those which remained open. His unpopularity soared. He did not realize how dangerously.

The soldiers hated him for depriving them of drink; the shopkeepers were furious because he took away their trade. Who was this man? they asked each other. The son of a king. They did not want to be commanded by kings’ sons; they wanted to be commanded by soldiers. Where had he learned his army drill? In Germany. This was not Germany and they would not tolerate German ways.

The revolt was staged for Christmas Eve but it was ill-planned and the Duke, if stern, was competent. He had soon captured the ringleaders and without hesitation stood them up before a firing squad. The sound of those shots sobered themutineers as he had guessed they would.

But within a month he was recalled to England.

‘By God, Edward,’ said Fred – jolly, good-humoured Fred – ‘things are damned awkward at Gib. Worse than they were before you went. Better if you’d stayed at home, perhaps.’

This from Frederick – a careless pleasure-loving Fred – who cared more for his numerous mistresses than he did for the Army. It was an insult; it was a deep wound; it was an open sore. For whichever way he looked at it he had once again been recalled from Gibraltar in disgrace.

The King received him with much shaking of the head. ‘Discipline … very good, but it has to be reasonable discipline, eh, what? You’ve got to have tact, eh, judgement, eh what?’ He glared at his son as he spoke, and those protuberant eyes were wild beneath the bushy white brows. He was half mad, thought Edward, but that did not heal the wound. He had done his best. He could have kept order in Gibraltar; he could have restored discipline; but they had recalled him after he had stifled the revolt because they said he was too severe; when he remembered the disgrace of it, he was furious. And there was Fred – unfit for command if ever anyone was – Commander-in-Chief of the Army!

The incompetence of Fred therefore became an obsession; he had to occupy his mind with something, cut off as he was from the career he loved.

Then one day a certain Colonel Wardle came to him with a startling story.

‘Your Highness,’ said the Colonel, ‘there is a matter which causes me great uneasiness and puts me in a very delicate position, but I have come to the conclusion that it is my duty to bring it to your notice. It concerns certain practices which are being carried out to the detriment of the army which we both serve.’

‘Certainly tell me,’ said Edward.

The Colonel coughed. ‘It is a little embarrassing, Your Highness. This concerns the conduct of the Duke of York.’

Edward tried to suppress his excitement. ‘I trust it is nothing … discreditable.’ His very expression denied the sentiment, showing clearly that he hoped it was.

‘So discreditable, Your Highness, that I think perhaps I should not talk of it.’

‘You have made an accusation against my brother. I must insist.’

‘Not against the Duke, Your Highness. It is a certain woman who was once his mistress.’

Edward licked his lips. ‘I command you to proceed, Colonel.’

‘I know for a fact that a certain Mary Anne Clarke has been selling commissions in the Army. Her position as mistress of the Commander-in-Chief has put her into a position to do this.’

‘Selling commissions? It is monstrous!’

‘So I thought, Your Highness.’

‘And how long has this been going on?’

‘Doubtless it is no longer happening, because His Highness pensioned off the woman some time ago. But it did happen. I have irrefutable evidence of this.’

‘It is something which must not be allowed to pass. It is trickery of the worst kind. Where is this woman now?’

Colonel Wardle-twirled his moustaches. ‘Passing from one man to another in the process of her profession, Your High ness.’

‘And my brother?’

‘They parted good friends. He gave her a pension of four hundred a year but she is in debt. I fear he instilled in her a taste for extravagance.’

‘Coupled with a taste for trickery,’ said Edward, his eyes protruding and his face growing so red that he looked remarkably like his father.

‘You know where to find this woman?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘She should be asked … bribed if need be … to tell the truth.’

‘I will try her out, Your Highness. I think I know how to make her talk.’

‘It is deplorable, highly regrettable, but even though my own brother and a royal Duke is involved I do not see how I can allow this to pass.’

We are in for an exciting scandal, thought Colonel Wardle, and went off to set it in motion.

Mary Anne Clarke, vivacious, extremely pretty and, according to the men of her acquaintance, infinitely desirable though now nearer forty than thirty, was finding it difficult to satisfy her creditors. It was true that though she came from the establishment of a stonemason – her husband – in Snow Hill, that was long ago and she had grown accustomed to living with a duke – and a royal one at that. She had four children – the stonemason’s – to whom she was devoted and she was determined to have the best for them. She would like nice respectable marriages for the three girls and a good career for the boy. If Frederick had stayed with her this could have been achieved but Frederick had left. They had been together for three years – which was a long time for Frederick – and she had always been well aware of his penchant for variety. He had been an easygoing, pleasant lover, not very intelligent, but one must not expect too much; he had royalty to offer and that meant prestige even if there had not been all the money she would have liked. Poor Fred, like his brother the Prince of Wales he was constantly in debt, and although he had promised his dear Mary Anne a good income, it was rarely paid.

‘Simply haven’t the money, my angel,’ he would tell her blithely; and she knew it was true.

But she had insisted on her pension of four hundred pounds a year on which she delicately called her retirement from his service. It had all been arranged legally; she had been determined on that.

Sometimes she read through his letters. They made her laugh, for writing was not one of his accomplishments. They were crude and ill-spelt, but one thing they did show was his devotion, for Fred had been a very devoted lover, while it lasted.

The letters she kept carefully tied up with ribbon and in a locked box. The ribbon was for sentiment and the locked box for prudence. Remembering Perdita Robinson who had dealt very profitably with the letters of the Prince of Wales, she did not see why Mary Anne Clarke might not fare equally so with the letters of Frederick Duke of York. Well, perhaps not equally but should she say adequately – for she must not lose sight of the fact that a Duke of York was not quite a Prince of Wales.

And a woman in her position had to consider her assets. Her looking-glass told her that they were still considerable. Her cheeky nose, her full sensuous lips, her big blue eyes and her fair unblemished skin were more than charming; they were inviting; and her thick fair curly hair was youthful still. No one would guess that she was nearly forty. But she was … and that was why it was comforting to think of those letters with their pretty pink ribbon and their strong box.

She had very little money and extravagant tastes. Having lived in an establishment with twenty servants to wait on her, it was hard to wait on herself. But even at the height of her extravagance and when Frederick was at his most adoring she had been short of money because she had entertained him so lavishly and so many people had flocked to her house. The wild Barry Brothers were constant visitors although she never penetrated the sedate Maria Fitzherbert set. And who wanted to? was Mary Anne’s comment. What Mary Anne wanted was fun … and money to enjoy it.

The royal brothers had an unpractical attitude to money. For them it was almost an abstract quality. They ordered what they wanted as a privilege of royalty and forgot that it had to be paid for.

‘My darling shall have an allowance,’ Frederick had declared; but it never seemed to occur to him that an allowance was an amount of money which had to be paid regularly.

When she asked him for it, he was bewildered. He hadn’t got it.

Mary Ann sighed, but she was experienced enough to know that constantly to demand money was the quickest way to kill sentiment. Therefore she found her own means of supplying her purse.

Through Frederick she learned a little of Army matters. He told her that his staff sold commissions and that there were regular rates for these. The money was collected and used to help orphans and widows of soldiers who had lost their lives in the Service.

What did soldiers pay for those commissions? Mary Anne wanted to know.

‘Well, for a Major it would be somewhere in the neighbourhood of £2,500, for a Captain half that … well, say £1,500.’

‘And less for lesser ranks naturally,’ said Mary Anne. ‘What a lot of money must be coming in to your fund.’

‘It trickles in, I believe,’ said the Duke. ‘I know nothing about it.’

Mary Anne went on thinking about that money. She was in the service of the Army in a way since she delightfully charmed the leisure hours of the Commander-in-Chief, so she did not see why she should not benefit from some of this money which was coming in.

The more she thought of it, the more it appealed to her. Suppose she cut the price as an inducement? That should be tempting. As adored mistress of the Commander-in-Chief she could make sure that the commissions were supplied. She could make it clear to those whose duties it was to look after these matters that if they did not work with her she would find some reason to complain against them to the Commander-in-Chief. It was so easy to whisper a word into the royal ear during tender interludes, when he would be ready to promise her anything she asked for.

It was a brilliant idea and Mary Anne lost no time in putting it into practice.

In a short time she had found a friend to help her, and so great was the flow of business that she took an office and employed a clerk or two. Business flourished and she would have been enabled to pay her debts, but the more money that came in the more extravagant she became.

Still, it was a prosperous concern. In addition to commissions, she sold transfers from one regiment to another; and she began to look for fresh loopholes in the system which would enable her to add to her activities.

All was going well when Frederick’s great passion for his Mary Anne came to an end, and once that happened Mary Anne’s creditors were at her door. What could she do? Her lucrative business had come to an end; she was heavily in debt; and what security had she to offer now? She could see no answer but in flight.

The Duke with unexpected shrewdness had called in his financial adviser to arrange for her pension; and this was to be paid to her, subject to her good conduct. Rather unfair, she thought; and not in the original bargain; but she did not underestimate her awkward position. She went to Devonshire, but Mary Anne was not meant for the country life and very soon, stifled with boredom, she was back in London. She had her children’s future to think of – always a great concern – so she went to live with her mother in Bloomsbury. Mrs Thompson took lodgers and one of her lodgers was a friend of Colonel Wardle.

Calling at Mrs Thompson’s house Colonel Wardle met Mary Anne whom he had known in the days of her glory and he expressed his concern to see her so reduced in circumstances. She was comforted to talk of her sorrows.

‘But for my creditors,’ she declared, ‘you would not find me skulking here. I should be out in the world.’

‘So you would and so you should be.’ Colonel Wardle implied that he was not unaffected by her charm. It was a sin, he said, that such beauty had to remain hidden. She had not been exactly generously treated by the Duke of York.

‘Poor Fred,’ she said with a smile. ‘He was always short of money himself.’

‘A man has his obligations. The royal Duke whom I serve would honour his commitments.’

‘Your royal Duke?’

‘Edward, Duke of Kent.’

‘So he is your friend.’

Colonel Wardle retorted airily: ‘Oh, yes, we are on terms of friendship. He is not very pleased with his brother. I have it from Major Dodd – you must meet the Major who is in close attendance on the Duke – I have it from him that His Highness of Kent would very much like the position held by His Highness of York and feels himself much more capable of fulfilling it.’

‘Fred is very popular with the men.’

‘His brother thinks discipline is very lax in the Army. What they need is a strong man at the head.’

Mary Anne shrugged her shoulders. ‘Where do I come into this?’

‘It may be that you have certain information. Major Dodd, through a higher authority, would be very willing to pay you for it.’

‘You mean enough money to settle these creditors of mine?’

‘But certainly.’

‘And to set me up afresh.’ Mary Anne’s eyes sparkled at the prospect. This might be treachery towards poor Fred, but what had he done to her – left her with a pension of four hundred a year after teaching her to live at the rate of thousands! A woman had to look after herself in this world.

Mary Anne would do what she could.

From then on it was easy.

Frederick’s first action when he realized what accusations were going to be brought against him was to call on the Prince of Wales.

The Prince was in a mood of despair. Lady Hertford had not become his mistress and Maria was being what he called extremely unreasonable.

Ever since the end of the Seymour case he had been constantly in the company of the Hertfords. It was maddening. No matter how much he pleaded with that frigid lady she would not relent. It was no use offering her jewels or riches; she had plenty from the long-suffering Lord Hertford. She cared for three things only: her appearance, her reputation and the Tory Party. The Whigs were watching anxiously, for they knew that Lady Hertford intended to interfere with the Prince’s politics; in fact it was only through politics that he stood the slightest chance of gaining his ends. Maria Fitzherbert was a Tory, but Maria had never sought to force her views on anyone. The Whigs were hoping that Maria would continue to hold sway.

The Prince would not have been so unhappy if she had. He was not averse to this platonic relationship with Lady Hertford. It gratified the sentimental romantic side of his nature which was strong. He wanted Maria, though, to remain in the background of his life. The last thing he wanted was for Maria to leave him.

And this was exactly what Maria was suggesting she would do.

He had just received a note from her.

He had read it through several times, refusing to accept what it conveyed. It was true he had seen less of her lately. She should understand that. Lady Hertford kept him dancing continual attendance; and she always insisted that for ‘propriety’s sake’ Maria should be present when they met. Why could not women be reasonable?’

It was ironical that women who to him were the most delightful of all God’s creations should plague him so. He had always loved women more than anything else on earth. Better than horses, better than drinking, and the conversation and companionship of men like Fox – ah, why had that genius had to die! Why was he not here to give him the benefit of his advice now? He forgot that his relationship with the brilliant statesman had deteriorated in later years – but then he always forgot what it was convenient to. Now it soothed him a little to think of Fox who had been his mentor and his friend. Why could not the women in his life be more kind and understanding? There was his wife … Ah, no, he could not bear to think of that creature! There was his daughter, always difficult, not what he would have wished for a daughter to be, and he could see trouble increasing from that quarter as she grew older; there was Maria behaving now in an aloof manner and with her quick temper which had been responsible for that other regrettable break in their relationship, and even Isabella Hertford frustrated him because she was so pure that her reputation meant more to her than the devotion of the Prince of Wales. Who could have believed that women whom he had always idolized as a sex could bring so much anguish to a man who only wanted to please them and make them all happy?

He read Maria’s letter once more:

The constant state of anxiety I am perpetually kept in with respect to your proceedings, and the little satisfaction I experience when occasionally you make partial communications with me, have determined me to address you by letter.

You must be well aware of the misery we have both suffered for the past three or four years on a subject most painful to me, and to all those who are attached and interested about you. It has quite destroyed the entire comfort and happiness of both our lives; it has so completely destroyed mine that neither my health nor my spirits can bear it any longer. What am I to think of the inconsistency of your conduct when scarcely three weeks ago you voluntarily declared to me that this sad affair was quite at an end and in less than a week the whole business was begun all over again? The purport of my writing to you is to implore you to come to a resolution upon this business. You must decide, and that decision must be done immediately, that I may know what line to pursue. I beg your answer may be a written one to avoid all the unpleasant conversations upon a subject so heartrending to one whose whole life has been dedicated to you, and whose affection for you none can surpass.

He threw the letter down and stamped on it. He wanted to burst into tears and would have done so if there had been anyone there to witness the depth of his emotion. How could Maria behave like this? Why could she not be patient with him? All he asked her to do was act as chaperon because Lady Hertford insisted.

His page was at the door. His brother the Duke of York was asking to be admitted.

The Prince picked up the letter, put it into a drawer and turned to greet Frederick.

Frederick’s woebegone face told the Prince immediately that his brother had troubles and he was probably going to be denied the luxury of bemoaning his own.

Frederick burst out as soon as they were alone: ‘George, I’m in the most fearful mess. It’s that fellow Wardle. He’s one of Edward’s men. They’re going to ask a question in the House.’

‘What about, for God’s sake?’

‘Well, there was a woman I was on terms with … pretty creature. It’s a long time since we parted but it seems they’ve got hold of her. She’d been selling commissions in the Army.’

The Prince stared at his brother. ‘Good God, Fred. What have you got yourself into?’

‘That,’ said Frederick, ‘remains to be seen.’

‘Can nothing be done to stop this?’

Frederick shook his head. ‘Wardle’s determined. Behaving like a self-righteous martyr. Nothing is going to stop him. This is Edward’s doing.’

‘Our own brother – surely not! I can’t believe it.’

‘Oh, Edward’s changed. He’s become embittered. It was that Gibraltar business. He doesn’t forgive me for recalling him. He wants to show he’s a better soldier than I am. He’d like to be Commander-in-Chief, I don’t doubt. George, what am I going to do?’

The Prince was silent He would do anything for his brother, but what help could he offer? Once they started asking questions in the House one had to take the consequences. He remembered when a question had been asked in that holy of holies by some bumbling old country member which had led to Fox’s denial of his marriage with Maria. And look what trouble that had caused.

He looked at Frederick helplessly. ‘Fred, if there’s anything I can do …’

Frederick grasped his hands. They could always rely on each other; of all the brothers they had been the closest, and they were almost as horrified by Edward’s treachery as by the situation itself.

They both knew that the least that could happen to Frederick would be to lose his position in the Army.

Trouble, thought the Prince. Just trouble all round. So the storm broke. There had rarely been such a scandal in the royal family. Colonel Wardle, as he had threatened, delivered his bombshell in the House, doing as he declared ‘his duty’ to the Army and the country.

The people were both outraged and amused. Yet another indiscreet love affair of the royal family. One had to admit they were entertaining. Even the stolid Duke of Kent had a mistress, although he lived most respectably with her, as did Clarence with Dorothy Jordan. Now they were going to hear something of the adventures of the Duke of York.

Within the royal family as throughout the country the main topic of conversation was the Army scandal.

The King had grown visibly older and more incoherent.

‘I can’t believe this of Frederick,’ he told the Queen. ‘If it had been George …’

‘George would never have been such a fool as that,’ insisted the Queen. But would he? she wondered. These sons of hers seemed capable of the utmost follies over women.

‘Frederick,’ babbled the King. ‘Hope of the House … Best of the bunch, eh, what?’

‘It’s to be hoped not,’ retorted the Queen. ‘If he is the best, heaven help the rest.’

‘Why do they do these things, eh? What happens to them? They have no sense of duty. It makes me think we failed somewhere … in the way we brought them up, eh, what?’

‘Your Majesty was always the strictest of fathers,’ replied the Queen, determined not to take the blame. He was the one who had laid down the laws; he had never allowed her to disagree with him. Often she had wanted to protest against the canings that had been administered. It had turned them against him, she was sure; it had made them wild. It was never good to restrict high-spirited young people too much. Yes, it was his fault, silly old man. She could scarcely be sorry for him; she had never loved him; but she was concerned now for his health for if he broke down it could mean a Regency and when that had almost happened before (and would have been established but for the King’s recovery) she and her eldest son had become the bitterest of enemies.

So she tried to soothe him.

‘This woman seems to be an adventuress. Perhaps she is not telling the truth.’

‘Adventuresses! Why do they get themselves mixed up with adventuresses, eh, what?’

‘I don’t think William’s actress is exactly that. From all accounts she seems to be keeping him. And Edward’s Madame de St Laurent is a very worthy creature. As for Maria Fitzherbert, Your Majesty has always had a certain admiration for her. And Lady Hertford, whom George seems to be pursuing now, is very jealous of her reputation. So they are not all mixed up with adventuresses – although I do agree with Your Majesty that these liaisons are not exactly desirable.’

‘And there’s the Princess of Wales …’

‘Oh, she is a monster! And to think that she is Charlotte’s mother. I hope and pray the child doesn’t take after her. Although I must say Charlotte often causes me misgivings.’

‘She’s a sweet child. I am fond of my granddaughter.’

‘She needs a great deal of correction, I do assure Your Majesty. The Princesses and I are deeply concerned. Now if you please she has shown a tendency to make particular friendships. We shall have to watch over her very carefully.’

Anything, thought the Queen, any topic to turn his mind from this terrible affair of Frederick’s.

And she had managed it. The King’s mind wandered so much nowadays. She had set him thinking of Charlotte who for all her faults was a pleasanter subject than Frederick’s horrible affair with this low woman.

The Princesses whispered together.

‘Have you heard the latest news? She is to appear before the Select Committee. She will have to give evidence at the Bar of the House. What a scandal.’ Augusta had left her embroidery to fall to the floor in her excitement.

‘Even George has never given us such a scandal as this,’ added Elizabeth.

‘They say she has produced his love letters,’ said Mary.

‘Just fancy having your love letters read in public.’ Sophia was aghast.

‘And I daresay Frederick’s are rather silly,’ put in Elizabeth. ‘He could never spell.’

The sisters started to laugh; but Amelia said: ‘I tremble to think what effect this is going to have on Papa.’

Mary Anne was rather pleased with all the limelight.

‘It’s somewhat different from the dreary life in the country,’ she said.

Mrs Thompson, her mother, who had ceased to marvel at the adventures of her daughter, asked timidly: ‘Isn’t it something of a disgrace?’

‘For poor Fred. Not for me. Do you know, gentlemen are writing me notes making me the most attractive offers.’

‘Oh, Mary Anne! Will you take them?’

‘I have so much to consider,’ she replied. ‘In the meantime I must make a good impression at the Bar.’

She did. She chose her costume with care. Blue silk – to bring out the blue in her eyes – edged with white fur. Her muff was of white fur, too. She looked exciting, very pretty and quite ten years younger than she actually was. Excitement always improved her; and she had never been at a loss for words. In fact it was her quick wit – often quite clever – which had helped her to her place in society as surely as her beauty had. On her fair curls she wore a white fur hat with the most tantalizing veil. And thus she was ready to face the assembly.

She enchanted most of them. She was so completely feminine, both demure and saucy; and she successfully dealt with those who tried to bully her, scoring over them to the amusement and delight of so many onlookers. If this was disaster for the Duke of York, it was triumph for Mary Anne.

Corruption there had been. That much was evident. The point was how much had the Duke of York been involved in it? Had he been completely innocent of it? This was hardly likely but it was of great importance to the royal family and to Frederick that he should be proved a fool rather than a knave.

Mary Anne, urged by her supporters to bring her former lover to ridicule, produced some of his letters, which were read aloud in the court. This was the highlight of the case, for Frederick was no scholar; his letters were ungrammatical, ill-spelt but intensely illuminating; and gave a picture of his intimate relationship with his fascinating Mary Anne. They were quoted in all the coffee-houses and the taverns.

The King ranted for hours at a time. He sent for Frederick; he demanded to know what he thought he was doing. ‘No sense of duty, no sense of propriety. Can’t settle down like a good husband. Got a wife … what was wrong with that? All those animals it was true. Barren … No children. Very unsatisfactory, eh, what? But not as unsatisfactory … as criminally unsatisfactory as trafficking with this woman and undermining the discipline of the Army, eh, what?’

Frederick was wretched. He couldn’t understand how he had got himself so entangled. He went to Carlton House and talked endlessly to the Prince of Wales who while he sympathized had to admit that it was the worst scandal that had hit the House. He reckoned it was this sort of thing which could start a revolution. They hadn’t to look very far back across the Channel. Mary Anne was a beauty – the Prince conceded that; and he was no stranger to the sudden and irresistible passions for a woman which could beset a man, but Frederick had gone a little far in letting her become involved with the Army. So there was no great comfort even there.

As for William, he shrugged his shoulders. Really Fred was a fool. The other brothers were sorry for him but they did think he had been too absentminded or indulgent or plain stupid. Edward did not come near his brother; he couldn’t help chuckling when he remembered Frederick’s recalling him from Gibraltar. Was Frederick remembering that now? To think he had complained of Edward’s behaviour.

‘Ha, ha,’ said Edward to himself; but not to Julie who might have been a little shocked. Dear Julie, he wouldn’t have liked her to be otherwise. But she couldn’t understand a man’s pride in the profession for which he lived and worked; and what it meant to see an inferior placed above him – just because he was older, just because their father doted on him, just because he was easy-going and good-natured. This would teach them.

So poor Frederick was wretchedly unhappy while the case was being tried. There was no comfort anywhere … except with George, though even he couldn’t entirely hide the fact that he thought Frederick had acted like a fool; he couldn’t go out to any of his clubs because he knew that people were talking about him, remembering phrases from his letters to Mary Anne, tittering over the banal manner in which he expressed his sentiments.

Frederick stood before his mirror and said to himself: ‘Damn it, I’m not a writer. I’m a soldier.’ His reflection mocked him. A soldier. He was an even worse soldier than a writer it seemed; at least that was what his enemies were trying to prove.

There was no one who really stood with him. He had never felt so friendless in his life. George – yes, George— but he knew that things had never been the same between them since their quarrel over Maria Fitzherbert and the Duchess of York.

The door of his bedroom was quietly opened and someone was standing there looking at him. He stared at his wife. ‘You here?’ he stammered.

‘Yes.’ She came into the room and sat down on the bed.

‘You have been hearing of this … affair,’ he said; and he thought: She has come to mock me, which is understandable. She is my wife but I never loved her and I showed it quite clearly. As for her, she always preferred her animals.

She nodded. ‘I have heard,’ she said. ‘And I think at such times it is well that we are under the same roof.’

‘What?’ he cried.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘It is why I have come to London.’

‘But you hate London.’

‘I prefer the country.’

‘And your dogs and cats and birds and monkeys … you prefer them.’

‘They are well looked after. They do not need me now.’

‘And … I do.’

‘It is well at such times that a wife should be with her husband … to show that she believes him innocent of what is being proved against him. They should be seen together. At other times, let them go their own ways … but in times of trouble they should be together.’

He looked at her rather mistily. He was sentimental like the Prince of Wales, and now he was deeply touched that she, of all those near to him, should have been the one to stand by his side.

The case ended with Frederick’s being acquitted of complicity in corrupt practices by 278 votes to 196.

Pacing up and down the drawing room at Castle Hill Edward received the verdict with jubilation.

‘He’ll have to resign his command,’ he told Julie. ‘It’s not possible for a Commander-in-Chief to have suffered the indignity of such a case.’

‘Even though he is not proved guilty?’

‘My dearest Julie, 196 people believed he was guilty. He’ll have to resign.’

‘Will they give you the command?’ she asked.

His mouth was grim. ‘Who can say? It may be that they’ll have had enough of royal dukes. Frederick has disgraced the family as well as himself.’

‘Never mind,’ soothed Julie. ‘They must appreciate you one day.’

‘At least,’ he said with satisfaction, ‘Frederick has got his deserts. I doubt my father is calling him the Hope of the House now. As for George, he’s making a regular fool of himself over that Hertford woman.’

‘What a pity, Edward, that you were not born the eldest. But if you had been they would have married you to the Princess Caroline.’

‘God forbid!’ cried Edward. ‘There could never have been anyone for me but you, Julie.’

She knew and she was contented.

‘I am thankful that they at least had a child. Otherwise they might not have left us in peace,’ she said.

‘Yes, they have that girl. A hoyden by all accounts. She wants a little discipline.’

‘Poor Charlotte,’ said the tender-hearted Julie. ‘Don’t forget how difficult it must be for her with such a father … and such a mother; and this antagonism between them.’

‘It doesn’t seem to affect Madam Charlotte. I heard she is giving herself more airs every day and behaving as though she is already Queen of England.’

‘Poor dear! It’s a great burden for her.’

Soon came the news that Frederick Duke of York had resigned his post as Commander-in-Chief of the Army.

‘Operation completed,’ murmured the Duke of Kent.

But this was not quite the case; there was scandal to come. Mary Anne had been promised rewards, but where were these rewards? Colonel Wardle could not provide them; nor could Major Dodd for he knew how hard pressed his master was. Martinet that Edward was he had the family habit of living beyond his means.

Mary Anne was furious. She had emerged from her hiding place so that she was an obvious target for her creditors; she had gone to some expense to provide the adequate wardrobe for her act in the House of Commons – and no one could deny that she had given a first-class performance – and now, here she was, tricked. The £5,000 promised was not forthcoming.

Her first plan was to write to the Prince of Wales to tell him that there was information in her possession that she was sure would be of interest to him. The Prince of Wales’s fondness for pretty women was well known and if he could chase that old piece of ice Lady Hertford and still be living with Maria Fitzherbert who was decidedly old and who had lost her teeth – and replaced them by a set which were obviously false – surely he would be a little interested in enchanting Mary Anne?

But the Prince of Wales had no desire to be involved in the unsavoury affair; he was in any case too deeply committed to Lady Hertford, and too anxious about his relations with Maria to think of a possible romance with Mary Anne. He sent his equerry to see what Mary Anne had to say and when he returned with a tale of rivalry between his brothers he was doubly determined to have nothing to do with her.

Mary Anne in desperation wrote and published a book which she called The Rival Princes and in which she dealt with the relationship between the Dukes of York and Kent. That there should have been friction between the brothers and that this was behind the investigation was a source of great interest to the public and many copies of the book were sold. Mary Anne was thus able to placate her creditors for a while. She had now developed a taste for writing sensational and profitable literature so she produced another book, The Rival Dukes or Who is the Dupe? In this she attacked Colonel Wardle for his part in the affair and as a result Wardle brought a libel action against her.

She had no objection to appearing in court again; she had been such a success as a witness in the case against the Duke of York that she was certain that she was going to win against Wardle, and she was right, for she was found Not Guilty.

But her pressing need was for money. She had always known that her greatest asset was those letters which she had so carefully preserved. She now announced her intention of publishing them.

Frederick, disillusioned and disgusted that ‘his dearest angel’, ‘his sweetest darling love’ could have written what she did and so shown her true grasping nature, had discontinued her pension. He was seen everywhere with the Duchess who had left her animals to be with him. They were the best of friends and seemed to enjoy each other’s company. They had not become lovers. That would have been asking too much on either side; but he would never forget her loyalty and coming to his aid when he needed her. They would be good friends as long as they lived and he was grateful to her. And the more grateful he became to Frederica the more he despised Mary Anne.

When he heard that she was about to publish his letters he went at once to Frederica and told her.

‘This will be worse than ever,’ he told her. ‘I have said the most foolish things to that woman in the most foolish manner. The whole country will be laughing at me. I’ll never hold my head up again.’

But Frederica consoled him. ‘Nonsense. It’s not the first time a man of rank has written foolish letters. There is only one way of dealing with it – and it will be dealt with in this way because it is not only what is best for you but what is best for that odious woman. And it is what she is striving for. The letters will be bought.’

Frederica was right. They were bought for £7,000 down and a pension of £400 a year.

Mary Anne paid her debts and decided that it was time she set about preparing her daughters to make good marriages. Frederica returned to her animals; the Duke of Kent discussed his hopes of the future with Julie de St Laurent and hoped to catch the prize which he had helped to take from his brother. Great was his disappointment when it was awarded to Sir David Dundas. His consolation must be, said Julie, that he had done his duty. It was a pleasant way of looking at it and Julie as usual brought him some comfort. As for the Duke of York, he took a new mistress and tried to reconcile himself to having lost his post.