The Regent's Daughter

The gallant Captain Hesse

IT WAS INEVITABLE that life should change for Charlotte with the Regency. Instead of being the frivolous Prince of Wales, her father was now, in all but name, the ruler of the kingdom, which implied that she herself had, in a way, taken a step nearer to the throne.

She was now seen in public more often than before and the people took a lively interest in everything she did. She was very popular and although she was constantly reproved by poor old Lady de Clifford for her inelegance, her impetuousness, her boisterous manners, at least the people did not mind these failings.

They liked her a great deal more than they liked her father, for all his perfect manners. They were in fact annoyed with him; they did not like Lady Hertford, his new inamorata, and would have preferred him to have stayed with Maria Fitzherbert, which in Charlotte’s opinion showed their good sense, for she herself would have much preferred it. She never saw Maria now and she often thought enviously of Minney Seymour to whom that lady devoted herself. So instead of visiting Maria as he used to, the Regent was constantly in the company of Lady Hertford who, although she might be exquisitely dressed, and look like a china figure, had little charm for the people, and did not help the Regent to regain their esteem one little bit.

The lampoons which were circulating about them were very malicious and Charlotte couldn’t help chuckling over them when Mrs Udney brought them to her notice. She liked particularly the references to Lord Yarmouth, Lady Hertford’s son, as ‘The Yarmouth Bloater’.

She would have liked to ask her father why he did not go to see Maria Fitzherbert now; she wanted to say to him: ‘But can’t you see she is so much more pleasant to be with.’ Imagine her daring to do that! It was only when she was not in his company that she imagined all sorts of daring conversations with him; when he was present she seemed to become petrified, unable even to walk with grace, and these were the occasions when the stutter was apt to return.

Oh, what is the use? she asked herself. He’ll never like me. It’s all pretence that he does. He can’t forgive me for being my mother’s daughter.

She was regretful, but there was so much in life to make it enjoyable, especially now she was growing up. Mercer kept her informed on politics and many a joyful discussion they had together. She was a staunch Whig and her father was beginning – under the influence of Lady Hertford – to forget his loyalty to that party.

It was fun to ride out in the park at Windsor and to flirt with George Fitzclarence who was really quite taken with her. Not that she was with him. It was his background which fascinated her. He was her cousin – though he was only half royal – his mother being the beautiful Dorothy Jordan. How interesting to have an actress for a mother! She made him tell her all about her. How she studied her parts and acted them at odd moments when her family were around her and how Uncle William used to love to hear her and would tell her whether she was good or bad. How exciting some people’s lives were – and how dull others! Compare Maria Fitzherbert and Dorothy Jordan with the Old Girls. And yet they were supposed to be virtuous and Maria and Dorothy not really so – although no one could call Maria anything but a good woman. It was very interesting and she liked to tease George and flutter her eyes at him and gallop off in a way which made him spur his horse and come after her. They gave the grooms the slip sometimes and went off by themselves, which would of course be forbidden if it were known. But they both enjoyed it – chiefly because it was forbidden.

‘You’re a flirt, Charlotte,’ George told her.

Was she? She certainly liked attention … masculine attention. And it amused her to tease George a little and perhaps make him think that he might marry her one day not because They would say he might for They never would, but because the Princess Charlotte herself insisted.

Poor Lady de Clifford would have a fit if she knew the conversations which went on in the Park between the Princess Charlotte and George Fitzclarence.

She was thinking of this as Louisa and Mrs Gagarin were dressing her for the visit to the New Drury Lane theatre where she was going with her father, the Queen and the Princesses. This was one of those public occasions which she so much enjoyed. Lots of people would be there and her father would ceremoniously view the theatre before it was opened to the public. The day before there had been a ceremony in Whitehall Chapel at which she had played a prominent part.

‘There now,’ the fond Louisa was saying, ‘they’ll have eyes for no one but you.’

‘Well, they’ll spare a glance for Papa, I shouldn’t wonder, for he will look most splendid.’

‘They’ll like you better.’

‘I should hope so, for they don’t like him one little bit.’

‘Hush!’

‘Really, Louisa, I am not a child now, remember. I am really growing up, and you will have to treat me with just a little more respect. I shall have to insist on it, you know.’

They looked so alarmed that she laughed at them and threw herself into a chair, her legs stretched out before her.

To reassure them she began to tell them about yesterday’s ceremony in the chapel and was in the midst of this when Lady de Clifford entered and seeing her stretched out in such an inelegant pose cried out in horror: ‘Princess Charlotte, you are showing your drawers.’

‘I never do but when I can put myself at ease,’ retorted Charlotte.

‘You are showing them now.’

‘But I am at ease.’

‘And when you get in and out of a carriage you show them.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘Your drawers are too long.’

Charlotte lifted her skirts and surveyed the lace edging of the offending garments. ‘I don’t agree,’ she said, ‘and I’ve seen longer drawers. The Duchess of Bedford’s for one. She wears them long because she wants to show off the Brussels lace with which they are bordered. I like to show mine too.’ She stood up and drawing herself to her full height and lifting her skirts to her knees, declared: ‘If I wish to show my drawers I shall … and there is an end of the matter.’

Lady de Clifford looked as though she were about to burst into tears; she shook her head in desperation.

She really could not continue to cope with the waywardness of the Princess Charlotte.

It was pleasant travelling down to Oatlands, inevitably accompanied by Lady de Clifford. Charlotte was amused watching her guardian who appeared to have an unpleasant smell under her nose. Anticipation perhaps, Charlotte laughed to herself. The house did smell like a zoo, but she for one would forget the smells because in spite of Aunt Frederica’s odd ways there was a warmth of affection in her which was rare.

‘I should not fondle the dogs so much, Princess Charlotte, if I were you,’ said Lady de Clifford.

‘No, I don’t suppose you would,’ countered Charlotte.

‘I have heard that sometimes … er … unpleasantness … can be passed on through such a habit. I do recommend your not forgetting this, at the same time not allowing Her Highness to be aware of it.’

‘Oh,’ laughed Charlotte, ‘you are teaching me to be deceitful.’

Poor Cliffy! She raised her eyebrows in the well-remembered way and that helpless look came into her face. One shouldn’t tease her really, but if one did take her seriously nothing exciting would ever be allowed to happen. All the same Charlotte was sorry for poor Lady de Clifford’s impossible task and for the rest of the journey sat with her hands quietly resting on her lap.

When they arrived it was delightful to be made immediately aware of the lack of ceremony. Aunt Frederica did not appear to greet her. One of the dogs, in the charge of the pensioner whose duty it was to care for him, was sick and so Aunt Frederica could not be expected to spare much thought for visitors, even if one of these was the heiress to the throne.

Never mind. Charlotte was delighted. She immediately walked out to the cottage with Lady de Clifford panting behind her and helped Aunt Frederica with the sick animal, while Lady de Clifford tut-tutted and wondered what the world was coming to and Aunt Frederica was completely unaware of her.

It was certainly good fun to be at Oatlands. Charlotte made a pilgrimage to the pets’ cemetery near the grotto where there were about sixty little tombstones each bearing the name of a beloved pet. She laid a small posy on the newest grave which she knew would please Aunt Frederica, who could not fail to see it when she paid her daily visit to the little graveyard.

She sat with Aunt Frederica while that lady busied herself with her needlework. In this she was different from the Old Girls because she did not expect Charlotte to sew with her. Charlotte could sit on a footstool and select the skeins of silk for her and idly lure the conversation away from animals to the family.

Such a strange family, thought Charlotte; and Aunt Frederica one of the strangest. Looking at her Charlotte wondered how she had felt when she had known she was to be married, for being married was a matter which constantly occupied Charlotte’s thoughts nowadays; she discussed it endlessly with Mercer. How she wished Mercer were with her now; there was no one on earth to compare with Mercer and she was for ever grateful that they had become friends. She would write and tell Mercer all about this visit to Oatlands because she could not bear that they should be apart, and when they were, the next best thing was to write to Mercer as though she were talking to her.

She would be luckier than Aunt Frederica, who, poor soul, had had to leave her home and come to a strange land. Not for me, Charlotte told herself. They’ll never be able to make me leave England. I’m here for ever, and no one would dare say otherwise. Poor Aunt Frederica was so small that she looked quite incongruous when with Uncle Fred; and no one could call her pretty with her skin spoilt by the pox, and her brown teeth. How had she felt about Mary Anne Clarke? Oh, yes, Charlotte knew all about that – thanks to Mrs Udney and her own Mamma! How they had gloated! And neither of them had spared a thought for poor Aunt Frederica. Not that she cared, perhaps. It was not like an animal being sick and everyone knew that Uncle Fred didn’t live with her, so why shouldn’t he have a mistress? But those love letters! Of course he would never have written letters like that to poor Aunt Frederica.

And, thought Charlotte, she grows stranger and stranger – wandering out at night with all the dogs, never wanting to go to bed because she can’t sleep; making the servants read to her in the night, and having the animals living in the house. But she was good because she did care for the poor and all those in the neighbourhood who benefited from her goodness were devoted to her.

Now as she stitched away, three of the dogs were lying close to her; one had leaped on to her lap and was nuzzling against her. Occasionally she stopped work to pat the animal and murmur some endearment.

Charlotte said dreamily: ‘I do wonder whom they will choose for me.’

‘Choose for you?’

‘To marry. Do you realize how old I am?’

Frederica wrinkled her brows. She remembered the age of all the dogs but not of her niece.

‘Sixteen,’ said Charlotte dramatically. ‘You have to admit it is quite an age.’

‘They will find suitors for you soon, never fear!’

‘I don’t exactly fear it,’ said Charlotte, ‘but I confess I look forward to it with some apprehension, although no one shall make me marry where I do not wish.’

‘Let us hope not.’

‘Indeed it is a certainty.’

Frederica lifted her eyes, her needle poised.

‘Oh,’ demanded Charlotte, ‘you do not think so? You think Papa might find a suitor for me and I should be obliged to accept him.’

‘It is often the way with royal princesses.’

‘I am heir to the throne.’

‘You should not forget that you are not the heir apparent.’

‘W … what?’

‘But the heir presumptive.’

‘You mean that if my parents had a son …’

Frederica nodded.

‘But they do not live together. How is it possible for them to have a son if they never see each other?’

Frederica hesitated and shrugged her shoulders. ‘If the Regent married again,’ she said … ‘Well, it is a possibility.’

‘How … when he is married to my mother? You mean if she should die.’

‘I did not. But we must not discuss such things.’

‘Aunt Frederica, please don’t you be like the Old Girls.’

After another slight hesitation Aunt Frederica decided that she would not be like the Old Girls and she said: ‘What the Regent hopes for is a divorce that he might marry again. In which case if he had a son, you my dear Charlotte, would no longer be heiress to the throne.’

‘A d … divorce. The Prince of Wales!’

‘Royal people are sometimes divorced. But it is foolish to speculate.’

A divorce! thought Charlotte. The Delicate Investigation. Willie Austin; and the wild strange life her mother led. It was a possibility.

She could not endure it. Always she had believed she would be the Queen. She wanted to be another Elizabeth – a great queen who inspired brave men to go out and conquer the world for her. It was a dream she had always had, a dream which had comforted her more than anything else in those days when she had been so jealous of Minney Seymour and had wished her father to love her. And it could happen. A divorce. A young princess for a stepmother; a child born to them … a brother … who would come before her!

‘But … she is his wife,’ she stammered.

‘Of course. Of course. I talk nonsense. Look at this artful fellow. He is jealous. He wants to have the place on my lap. Oh, you are a crafty old man!’

A divorce, thought Charlotte. It is possible.

‘Soon,’ Aunt Frederica was saying, ‘we shall have to be a little social. We are going to celebrate your stay here, my dear. We are going to have a ball for you here at Oatlands.’

‘A ball! For me. Oh, what fun!’ But she was thinking: He hates her. He wants to be rid of her. He will marry and have a son and he will love him dearly. And that will make him hate me all the more.

‘Yes, a ball, my dear. And who, do you think, will be our guest of honour?’

‘Not … my father.’

‘But of course. Who would think of giving a ball without him?’ The Prince Regent drove down to Oatlands in the company of William Adam, whom he had some years before made his Solicitor General and whose company he found interesting. Another member of his party was Richard Brinsley Sheridan.

The Prince was in a sombre mood. A party at Oatlands for his daughter Charlotte was not a very enlivening prospect. He was always ill at ease with the girl, although he was determined to feel an affection for her. That such a child should have been his daughter seemed incongruous; the only characteristic she had inherited from him was her daring on a horse. If it were not for the fact that she looked so much like him he would say she was not his daughter. The great desire of his life was to be rid of her mother; to remarry, to get a son. They would relegate Charlotte to a position he would very much like to see her occupy.

He was now in all but name the King; and it was becoming more and more obvious that his father would never be fit to rule again. The old man was afflicted with incipient blindness to add to his other disabilities. No, he would never rule again. The Prince Regent was the ruler. But what had the supreme power brought him? A break with Maria. Yes, it had been inevitable. It was not only that Isabella Hertford insisted, but there could not be rumours that the King (though he was not being given that title yet) was married to a Catholic; and people would insist that he was married while he continued to live with Maria. So he had broken with Maria – and this could often depress him. He was flirting with the Tories and had allowed them to continue in office. ‘My God,’ his mother had said, ‘if the King recovered and found the Whigs in power it would send him mad again.’ Still, he kept the bust of Fox in his apartments. Isabella was being charming to the ruler yet still keeping the lover at arm’s length. He was uncertain of the future, but one thing he had done was make sure that his sisters had separate allowances so that they were no longer dependent on the Queen. It was something he had always promised himself, for he had long been very sorry for them and they would bless him for it; for the first time in their lives they had a measure of independence, and, he promised himself, there should be more, because at this late stage if it was possible for any of them to find a suitor, he would not stand in their way of marriage.

At least he could do this for his family.

And now to Oatlands, to a sort of children’s ball. Charlotte was growing up, no doubt to be a plague to him. Maria had warned him that if he did not show some affection towards her she would turn to her mother and as soon as she was free to do so might ally herself openly with that woman. Who knew what consequences that would entail!

Maria, his good angel … with a devilish temper. He had provoked her, of course. But she had never really understood that however he strayed – and how could he help his own nature? – it was Maria to whom he always wanted to return. He wanted to return to her now – to Minney and old Pig. But how could he? If he tried to get back now what a stream of complications would ensue. But he still kept her picture and he looked at it often.

Here they were at Oatlands. A monstrosity of a place. A pity they had not asked his advice after the old place had been burned down. He’d scold Fred about that. What was it now though, but a home for animals? Frederica was an odd creature; but he did not dislike her as much now as he had at one time.

A flutter of excitement ran through the house because the Regent had arrived. He was aware of it and expected it but it always pleased him. Even Frederica would have to stand on a little ceremony today. There she was waiting to greet him and Charlotte was beside her, a demure Charlotte, he was glad to see.

Frederica swept a deep curtsey.

‘Oh, come,’ he said, ‘this is a family affair.’ He kissed her hastily. She did not attract him with her pockmarks and smell of dog. And Charlotte. He embraced her. The poor girl clung awkwardly for a moment.

‘Your looks assure me that you are well, Charlotte,’ he said.

And then into the house with Adam and Sherry – a changed house, thought Charlotte, with its atmosphere of awe because it was offering hospitality to the Prince Regent.

‘Oh,’ sighed Charlotte to Louisa Lewis, ‘How I love gaiety!’

‘And the gentlemen,’ added Louisa quietly.

‘And the gentlemen,’ conceded Charlotte. ‘I confess to a fondness for Mr Adam.’

‘As he would to Your Highness.’

‘Come, Louisa, you must not let your mind run on. Mr Adam is a very proper gentleman and some forty years older than I … more perhaps. So a little flirtation with such a gentleman cannot come amiss, surely? It will put me in practice for the younger ones.’

‘Such as Master Fitzclarence and Captain Hesse, I daresay.’

Charlotte lowered her eyes at the mention of Captain Charles Hesse. There was indeed a charming young man and she confessed inwardly that she was a little taken with him. He looked splendid in his uniform of the Light Dragoons and he was very sure of himself because he claimed to be a son of the Duke of York. It was almost certain that he was and therefore half royal like George Fitzclarence and like George, her cousin. Oh, these wicked uncles, what lives they led! She was not sure that her father behaved more scandalously than his brothers; it was merely that he was a more prominent target for gossip.

And that brought her to Charles Hesse again. How amusing to ride in Windsor Great Park with Charles one day and George the next – and another day with both, each vying for her favour. Growing up was amusing.

She was sorry they were not at Oatlands now; still, she would have to turn her wiles on ancient Mr Adam who was, perhaps because of his age, more skilful in the arts of flirtation than either George or Charles.

‘Well,’ sighed Louisa to Mrs Gagarin, ‘we have to face the fact that our young lady is growing up.’

‘It is always desirable to face facts,’ Charlotte reminded them.

She was excited. Now that her father was here it would be different. There would be no more singing duets with those two young girls Aunt Frederica had had brought to the house as companions for her. Silly little things Charlotte thought them in their simple muslin dresses and with their innocent chatter. She would have much preferred Charles Hesse or George Fitzclarence. The girls reminded her of the young Minney Seymour; sometimes she wondered about Minney but not often. It was all rather long ago.

She liked the sight of her bare shoulders. If she were not so pale she would be very pretty; her brows and lashes were so light that it was almost as though she had none; but her hair was good and so was her skin. On the whole she was a fairly handsome girl on whom a pretty dress could work wonders.

‘I must look my best tonight, Louisa,’ she said, ‘because the Regent will open the ball with me.’

‘He’ll be so proud of you.’

Charlotte grimaced to hide her emotion. If only that could be true, how pleasant it would be! She pictured his telling her how pretty she looked and how proud he was to have such a daughter. If Mrs Fitzherbert were here perhaps she would have called attention to Charlotte’s dress, her hair, her skin and how pretty she was growing. But there was no one else who could, because there was no one else to whom he would listen.

Perhaps if he saw how Mr Adam liked her, he would begin to think she was not so stupid and unattractive after all.

The Prince took her hand and led her on to the floor. How magnificent he was with the diamond star on his breast and the diamond buckles on his shoes; and everyone was looking at him, Charlotte was sure. She herself was a glittering figure because she was allowed to wear her diamonds for this occasion and her dress seemed almost as becoming here in the ballroom as it had under the adoring eyes of Louisa Lewis and Mrs Gagarin.

He danced exquisitely in spite of his bulk; he was so light on his feet and of course she must seem clumsy beside him. But when she caught the eyes of kind Mr Adam he conveyed the fact that he thought her very charming and she was grateful to him. After all, she thought, the Regent is a fat old man and I am young and as royal as he is and if he is King in all but name one day I shall be the Queen.

Poor Sheridan was looking on with bleary eyes. He had been in a state of semi-intoxication since his arrival. It was difficult to believe that he was the brilliant author of The School for Scandal and The Rivals, which she had read so many times and longed to see played; but of course he had suffered terribly after the burning down of Drury Lane and was always in debt and couldn’t sleep and was often in cruel pain, so she’d heard, from his varicose veins. It was hard to see in him the romantic young figure who had eloped with Elizabeth Linley, herself long since dead. But men such as Sheridan were talked of and their past glories remembered. She was glad Papa was still friendly with him because although he was witty and clever, he was no longer handsome and, thought Charlotte severely, his poor second wife cannot find him a very good husband.

Charlotte much preferred the gallant Mr Adam.

She glanced at her father’s profile as they danced, plump and pleasant, with that attractive nose which gave such a jolly look to his face, and made one feel there was no need to fear a man with a nose like that. At least that was how Minney had felt – and George Keppel too. She had made them admit it. But of course they were not his children.

The others were falling in behind them now and the ball was open, and after a while the Prince led her back to the Duchess and said that she danced well; and after that she danced with Uncle Fred, which was good fun, and they tried the waltz.

‘Said to be most improper,’ Uncle Fred told her, ‘except when the partners are a lady and her uncle. Then it is quite proper.’

‘Then it gives you a chance to be proper for once, Uncle Fred,’ she retorted, and that made him laugh, for Uncle Fred laughed easily.

After that she waltzed with Mr Adam, which was a little daring, but delightful because he danced well for such an elderly man; and he told her she was looking exceedingly charming and that he was sure the Regent on this occasion must find his daughter the most beautiful young lady in the ballroom.

Very pleasant to hear; and they could talk of Mercer, too, because Mercer was related to Mr Adam’s wife, who was now dead; so that there was a family connection. Charlotte could extol Mercer’s many virtues; she could tell Mr Adam that Mercer was her greatest friend and she could not imagine how she could ever have existed without that friendship; to which Mr Adam replied that he was delighted that a connection of his – although only by marriage – could be of such good service to the Princess, but he advised her to modify her language when discussing Mercer’s good qualities with people other than himself, for with such an important young lady as Charlotte there were spies all about her and there would be many who might try to spoil the friendship if they knew how deep it was.

Charlotte listened intently; she was remembering her grandmother’s references to ‘particular friendships’.

The music stopped and the Prince Regent was heard trying to explain the movement of the Highland Fling to the Duchess.

He glanced towards them. Charlotte’s heart beat faster because she thought he was going to ask her to join him in the Highland Fling, and because she had no idea how this dance was performed and would have hated to confess ignorance to her father she tried to hide herself behind Mr Adam. Apparently she was successful, for the Prince cried: ‘Come, Adam, you know the dance. We will give an exhibition.’

So Mr Adam went on the floor with the Prince and with one hand lightly on his hip and the other held above his head Mr Adam executed a few steps of the Highland Fling. The Prince said that was the idea and greatly to the amusement of the entire company the two of them danced, when suddenly the Prince gave a cry of pain and would have fallen had not Mr Adam caught him.

The Duke and Duchess came hurrying over.

‘I’ve done my foot some damage,’ cried the Prince. ‘Stab me, Fred, the pain is intense.’

The Duchess called to her servants and in a moment the atmosphere of the ballroom had changed. Charlotte stood by helplessly watching, longing to be the one who looked after him and amazed them all by her calm competence. But clearly her services were not needed; and the Prince was carried to the best of the bedrooms where he lay groaning until the doctors came and gave the verdict that he had injured his ankle and must rest for a few days.

Uncle Fred said that he must stay at Oatlands where it would be his privilege – and that of the Duchess – to look after him.

Since it was necessary to care for the Regent, the Duchess had no time to devote to Charlotte, so she and her retinue returned to Warwick House.

Warwick House, as the Princess said, was not her favourite residence. She had always hated it and was constantly planning to get away from it. For some years now she had spent a certain amount of time there and it was recognized as her particular residence. It was an old house and in fact part of the outbuildings of Carlton House; and it had been allotted to her because it was so close to her father’s mansion. Charlotte had said that her father had put her there so that he could, when he thought of her, keep an eye on her; and at the same time not be bothered with her. She never went back to Warwick House without a sense of grievance.

The house was in a cul-de-sac at the end of a narrow lane, and the buildings which surrounded it made it gloomy. The two sentries stationed at the entrance of the lane, Charlotte said, made her feel like a prisoner. It was not pleasant to come back to Warwick House after the jollities of Oatlands.

‘I think I prefer the smell of animals to that of damp,’ she complained to Lady de Clifford.

Lady de Clifford was also disappointed. Warwick House did her rheumatics no good; in fact, as she said often to her daughter, the Countess of Albermarle, she could not go on much longer and was only waiting for the right opportunity to relinquish her post. If it were not for the fact that dear Princess Charlotte needed her she would have done so long ago.

‘I’d almost rather be at Windsor,’ Charlotte told Mrs Udney.

‘I’m not surprised at that,’ replied that lady with a wink. ‘Your Highness does so enjoy her rides in the Park and finds the company so congenial.’

‘Company?’ said Charlotte, flushing.

‘Delightful company, I believe,’ went on the incorrigible Mrs Udney. ‘And in particular the gallant Captain Hesse.’

‘You have seen us riding together?’

Mrs Udney laughed. ‘Your Highness should not be alarmed. I should not dream of mentioning the matter to Lady de Clifford, and if I did … she would not know what to do about it. It strikes me that her ladyship becomes more and more flustered every day.’

It was true, thought Charlotte. And a good thing too. One must have the opportunity to exercise a little freedom.

‘How I wish I could go to Windsor,’ she sighed, at which Mrs Udney laughed conspiratorially.

Later that day she produced a note which she said the gallant Captain had asked her to give to the Princess.

Charlotte read it through with pleasure. It was very daring of him. He missed their rides. He longed to talk to her. She was not only the most beautiful of Princesses but the most witty.

Oh, how daring of him! And what Lady de Clifford would say if she knew. Or her father for that matter.

But I’m growing up and I must live, she told herself. I do not want to become like one of the Old Girls.

She rode to Oatlands to see her father. He lay on a couch, looking large and unusually pale. Mr Adam was with him. She kissed his hand and inquired anxiously after his health.

‘Not good,’ he said languidly. ‘Not good.’

‘Oh, Papa … if there is anything I can do …’

He looked at her in amazement. Anything she could do? What was she talking about? She blushed and stammered: ‘I … j … just thought …’ She did not know how to continue and he, who was so articulate, despised incoherence.

The Duchess who was present came to her rescue. ‘Charlotte is naturally disturbed by Your Highness’s indisposition. But don’t fret, Charlotte my dear. His Highness is improving every day.’

‘I’m not sure that I am,’ said the Regent crossly. He frowned at the Duchess. He had never really liked her since she had refused to receive Maria. All those animals she kept about the place were disgusting; she was not pretty and her dignity reminded him of Maria and made him wish that he were in Tilney Street or at the house on the Steyne, going to it through the secret passage from the Pavilion. How well Maria would have nursed him!

He closed his eyes, indicating that he wished to speak to no one; he felt languid and bored and sorry for himself.

Charlotte, dismissed, wandered out of the room and sat alone in a window seat. When one of the dogs came and thrust his damp nose into her hand, she caressed him absently, feeling depressed. How different it would have been if they were all together – herself, her mother and her father. She imagined herself making a posset for him and taking it to him and when he drank it he declared he felt so much better because she had made it.

‘The Princess unattended!’ It was Mr Adam smiling, bowing, very much the courtier.

‘I don’t think my presence is really required in the sick-room.’

‘Good. We can be much more at ease here.’

‘You are at ease in any place.’

‘It’s a state that comes with age.’

‘Then I shall not regret growing old.’

‘I am sure you will be far too wise to do that, for with age comes experience – which is perhaps a more valuable asset even than youth.’

‘Yes,’ said Charlotte quickly. ‘I believe it is. I’d much rather be sixteen than ten.’

‘Then you have begun to make the discovery too.’

It was very pleasant talking to Mr Adam, whose eyes so admired her. She told him about the dreariness of life at Warwick House and the odd quirks of the members of her household. Her laughter rose immediately and she found she was really enjoying herself.

But when she went back to Warwick House she was sad again thinking of the conflict between her mother and father, which now she was growing older she was beginning to realize was too great ever to change.

The rumours were rife. The Regent was ill. What was the matter with him? He had been dancing the Highland Fling and had hurt his ankle!

Hurt his ankle! said the lampoonists. That was just a tale. More likely the Yarmouth Bloater had lost his temper and attacked his benefactor. And the reason? Because His Highness was far too interested in the Bloater’s wife.

That was a great joke. The son of the Prince’s latest flame to attack him for casting eyes on his wife! What lives Royalty led! It was too good a story not to exploit. After all, was the comment, it was a mild echo of the Sellis affair when it was widely believed Cumberland had come close to being murdered because he had been found in bed with his valet’s wife.

Charlotte heard of these rumours and was deeply disturbed by them. At the same time stories were still circulating about her mother and her supposed lovers. There were many who believed that Willie Austin was the son of the Princess of Wales.

Hurt and bewildered she longed to know the truth and yet dreaded it.

‘My word,’ said the informative Mrs Udney one day, ‘there are rumours about the Regent. Not that I believe them. They’ll say the maddest things.’

‘What things?’ asked Charlotte.

‘Not that I’d repeat …’ began Mrs Udney, but Charlotte was not deluded; she knew that those words were the preliminary to a confidence. ‘You must not mention that I told. You must never repeat …’ Charlotte gave the promise which she knew she would wish afterwards that she had not allowed to be extracted because when she heard these vile slanders she would want to trace them to their sources; she would want to demand that the lies be retracted. Lies! How she wished she could believe they were lies!

It came out after a certain amount of wheedling.

‘They are saying that the Regent has inherited his father’s illness and that he is mad.’

Charlotte stared at Mrs Udney for a few seconds in silence, then she cried: ‘Don’t dare say that again!’

Mrs Udney was alarmed. ‘Of course not. I only told you because you got it out of me.’

‘Who … who dared say it?’

‘Well, don’t tell a soul, but they are saying the rumour started with Cumberland.’

His own brother, her Uncle Cumberland whom she had never liked! In fact she had found him a little sinister with his one glittering eye (he had lost the other before she was born, at the battle of Tournay) and she had always felt that he resented her.

But what a wicked thing to say about her father!

She turned on Mrs Udney and would have struck her if the woman had not hastily retreated.

‘I’m only telling you what you asked,’ began Mrs Udney.

‘Don’t ever say that again,’ cried Charlotte. ‘Don’t ever say it. I … I’ll kill anyone who says it.’

She ran to her bedroom and threw herself on to her bed.

She kept thinking of her mother and her father and how they hated each other and how so many people seemed to hate them.

In her apartments at Kensington Palace the Princess of Wales embraced her daughter.

‘If you only knew how I long for these hours, my little Charlotte. Oh, if you only knew,’ she cooed. ‘But I am allowed so little. It’s a scandal. Of all the scandals in this family this is the greatest. To be allowed to see my own daughter for an hour now and then. I tell you I will not endure it. I will make such a big noise one day that they’ll be sorry. Oh, yes, they will.’

Charlotte gave herself up to the warm, almost suffocating hug. Mamma’s wig as usual was a little awry and strands of her own grey hair were visible beneath it. It was so black that her heavily painted cheeks made her look like a grotesque doll. The dress she was wearing – mauve satin trimmed with ribbons and lace – was very low-cut and none too clean, being stained with food, and Charlotte could quite understand how the immaculate and fastidious Regent was disgusted.

But she loves me, thought Charlotte; she is warmhearted to me and he is so cold. Yet it was his love she wanted. Why could she not be satisfied with her mother’s love which, whenever they met, seemed to be so intense?

‘Well, tell me all your news, my angel. How is de old Begum? Pestering you, I know. Interfering old crocodile, saying “This shall be done” and “That shall be done” and making my little Charlotte’s life a burden. I know de old Begum.’

‘When I’m at Warwick House I don’t have to see her often. It’s at Windsor.’

‘Ah, Windsor … gloomy old place! Cold and draughty … ugh! I was saying to darling Willie only the other day, “Willie,” I said, “they can keep their castle. We’re much better at Blackheath.” ’

‘And how is Willie?’ A purely rhetorical question, for she had no wish to know how the obnoxious child fared.

‘Willie!’ called the Princess. ‘Come here, Willie. Charlotte wants to see you. Oh, the naughty boy. He does not come.’

‘Never mind, Mamma. I want you to myself for the little time I have with you.’

‘My sweet, sweet Charlotte.’ More damp kisses and displays of affection which set the wig more awry and the gown slipping farther off the shoulders.

‘So what are they doing to you, eh? What is Madam de Clifford saying now? Trying to stop you having a little fun, eh? It is time you are done with governesses. Governesses! Dey are for children. And my Lottie is a young woman now, eh? And she has her little flirtations. Oh, I know. George Fitzclarence … Captain Hesse. Now there is a young man I have one big fancy for. Captain Hesse – he is not very tall but he is a very attractive man.’ Caroline burst out laughing. ‘You find him so … and so does your Mamma.’

‘Captain … Hesse has visited you?’

‘Often he comes. He is a very great favourite here. “You are very welcome, Captain Hesse,” I say to him. “Come whenever you care to. We are always happy to see you.” And he comes often. Sometimes I think he comes hoping to have a word with you. He thinks how much more comfortable here than in the forest where you may be seen and spied on … Oh, yes, my Charlotte, you are surrounded by spies.’

Charlotte was taken aback that so much should be known of her friendship with Captain Hesse – those secret meetings in the forest, the letters which Mrs Udney helped to smuggle in to her. The occasional kiss when they thought no one was watching them.

Had they been seen and reported to her mother? She was horrified at the thought of such conduct coming to her father’s ears. He would despise her and dislike her more than ever.

‘Mamma,’ she began, but the Princess of Wales was not listening.

‘You are treated like a child,’ she went on. ‘It is time you are free. My poor little Charlotte who is watched over and spied on by these stern old women. They are all under the rule of de old Begum. Charlotte, my love, you must not let them crush you. Get rid of that silly snuffling de Clifford. Tell her she’s an old idiot and tell your father too. Does he visit you? Ha! What a spectacle he is making of himself, running after that lump of ice. He’ll never get into her bed. He would have done better to stay with the Fitzherbert. I’ve always said it and I say it now. She was the one for him and the people would have thought a lot more of him if he’d stuck to her.’

A lady at the door was announcing an arrival. Charlotte looked up eagerly. One never knew what kind of people one was going to meet in her mother’s apartments. The most colourful characters mingled with the most disreputable and there was a sprinkling of politicians, all of whom Charlotte suspected were endeavouring to stir up strife between her mother and father.

But here was a surprise which sent the blood to her cheeks. Captain Hesse came into the room. He bowed from the waist, German fashion.

Charlotte cried inelegantly: ‘Oh, so it’s you.’

‘Always at Your Highness’s service,’ he responded gallantly. He looked very handsome in his uniform of an officer of the Light Dragoons, and although he was short there was a look of the Duke of York about him.

‘A surprise for you both, you naughty children!’ cried Caroline archly.

After that, whenever Charlotte visited her mother Captain Hesse would be there also.

It was a shame, declared Caroline, that Charlotte was treated like a child by her father and his mother. She had no fun at all. Her Mamma was going to make sure that when she came to her she should enjoy herself.

She was soon conveying letters from the Captain to her daughter and Charlotte, always ready to take up her pen, responded.

This was romantic adventure and it gave a spice to life. The monotony of Warwick House was considerably relieved; she would laugh to herself when she listened to the Queen’s lectures. They might treat her like a child and she was amused thinking of what they would say if they could read those letters which were passing between her and Captain Hesse.

It was all so simple, with her mother acting as the go-between and making it possible for them to meet.

Charlotte often wondered what her father would say if he knew of this. Serve him right, she thought. He takes no interest in me.

There came a day when even Charlotte began to feel some alarm. Her mother behaved in such an odd way but perhaps never so dangerously odd as she did on this occasion.

Charlotte had paid the prescribed visit to find Captain Hesse in her mother’s drawing room where Caroline made them sit together on a sofa very close while she talked of the manner in which Charlotte was treated by her father and grandmother.

‘Like a child, you understand, mon capitaine. And she is not a child. But they would lock her up and say No to this and No to that … No to everything that is nice and pleasant, and Yes, Yes, Yes to everything that is a tiresome bore. She has de old fool de Clifford always at her elbow. Is it not a shame, mon capitaine? But when she comes to see her mother … which is not often enough because her wicked father keeps her from me … she is going to enjoy herself. Someone must be kind to my darling Charlotte.’

The Captain said he believed everyone would want to be kind to the Princess Charlotte.

That made the Princess Caroline laugh; she fell back in her chair and her short legs, which did not reach the floor unless she sat forward, shot up rather indecorously showing grubby lace petticoats.

The Captain pretended not to see and asked Charlotte whether she had ridden lately. The Princess of Wales sat listening to them for a while, sly amusement on her face. Then she went to the window where she stood fingering the heavy curtains.

‘New ones I have in some parts of this place, Charlotte, I want your opinion.’ Charlotte rose and her mother said: ‘You too, Captain. Your opinion is sought also.’

Charlotte was surprised when her mother led them to her bedroom.

‘Come in, come in,’ she said. ‘Oh, that wicked Willie. He has been playing with my paint and lead. Naughty boy!’ She left them standing in the middle of the room and suddenly she was at the door crying: ‘Amuse yourselves!’

They were alone, for the door had shut on them and with something like panic Charlotte heard the key turn in the lock.

The Captain’s panic was as great as Charlotte’s. Here he was locked in a bedroom with the heiress to the throne of England. He could be accused of treason. Suppose Charlotte had been in similar circumstances before. Suppose …

He grew faint with apprehension at the thought.

Charlotte herself spoke: ‘We … we must get out of here … at … atonce …’

The Captain nodded.

He went to the door and rapped on it.

‘Open this door. Your Highness, I beg of you open this door at once.’

They heard Caroline chuckling.

Had they said her father was mad? thought Charlotte. They could say that of her mother and perhaps it would be true.

‘Mamma,’ she cried. ‘I am frightened. I beg of you open this door at once.’

There was a pause before the key was turned in the lock. There was the Princess of Wales laughing immoderately.

‘Well, my children,’ she cried, ‘all I say is that you did not make the most of your chances.’

‘It is time for me to leave,’ said Charlotte.

‘Not yet. We have a little longer.’

They went back to the Princess’s drawing room and sat uneasily and very soon the Captain was making his excuses and begging leave to retire.

When he had left Caroline embraced her daughter.

‘My love, you shouldn’t have been frightened. I should not have left you there … unless you had wanted to stay. I wanted to think what Madam de Clifford or de old Begum would have said if they had known you were locked in a bedroom with the dear little Captain. Oh, I am a wicked one you think. But no, you do not. You know your poor Mamma too well. You know she loves her darling Charlotte as she loves no one else and she cannot bear this separation and she wants most of all for us to be together. She is wild and foolish and does mad, mad things … but she loves too. Here is a warm heart, dearest Charlotte, a heart that wants to give love all the time and is kept from her treasure. Oh Charlotte, my little girl, tell me you understand.’

‘Y … yes, Mamma, I understand but please do not try to shut me up with Captain Hesse … or with any man, again.’

‘Never, unless my angel wishes it. It was Mamma’s silly way of saying she loves her little girl and wants to give her all that the others take away from her. Say you understand. Say you love your Mamma. It is the only thing she has … her little Charlotte.’

‘You have Willie, Mamma. He is as a son to you.’

‘I have Willie … but he is the substitute for my own little girl. Try to understand me, Charlotte, and love me.’

‘I do, Mamma, I do.’

They wept together. I do love her, Charlotte told herself, I do.

‘Promise me, dearest, that when you are your own mistress you will not forget your mother.’

‘I promise,’ said Charlotte.

‘So perhaps it is not so long to wait, eh?’ Mischievous lights shot up in the eyes of the Princess of Wales. ‘And in the meantime we plague them in all ways we know, eh?’

Charlotte did not answer.

Poor Mamma, she thought, she is starved of love. I must try to understand and help her.

But when she went back to Warwick House, sitting in the carriage with Lady de Clifford, she wondered what that lady would say if she knew what had happened in her mother’s bedroom and she shivered with apprehension.

It was a great trial to be a princess and heiress – though only presumptive – to the throne of England and at the same time to be a buffer between two such strange parents.