The Regent's Daughter

Slender Billy

WILLIAM, HEREDITARY PRINCE OF HOLLAND, was on his way to London. He travelled with little enthusiasm for he was fully aware of the reason for his journey. His father, the Stadholder, was in England at this time ‘on a mission’; and young William could guess what that mission was.

They had chosen him to be the husband of the Princess Charlotte and although his father was delighted at the prospect, young William himself was not so sure. He was a good soldier; he had distinguished himself under Wellington but he wanted to carry on with his career, not settle down as the consort of an imperious young woman. He had heard reports of her – and she was certainly not the wife he would have chosen.

His father had written of his future as the husband of the heiress presumptive to England as though he were giving him a glimpse of paradise. Napoleon was on the point of defeat; and when that happy event took place, Holland would be returned to the Stadholder. As future ruler he would have to spend the greater part of his time there; but he would also be the consort of the Queen of England. He would realize the benefits of such an alliance: the Dutch and the English joined in marriage – a William of Orange once more in control of England, for he would know how to handle Charlotte and although she would in name be Queen, he would be her husband. He would be a fool if he did not understand how very advantageous such a match would be.

Advantageous, yes. William was ready to concede that. But he would be Charlotte’s husband and by all accounts she was a handful.

He was too young, he reasoned with himself as he knew he would not dare reason with his father. He was by no means prepossessing and hardly the sort of young man to appeal to a high-spirited girl. He was too thin and his teeth were not good and he was nervous and shy.

No, the Hereditary Prince of Orange would have preferred to stay with the Army than to visit the English Court.

By God, thought the Regent, the young fellow can scarcely be called handsome. What’s Charlotte going to say to him?

He received young William graciously enough, hoping that his own natural elegance would set a good example.

He was delighted, he said, to welcome the Prince to England and he hoped that his stay would be a happy one.

William mumbled that His Highness was gracious and the Stadholder looked on, anxiously guessing the impression his son was making.

Gauche or not, the Regent was thinking, he would do for Charlotte who was scarcely a model of deportment herself. Married to this young man she would be obliged to spend months in Holland. What a pleasure to pass on the responsibility to a husband! At least one of the tiresome females who haunted his life would be removed from it. And yet … she was his daughter; and sometimes when he was with her his paternal feelings would arise and he would remember that he was fond of her. If she had had a different mother …

But this was repetition of a wearying and depressing theme. Charlotte unfortunately was Caroline’s daughter as well as his and it was something he could never entirely forgive her.

So … this thin boy with his gaucheries and not very good teeth (but perhaps these could be rectified?) would do very well for Charlotte. The boy was a Protestant and that would please the people – indeed anything but a Protestant marriage was unthinkable. It was time she was married, and when she had children they would occupy her time and thoughts; and this marriage, while not a bad thing for England, would be a relief for the Prince Regent.

They chatted for a while of Wellington’s successes, and the boy became more attractive talking of soldiering. There was no doubt where his heart was.

The Regent remarked on this and added: ‘I have also been with Wellington … in spirit. I cannot tell you how bitterly I railed against the fate which denied me the right to serve my country. When I was your age I implored my father to allow me to join the Army. But I was forbidden. My position as Prince of Wales made it impossible. How fortunate you are to suffer no such bans. I trust you realize this.’

The Prince did realize it. The Regent questioned him and they talked of past battles in which the enemy had been routed. It surprised young William to find how knowledgeable the Regent was and how he could discuss an action as though he had actually taken part in it.

The Regent on his part exerted all the famous charm and before the interview was over William was thinking that if only the Princess Charlotte appealed to him half as much as her father did he would be happy enough to go on with this betrothal.

When he had gone the Regent discussed him with Eldon and Liverpool.

‘Hardly Adonis. I wonder what she will say when they meet. Frankly, I’m not looking forward to that meeting.’

‘If Your Highness makes known his wishes,’ said Eldon, ‘that will be enough.’

‘I know, I know,’ said the Regent testily. ‘It is my wish that this betrothal shall take place and if I say so, it shall. But she is my daughter, Eldon, and I should like her to be pleased with her future husband. Perhaps I’m too indulgent … but I shouldn’t want to see her forced into a marriage which displeased her.’

‘Your Highness, when the Stadholder is restored to Holland it will be a good match.’

‘I know. I’m not thinking of the match so much as the bridegroom. Not a romantic prince, you must admit. And Charlotte can be perverse, as you well know. I have qualms, I must tell you. I am not at all sure how my daughter will like her Slender Billy.’

From that moment William, Hereditary Prince of Holland, had his nickname and was more often referred to as Slender Billy than by his own name.

‘I won’t have him,’ declared Charlotte. ‘Orange! I always hated what I heard of his family. And they tell me he is very unattractive … little and thin … with nothing to say for himself.’

‘You can always supply the conversation,’ Cornelia reminded her.

She laughed aloud. ‘I’m not having it, Notte. I will make it perfectly clear that I will not be forced to marry where I don’t wish to.’

‘Has your father talked to you of the Prince?’

‘No, and that is strange. I know why he’s here. It’s to win my approval. Yet I have not seen him … and I’m not going to if I can help it. And my father says nothing.’

‘I think he is trying to be kind to you.’

‘Do you really?’ asked Charlotte ecstatically.

‘I do indeed,’ replied Cornelia. ‘When he speaks to me of you he seems most earnest.’

Charlotte said suddenly: ‘Dear Notte, there is something very serious I have to say to you.’

Cornelia looked slightly alarmed at the seriousness of Charlotte’s voice and the Princess hurried on: ‘I was once friendly with Captain Hesse – very friendly.’

‘My dear Princess Charlotte, what do you mean?’

‘I mean that I had a … romantic attachment.’

‘My God!’ cried Cornelia.

‘Oh, you should not be alarmed. There was nothing wrong. And I see now that he behaved with great respect towards me. I was very young and foolish and inexperienced and because of this there might so easily have been … trouble. As a matter of fact there were letters.’

‘Letters!’

‘Don’t repeat me like that, dear Notte. It irritates me. As I said, we exchanged letters. I have destroyed his.’

‘But he still has yours?’

‘Unless he has destroyed them. I don’t feel very easy in my mind when I remember what I wrote.’

Cornelia was aghast. The fact that this correspondence had taken place before her appointment was the one bright spot in the affair as far as she was concerned. But it was alarming to think that that adventurer … for he might well be one … had letters … and knowing the Princess they were likely to be indiscreet letters … in his possession.

Cornelia thought quickly. ‘Have you mentioned this to Miss Elphinstone?’

‘No, but I shall when I see her. I did not want to write it. I don’t think it wise to write of such things.’

‘Then you have learned a lesson,’ said Cornelia rather sharply.

Dear Notte, thought Charlotte, she spoke so because she was anxious!

Cornelia was thoughtful. ‘When you tell Miss Elphinstone perhaps you will let her know that you have also spoken to me. It may well be that she will wish to consult with me. If so, tell her that I should welcome that.’

Charlotte put her arms round Cornelia and kissed her. In a crisis Cornelia wished to do what was best for Charlotte and could thrust aside petty differences with Mercer for the sake of her charge.

Cornelia was delighted when Mercer came to her room. She had expected it, for arrogant and self-sufficient as Mercer was, she was a true friend to the Princess.

‘She has told you,’ said Cornelia.

Mercer nodded. ‘It is alarming.’

‘There is obviously one thing that must be done.’

‘Obviously. We must get those letters back.’

‘In your position …’ began Cornelia.

‘Yes, in my position I could do a great deal. I suggest that we mention this to no one. I will get to work immediately. I know that Captain Hesse is on the Continent serving with the Army. My father will help me.’

‘I am so thankful that she has seen fit to confide in us.’

The two women looked at each other. They were far too sensible to wish to continue their feud – and too fond of Charlotte. The Princess needed their care and they could serve her much better if they worked together than if they indulged in petty jealousies.

They were both relieved to have come to such an understanding. The immediate task was to get the letters back from Captain Hesse.

Charlotte was also relieved that those two in whom she had great trust were now aware of her folly. She could shelve the unfortunate matter of Captain Hesse and give all her thoughts to avoiding Orange.

She was more seriously worried than she had admitted, for she knew that her father was set on the match; and she was well aware of his power. He was not only her father but her Sovereign. If poor dear Grandpapa could be approached it might have been possible to explain her feelings, but how could she do this to her father or the old Begum?

Her health was beginning to suffer. There was a pain in her knee which worried Louisa a great deal because her Aunt Amelia, who had died when she was twenty-six, had had a similar pain in the same place. She had a pain in her side too, and although it always became worse when there was a prospect of meeting Orange, it was, even without this fear, extremely painful.

Cornelia and Mercer, now allies, discovered that Orange was to be at a ball given by Lord Liverpool and his wife which Charlotte was to attend, and there she was to be given an opportunity of seeing him. This threw her into such a panic that the pain in her side became worse and Cornelia sent for the doctor, Sir Henry Halford, who was a great favourite with the Regent and the leading physician of the Court. Sir Henry, who had long been popular with all the family and whom George III had made a baronet, was more than a physician; he was a courtier, and he was well aware of the Regent’s desire for a betrothal between Orange and his daughter.

Charlotte certainly looked very pale and far from well. She needed a stay at the sea, Sir Henry decided, but the Regent would scarcely agree to that at this time. He listened to her description of the pain and said that a blister should be applied.

‘Very well,’ said Charlotte. ‘I shall be unable to attend the Liverpools’ ball. But as I don’t feel well enough to go I should miss it in any case.’

‘Rest!’ prescribed Sir Henry. ‘That’s what Your Highness needs.’

He began to tell her about a matter which excited him greatly. Charles I’s coffin was about to be opened and as a leading doctor he was going to be present at the ceremony.

‘How … gruesome!’ cried Charlotte.

‘Sometimes gruesome things have to be witnessed in the name of my profession.’

Charlotte smiled benignly. She let him run on about the ceremony which excited him so, for she was grateful to him for having given her the excuse of the blister not to have to see Orange.

Halford reported to the Regent that the Princess Charlotte was by no means well and he thought a change would do her good – and rest. She needed rest.

The Regent was a little concerned. He was by no means abandoning the thought of the Orange match, but he could see that she would have to be prepared for it gradually, so Orange returned to his regiment without having seen Charlotte and Charlotte’s spirits rose considerably. Dear Mercer was in communication with Captain Hesse who she was sure would never be so ungallant as to refuse to return her letters. Her two dear watchdogs were friends and that made her very happy.

Orange had gone and the Regent was behaving towards her with more affection than he had ever shown before.

One hot July day when Louisa went in to wake Mrs Gagarin she found her dead. That was a great sadness. The Princess and Louisa wept together and kept reminding each other of the past when they had all been together.

Charlotte missed her old dresser more than she had realized possible and it was only the fact that Mercer and Cornelia were getting on so well together and that her father was showing her some affection that could comfort her.

The Prince, hearing of the death of Mrs Gagarin from Charlotte expressed suitable grief and even shed a tear for her.

‘She was a good creature,’ he said. ‘I know she served you well.’

And when Charlotte broke down and wept he put an arm about her and said that if it was any comfort to her he shared her sorrow. And although he did not feel one hundredth part of it she was charmed that he should say so.

The next day he sent her a sapphire which he said she could have made into any ornament she pleased. She was delighted – not with the stone which was very valuable but because he had sent it.

‘And because I know how fond you are of your pets,’ he said, ‘I am sending you a white greyhound. I think you will find it a graceful and beautiful creature.’

She was delighted with the greyhound and loved it from the moment she saw it. She would allow no one to feed it but herself. The dog must know he was entirely hers and occupied a very special place in her affections – because he was so beautiful. But it was more than that, she told herself; it was because her father had given the dog to her.

She felt well again. The summer was gloriously warm and now that Mrs Gagarin was dead she found it a relief not to have to notice every day how wan she was becoming.

In June the whole country had rejoiced over the victory at Vittoria. Napoleon’s end was in sight and everyone but himself seemed to see it. The combined forces under the command of Wellington had put the French – under Joseph Bonaparte – to flight and they had been driven across the river Bidassoa into France.

The Regent was delighted and behaved as though it was he instead of Wellington who was the victor. He wanted to know every detail of the battle and would talk of it, sketching maps as he did so. ‘We were here.’ ‘We advanced there …’ his eyes alight with excitement, much to the amusement of some of his cynical courtiers.

There was to be a public festival in Vauxhall Gardens to celebrate the victory but the Regent decided that he himself would give an open-air fête at which Princess Charlotte should preside. This would be held at Carlton House and was to celebrate the victory.

Charlotte arrived in great spirits in a gown sparkling with jewels. The people who had gathered to see her step from her carriage cheered her wildly and as she lifted her skirts to get down from her carriage, displaying an expanse of frilly drawers, there was a laugh and a cheer and she smiled and waved and thought of poor Lady de Clifford who would have deplored such conduct which nevertheless pleased the dear people.

The Prince was waiting to embrace her – looking magnificent as ever. One always felt awkward in face of his elegance she thought, but she was pleased; and the people did not seem to hate him so much when he showed affection for her.

And glory! There was the Duke of Devonshire looking more fascinating than ever and clearly deeply moved at the sight of her.

She was going to dance with him. After all, she was the principal guest so why should she not dance with whom she pleased?

What a happy occasion – herself looking beautiful, for she knew she did in that glorious gown (and now she was grownup she would have many such gowns) and she was flushed – and that always helped because it was her pallor which spoilt her looks – and she danced with Devonshire, charming Devonshire who looked at her so tenderly and hopelessly. But how exciting a hopeless love could be! If only Orange could love her hopelessly she would view him so much more favourably. But why think of Orange on such an occasion?

Her father was glowering at Devonshire. Oh dear, she hoped he was not going to make the dear Duke aware of his displeasure. That might mean the sweet creature would be banned from appearing where the Regent was – and that could be disastrous, for Charlotte knew that she would in the future be very often in her father’s company.

‘Come, Papa,’ she said, ‘let us have a Highland Fling on the lawn and as it is my fête I command you to dance with me.’

The Prince hesitated, remembering that other occasion when he had hurt his ankle and been laid up for a time at Oatlands, which had given rise to the usual distressing rumours.

Then he decided to dance with Charlotte and she found herself laughing with him, and everyone who looked on declared that the relationship between the Prince and his daughter was taking a more satisfactory turn.

Driving back to Warwick House with Cornelia and the Duchess, Charlotte chattered about all that happened. It had been a ball of balls. Had not her father looked elegant when he was dancing with her? And did they notice how attentive the Duke of Devonshire was? Did they not think he was a most attractive man?

The Duchess listened fearfully; she was constantly apprehensive of trouble. Cornelia was uneasy, too, remembering the Hesse affair.

The letters had not arrived from Hesse and Mercer was beginning to be uneasy. She had heard from the Captain that he had letters and presents from the Princess and that he kept them in a strong box. He had given instructions that if he should die these were to be returned to the Princess Charlotte or if that were not possible dropped into the sea. He did not believe he could entrust such a precious box in the hands of a messenger.

‘What do you think?’ asked Mercer.

Cornelia replied that she thought the young man might be something of an adventurer.

‘I don’t like it at all,’ went on Mercer. ‘I remember so well when she was attracted by him. Her letters to me contained accounts of his charm. In fact, she scarcely mentioned anything else at the time. I persuaded her eventually that it was a dangerous flirtation and gradually persuaded her to drop it. How I wish I had managed that earlier.’

‘It may be that he is afraid to entrust the box to anyone,’ put in Cornelia. ‘Imagine what could happen if it did fall into the hands of some wicked person.’

‘Letters!’ groaned Mercer. ‘They have been the curse of the family – her father’s to Perdita Robinson were costly … and think of the Duke of York’s to Mary Anne Clarke.’

‘This is different,’ said Cornelia. ‘This is nothing but innocent flirtation.’

‘We know it, but who else would accept it? We must get those letters. They’re important.’

When Charlotte heard that Captain Hesse had not returned the letters she was uneasy. She had visions of terrible scenes with her father just as he was beginning to like her a little. The pain in her knee was so bad that it was necessary to call in Dr Halford again and he recommended rest.

Mercer visited her and told her about the breakfast party Devonshire was giving at his Chiswick Mansion and Charlotte sighed and wished that she might go, knowing of course that the reason why she had not been invited was because for Devonshire to have asked her to be his guest would have brought a reprimand from the Regent – and she would most certainly have been forbidden to go.

She was depressed. How boring to be royal!

She was looking so listless that Cornelia suggested a drive and she agreed with alacrity. And when they were in the carriage Charlotte directed the driver to make his way towards Chiswick.

‘Chiswick!’ cried Cornelia aghast.

‘I want to see the ton all in their carriages and what the ladies are wearing for Devonshire’s breakfast.’

So they went rattling along the Chiswick road and were soon in that stream which was making its way to Devonshire House. No one could be unaware of the royal carriage and even though when it came to the Devonshire mansion it did not stop but went straight on to turn and come back shortly afterwards, everyone knew that the Princess Charlotte had been on the road.

The Regent called at Warwick House. He would see Miss Knight, he said.

Cornelia found him, large, imposing, glittering and coldly displeased.

‘I want an explanation, Miss Knight,’ he said, ‘of this driving to and from Chiswick.’

‘The Princess and I did drive that way. Let me see, it was on the …’

‘It was on the day of Devonshire’s breakfast.’

‘Oh, yes, sir. I remember the carriages on the road.’

‘I am sure you do. And I want to know why this drive was taken.’

‘The Princess was feeling low, sir, and I thought a drive would do her good.’

‘And she suggested that you go to Chiswick.’

‘It was my idea that we should go for a drive, sir. I had suggested that she might like to see the carriages …’ Cornelia floundered. He looked at her witheringly. Clearly he did not believe her.

Turning angrily he went from the room.

The Queen was pleased that he came to her.

‘Devonshire,’ he said. ‘It’s Devonshire! Do you think the fellow can have ideas? Who would have believed it of him? I shall have to speak to him. It seems she has a fancy for him. A fancy for Devonshire!’

‘It would seem to me,’ said the Queen, ‘that she is ready to have a fancy for anyone whom you do not favour. Why could she not have had such a fancy for Orange? Is Devonshire so much more handsome?’

‘One has to admit that he has something Orange lacks. But it is no use for Charlotte. She is going to have Orange, I shall see to that. In the meantime, though, this Devonshire nonsense must be stopped.’

‘It should not be difficult. A word to Devonshire should warn him. He is not a fool, I take it, and would not go against your wishes.’

‘I am surprised that her women don’t keep her in better order. Miss Knight drove with her, if you please, to Chiswick.’

‘Miss Knight!’ The queen gave a short sharp laugh. ‘I think that woman was more suitable serving me.’

She looked at him fondly. They were good friends now after the terrible enmities of the past. Her feelings for him had passed through three stages, intense love, violent hatred and now a placid affection; but he would always be her firstborn, the only person who had ever really found a place in her cold heart. All the same she relished stressing the mistakes he made. Marrying Caroline was the greatest and to take Miss Knight from her had been of course of much less magnitude, but a false move all the same. She was glad he realized it; and if she could do anything to bring home to him the fact that Miss Knight was not the most suitable companion for Charlotte she would do so.

Charlotte was beginning to feel desperate. Hesse would not return the letters and she never met the Duke of Devonshire anywhere. It was understood that if she were present, he was not. He made no effort to see her. Clearly he had had orders.

When she saw her father he talked to her of Orange all the time, the desirability of the match and the bravery of young William on the battlefield.

Something would have to be done. They wanted her married and unless she could find a husband of her own choice they would make her take Orange. So she must look around and an idea came to her that if she allowed them to think her fancy had alighted on someone really unsuitable they would be obliged to consider her choice and thus she could play for time.

With this idea in mind she looked about her and when at her grandmother’s Drawing Room she caught sight of her Aunt Mary in conversation with her father’s cousin William Duke of Gloucester. A mischievous idea came to Charlotte. Silly Billy, as the Regent with his love of nicknames had called him, was attached to Mary in a lukewarm way; as for Mary she hoped to marry her cousin; and would have done so had not the Queen stood out firmly against it. The old King of course in his day had been against any of his daughters marrying. Poor things, thought Charlotte, for they had wanted to … desperately.

The more she thought of Silly Billy the better she liked the idea. Mary had been rather actively spying for her mother recently and it would teach her a lesson; and when the little joke was over – for over it would be in due course – it might well be that the Queen would not attempt to stand in her daughter’s way any longer.

The more she thought of the idea the better she liked it. It would create a diversion and some amusement and heaven knew she was in need of that.

She selected Lord Yarmouth for her confidence. As Lady Hertford’s son he was on good terms with the Regent; and he really was a rather stupid dandy so it would be easy to try it out on him. Moreover he had, in a rather clumsy way, been trying to gain her confidence lately and knowing her fondness for dogs had given her a delightful French poodle. She loved the poodle but it did not change her opinion of the ‘Yarmouth Bloater’ as the writers called him in their lampoons.

She did not have to wait long for Yarmouth to call upon her. He said he came to inquire about the little French dog.

Charlotte assured him that her poodle was adorable and showed him to Yarmouth who pretended to be most affectionate towards the animal. Superciliously Charlotte watched him patting her dog. Then she said: ‘I have something to confide in you, Lord Yarmouth.’

His bloater face was suffused with gratification. All his efforts were to be rewarded. Charlotte was going to make him her confidant and the Regent would realize his importance.

‘You know, my lord, I am not eager for the Orange match.’

Yarmouth looked grave. It was his duty as the Regent’s friend to make her realize the advantages of union with Holland.

‘Because,’ she went on, ‘I have a fancy for another.’

Lord Yarmouth’s whiskers bristled. ‘Your Highness, if you would tell me the name …’

‘It is the Duke of Gloucester.’

‘The d … d … d …’ spluttered Yarmouth.

‘Yes,’ giggled Charlotte. ‘The … d … d … d … of Gloucester, of course.’

‘Your father’s cousin!’

‘Why not?’

‘But Your Highness cannot really mean this!’

‘I have always liked the Duke of Gloucester.’

‘Your Highness, he is twenty years older than you are.’

‘If I do not mind, why should other people?’

‘I do not think His Highness, the Regent …’

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. ‘I know very well,’ she said, ‘that he can prevent my marrying the Duke of Gloucester by withholding his consent, but if he does I shall state publicly that I refuse to marry anyone else.’

Lord Yarmouth could scarcely wait to report to the Regent.

The Prince strode up and down his apartment.

‘Why should I be cursed with such a daughter? Gloucester! Is she mad? He’s thirty-seven years old. I never liked him. He’s a fool. Silly Billy to be the husband of my daughter! I think she has gone raving mad. Why should I be surrounded by such women? What have I done?’ Floods of self-pity overwhelmed him. He, who had been ready to be friendly with her, to indulge her. Hadn’t he given her that magnificent sapphire? And what about the greyhound and all the fetes and balls he planned for her? And she repaid him by refusing suitable Orange and declaring her preference for Gloucester. ‘Gloucester Cheese,’ he cried, rounding on Yarmouth. ‘Indeed, he’s nothing but a cheese. He has no sense … or little of it. The fellow’s a pompous fool; and why, because of his origins! They say his mother was a milliner. My uncle had no right to marry so low. He did it against my father’s wish, as you know. And it was due to him that we had this accursed Marriage Act. His mother might have been a beauty but she was illegitimate … and my uncle had no right to bring her into the family. And this daughter of mine chooses her son in preference to the Prince of Orange. The Cheese instead of the Orange. Did you ever hear of such folly, eh?’

Lord Yarmouth replied that he had been thunderstruck when the Princess told him of her preference. He had not believed her and insisted that she was joking. But no, she had said; she preferred Gloucester to Orange and if she couldn’t have him, she would have no one.

‘I don’t believe it,’ cried the Regent. ‘How could a young girl like Charlotte fancy that fool Silly Billy? Besides he’s been dancing attendance on the Princess Mary for years. It’s time he married her.’

‘Her Majesty …’

‘Oh, I know, Her Majesty is against the match. Her Majesty is against all matches for her daughters, but while Silly Billy might do well enough for Mary he is no match for Charlotte.’

‘What does Your Highness wish me to do?’

‘To tell her I say No! And the sooner she comes to her senses and takes Orange the better.’

The Duke of Gloucester could not help but be flattered. The young Princess wanted to marry him – and she the future Queen of England!

It was true that he had been attached to Mary for years, but that had never come to anything; and such a dazzling prospect as marriage with the heiress presumptive was enough to turn anyone’s head, certainly such an unbalanced one as Gloucester’s.

He had always been conscious of the humble origins of his mother because there had been plenty to remind him of them; and although she had been a good woman of remarkable beauty and had conducted her life with more decorum and dignity than most members of the family, her birth had been a handicap – particularly as she was not even legitimate.

Here was a chance to wipe out that stain. He would be the husband of the Queen … for Charlotte would be that one day. The King was growing more feeble every day and the Regent was scarcely robust. He could look fine enough in all his elegant glitter but he was constantly being bled and was subject to mysterious illnesses. Gloucester could not help walking around with his head held high and a new arrogance had crept into his manner.

The Princess Mary drooped visibly as she saw her chance of marriage disappearing. William had been her comfort; and they had resigned themselves to the fact they could not yet be married, but she had always believed they would in time. And now that hope was threatened by Charlotte’s extraordinary statement.

The Regent went to his mother to talk of Charlotte.

‘I believe,’ he said, ‘that it is just a cover. It’s Devonshire she’s after. No girl could seriously contemplate marrying Silly Billy.’

‘I believe Charlotte would go to any lengths to disturb us.’

‘But she is thinking of marriage! Billy should have been married years ago … to Mary.’ It was a reproof to his mother. She was constantly referring to his mistake in marrying Caroline instead of her niece and now of course that he was not so pleased with Miss Knight she was giving little digs about his taking her away. So this was just a gentle retaliation. They worked together nowadays, which was more agreeable to them both. Sentimental as he was, it suited his moods and ideals to be devoted to his mother and to know that she was to him. With such a relationship which existed between himself and his wife and daughter, he could not afford trouble with his mother in addition.

‘William is a fool,’ said the Queen tersely. ‘He sways this way and that. First he wants to marry Mary … but Charlotte only has to mention his name in this ridiculous way and he turns to her.’

‘He’s ambitious as well as silly,’ said the Prince. ‘Think what it would mean to him. But the whole thing is a plot of Charlotte’s. She’s turned against Orange and she’s after Devonshire. I wish to God I could get the Orange match settled.’

‘We must try to bring this about,’ said the Queen. ‘And Charlotte must be made to see that no one takes this Gloucester affair seriously.’

Meanwhile Charlotte was writing gleefully to Mercer telling her all about the consternation, but being careful not to put her true feelings on to paper. Those letters she had written to Hesse and which were still in his possession haunted her a little. They reminded her too that she must exercise a little caution – even to Mercer.

But she talked to Cornelia about the affair. ‘Poor Mary!’ she said. ‘I know she has not always been my friend and I don’t trust her. I don’t really trust any of the aunts. The old Begum trained them all to spy for her and they can’t stop themselves doing it. But I am sorry for her, because she is old and would like to be married … and free from bondage, for while they remain spinsters, poor old aunts, they will have to do what the Queen tells them. My Uncle Brunswick has lost his wife. Now why should he not marry Mary? Don’t you think that’s a good idea?’

‘It has always been believed that one day she would marry Gloucester.’

‘But how can she if I marry him?’

‘You are not serious.’

That made Charlotte laugh. ‘Well, I think until she does marry Gloucester Mary ought to have another hope. Put it about, Notte dear, that there is a chance of her marrying Brunswick. That would cheer her a great deal.’

‘My dear Princess, what plots are you considering!’

‘My dear Notte, you must admit that it has made life just a little less dull. I am sure all the writers are pleased with me. I have given them plenty to write about.’

It was true. The press was full of the Princess Charlotte’s matrimonial prospects.

‘Is it to be the Cheese or the Orange?’ was the question on everyone’s lips.