The Regent's Daughter

The dismissal of Orange

IT WAS RIDICULOUS to feel so wretched over a man to whom she had scarcely spoken and who should be so timid that he must ask her father’s permission before calling; but she did. She was however, not going to allow anyone to know it.

She pretended to be excited about the banquet which her father was giving to the foreign visitors at Carlton House.

‘Come,’ she said to Louisa, ‘make me beautiful – if that’s possible.’

‘It’s the easiest thing in the world,’ declared the fond Louisa.

Had he thought her beautiful? Attractive? Evidently not attractive enough to risk her father’s displeasure for her sake!

‘Feathers, Louisa. Yes, feathers. They are so becoming. And what dignity they give. I need it. I think I am lacking more in dignity than in beauty. Don’t deny it, Louisa. And my silver tissue dress … the one trimmed with silver lace and embroidered in lamé. You know the one.’

Louisa knew it and she exclaimed with delight as she dressed her volatile young mistress in it. ‘If Your Highness could stand a little more still it would be easier. Feathers take such fixing.’

And the result – enchanting! But Master Leopold would not be there to see it. ‘Coward!’ murmured Charlotte.

Her father behaved as though there had been no conflict between them. The perfect host, receiving his guests, charming them, accepting their compliments on the exquisite taste of Carlton House and implying that all his effort in gathering together these artistic treasures was not in vain since it gave them such pleasure. She would never be like him, she thought wistfully.

The Duchess of Oldenburg was present. The Regent could not exclude her as he would have liked to do; and since the Tsar had arrived it was necessary for him to be constantly in her company for where her brother went so did she.

The Duchess approached Charlotte with a handsome man beside her. Not very young, this one, thought Charlotte. In his thirties perhaps. Not as handsome as Leopold, but far more worldly. Not the sort of young man who would run to her father if she gave him an invitation.

‘Dearest Charlotte, may I present Prince Augustus of Prussia to you.’

His bow was eloquent but not more so than his expression. He was quite clearly charmed by the vision in silver tissue and feathers.

‘F has seen you on several occasions, haven’t you, F? He’s really Friedrich, Wilhelm, Heinrich, Augustus – but F to me. Ever since, he’s been badgering me to present him to you.’

F! thought Charlotte. What delightful familiarity.

‘Well,’ said Charlotte awkwardly, ‘and now you have.’

‘It is an ambition realized,’ said F.

‘I am sure it does not stop there,’ laughed the Duchess. ‘I do believe you will find this young man a most entertaining creature, as I do.’

‘I shall hope to do so,’ said Charlotte.

‘You might begin by allowing him to dance with you.’

With that he took Charlotte’s hand and bowing to the Duchess – and somehow he managed to convey a great deal of gratitude in that bow – he led Charlotte away.

It was bold, of course. She looked anxiously towards the mass of people who were circulating about her father. He was hidden from view and since she could not see him presumably he could not see her.

They danced. F performed with grace and led her through the steps so that she felt she had never danced so well. He treated her as though she were a desirable woman rather than a princess on whom it was a duty to dance attendance. He reminded her of Captain Hesse and in a sudden panic she remembered that those letters were still unreturned … but she refused to spoil an occasion like this by thinking of them.

He told her that his father was Prince Augustus of Prussia and that he had fought against Napoleon and had been taken prisoner.

Was he married? Should she be presented to his wife?

He had no wife in actual fact, although he had been married de la main gauche as the saying went.

Charlotte’s eyes were wide; she giggled with mingled pleasure and confusion. No man had ever spoken to her in this way before.

‘For a man of my age and experience,’ he said, ‘you must admit that it would be surprising if it were not the case.’

Charlotte supposed it was and believed that if her father could hear this conversation he would be far more perturbed than at the prospect of a visit from Leopold.

But F – she was already thinking of him as that – would be the last man to run away for fear of her father’s wrath; she had a notion that he might be attracted by it.

He told her about his adventures in the Army and his conversation was racy and amusing. She was very sorry when it was necessary to do her duty to others of her father’s guests, but she found an opportunity to talk to F again.

‘Don’t think,’ he said, ‘that I shall wait to be presented again. We are friends now. If we don’t meet soon I shall write to you. I shall find some means of enjoying your company.’

‘My father would not permit you to call. A certain prince was requested to leave the country because he asked that permission.’

‘It’s sometimes a mistake to ask and the only wise thing to do is to take.’

How bold he was!

‘I shall write to you.’

‘The letter might be taken straight to my father.’

‘Oh … there must be someone who would help me. It would have to be someone who is in the plot.’

‘Plot. You call it a plot!’

‘I am determined to see Your Highness even if I have to plot to do so.’

She laughed. She felt happier than she had since Leopold’s desertion. At least here was one man who was ready to take risks for the sake of her company.

‘Who would carry my letters to you?’ he asked.

‘Cornelia Knight might do so.’

‘She will do this. I shall insist. Can you trust her?’ How deliciously exciting he made it all seem.

‘I would most assuredly trust Cornelia.’

Thus began the intrigue with F. Cornelia was against it at first but Charlotte had been so cold to her lately that she was anxious to win back her confidence and promised to help.

If only Mercer were at hand, thought Cornelia, they could discuss this together; and to ease her conscience Cornelia told herself that since Charlotte was set against the Orange match, F as a Prussian prince might be a suitable husband for her. If this was so, she was justified in helping them to carry on a clandestine correspondence.

Oh dear, she thought, I do hope Charlotte is not being too indiscreet. Had she forgotten the Hesse letters still not retrieved? Hesse was a villain not to send them back; again and again he made excuses and still he retained that correspondence, and heaven knew how far Charlotte had gone in that.

Yet, she thought, the Orange match is not to Charlotte’s liking, and Charlotte is not a princess who can be forced!

That was Cornelia’s defence for helping Charlotte to become involved with a worldly prince who was no newcomer to romantic intrigue.

The Princess of Wales was furiously angry because she was not included in the celebrations to welcome the visitors. It was yet another example of her husband’s contempt for her, and she assured her lady-in-waiting, Lady Charlotte Campbell, that she was coming near to the end of her endurance.

Cut off from her daughter! Shut out from the celebrations! What could she do? She could only react in the way her character dictated and that was to show them that she did not care. She rode out frequently in her carriage and when she did so she was cheered lustily. Rather different from His Highness the Prince Regent, she commented gleefully. When the people expressed their indignation that she was kept from her daughter she looked sorrowful and let them see her weep.

‘Shame!’ they cried.

She was going to discountenance the man who was responsible for her position and she thought of a way which would displease him most. He was taking the Tsar to the opera and she would be there too.

She chattered to Lady Charlotte Campbell while she was dressed and even her women who were accustomed to her strange costumes were taken aback by the sight of her that night in her velvet gown cut so low that her bosom was exposed.

‘And why not?’ she demanded. ‘It’s the best part of me, so I’m told.

‘Slap it on! Slap it on,’ she cried, seizing the rouge pot. ‘Paint me and don’t be sparing with the white lead. A contrast is so striking.’

She lifted the glittering diamond tiara and placed it on her black curly wig. ‘Magnificent,’ she cried. ‘He’ll have to notice me, won’t he? Couldn’t do much else.’

As if that were not enough she must add enormous black feathers to wave above her head over the tiara.

‘Where’s Willie? Willikin, my love, come and admire Mamma.’

Willie came, dressed in spangles, and her ladies looked at him in horror.

‘Madam,’ cried Lady Charlotte, ‘you cannot take the boy with you. You would lose all sympathy with the people if you did. It would seem as if …’

Caroline looked at Willie; her ladies thought him a stupid child, for he always had his mouth open, but to her he was beautiful. She frowned. They were right. How she would love to take Willie, to flaunt him in the face of the Regent, to make people say: Is he her child or isn’t he? But Campbell was right. It would not be wise.

‘Come and kiss Mamma before she goes, my love,’ she said. ‘She’ll soon be back with her boy.’

And the ladies were relieved. At least she was not going to commit the fatal error of taking him with her. Her presence there would be bad enough.

When they had got her safely into her carriage – quite a feat considering her bulk and the plumes, she settled down in her seat and thought with pleasant mischief of what was to come.

It was going to be a successful evening. She was aware of that from the beginning, for as soon as she entered the opera house the people rose to cheer her. She stood back in the box because immediately facing her was the Prince Regent with his guests.

‘The people are cheering you, Madam,’ whispered Lady Charlotte.

But she stood back. ‘Punch’s wife must take a back seat when Punch is there,’ she said with a grin.

This was astonishing, for her ladies had been under the impression that her sole purpose in coming was to make him feel uncomfortable.

And then of course the Regent gave his display of impeccable good manners. Although he loathed the thought of her, although he had not seen her for a very long time, he could not ignore the fact that she was in the opera house. He rose from his seat and gave her that most elegant of bows which, however much they reviled him, never failed to fascinate his people.

There were cheers then for them both; he ground his teeth in chagrin. It was ironical that the only way he could win their approval was by being polite to her.

The evening was a great success, she decided, because the Tsar of Russia could not keep his eyes from her box; he actually put up his quizzing glass and quite openly stared.

‘What a handsome man!’ cooed Caroline. ‘Ha, ha, I don’t see why he should not visit Punch’s wife although Punch has done all in his power to keep him away.’

What an evening. The opera over, the people cheered her in the theatre. She bowed to them several times and hoped the Regent was watching – which of course he was while pretending not to.

And then out to her carriage and the people surrounding it. ‘Long live the Princess of Wales. May your daughter be restored to you. Shame on them for parting you. Long life to Caroline and Charlotte and down with their persecutors.’

Oh, very pleasant. ‘You good people,’ she cried. ‘You good, good people.’

‘Shall we go and burn down Carlton House?’ called a voice in the crowd.

It would serve him right. And that they should do that for her!

‘No,’ she cried. ‘Don’t do that, good people. Go home to your beds and sleep well. As I shall do. Your goodness to me has made me so happy.’

So back to Connaught House to throw off her plumes and her tiara and step out of the black velvet which was too tight … as all her clothes seemed to be.

‘A successful evening,’ she said to Lady Charlotte. ‘And did you see how taken the Tsar was with me? Tomorrow I shall invite him to be my guest.’

She was dressed in one of her most flamboyant gowns; the paint and the white lead had been ‘slapped on’; she lay back in her chair, her short legs swinging for they did not reach the floor.

‘This will be one of the greatest triumphs of my life,’ she told Lady Charlotte. ‘The Tsar is coming to see me. He will be my guest from now. Do you know, I saw a twinkle in his eyes for me? He liked what he saw … and he saw plenty of me. You look shocked, Lady Charlotte. You are easily, my dear. It does not do when you are in the service of the Princess of Wales. Yes, he liked me. I saw it. He will be constantly here. You will see.’

But it seemed that she had miscalculated, for the hour she had fixed for the Tsar’s arrival in her invitation to him came and passed and he did not come.

‘Delayed on the road,’ said Caroline, and asked that a looking-glass be brought that she might see that her toilette was as good as it had been an hour before.

Time passed and still he did not come; it was two hours before she would face the fact that he would not come at all.

Then her fury broke loose. ‘You know why! He has stopped this. He won’t have the Tsar visiting me. He’s always been afraid of my popularity with the people. Now he’s afraid of it with the Tsar. He has told wicked tales of me. He has hinted at his displeasure if my visitor comes. Oh, it is too bad.’

She was like a child who has been denied a promised treat. She tore off her feathers and threw them aside.

‘He won’t come now. He’ll never come. I shall never have any visitors. Even my daughter is kept from me. I won’t endure it.’

She kicked her chair as though it were her husband she were kicking; then she shrugged her shoulders and lay back in it, her eyes closed.

They could only guess at the bitterness of her disappointment.

‘I saw a gipsy last week. She told my fortune. She insisted. She said great events were hovering about me. She told me that I should lose my husband and go abroad and find another.’

Lady Charlotte shivered. One did not talk of the reigning Sovereign’s death. It might be treason. But Caroline cared nothing for treason. She was ready to commit it ten times a day if it could add to the Regent’s discomfort.

‘To go abroad,’ she said. ‘To travel. It is something I have always longed for. To have adventures in strange countries … to meet people … people who will be my friends. Why should I not travel? What is there for me here? To tell the truth, Lady Charlotte, I am heartily sick of this country. I have never known any happiness in it … except when Charlotte was born. And they soon took her away from me. I never see her. I might as well have no daughter. I reckon I should be happier abroad.’

She talked of foreign countries and Lady Charlotte encouraged her to do so. At least it took her mind off the Tsar’s discourtesy.

The Prince of Orange had arrived in England. Compared with F with whom Charlotte was now deeply involved by correspondence he looked more unattractive than ever.

‘I won’t have him,’ Charlotte declared to Cornelia, who merely smiled and said she doubted that Charlotte would. For Cornelia – although sometimes she could not understand herself – was completely committed to further the affair with F and had quite made up her mind that he was to be Charlotte’s bridegroom.

Charlotte was writing long letters to Mercer and they were full of the perfections of F.

‘He is so bold,’ she wrote. ‘I am sure that if my father got to hear of our friendship and tried to stop it, he would find some means of continuing it.’

The Duchess of Oldenburg was amused. She discussed the affair with F, for she was determined that the Orange match should not take place.

‘Dearest F,’ she said to him one day, ‘how would you like to be consort of the Queen of England?’

To her amazement F was not enthusiastic.

‘The point is, dear Duchess, that I am scarcely a marrying man.’

‘Oh, I know you have had love affairs with every pretty girl in Germany but surely you will settle down one day and where could you find a more gilded settlement?’

‘Nowhere. I’m sure of that.’

‘And yet you hesitate?’

‘Do you think I would be acceptable to your plump friend?’

‘Plump the gentleman is, but not my friend. My dear F!’ The Duchess laughed with relish. ‘Charlotte could be made to see that her wishes are consulted and if she tried she could no doubt get her way. Have you noticed how the people love her – and her vulgar mother; and how they dislike the fat gentleman? I think he will have to act very carefully, and it may be he has the sense to know it. So don’t despair.’

He was silent and she said: ‘I can’t believe it can be so, but it would seem that you are not over eager.’

‘Perhaps I’ve been free too long.’

‘Good God, you don’t still hanker after Madame Récamier? That woman’s an iceberg. And her only claim to fame is that she was painted on a sofa.’

The Prince did not wish to discuss the only woman with whom he could say he had ever been in love, although he had made love to many.

‘I find Charlotte’s youth and naïveté attractive,’ he admitted.

‘And she is even more attracted to you than you to her. What a pleasant situation for you! Think about it, my dear F. Don’t throw away such a glorious chance … just for a whim. You must admit that it is all very amusing.’

F was ready to agree with that.

The Regent, aware that his daughter was making certain flighty friendships and that although her visits to the Duchess of Oldenburg had been curtailed she was still making undesirable acquaintances through that woman, decided to hurry on the marriage.

The Prince of Orange was now expressing his devotion to Charlotte; they met frequently and she did not dislike him, though she found him not in the least exciting. The Duchess, discussing the affair with another of her impecunious princes, who were only too glad to be members of the Russian entourage, declared that if nothing was done the poor princess would be hustled into marriage by her overpowering parent.

‘Poor child,’ she murmured. ‘It is the last thing she wants.’

‘Her mother is against it, I hear,’ said the Prince.

‘Her mother is against everything the Regent desires. Did ever a child possess such parents? I feel I must do something for her. Orange is a weakling. He’ll never do for her. Someone should save the poor child from him.’

‘Your Imperial Highness for instance?’

‘Since no one else will, I must do what I can … and you have always said that you would do anything for me.’

‘I am entirely at Your Highness’s service, as you know.’

The Duchess laughed and tapped him lightly on the arm.

‘Little Orange either drinks a great deal or is unable to carry what he does take. It came to my ears that he has been seen once or twice the worse for drink.’

‘What gentleman is not?’

‘But my little Charlotte happens to find the habit somewhat nauseating. You should have heard her account of a dinner party to which she was invited by her father. The Regent, his brother of York and certain of the guests at their table were unable to stand at the end of the banquet. York actually fell off his chair and cut his head open, and trying to save himself grasped the tablecloth and pulled its contents on top of him. She told me that she was quite disgusted and that she thought that to be the worse for drink was a weakness she would never tolerate in a husband.’

‘The Princess is a puritan.’

‘About drunkards, yes – and there is this young Billy of Holland who can’t carry his drink. Charlotte should know.’

‘Surely someone will tell her.’

‘Telling is not the same as seeing. It is our duty to let her see him drunk.’

‘Our duty, Highness?’

‘Our bounden duty,’ said the Duchess solemnly. ‘So … accompany him to the races. Let him be merry there and make sure that he rides back … dead drunk and publicly.’

The Prince bowed. ‘At Your Imperial Highness’s service,’ he said. ‘I shall make it my duty to see that the Princess Charlotte is a witness of the inebriate habits of Slender Billy.’

‘I knew we could rely on you.’

Charlotte was angry.

‘I tell you this, Notte,’ she said. ‘I will not marry a drunken man. Do you know, he drove back from Ascot quite insensible. And this is the husband they have chosen for me. I will not marry him.’

Cornelia soothed her. ‘Your Highness should stand firm. I am sure that if you do you will marry the man of your choice.’

‘I am going to write to dear F immediately. I am going to tell him that I will not tolerate Orange’s drunkenness. As soon as I have written you will take the letter to your friend and see if there is one for me. Cornelia, I am sending him my ruby ring. It is a token of my feelings for I do believe the foolish man believes that I am not serious.’

‘And Your Highness?’

‘Deadly serious,’ said Charlotte.

So in the circumstances, thought Cornelia, surely she was not wrong to act as go-between. The fact was that if she did not Charlotte would be cold towards her; and that was something Cornelia could not endure.

She was relieved when Brougham and Whitbread came to see the Princess. Cornelia conducted them to Charlotte’s apartment and asked if it was the Princess’s wish that she should remain during the interview.

Charlotte hesitated and the two men decided that Cornelia should stay with them. She could help to advise the Princess, they thought, because there was no doubt that Her Royal Highness needed strong friends.

‘The Princess of Wales will most assuredly leave the country if your marriage to the Prince of Holland takes place,’ Brougham told her.

‘Leave the country!’ cried Charlotte.

‘Indeed yes, Your Highness. She is declaring that you are the only reason she remains. She has been so ill-treated here, so humiliated that she wishes to leave. But while she feels that you may need her, she will stay. Your marriage to Dutch William would mean that you had placed yourself with her enemies and that would decide her.’

‘I would never place myself with her enemies,’ cried Charlotte. ‘Oh, please assure her of my unwavering affection.’

‘I will do so,’ said Brougham. ‘But the best assurance would be your refusal of the Dutch marriage.’

Charlotte’s eyes sparkled. She was not alone. She had her mother to work for her – and her mother’s friends.

‘Pray tell my mother,’ she said, ‘that I think of her often. Tell her that I am touched to know that she remains here on my account. If she left me I should feel desolate. Pray tell her that.’

The men left, feeling that their mission had not been without success.

As for Cornelia, she could assure herself that in helping Charlotte to carry on her clandestine affair with F, she was doing the right thing.

Charlotte received a note from the Prince Regent. He saw no reason why the wedding should be delayed and they would fix a date immediately. He was sending her a list of those who would be present at the wedding. If there was any of whom she did not approve would she strike out that name.

She studied the list headed by herself, the bridegroom and the Regent.

There was no mention of her mother! So they were planning a wedding at which the bride’s mother was to be excluded!

Boldly, thinking of her friends – her mother, Brougham, Whitbread … and thinking too of the ardent F – she took up her pen and struck out the name of William, Hereditary Prince of Orange.

She awaited the Prince’s angry repercussions. They did not come.

Perhaps he had not seen the list. Or perhaps he preferred to ignore what he thought was facetious folly.

But she could not stand idle. Unless she were going to be hustled into marriage she must do something quickly.

William called at Warwick House as he was now making a habit of doing. Every day she saw him and she became more and more convinced that she would not marry him. She kept thinking of him the worse for drink; and sometimes it was quite clear that he was recovering from a drinking bout of the previous night. He came to her once slovenly dressed, and she was sure it was on this account.

She had complained because he had not been lodged at one of the royal palaces or at Carlton House but had merely been given lodgings over a tailor’s shop in Clifford Street. Now she was glad. Serve him right, she thought. It was all he deserved; and since Leopold of Saxe-Coburg had had to lodge over a greengrocer’s shop, Clifford Street was good enough for Orange. But she had stopped thinking of Leopold, she reminded herself, when she had recognized the superior attractions of her darling F.

She had made up her mind. She was not going to marry Orange, and she could be bold because she had friends and supporters. She had her mother and her mother’s friends.

She was in a truculent mood on this day. He was a little astonished for he did not realize that she had steeled herself to this.

‘You are in a perverse mood today, Charlotte,’ he said.

‘I often am,’ she replied.

‘You are always frank.’ He smiled, implying that he liked her frankness.

‘I am thinking of my mother. You know that I am not allowed to visit her as I wish. I have to have permission. Do you think that is a reasonable manner in which to treat me?’

She was disconcerting. He wanted to please her, but he did not want to say anything that might be reported to the Regent and annoy that important gentleman. He was in awe of the Regent who was grand, so friendly sometimes yet so imperious. His intended father-in-law could be jocular; with his passion for nicknames he had given William the one of ‘Young Frog’ which William was not sure that he liked; but there seemed to be a certain amount of affection in it so he accepted it with a good grace. Indeed how could he do otherwise? He had to keep in the Regent’s good books until the marriage had taken place. When they were in Holland he could be more free.

‘I am sure your father knows what is best,’ he said diplomatically.

She gave him a withering look. Chinless William, who had no spirit either. Slender Billy, Young Frog! And this was the mate they had chosen for her when there were princes in the world like F … and Leopold.

‘When we are married,’ she said, ‘I shall expect to see my mother when I please.’

‘I am sure that then your father will have no objection.’

‘We shall receive her in our house whenever she wishes to come. Do you agree to that?’

‘I don’t think that we can allow her to visit our house.’

‘So you will not have my mother in our house?’

‘I do not think it would be wise, Charlotte.’

‘Then if you cannot accept my mother I cannot accept you as my husband.’

He looked startled. But now she was in a truly militant mood. She had started and she was not going back.

‘When we are married, you will expect me to live in Holland, I suppose?’

‘For some part of the time, yes. It will be necessary.’

‘Then let me tell you at once that I have no intention of leaving England … ever. My place is here and here I shall stay.’

‘Your place is with your husband.’

‘That may be, but since my place is in England I will not marry a man whose place is not there also.’

‘Charlotte, what can you mean?’

‘I should have thought I had made it very clear. But I see I have not. I shall put it on paper. Yes, that is the best way. I shall write it. Then you will know that I mean what I say.’

A bewildered Prince of Orange drove away from Warwick House. Charlotte was extraordinary. Sometimes he wondered whether she was as mad as her mother was reputed to be.

Her Uncle Augustus, the Duke of Sussex, one of her favourite uncles, called to see her.

He had heard that all was not going well between her and Orange.

‘The plain fact is,’ said Charlotte, ‘that I don’t like him. We are not of a kind and I have no intention of leaving this country.’

Uncle Augustus applauded her decision. ‘Your father wants you out of the country, I fear. That’s why he’s so eager for the marriage. He doesn’t like your popularity and you know that he wants to divorce your mother so that he can get a son.’

She felt hurt and angry. She had begun to think that he had some affection for her, and it was all a pretence to get her married to William so that she would have to go to Holland.

‘I won’t leave the country,’ she said firmly.

‘You are right,’ he said. ‘You must not. Your whole future depends on your staying here. Why, if you went you could lose the Crown. You must stay, but at the same time don’t anger your father. I am worried about his health. It is not good, you know.’

How like Uncle Augustus – at one moment he was all for her, then he swayed to his brother. At one time he had married his Augusta and given up everything for her sake; but that did not last and he and Goosey were no longer together. It was their son Augustus d’Este who had gazed longingly at her. He was rather charming and Charlotte was sure he would have liked to marry her. But he was too much like his father and was not the man she would look up to as a husband. She wanted a strong man like F … or Leopold. How stupid to think of him. He was not strong. He had run away rather than face her father’s anger. What she wanted was a prince who would be prepared to live in England and be consort of the Queen; she would choose her own husband and if F offered for her and if it were possible, she would take him. Most willingly, she thought fiercely, and refused to think of that handsome young man who had made such an impression when he had handed her into her carriage at the Pulteney Hotel.

But if she could not take Uncle Augustus very seriously, it was different with Brougham and Whitbread.

They called. They had heard that she wished to break off the Orange match. Then perhaps she would allow them to draft the letter for her.

She had gone so far and there was no turning back. In any case it was what she had decided.

So in his rooms in Clifford Street a bewildered Prince of Orange read a letter from his affianced bride which set down her refusal in such terms which might have been composed by a lawyer – which indeed they had.