Victoria in the Wings

Victoria, the Widow

THE QUEEN HAD asked the Regent to call on her at Kew.

She sat in her chair, her back to the light, that he might not see her face. She felt very ill; her rheumatism was so painful that she could scarcely move; she was so irritable with the Princesses that they were afraid to speak to her. She deplored this but as she did not wish to complain of her pains she must give vent to her feelings somehow.

She was tired and a little resentful with life. Now she had come to enjoy power and had gained the confidence of her dearest son, she was too old to enjoy it.

‘My dearest Madre.’

He had taken her hands and kissed them. As usual his delicately scented person, his elegance and charm delighted her.

‘My dear George, I cannot rise. My limbs are too painful today.’

‘I shall not allow you to rise, Madre dear. I shall seat myself beside you and you shall tell me what it is that troubles you.’

He brought a chair close to hers; he took her hand and caressed it lightly. What beautiful hands he had! And how gracefully he used them! She wondered then as she often had in the past how she and George III had produced such a man. He was so different from them – so much more erudite, endowed with excellent taste, a lover of the arts, the theatre and good manners; she looked with adoration at her beloved Regent.

‘My dear,’ she said, ‘could you bear to talk of our tragedy? Are you sufficiently recovered to bear it?’

The Regent took a perfumed handkerchief and held it to his eyes. A charming gesture, but his eyes were dry, of course.

‘I must,’ he said, ‘since there has arisen this matter of some urgency.’

‘You are so brave. I knew you would understand. Dear Charlotte is gone and that is a great bereavement in the family. But because Charlotte was the only legitimate child you and your brothers produced it made her of such importance. We have to marry off your brothers … without delay.’

‘Perhaps haste at such a time would appear to be a little unseemly?’

‘That may be. Then we must act in an unseemly fashion if it is wise to do so.’

‘We’ll have no difficulty with William.’

‘That is if we can get a bride to take him. He has been making a laughing-stock of himself after making a scandal with his actress.’

‘Poor William. One cannot blame him.’

‘You are too kind, George. You have always sided with your brothers. I wish to discuss William with you. I think you should without delay give orders that feelers be put out in certain places. Ernest is married to that disgraceful woman, so we can do nothing about him. Adolphus is about to be married; that could be hastened. Augustus committed the folly of going through a ceremony with Augusta Murray and therefore is best left alone. But William and Edward must marry at once.’

‘Have you anyone in mind?’

‘My thoughts have been ranging all over Europe, but the religious question makes it so difficult. There is the Princess Victoria of Saxe-Coburg.’

‘Leopold’s sister?’

‘Would that matter? She is the widow of the Prince of Leiningen and has proved that she can bear healthy children. She has a boy Charles and a girl Feodore. I have discovered that they are lively, attractive, bright and intelligent. She will do for one of them. And for the other there is the eldest daughter of the Duke of Saxe-Meiningen – Adelaide, I think they call her. Well, I have found our two princesses, Adelaide and Victoria.’

‘You have been your usual wise self, dear Madre.’

‘I knew action had to be taken and speedily. There are few princesses available who have the necessary qualifications. The point is that William and Edward must be married without delay. Perhaps you will decide that you should summon them and make this duty clear to them.’

‘I see that it is imperative to do so.’

The Queen sighed with relief. ‘I knew you would. There may be some opposition from Edward.’

‘You mean because of Madame de St Laurent.’

‘I do. But I do not think that even he will want to turn his back on the possibility of giving us the future ruler of England.’

‘Perhaps not.’

‘The two Princesses will have to be considered carefully. While Adelaide is unmarried – and no longer so young for I believe she is twenty-five or twenty-six – Victoria is a young widow and as such accustomed to a little freedom. Victoria I think may have to be wooed a little; with Adelaide it will be the normal procedure – a match arranged between us on one side and her parents on the other. In the circumstances I suggest Adelaide for William and Victoria for Edward.’

The Regent nodded. He saw the point. William had proved himself rather frequently to have little charm as a wooer and had won a reputation as the most rejected Prince of his time. It would be unwise to send him wooing the Princess Victoria. Therefore quite clearly he must have Adelaide and Edward Victoria.

‘I see, Madre,’ said the Regent, ‘that you have settled the matter as I would have done myself.’

‘My dear son, then you will lose no time in setting these matters in motion?’

‘I shall do so without delay. We are all growing so old, alas, that there is little time to be lost. But I will tell you something.’

Her cold face was touched with sudden warmth and she looked almost handsome for a second. His confidences were the delight of her life.

He put his head close to hers. ‘Caroline is behaving in quite a shocking manner. I don’t despair of ridding myself of her. And if I did … who knows, I might present the nation with the heir myself. What do you say to that?’

‘I would say,’ said the Queen fervently, ‘that Heaven had granted my dearest wish.’

They were silent for a moment contemplating that happy event.

But they both knew that the House of Hanover could not continue to exist on the hope of a granted wish however dear to them both.

William, Duke of Clarence, called at Kew and asked for an audience with the Queen.

When he was brought to her Charlotte looked at him quizzically. He was not very attractive, she had to admit. He had never had half George’s looks; none of them had, but the others had more presence than William. She had always known it had been a mistake to send him to sea at such an early age. It had certainly not developed his royalty. She had told the King so a hundred times; but he had never taken any notice of her. Now of course he was shut away and had no say in matters at all; and it was hardly likely that he ever would.

It was too late to brood on William’s upbringing now that he was a man of fifty-two; at least he was a Prince, a son of a king and very likely would be the father of one. He had the family’s jaw and protuberant eyes – all the faults of the family which she fondly assured herself George had missed – and she had heard it said that his head was the shape of a pineapple. She could see what was meant by that. No, poor William was not the most attractive of her sons; but the death of young Charlotte had made him one of the most important, due to the unfortunate matrimonial difficulties of his two elder brothers.

‘William, my dear son,’ she said perfunctorily.

‘How are you today, Mamma?’

‘Not as well as I would wish to be. But who of us is? My rheumatism was not improved by the Bath waters. But that may have been due to the shock of Charlotte’s death.’

‘It grieves me to hear it.’

‘I think we are all grieved by this terrible calamity.’

‘I was referring to your rheumatism, Mamma,’ said William.

‘Thank you. But that is a small matter compared with our loss. I believe George will have something very serious to say to you.’

‘I have something very serious to say to you, Mamma. And that is why I have come here to see you.’

‘What is this?’

‘You have always told me that I should marry.’

‘It was your duty to have done so years ago. If you had and those children of yours were legitimate Parliament and the people would be better pleased with the family.’

‘My son George would make a fine King.’

‘The son of an actress! Don’t be ridiculous. The illegitimate son at that!’

William flushed a little. ‘Your Majesty would find it hard to name a more handsome fellow and better soldier.’

‘I’ve no doubt the young man is admirable, but he happens to be your bastard son and his mother was a play actress.’

The Queen looked coldly at her son. William had always been such a fool. He was a little abashed at the reference to Dorothy. It was not that he wanted to forget her; he merely wanted to forget his treatment of her. He wished that he had waited a little until she had died naturally; then there would have been nothing with which to reproach himself.

But he had good news to tell his mother so he said: ‘I am engaged to be married.’

‘What did you say?’ said the Queen.

‘That I have decided to marry. I have chosen my bride.’

‘Then the Regent has spoken to you?’

‘I have not yet told him of my decision.’

‘I did not know that the arrangements had gone so far. So you are pleased with the prospect.’

‘It delights me. I shall go ahead with arrangements as quickly as possible.’

‘It is my fervent hope – and the Regent’s – that you will.’

‘Have no fear. We’ll have the child before the year’s out.’

He really was a little crude. The rough sailor attitude could be carried too far. She wondered what Adelaide was like. But German princesses were brought up to be docile.

‘It should not take long to make the arrangements. I am sure the Duke will have no objection. I believe he would have welcomed the suggestion before.’

‘The Duke?’ asked William bewildered.

‘Adelaide’s father, the Duke of Saxe-Meiningen.’

‘Adelaide!’

‘The lady’s name.’

‘I don’t understand, Your Majesty. Miss Wykeham’s name is not Adelaide.’

‘And who is Miss Wykeham?’

‘The lady I have asked to marry me and who has accepted me.’

‘William, are you mad?’ In spite of her agitation she wished she had not used that word which was one she rarely allowed to intrude into her vocabulary. It was a constant fear of hers that one of her sons should have inherited his father’s illness.

‘Mad! Indeed not. It is to tell you of this that I called here today. I have asked Miss Wykeham to marry me and she has accepted me, and I see no reason why the marriage should be delayed. Can Your Majesty name one?’

‘I can name several; but I will content myself with giving you one why it should not take place at all.’

‘Not … take … place!’

‘You are going to marry Adelaide, the daughter of the Duke of Saxe-Meiningen. Envoys are being sent to the Duke now. Who is this woman with the ridiculous name?’

‘If you mean Miss Wykeham, I must protest. Her name is not ridiculous and she happens to be a considerable heiress. I gather that is not considered to be an obstacle.’

‘We know your debts are shamefully large; but the possession of wealth does not qualify a commoner to become the mother of a future King of England.’

‘If she has a child she nevertheless will be, for I am going to marry her.’

‘That is where you are mistaken.’

‘I have offered marriage and been accepted. I cannot step out of it now.’

‘You can and you will, for the simple reason that you are going to marry the Princess Adelaide.’

‘I am sorry to disagree with Your Majesty, but I have given my word.’

‘Have you forgotten the Royal Marriage Act, which makes it a law that a member of the family cannot marry without the King’s consent?’

‘Under the age of twenty-five, Mamma. I am a little older than that.’

‘And after that, without the consent of Parliament. Now do you think that the Parliament is going to allow this young woman to be the mother of the future heirs?’

‘I think that when the Parliament realizes that I have given my word it will give its consent.’

‘This cannot be allowed. Leave me now. You have upset me very much.’

William bowed. ‘I am sorry for that,’ he said, ‘but it does not alter the fact that I intend to keep my word to Miss Wykeham.’

When William had left the Queen summoned the Princesses Elizabeth and Sophia.

‘My snuff-box,’ she commanded; and Elizabeth immediately brought it.

Having taken a comforting pinch the Queen said: ‘I am most distressed. It is William again. What a fool your brother is! When I think of his behaviour from the time he was a young man, I cannot remember one occasion when he has acted with the slightest wisdom. He was constantly promising marriage to this one and that. Miss Fortescue, Miss Somebody else … I’ve forgotten the names; and then of course he settled down with that actress and produced all those children. And after that we had to watch his ridiculous efforts to get married. Now he has proposed and been accepted by a Miss Wykeham.’

‘She is a very considerable heiress, Mamma,’ said Elizabeth.

‘So she may be, but she is not going to be William’s wife. 1 must write to the Regent immediately. I can see that we are going to have trouble with William. Bring my writing materials and call the messenger. He should take my note to Carlton House immediately.’

The Regent had asked the Duke of Kent to visit him at Carlton House. Edward was not one of his favourite brothers; they were so different. Edward was too serious; George was prepared to admit that he was a good soldier, but he had never really forgiven him after the Mary Anne Clarke scandal, and he had been secretly pleased that the post of Commander-in-Chief to the Army, which Edward had hoped would be his when Frederick was forced to resign, had not fallen to his lot.

But the Regent had no desire to quarrel with any of his brothers. He liked to be outwardly at least on good terms; so now he received Edward with a show of affection and when the greetings were over he allowed a mask of concern to fall over his face. It was not entirely false; he was thinking of Madame de St Laurent, a charming woman, who had been Edward’s faithful mistress – for twenty-seven years was it? He disliked hurting charming women; but Madame de St Laurent, he was sure, was a sensible woman, as Dorothy Jordan – another of his favourites – had been. She would have to understand.

‘Well, Edward,’ he said, ‘I’ll swear you know why I’ve sent for you.’

‘Does it concern marriage plan?’

The Regent nodded. ‘The Princess Victoria of Saxe-Coburg … Leopold’s widowed sister. She is young, good looking and by all accounts very charming.’

‘I see,’ said Edward gravely.

‘I can guess your thoughts, Edward. You are thinking of your … commitments. Poor Julie! But she is a brave and clever woman. I am sure she will understand.’

George always made other people’s troubles seem so light, thought Edward resentfully; but the smallest cloud in his own blue sky was a matter for great tribulation in which everyone was expected to participate. Edward asked himself as he had many times before why a grudging fate had not made him the eldest son.

‘It will be a great blow to her.’

‘I know, Edward, but she must already be aware …’

Edward thought of Julie at the breakfast table. Poor sad Julie! She was going to be broken-hearted. But he must do his duty. There was no evading it.

He said: ‘Has the Princess Victoria made her willingness known?’

‘No. That’s the point. You should visit her at Wald-Leiningen and persuade her how advantageous it will be to become the Duchess of Kent. The fact is it is not easy to find Protestant princesses who would make suitable wives. We have fortunately found two.’

‘And the other?’

‘Adelaide of Saxe-Meiningen.’

‘Should I not be allowed to select one of the two?’

‘One is for William. He would doubtless say that he should have first choice. The fact is, Edward, Victoria must be wooed and we don’t trust William as a wooer. That is why Adelaide is for William. We fear that if he went to court Victoria, the courtship would end in failure. You’ll make a better job of it.’

The Regent watched his brother covertly. Edward was rising to the flattery.

‘What do you know of Victoria?’

‘That she is delightful – beautiful and intelligent.’

‘All marriageable princesses are.’

‘You have become cynical, Edward. I daresay Victoria is as attractive as most young women. She will not be stupid either for she is a mother and has two charming children, so I hear.’

‘So I am to have a ready-made family?’

‘My dear Edward, the only family you have to concern yourself with is the child the Duke and Duchess of Kent will have. You should be grateful that Victoria has already proved her ability to bear children. How frustrated you would feel if you discovered after marriage – as William may well do – that he has married a barren woman.’

‘And I am to visit this Victoria?’

‘As soon as possible.’

‘And what am I to tell Madame de St Laurent?’

‘I should tell her nothing as yet. It is possible that the Princess Victoria will reject you. She is able to make her own choice. As I told you that is the reason why we have decided on her for you. She will find you irresistible I am sure, Edward, but in case she should not, you will not want to lose Julie before you have gained Victoria.’

‘You make it sound so unromantic.’

‘The marriages of princes always are. It is the extra-marital affairs which bring such joy. No, do not worry Julie. Tell her that you are going on a mission for me to Leopold’s family. I think that would be the best. And then … if things went wrong she need not know. There is no need to alarm her before it is necessary.’

‘Thank you, George,’ said Edward. ‘And when shall I leave?’

‘At once. Don’t lose any time. An attractive young woman like Victoria will doubtless be much sought after. Go at once.’

‘I will,’ said Edward.

As soon as he had left a messenger arrived with a letter from the Queen. The Regent read it and frowned. William was being difficult. He had proposed marriage to and been accepted by a Miss Wykeham. If he could not get royal assent, he was going to Parliament.

The Regent passed his hand across his brow.

If only Charlotte had lived! It was odd that at the time of her birth she had been so important because her coming had meant that he need never go near her mother again; and now her death had thrown them all into this state of panic. Her birth and her death had been so important; it was only during her lifetime that they had been able to ignore her.

William was a fool. Of course he could not marry his Miss Wykeham. How fortunate that the decision did not rest with him. He would tell his ministers that the marriage between the Duke of Clarence and Adelaide of Saxe-Meiningen must be brought to its satisfactory conclusion no matter what objections were made by the Duke of Clarence.

Julie was delighted to see Edward back.

As they went together into the house and she showed him the new improvements which had been completed since his absence, she clung to his arm.

‘Edward,’ she whispered, ‘is all well?’

‘Er … yes, yes. All is well.’

‘I thought you would come back and tell me that a marriage had been arranged for you.’

‘No … no, no.’ It was true. Nothing had been arranged yet.

‘I suppose they just wished you to be there because of Charlotte’s death.’

‘Because of that,’ he said.

‘I have so missed you.’

‘And I you, my darling.’

‘I’ve been longing for a game of chess, of all things. That seems so trivial … and yet …’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know. I have in fact been sent on a mission … for George.’

‘A mission?’

‘Yes, to Germany.’

‘I see.’ She did not ask what. She was discreet enough for that. A mission could be anything. She would not associate it with courtship. He should tell her, but he could not. The words would not come. He who could face the most barbarous enemy could not face her. It was cruel but he must do his duty.

‘And you will be away long?’

‘Oh, I don’t suppose so.’

‘Then you’ll come back to Brussels, I suppose.’

‘I shall have to report to London first.’

‘Just briefly,’ she said. ‘And then you’ll be back.’

He had to let it rest there. He could not be so brutal. Besides, this Victoria might refuse him. They might not be able to find a bride for him.

He had asked George to keep the matter secret so that she did not hear through the press. George would do what he could. He was always gallant to women and it would grieve him to make Julie suffer more than was necessary.

He would stay here for two days before going on to Wald-Leiningen, and who knew perhaps he would never have to tell her how near he had come to deserting her.

The Princess Victoria was thoughtful. She had always known that she was too young to remain unmarried for the rest of her life, for she was only thirty-one years of age. She had two delightful children, healthy and good looking; it was natural that there should be suitors.

Her brother Leopold, now mourning the Princess Charlotte at Claremont, had written to her. He believed that nothing could be more suitable than a marriage with the Duke of Kent. He desired it and he hoped that as his dear sister had done him the honour in other important matters of taking his advice, she would in this one.

Victoria considered.

There were certain things a widow must give up if she married again. Freedom was rather pleasant and so rarely enjoyed by German princesses; but since the death of her husband, Prince Emich Charles, she had enjoyed it; merely in her household of course, but the castle of Wald-Leiningen was her little world and she was complete mistress of it.

There were the children to consider. Charles and Feodore. She adored them and they her, in spite of this discipline she enforced. She was a woman who liked to have her own way, but, she always reminded herself, it was for the good of others.

Leopold was her favourite brother, although younger than she was. There had been great rejoicing in the family when he had married Princess Charlotte, heir to the throne of England. Young Charlotte had loved him passionately, which was small wonder for Leopold was handsome and attractive in every way, although very serious; but that in the Princess Victoria’s eyes was a virtue. The Princess Charlotte must have thought so too for by all accounts Leopold was the only one who could subdue her – and she loved him for it.

And then the bitter tragedy! The death of Charlotte in childbirth and the misery of poor dear Leopold who had loved his wife so tenderly and had believed that he was to be the father of a future King of England.

And it was due to Charlotte’s death that she was facing her present problem now. The loss of Charlotte meant an imperative need to marry and produce an heir quickly among the King’s sons; and the Duke of Kent was one of them.

She heard the sound of children’s voices and looking from her window she saw Charles and Feodore riding into the court-yard with their grooms. Little Feodore was ten years old and was going to be a beauty, and Charles was a boy to be proud of. He was now waving the groom aside and helping Feodore out of the saddle. He was very courteous, her young Charles. They would change from their riding habits and present themselves in her drawing-room, for the Duke of Kent was due within the next hour and she wished him to see the children before he committed himself.

Victoria turned away from the window and sat down looking into the fire.

He will have to take a widow and two children, she thought. And I shall have to take a reluctant man of fifty.

Reluctant? Well, of course he would be reluctant. She had asked Leopold for all details of the Duke of Kent and he had not spared her.

‘He has been living for the last twenty-five years or so with Madame de St Laurent, a woman to whom he is devoted. She was received by the Prince of Wales who is notoriously lax where his brothers’ indiscretions are concerned.’ (Dear Leopold, he would never be lax over such matters!) ‘But of course it was a relationship of the left hand and she was not received at Court. Recently they went to live in Brussels where they intended to settle, until my dearest Charlotte died and so changed all our lives.’

She could imagine it well. The Duke’s being forced to abandon the mistress whom he would regard as his wife and marry a strange young woman who could not speak English – although he could speak German she supposed; and in any case his mother Queen Charlotte could not speak English when she first arrived in England.

The language presented no difficulty. It was Madame de St Laurent. But she would be old compared with herself, and she who was plump and handsome was attractive to men, she was fully aware. If she did not take the Duke of Kent there would be other offers.

‘The Duke of Clarence is older than the Duke of Kent, but he has made himself rather ridiculous lately,’ wrote Leopold. ‘First by deserting the actress with whom he lived for twenty years and by whom he had ten children, who live with him in his house at Bushy. Then by proposing marriage to several people, some most unsuitable, and being rejected by them. At first I was put out that you were not to be offered Clarence because any children he had would come before any you might have. But it is almost certain that you would prefer the Duke of Kent, who is more serious-minded and in every way more suited to become the father of the heir to the throne.’

One could always trust Leopold. He had the family welfare so much at heart.

There was a knock at the door and the children came in. Feodore curtsied; Charles bowed. Her expression softened. How delightful they were! If they should have a stepbrother who was Prince of Wales brilliant marriages would be arranged for them.

‘Did you enjoy your ride, my children?’

‘Yes, Mamma, thank you,’ said Charles.

‘We rode so far we could see Amorbach in the distance.’

‘That was quite a distance. I am expecting a visitor, from England.’

‘From Uncle Leopold, Mamma?’ asked Charles.

‘No, not exactly; but he would be a friend of Uncle Leopold.’

‘Then he must be a good man,’ said Feodore. ‘When will he arrive?’

‘At any moment, I believe.’

‘As he has come from England,’ said Charles, ‘he will be able to give us news of our uncle.’

‘I shall ask him when Uncle Leopold is coming to see us.’

‘You must not ask questions,’ said their mother, ‘but wait until you are spoken to.’

‘Is he very important, Mamma?’

‘He is the son of the King of England.’

The children’s eyes were round with wonder.

‘Even Uncle Leopold’s Charlotte was only the daughter of the Prince of Wales,’ said Charles.

His mother laid her hand on his arm. ‘You talk too much, Charles,’ she said severely. ‘And when the Duke arrives I want you to remember that you are in the presence of a very important man.’

Thus when Edward arrived he found Victoria with her children.

I can’t do it, thought Edward, as he made his journey across Europe to the castle of Wald-Leiningen. It will break her heart. Clarence will have to be the one. Why not? He’s older than I. Then there’s Ernest; he’s very likely to have a child. Just because my mother won’t accept his wife that’s no reason why his child should not inherit the crown. She’s even royal – my mother’s own niece. And what of Adolphus? He’s betrothed. Why should I disrupt my life when I have so many brothers?

I will behave in such a way that she refuses me. She might refuse me in any case. But would a young widow who had probably made up her mind she must marry at some time refuse the Duke of Kent to whom she could bear a king or queen of England?

But I can’t hurt Julie, he kept telling himself.

And yet … the prospect was glittering. Life in Brussels was cheap; there was a pleasant social atmosphere; Julie was happy there. But England was his home. He hadn’t told Julie how homesick he was. He had been all those years in Canada; and his career in the Army had often taken him away but now that he was getting older he did long to be at home. If he married his debts would be settled; he would get a grant from Parliament, a larger income. And suppose he had a child? He did regret that Julie had never had his child. There was William with those ten FitzClarences, and although some might deplore their illegitimacy, William took great pride in them and there was no doubt that he derived a great deal of pleasure from them.

They had come to an inn in the heart of the forest and there were to stay the night. In a few days now he would arrive at the castle of Wald-Leiningen and he would have to make up his mind. He would not admit it to himself because he refused to consider the fact that any woman but Julie could attract him, but he was eager to see whether the Princess Victoria was as handsome as she had been made out to be.

Princes were so often deceived in these matters. He only had to think of the Prince of Wales’ own marriage to Caroline of Brunswick. There could not have been a greater disaster than that.

‘Your Highness!’ It was his equerry come to conduct him to the room he was to have in the inn.

The innkeeper was delighted at the prospect of being host to a royal Duke. He was preparing the finest meal he had ever offered to guests and the smell of sausages and sauerkraut filled the parlour.

It sickened Edward who was too concerned with his affairs to think of food.

He kept seeing Castle Hill, the home he had loved in Ealing, the house in Knightsbridge where he and Julie had lived together, and his apartments in Kensington Palace which he had left, but which had been home to him. He wanted to go home and if he married this young woman there would be no question of it.

He looked about the room – the best in the inn – and said to himself: ‘I can never do it.’

He imagined his mother’s face cold with fury. He couldn’t do his duty! Did he realize that he had been receiving an income from the State so that when the moment came for him to do his duty it should be done.

He could imagine George’s apologetic shrug. We all have to do these things, Edward. I myself had the most unfortunate of experiences. No one could suffer more than I did.’

A prince must do his duty.

His equerry was at the door. The meal was ready. Would His Highness honour the host by coming down to partake of it?

The meal was over when the gipsy came in. She had been passing, she said, and she had felt an impulse to enter because she knew there was an important guest under the innkeeper’s roof that night.

She had no doubt seen the equipage, thought Edward, but everyone else was eager to let her talk.

She could foresee the future, she told them. If they would cross her palm with silver.

The bright alert eyes were on Edward. She had selected him immediately as the important personage; it was his future she was anxious to foretell.

He shook his head and she took the hands of other members of the party and spun her tales of glory and disaster while Edward looked on and thought it was as good a way as any to pass the time.

‘And my lord?’ she pleaded.

He held out his hand and she chuckled gleefully.

‘Here’s glory,’ she cried. ‘My lord is going to marry.’

‘What, at my age!’ cried Edward.

‘Ah, my lord is young at heart. He will marry and be the father of a great queen.’

Edward’s heart had begun to beat faster and he was anxious that none of the company should know it.

‘You might have given me a king,’ he reproved her.

She shook her head.

‘A queen,’ she insisted.

‘A higher price for a king,’ he tempted.

But she shook her head and said with dignity, ‘I am an honest woman your lordship should know. I cannot sell what is not here.’

‘So it has to be a queen,’ he sighed.

‘There is nothing your lordship should regret in that,’ she answered.

The gipsy told no more fortunes. She left the inn; and Edward retired to his room to rest before the morning’s early start.

And he kept thinking: A queen. How strange that she had said that. A great queen, she had insisted.

And a few days later he came to the castle of Wald-Leiningen and there was received by the Princess Victoria with her children.

She was plump, handsome, fertile, desirable: and he could not get the gipsy’s words out of his mind.

A queen. A great queen.

He knew that he wanted to marry the Princess Victoria. If it were not for Julie he could be completely reconciled to his position. And what could he do? He had come to court the lady; it would be churlish not to do so.

She was charming; so were her children; she was serious and made no secret of the fact that the marriage would be one of convenience.

She told him quite frankly that she would forfeit a considerable income if she married. The Duke must understand that she would be giving up her independence.

He saw this clearly; at one moment he was anxious to urge her not to give up her freedom; in another he was almost imploring her to. He was unsure what he wished for. She was very attractive; he liked the children; and he kept hearing the gipsy’s prophecy.

Did she sense his hesitancy? Was that why she gave voice to her own? They were both mature people, she pointed out. They had sacrifices to make. She thought they should not make up their minds in a hurry.

He was relieved by the delay.

He returned to London but he did not call at Brussels on the way.

When he reached London a letter from the Princess Victoria awaited him. She had decided to give up a life in which she had enjoyed independence and comfort; but she hoped to find compensation in the Duke’s affection and the children they would have.

So he was committed. But he would keep secret … just at first. He would make sure that everything was made as comfortable for Julie as possible. She must be looked after. She must have an adequate income. She must be allowed to live with dignity. He must impress on everyone that Julie was no ordinary mistress. Theirs had been a marriage in all but the legal sense. Julie had never lived with anyone else. It was merely the fact that he was a royal Duke who could not marry without the consent of the King and Parliament that had prevented his marrying her.

They must understand this. She must have a dignified life, servants, carriages … He would accept nothing else.

He could not understand his feelings; they ran in opposite directions. Complete desolation at the thought of what he was doing to Julie; exultation at the future with Victoria.

Julie wrote to him. He must not grieve. It was inevitable. They must be thankful for all the happy years they had enjoyed together.

She wished him success in his new life. She herself had decided to go into a convent and he must think no more of her.

‘So,’ said the Queen, ‘Edward is happily settled. He could not have a better bride than the Princess Victoria. Now we must get William’s affairs arranged without delay.’

The Regent agreed.

‘Now that Parliament have made it clear that he cannot have his Miss Wykeham, he is reconciled. Parliament have supplied his reasons to the lady for him. He couldn’t have a better excuse.’

‘We must bring Adelaide over as soon as possible,’ said the Queen.

‘I don’t anticipate any difficulties.’

‘I shall not rest until they are married,’ said the Queen, moving stiffly in her chair. And she thought: I hope I live long enough to see the unions fruitful. But she did not mention this to the Regent who hated references to death.

‘It would be pleasant if we could arrange a double wedding,’ he was saying. ‘William’s with Adelaide, Edward’s with Victoria.’