Indiscretions of the Queen

The Reunion

Maria read the appeal. She must come back to him. She was his dear wife, his angel. He did not know how she could be so cruel to him. He admitted that he had been the victim of a mental aberration when he had thought he could do without her. But she had been a little cross with him at time, she had lost her temper, she would admit. Not that he did not deserve all the abuse she had showered on him.

She was his angel and he was foolish and in need of forgiveness.

But how could she have believed he had been serious when he had sent that note telling her he did not want to see her again! Why hadn’t she realized it was meant as a joke? Why hadn’t she laughed at him and refused to believe it? Did she not know that he was her faithful husband until death did them part?

Maria wept as she read the letter recalling that period of desolation when he had left her, thinking of the happy times they had shared together at Kempshott when he was so deeply in debt that he had had to close part of Gariton House.

Could she go back? No, of course she could not. He was married to Caroline of Brunswick and that marriage was accepted in the eyes of the law which meant of course that that ceremony which they had gone through in her house at Park Street was considered to be no true marriage after all.

‘I could never go back,’ she told Miss Pigot. ‘It was different before this public marriage. Then I believe many people accepted me as his wife. Now no one could, for to do so would be to imply that the Princess Charlotte is illegitimate.’

‘These rules and regulations,’ sighed Miss Pigot. ‘What are they? You know you’re his wife. I should have thought that was good enough.’

‘You are trying to tempt me.’

Ah, thought Miss Pigot, so she admits it is a temptation! Miss Hayman brought the news to Montague House.

‘The Prince is courting Mrs. Fitzherbert very ardently.’ ‘Well, I hope he’s successful,’ cried Caroline.

‘People are saying that he’s as much in love with her as he was in the beginning.’

‘We should drink to the success of our fat lovers,’ laughed Caroline.

Miss Hayman was surprised at the Princess’s attitude; but Caroline was always unaccountable.

‘Come, fill a glass and drink with me. I have said that I hope he won’t feel me to be an impediment to his reconciliation with the lady.’

‘Your Highness has said that?’

‘Oh come, Hayman, let us be honest. I don’t want the man.’ She shuddered.

‘That wedding-night of ours. He was drunk. It was the only way he could face me. How many brides do you think have a husband who spent his wedding-night lying under the grate?’ She began to laugh and Miss Hayman joined in, for if the Princess saw the matter as a joke she was prepared to do the same.

‘I’ll tell you something, Hayman,’ went on the Princess. ‘I’ve made many faux-pas in my life as you can imagine, but the biggest one I ever made was to marry Mrs. Fitzherbert’s husband.’

She began to laugh immoderately.

Lord Cholmondeley did not know how to lift his master from his despair. He was continually being summoned to talk about the Prince’s problem.

‘Cholmondeley,’ he cried, ‘I am frustrated at every turn! My father denies me the right which is every other English man’s— to fight for his country. I have offered my services and they are refused. I have pointed out that I have six brothers who could take my place if I should die in action. And what is the reply.

No! No! It has always been the same. It is not the first time I have offered to fight for my country and been refused the honour.’

‘As Prince of Wales, Your Highness—’

‘I know what you are going to say, Cholmondeley. And how can I gainsay it?

It’s true I’m the heir to the throne. It’s true that the state of my father’s health is— precarious. But I have brothers.’

‘But Your Highness is the Prince of Wales.’

But he had not summoned Cholmondeley to talk of war but of love.

‘Denied my rights as an Englishman and as a husband. Yes, my dear Cholmondeley, as a husband. Oh, I am not referring to that object with whom they made me go through a form of marriage but to my own dear wife, Maria Fitzherbert, with whom I can make no headway— no headway at all.’

‘I am sure Your Highness will in time.’

‘In time! Ever since I left the Princess Caroline, I have been trying to persuade Maria to come back to me. The answer is always No.’

Cholmondeley was thoughtful. There had been Lady Jersey, of course, and it might well be that Maria Fitzherbert was not absolutely certain that that affair was ended. But he would not remind the Prince of that lady for His Highness disliked being reminded of what he preferred to forget.

‘I do not think, Your Highness, that the lady will persist in holding out against you.’

‘She has so far. I sent her a copy of a will I made a few days after that public ceremony. In this, I left her everything I possessed and I referred to her as my dear wife, my second self, for that is how I shall always think of Maria.’

‘And still she is adamant?’

‘She does not answer most of my letters.’

‘Perhaps she fears to offend the Princess of Wales.’

‘Why should she? That woman is of importance whatsoever.’

Was His Highness unaware of the cheers which followed the Princess wherever she went? Was he unaware that the King was attached to her? And most important of all that the people of the Country were taking sides and they were supporting the Princess against the Prince.

‘And she continues to live in Ealing— Ealing, Cholmondeley— in a rather humble way when she could live in Pall Mall in splendour.’

‘Mrs. Fitzherbert has never been a woman to flaunt her position, Your Highness. She is, I think, the most regal lady I ever beheld but—’

The Prince’s eyes had become glazed with emotion.

‘Regal, indeed. If she could have been accepted as the Princess of Wales, I should have been the happiest man on Earth, Cholmondeley. As it is, I am thrust into this position and am the least happy. Although, if she came back to me—’

‘I heard Your Highness that the Princess of Wales expressed a wish that the reconciliation you hope for with Mrs Fitzherbert be successfully concluded to your mutual happiness.’

‘Did she say that? She has at least a good heart, though the most repulsive body in the world. I tell you Cholmondeley, I feel quite ill to think of it.’

‘Then perhaps Your Highness should refrain from doing so.’

The Prince was smiling. ‘So she said that, did she? It shows, does it not, that it is obviously the right solution— since even she is aware of it. To think that the one who is standing in the way of my happiness is Maria. She is breaking her marriage vows. Did she not swear to be with me for better or worse? It’s true, Cholmondeley, and I shall have no more of this. I am determined that she shall come back to me. And I will tell her that I command this. If she will not, I will make public the fact that I went through a ceremony of marriage with her. Her brother and uncle were witnesses at the ceremony. She is my wife, Cholmondeley, and by God, she shall be made to do her duty.’

Cholmondeley was startled, but he knew the Prince enough to realize that it was useless to attempt to restrain him.

Maria read the letter and turned pale. Miss Pigot was beside her. ‘What is it?

What now?’

‘You may read it,’ said Maria, and Miss Pigot picked up the letter which had fluttered to the floor.

Miss Pigot gave a short whistle. ‘So he’ll make a public statement that he’s married to you, will he? Well, I thought that was what you’d always wanted.’

‘You talk foolishly. Don’t you see that this would have been dangerous before the Princess Caroline came here. Now— It’s doubly so.’

‘Dangerous?’

‘If he proclaims our marriage then how can he be married to the Princess Caroline?’

‘That’s a question a lot of people might like to know the answer to. Perhaps if he did make this proclamation we should find out.’

‘You are not thinking of the consequences. Oh, he is mad— mad.’

‘Mad for you, my dear.’

‘You talk like a romantic fool, Piggy.’

‘It’s what I am, I suspect. But I should like to see you two happy together.

He’s a dear good man in spite of being a little naughty now and then. But think of that will of his. You see how he loves you. He calls you his wife, his angel, his soul— and that was only a few days after the birth of his daughter.’

‘Oh be silent, do, Pig!’

‘Well, I will if you want, but you’ve got to make your decision, haven’t you?

Think how he’s always looked after me. Five hundred a year he’s given me and dear boy, thinking he might be going to die, he worries about me and says I’m to have a place in one of the palaces after he’s gone. You must call that thoughtful of him.’

‘You were always his advocate. I suspect you of intriguing with him.’

‘It would only be for your happiness, my dear, and his.’

‘Oh, I know, I know. But he is driving me to distraction.’

‘I always knew you loved him.’

‘When did I ever deny it?’

‘It would have been no use, my dear I know you too well. Why, Maria, what’s the matter?’

‘It’s just struck me. If he is such a fool as to make a public announcement of our marriage you know what will happen, Pig. We shall all be found guilty of praemunire.’

‘What in the name of the saints is that?’

‘It’s offending against the Church. You see we knew of the Royal Marriage Act; we knew that the State would not accept his marriage to a commoner, and a Catholic at that, and we went through a church ceremony.’

‘You mean that that parson will be found guilty. What was his name?’

‘Burt. He’s dead so they can’t hurt him. But— oh, Piggy, I’ve just remembered. My brother and my uncle signed as witnesses. Heaven knows what will happen to them. They will be found guilty.’

Maria had risen and Miss Pigot rose too to stand beside her. ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked anxiously.

Maria did not answer but hurried out of the room and into her bedroom, followed by Miss Pigot. There Maria took a strong box from a cupboard and drew out a document.

She studied it in some emotion for a few seconds. It recorded that on the 15th December 1785, George Augustus Frederick, Prince of Wales, had married Maria Fitzherbert.

Then deliberately she picked up a pair of scissors and cut out the names of John Smythe, her brother, and Henry, Harrington her uncle.

‘Maria,’ cried Miss Pigot aghast, ‘what are you doing?’

‘I am saving my brother and uncle from the disaster which would surely fall on them if my husband were so foolish as to carry out his threats.’

Miss Pigot could only stare in dismay at the mutilated marriage certificate.

‘Why don’t you give in!’ she said. ‘You know you will in the end.’

The Queen was sitting with the Princesses Augusta and Mary while they worked at their embroidery. The readers had been dismissed because the Queen wished to talk with her daughters and she did not want what she had to say to go outside the family.

The Prince of Wales was at Carlton House; so was his daughter; the Princess Caroline was at Blackheath but she was visiting Carlton House regularly to see her daughter and the child paid visits to her. The Queen would have liked to see Princess Caroline shut out completely from the family circle. She hated her daughter-in-law; this was only partly due to the fact that the Prince had chosen her in preference to her own niece Louise; the other reason was that she had hated Caroline’s mother.

When she had first come to England— a frightened inexperienced girl of seventeen— Caroline’s mother had spied on her, reported her actions to her mother-in-law and had in fact been one of the main causes for all the years of insignificance which had been hers during her long period of childbearing. Now she was discovering how exciting it was to have power. She was vindictive and she enjoyed having her revenge on her enemy’s daughter.

In any case, she assured herself, she disliked the Princess for herself alone; and she was irritated that the King should show such affection for her. He showed more for her than he did for his wife and was constantly defending her with the lady, surely it was for his sisters to play their small part in bringing about the reconciliation.

Miss Pigot was triumphant. It was clear that the royal family wished Maria to return to the Prince. But could she possibly hold out against such a weight of opinion? The Prince’s brothers had always been on his side so naturally since he wanted to return to Maria they would do their best to persuade her. But when the royal Princesses— whom she met at some of the houses to which she had received invitations it would have been churlish to refuse— actually approached her and hinted that the family wished for a reunion she could scarcely ignore such an approach. And when certain members of the Queen’s household suggested that Her Majesty had given similar hints, Maria knew that she must act.

She now answered the Prince’s letters. She was moved by his professions of devotion; doubtless he knew her own feelings; but before she agreed to return to him she must have the sanction of the Holy See as to whether she was truly the Prince’s wife; and only if she were so in the eyes of the Pope could she consider returning to him.

Knowing the delays appeals to Rome entailed, the Prince gnashed his teeth in impatience But he wanted Maria and he must agree to her terms.

Each day Miss Pigot awaited the messenger from Rome.

She was almost as impatient as the Prince. Maria waited philosophically and none would have guessed the turmoil within her. To go back to that early happiness? Was it possible?

She would control her temper. She would need to, for he was the most exasperating of men. It was no use deluding herself. She loved him. Probably more deeply than he loved her. His emotions had always been of a superficial nature, but they certainly went deeper for her than for anyone else in his life. She was astonished that he had waited all this time for her to return to him. She had heard no rumours of his adventures since the dismissal of Lady Jersey. And so it had been in the early days when he had been courting her so if the Prince should decide to be reconciled to her and given her more children like young Charlotte— who was, she was forced to admit, a fascinating child with a gift for charming everybody— the odious Caroline might become very powerful indeed.

Reports were that the Prince loathed her; but the creature managed to be followed by cheering crowds every time she came to London and she knew how the Prince wanted popularity. He might feel it was politic to go back to her.

It must not be. And now that he had discarded dear Lady Jersey, one could never be sure what action he would take. It was true he was courting Maria Fitzherbert but the lady was holding aloof.

She looked at her daughters and sighed. It was distasteful to have to discuss such matters with them but she feared there was no help for it.

I believe,’ she said, ‘that Mrs. Fitzherbert now spends most of her time in Ealing, although she has taken a house in Tilney Street for her brief visits to Town.’

The Princesses were alert and more attentive now than during their readings, their mother noticed grimly.

‘She is a very good woman, I believe. I have never heard ill of her.’

‘There has been scandal about her marriage to George, Mamma,’ said Augusta, and was silenced by a look.

‘I should like to see virtuous ladies more at Court.’

‘She is a Catholic—’ began the tactless Augusta.

Oh dear, thought the Queen, Augusta would always act impulsively. Mary would be more tactful. Elizabeth was so much the artist, and could scarcely be called practical.

Perhaps that was as much as she should say. Royal people must learn to be diplomatic. Her daughters should realize that she would not frown on the return of the Prince of Wales to Mrs. Fitzherbert; and that anything they could do to bring about that conclusion would have her approval.

‘She has never been obtrusively Catholic,’ said the Queen. ‘She has always behaved with the utmost decorum; and now that we have a Princess of Wales who is far from discreet—’

Her daughters had understood. The Queen wished George to return to Maria Fitzherbert; and as George wished it and his brothers had never been anything but extremely friendly assiduously and she had run away to the Continent to escape him. Then he had gone through that very important ceremony of marriage which might have cost him his Crown— and all for love of her.

How could she help but love such a man?

And at last the brief arrived from the Pope himself. He had reviewed the marriage of George, Prince of Wales, and Maria Fitzherbert and he had decided that in the eyes of the Church, they were married.

There was no reason now why they should not be reunited.

Maria’s house in Tilney Street was decorated with white roses, for it was June. This was because the Prince of Wales had called Maria his ‘White Rose’

accusing her laughingly of being a Jacobite and wanting to see the end of Hanoverian Rule. White roses overflowed on all the tables. London select society had been invited to meet the Prince of Wales at breakfast; and this was intended to represent a wedding breakfast. It was the solemn occasion of Maria’s return to the Prince of Wales.

Plump, no longer young, either of them, they were radiant. The Prince behaved like an eager boy. He could not take his eyes from Maria. All was forgiven: her temper: his infidelities. They were lovers again.

‘Together,’ said the Prince of Wales, ‘until death do us part.’

The second honeymoon had begun.

Caroline laughed loudly when she heard of it.

She insisted on drinking their health.

‘Good luck to them,’ she said. ‘Blessings on our plump pair. I am truly pleased that Maria Fitzherbert’s husband has gone back to her.’