Perdita's Prince

Encounter in Hyde Park

GEORGE MOURNED THE departure of Harriot for a few days and then found a new mistress. He did not have to seek far. He soon proved what he had never doubted; not only was he extremely personable and completely charming, but as he was also the Prince of Wales he was irresistible. More than this his youthful exuberance, his discovery that the most exciting and alluring prospect in life was women made him completely fascinating to that sex; and as he embarked on the lightest of love affairs with the conviction that his partner in the adventure was the one woman in the world to whom he could remain faithful for the rest of his life, even shorn of the trappings of royalty, he would have been a successful lover.

The Queen had given birth to another son, christened Octavius, who was not so strong as his brothers and sisters and almost immediately, to her consternation, she was pregnant again.

It had been impossible to keep the scandal of Harriot Vernon and the inclinations of the Prince from his father, who declared that his eldest son’s conduct gave him many a sleepless night.

But George was impervious to scandal. He had discovered the whole meaning of life; he reiterated constantly to his brothers, equerries and anyone interested that if his parents were too mean to give him his own establishment, no one was going to prevent him living his own life.

His confidant continued to be his brother Frederick who listened avidly to accounts of George’s adventures and began to have a few of his own.

The awkward situations which often accompanied these adventures bothered the Prince very little. There were scandals about him; he had discovered a taste for women older than himself – even Harriot had been a few months older – and his fancy often alighted on those who were married. This could mean jealous husbands, for there were some men who failed to appreciate the honour done to the family by the Prince’s favouring one of its women. There was no lack of aspirants for his favours and this meant that envy prevailed among those whom he passed over towards those whom he favoured.

After the dullness of his boyhood he found life full of excitement – and he determined to enjoy it.

There were several people who had their eyes on him – apart from women. It was natural that politicians who were out of favour with the King and were extremely ambitious should have the notion of forming a rival faction. It would not be the first time there had been a King’s party and a Prince’s party; and now that the latter was growing up the time seemed to have come to make plans. Moreover, no one could deny that the Prince was intelligent. There had never yet been such a cultured member of this branch of the Royal Family. The Prince had taken to learning with alacrity. Perhaps because there had been so little excitement in his boyhood he had sought it in books. The fact remained that he was well versed in the classics, was a good linguist, had a ready wit and was clearly of a very different intellectual calibre from his father.

One man who was watching him with the greatest interest was Charles James Fox. Fox was perhaps one of the most brilliant men in politics and it was galling to him to see the King and Lord North throwing away the American colonies through policies which, it seemed obvious to Fox, were misguided and foolish.

‘The King,’ Fox had said, ‘lowers his head like a cow and goes on chewing the cud, regurgitating over and over again: “They’ll come to their senses.” If only he would come to his.’

Fox was thirty years old – leader of the Whigs, distrusted by the King – and not only for his political opinions. Fox knew the story of Sarah Lennox. He could remember the consternation in the family when the King’s marriage to Charlotte was announced. His mother had been Sarah Lennox’s sister and the whole family had naturally hoped the King would marry Sarah. That it was largely Sarah’s own fault that he had not did not relieve the family anguish. Sarah was a foolish girl – her conduct now was proving that; but she could have been Queen of England with a little careful manoeuvring, for the Foxes would have been a match for the Dowager Princess of Wales and Lord Bute at any time. But Sarah had lost her chance and George had married Charlotte. And this was something for which George could not forgive the Foxes. Every time he set eyes on Sarah’s nephew he thought of Sarah, and quite clearly was resentful because he had had to take the plain dull Charlotte instead.

‘Why he should dislike me,’ Charles James told his friends, ‘would be inconceivable but for the fact that to do so is in accordance with accepted human behaviour. I, with my parents and the rest of the family, would have been delighted to see Sarah as Queen.’

But the King was a simple man and not accustomed to delving into the innermost recesses of his mind to understand his own motives. He merely said: ‘I can’t abide that fellow Fox.’ And he never asked himself if his dislike had anything to do with the loss of Sarah.

Charles James knew that he would never be the leader of the House if the King could help it, and although the King was dependent on his ministers, the King’s favour was of the greatest importance to the members of his government.

So the wily Fox had turned his eyes to the young man who was just emerging into the limelight. If the King would have none of him, why not cultivate the Prince? Why not educate the Prince in politics. Why not revive the old custom – so prevalent in the Hanoverian dynasty – of setting son against father. There could be, as there had been before, the King’s party and that of the Prince of Wales; and as every wise man knew it was more intelligent to attach one’s wagon to the rising than to the setting star.

The Prince was breaking out of his shell; he was indulging in amatory adventures to the tolerant amusement of the cynical members of the Court, and although a small part of these rumours reached the ears of his parents and their staid supporters, very little could be done to prevent the princely exploits. The Prince was as much a prisoner now as they could make him – still he managed his secret intrigues. But when he was eighteen they could scarcely treat him as a child of twelve. The people would never allow that. And George was only a few months from his eighteenth birthday.

When he did appear in public the people cheered him wildly. George was all they expected a prince to be. With his powdered hair setting off the pink and white of his complexion and making his eyes look more blue than ever he was indeed a Prince Charming. Silver buckled shoes, coats of blue and pink satin, white buckskin breeches … He was a joy to behold. And while he was young and handsome the people would love him; and was it not always the case that after a period of Puritan rule the people adored a rake? And young as he was, George was showing all signs of fast becoming that.

‘Reflect,’ said Charles James Fox to his friend Edmund Burke, ‘how the people welcomed the restoration of Charles the Second. How they adored him when he promenaded in St James’s Park, a mistress on either side and more following behind. And how they loathed poor dull Noll Cromwell because he was a faithful husband and a Puritan. So do they feel about His virtuous but oh so dull and just a little stupid Majesty.’

Burke agreed with Fox, but Fox was not going to leave it at that. He had an idea and like most of his ideas it was a brilliant one.

It was natural that since the King showed no favour towards him he should be on good terms with those who had a grudge against His Majesty and his mind immediately went to the Cumberlands.

Henry, Duke of Cumberland had, under the influence of his Duchess, the lady whose eyelashes had brought her fame and fortune, smarted under the King’s neglect. The King did not wish to see his brother Henry. Whenever he thought of him he remembered the disgusting affair with Lady Grosvenor, and phrases from those very revealing letters which Cumberland had written to the lady, and which betrayed such eroticism as the King had scarcely known existed, haunted his nightmares in which to his dismay women figured so prominently. No, the King could not bear to see Cumberland. It was different with his brother William, Duke of Gloucester, who had made another mésalliance, it was true, by marrying Lady Waldegrave, but although this lady was illegitimate and a milliner’s daughter, Gloucester’s life was comparatively respectable. Moreover, the King had always been very fond of Gloucester.

This state of affairs made the Cumberlands even more resentful, and it was to them that Charles James Fox decided to turn.

He called at the Cumberland House where he was always a welcome guest. Fox was a witty conversationalist, a high liver, a gambler, an amorist – in fact he indulged freely in all the fleshly vices. At the same time he was the cleverest politician in the country and while the Cumberlands could attract such men to their house their parties could be the most amusing in town. Moreover, they could give not only offence but anxiety to the King.

Fox, a stubble on his double chin, for over-indulgence in food and drink had made him fat in spite of the fact that he was only thirty years of age, his coat slightly splashed with grease from his last meal, for he made no concessions to royal dukes, arrived at Cumberland House, his mind full of the project.

The Duchess, fluttering her long lashes, received him boisterously. There was nothing regal about the Duchess. Her conversation was amusing and droll and not untouched by coarseness, but she was a very beautiful woman.

The Duke was with his wife – a small man with the loose Hanoverian mouth and the rather bulging blue eyes. Charles James had little respect for his intelligence – the Duchess had more – but his position as uncle to the Prince of Wales made him important.

He believed that Fox had come for a gamble, for the politician was a gambler by nature and could never resist a game of chance, but Fox quickly disillusioned him.

‘I have come to talk to Your Highness of your nephew.’

‘George!’ cried the Duchess. ‘There is no talk of anything but George. What a rascal the boy is becoming! He’ll soon be a rival to his uncle.’

The Duke grinned at her.

‘I hope someone will warn him not to write letters,’ continued the irrepressible Duchess. ‘Love letters can be costly when those who receive them are no longer in love.’

The Duke laughed at this reference to the Grosvenor case. ‘Is everyone going to go on talking of that forever?’

‘I’m sure it is what His Gracious Majesty holds against you … far more than your marriage to me.’

‘The Prince will need guidance,’ said Fox.

‘He’ll get it,’ laughed the Duke.

‘Never fear, dear Mr Fox,’ went on the Duchess. ‘Papa keeps him in his gilded cage and Mamma has tied his reins very firmly to her apron strings.’

‘All’s very well while he’s a minor. Your Highnesses forget he will soon be eighteen. Then we shall see changes.’

‘Changes!’ mused the Duchess. ‘He has shown very clearly the way he will go. Ladies, short and tall, fair and dark will lead him by the hand. And, Mr Fox, is it not charming of him to prefer beautiful English women … not like his ancestors who like ugly German ones.’

‘He is behaving … naturally,’ said Charles James. ‘Of course he is up in arms against his father.’

‘Which does not surprise me,’ put in Cumberland.

‘It would surprise me if it were otherwise,’ said the Duchess. ‘The King has treated our Prince like a naughty child in the past and is continuing to do so … in spite of the fact that he has shown the world so clearly that he is in possession of his manhood. I don’t know the number of seductions to date …’ She glanced at the Duke. ‘Perhaps you do, my darling. But they are too many for a boy. Our Prince is a man.’

‘The last one is a rather amusing story,’ said the Duke. ‘It concerns a certain married lady of the Palace. Yes, His Highness is finding married ladies very much to his taste.’

‘Preferring experience to innocence,’ added the Duchess. ‘Wise young man.’

‘There very nearly was a mighty scandal over this affair,’ said the Duke.

‘There very nearly always is a mighty scandal. Don’t look so disappointed, Mr Fox. We’ll have our mighty scandal pretty soon, I promise you.’

‘It’ll come,’ agreed Fox. ‘And then he must have someone to turn to … someone to help him.’

‘He’ll get his reproaches from the Queen and a lecture from the King, who’ll tell him he wishes he could use the cane on him as he did when he was a bad boy.’

‘Alas for the dignity of the Prince of Wales!’

‘You’ve heard what happened, eh?’ asked the Duke, and when Mr Fox and the Duchess declared they had not he proceeded to tell them.

‘The Prince’s affaire with the lady was proceeding according to the usual pattern. The lady was living on amicable terms with her husband who – unlike some husbands – had no notion of the honour His Royal Highness was doing him by way of his wife. Indeed, he was that kind of a fool of a man who might have resented the honour, so the Prince and his lady refrained from informing him. One day the husband told his wife that he would be away for the night on Palace business, which made an excellent opportunity for the lovers. Alas, the inconsiderate man completed his business that evening and returned at midnight. He was heard knocking at the locked door of his apartments by the Prince who by chance happened to be sharing the connubial bed with the lady.’

The Duchess burst out laughing and cried in delight: ‘In flagrante delicto, I’ll be bound. Our future king is such a lusty young dog.’

‘Exactly,’ went on the Duke. ‘But what could he do? Escape was impossible even if he could have scrambled into his breeches in time. Fortunately for the Prince he has loyal attendants, and being of an open nature is apt to confide in them during the various stages of his love affairs. Consequently, one of his gentlemen was aware of the husband locked out and the lover locked in, and knowing precisely what the husband would find if he burst in, took upon himself the duty of releasing his young master from a very embarrassing situation.’

‘A good servant,’ said the Duchess. ‘What was his name?’

‘Cholmondeley. You know Cholmondeley.’ The Duchess nodded and the Duke went on: ‘Cholmondeley went to the husband, told him that the Prince was in some difficulty and he had been asked to summon him to the Prince’s apartments immediately on his return that he might be made aware of the Prince’s dilemma. Having conducted the fellow to the Prince’s apartments Cholmondeley then went to the lady’s apartment and released the Prince who hurried off; then Cholmondeley returned to the husband, told him the Prince had retired and that the matter must rest until the morning. And in the morning he told the husband that the matter had been settled and his help would not be required.’

‘That is the sort of servant required by all young men who stray into other men’s beds while they are away from home,’ cried the Duchess. ‘Fortunate George. It would be interesting to know what would have happened if Cholmondeley had not been in his confidence and on the spot.’

‘Scandal, scandal, scandal and the King would have stormed at his son and suffered more sleepless nights on his account.’

‘So all was for the best,’ sighed the Duchess. ‘The Prince remains blissful in his enjoyment of the lady and the husband in his ignorance.’

Charles James Fox who had been listening without much interest to the story said: ‘This brings me to the point of my visit to Your Highnesses. The King cannot long delay giving the Prince an establishment of his own. And when he does the young man will have his friends … not only ladies. He is witty, possessed of intellect and a contrast to his royal father. We will not find our George growing wheat and making butter and buttons. Young George is of a different calibre. When the day comes we should be ready.’

‘We?’ said the Duchess, her startling black-fringed green eyes wide open.

‘Yes,’ said Fox. He waved his hand. ‘Here should be the centre of the Prince’s party.’

‘You think he’ll be a Whig?’

‘Certainly, Highness. Is not old George a Tory?’

The Duchess clasped her hands. ‘Of course. It is inevitable.’

‘His uncle should show an interest in his welfare.’

‘And what will HM say to that?’

‘It will not be the first time Your Highness has acted without the approbation of His Majesty.’

‘We’ll do it,’ cried the Duchess. ‘We’ll cultivate the acquaintance of our nephew.’

‘It will be necessary to go warily.’

‘Very,’ agreed the Duchess. ‘The King won’t have us at Court, you know.’

‘I know it full well, Your Highness. But the Prince will choose his own friends. He will, I believe, find more to interest him in his uncle’s residence than in his father’s royal palaces.’

‘We should be heading for a real family quarrel.’

‘History,’ said Mr Fox cynically, ‘has a rather endearing way of repeating itself.’

‘A Prince’s party to set itself against the King’s party,’ cried the Duchess. ‘We’ll do it.’

‘I thought Your Highness would wish to,’ said Mr Fox demurely.

George was in love once more. He had found the new paragon in the apartments of his sisters when he had gone to visit Charlotte, Augusta and Elizabeth. He had scarcely been able to talk to them so overcome was he by the charms of Miss Mary Hamilton.

Mary was wonderful. Of all the women he had so far loved there was not one to compare with this new charmer. She had all the virtues, and being six years older than he was seemed to him ideal. Nor was she a foolish, simpering girl – as he now thought of Harriot; nor was she a blasé married woman cynically breaking her marriage vows. Mary Hamilton was a pure woman and his love for her was pure.

He confided to his brother Frederick, to Cholmondeley, to Maiden. This was different from anything that had ever happened before. This was a pure affection.

‘Do you imagine,’ he demanded of Frederick, ‘that I wish to seduce this lady?’

Did he not? asked Frederick in surprise.

‘Oh, no, you must understand, Fred, this is a pure love. But for my station in life I should immediately offer her marriage.’

Was this not a little rash?

In the circumstances, no. This was quite different from any of those other adventures of his.

‘Yet at the time …’ Frederick tentatively pointed out.

‘Oh, be silent, Fred. What do you know of love? I have written to her.’

‘George, you remember Uncle Cumberland’s letters. They cost our father thirteen thousand pounds.’

‘Don’t mention my Mary in connection with my Uncle Cumberland, I beg of you.’

‘But there were letters.’

‘Do you think that Mary would ever use my letters against me. Not that I could write as our uncle did. My love for Mary is pure. It will remain so.’

‘But will that be very satisfactory?’ asked Frederick, who had come to expect a certain line of action from his brother.

George sighed and went on: ‘I have written to her telling her that I am in love with a lady of the Court. I have mentioned no names. I have begged her not to be offended by my confidences.’

‘Why should she be?’

The Prince of Wales was too blissfully happy to be angry with his brother’s obtuseness. If Fred could not see that this was different from anything that had gone before, it was because he was too young to appreciate this strange and wonderful thing that had happened to him.

‘I have written to her. You shall read the letter Fred. I fancy I have a way with a letter.’

Frederick took the paper and read:

I now declare that my fair incognito is your dear dear self. Your manners, your sentiments, the tender feelings of your heart so totally coincide with my ideas, not to mention the many advantages you have in person over many other ladies, that I not only highly esteem you but love you more than words or ideas can express …

Frederick said: ‘But how do you know about her sentiments and the tender feelings of her heart?’

‘I spoke with her when I was in our sisters’ apartments.’

‘But only briefly.’

‘My dear Fred, one can fall in love in an instant. I have assured her of my friendship.’

Frederick glanced down at the paper.

Adieu, dearest Miss Hamilton, and allow me to sign myself him who will esteem and love you till the end of his life.

Frederick whistled, but George impatiently snatched the paper from him, sealed it and summoned Lord Maiden to take it to the lady.

The Duke of Cumberland rode out to Kew and when he demanded to be presented to the King none dared dismiss him.

George, being told that his brother was asking for an audience, was uncertain how to act. He thought he had made it clear that he had no wish to receive his brother who had so disgraced the family. And yet how could he send Cumberland away? He shouldn’t have come of course. He should have written and ascertained first that the King would see him.

George paced up and down his chamber. He thought of Lady Grosvenor and the letters Cumberland had written to her. No, he’d not see his brother. Cumberland lived riotously with that Duchess of his and she was a woman he would not receive.

It was sad, of course, that there should be quarrels in the family, but sadder still that members of it should behave as disgracefully as Henry had.

Then George thought of his mother who had dominated him, and with her lover Lord Bute put him into leading strings until he had broken free of them. She had loved him, though; he was certain of that. And she had died so bravely hiding the fact that she was in terrible pain from the cancer in her throat.

‘Forgive your brothers, George,’ she had said. ‘Don’t have quarrels in the family if you can avoid it. Your father and his father … Your Grandfather and his …’ Quarrel, quarrel, quarrel … Father against son. And it was no good to the family; no good to the monarchy.

Yet he had refused to receive Cumberland although he had accepted Gloucester – but not his duchess.

He called suddenly: ‘All right. All right. Tell the Duke I’ll see him.’

Cumberland stood before him, a little sheepish, a little truculent. He should be ashamed, thought George, writing those disgusting letters to Lady Grosvenor … and making me pay thirteen thousand pounds’ damages to the woman’s husband. And now he had this woman with the fantastic eyelashes. Eyelashes, eh what? thought the King. Who but a fool would choose a wife for her eyelashes?

‘Well,’ said the King, ‘so you’ve come here to Kew, eh, what?’

‘Yes, George. I thought we should make an end to this quarrel.’

So it was George, eh? The brother, not the subject. As though it were for him to decide such a matter.

‘I said I’d not receive you at Court and I meant it. You understand that, eh, what?’

‘At Court, yes. I understand that. I’ve been involved in scandal, but I am your brother George.’

‘H’m,’ grunted the King. ‘A regrettable fact.’

Cumberland looked hurt and the King was immediately sorry. ‘Scandalous,’ he said gruffly. ‘Don’t you know that? Eh? What?’

‘Yes, of course. But it’s in the past.’

‘And then to marry without consulting me. And those letters.’ The King blinked his eyes as though trying to prevent himself seeing those lurid phrases.

‘It’s over, George. Grosvenor’s had his pound of flesh.’

‘Yes, at whose expense?’

‘You’ve been a wonderful brother and a wonderful king to me, George.’

The King grunted.

‘I’ve thought a great deal about you. You’re a lucky man, George. When I think of your family. Octavius is the thirteenth and the Queen will soon be presenting you with another. A lucky man, George.’

‘H’m,’ said the King, and thought of young George. What was he up to now? One never knew. And rising eighteen. Something would have to be done when he was eighteen. He’d have to be given a little freedom. And when one considered what tricks he could get up to without it – that was an alarming proposition. Still, he was fortunate to have such a fertile wife even if she lacked eyelashes a yard long.

‘I feel deprived, George, not to know my own nephews and nieces. I’d give a great deal to be allowed to visit them.’

Oh, no, thought the King, you are not going to contaminate the children.

‘I will conduct you to the Queen,’ he said. ‘I don’t see why you should not pay your respects to her.’

Cumberland ostentatiously wiped his eyes. He was succeeding beyond his hopes. He had always known old George was a sentimental fellow. He had told Fox so. It was only because he had made no special effort at a reconciliation that there had been none.

‘George, it would give me such pleasure …’

‘Come this way,’ said the King.

Charlotte was sitting at her embroidery, her snuff box beside her, a few of her ladies working with her. She looked startled when she saw her brother-in-law and at a sign from the King dismissed her women.

Cumberland approached her and kissed her hands. ‘This is a very happy day for me, Your Majesty,’ he said.

‘My brother called on me and so I brought him to you,’ said the King.

And even as he spoke he noticed how plain she looked and he kept thinking of his brother’s wife who, he had heard, was one of the most beautiful women in the country. Charlotte never looked her best during pregnancies – she was so small – and one scarcely saw her otherwise!

It was wrong of him to criticize her for doing her duty. He should be grateful. Cumberland might have a beautiful wife but he did not possess thirteen children and a fourteenth on the way.

‘I am constantly hearing of the Prince of Wales,’ said Cumberland.

Startled lights appeared in the Queen’s eyes. What had George been doing now? What new scandal?

Cumberland saw their alarm and delighted in it.

‘The people dote on him. He is so handsome. That is what I hear.’

The Queen breathed more easily. ‘He is a very good-looking boy.’

‘And a scholar too.’

‘He was always good with his books. He speaks several languages fluently.’

‘German is one, I hear. Our ancestors all spoke that fluently, but George is fluent in French, Italian and English too. And a classical scholar.’ Cumberland raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘How did we produce such a genius, George?’

The Queen looked pleased. A discussion of the Prince’s perfections always delighted her.

‘He’s apt to be wild,’ murmured the King.

‘In that he does not take after his father … nor his mother. But it’s youth, George, only youth.’

‘Then the sooner he grows up the better, eh, what?’

‘I am so looking forward to being presented to him.’

The King’s lips were set in stubborn lines.

‘You cannot see the children,’ he said.

‘Oh, but …’

‘I make it clear, eh, what? You cannot see the children.’

Cumberland looked downcast and bewildered. But the King repeated: ‘I said you cannot see the children. You heard, eh, what? You cannot see the children.’

Cumberland remembered what a stubborn old mule George had always been. Let him get an idea and there was no moving him. There was something adamant about the way he spoke. So he could do nothing but take his leave and report to Mr Fox that in spite of being received he had made little headway.

The Prince was developing a great fondness for his sisters and could not let a day pass without visiting them.

‘It is pleasant,’ said the Queen, ‘to know that there is such affection between them.’

Even the King grunted when she told him and said he was glad George was at last realizing his responsibilities.

If they could have seen the Prince’s absorption in his sister’s attendant they would have felt less satisfaction; but Mary Hamilton was no Harriot Vernon.

She had told the Prince as much.

‘No matter what my feelings I should never do anything which I considered detrimental to my honour, Your Highness.’

The Prince had seized her hand and cried passionately: ‘Do you think I should ask it? Your honour is more important to me than my own life.’

Chivalry was now the rule of his life and those adventures which had gone before seemed crude and coarse. Pure love was the only true love; it was much better to dally on the road of romance than to reach the climax, for when one did romance very often fled.

Mary was beautiful and so wise, being twenty-three years old, six years his senior. She had enormous eyes, a slightly tip-tilted nose and plump cheeks. She laughed often and infectiously. She was perfect. She admitted to a fondness for the Prince. Was it love? he asked eagerly. Yes, it was love. But not gross love. She would not allow him to demean himself nor her.

Several of the ladies in the Princesses’ apartments reminded her of Harriot Vernon.

‘The Queen sent for her one afternoon. Within an hour her bags had been packed and she was gone. Be careful, Mary.’

Mary needed no warning. She was going to be careful.

‘All that I have to offer you,’ she told the Prince, ‘is pure, sacred and completely disinterested.’

‘I know,’ he answered. ‘If it were possible I would ask you to marry me.’

‘We know full well that is impossible,’ replied the practical Mary. ‘Perhaps you will not be content with what I have to offer.’

The Prince was on his knees. He was fond of extravagant gestures. He asked nothing … nothing … but to be able to serve her for the rest of his life. ‘You will forget me in time,’ Mary told him sadly.

‘Never, never.’

She shook her head wisely. ‘If you did forget me I should regret that we ever formed a friendship, but I should not complain.’

‘I shall never allow you to leave me,’ he declared. ‘How could I endure to be parted from one whom I not only love with enthusiastic fondness but dote on and adore beyond everything that is human.’

‘It delights me to hear Your Highness express such sentiments, but I must tell you that I could never be your mistress. My honour is dearer to me than my life … even than you are to me and …’

The Prince interrupted her.

‘You need say no more. I would sooner go to immediate perdition than attempt to do anything that would be detrimental either to your reputation or your honour and virtue.’

Mary sighed with happiness.

‘Then you truly love me.’

‘You could not doubt it. But I must have something. A lock of your hair in a plain setting and on this shall be engraved the date of that most important event … your birth. You shall have engraved a message to me and I shall have one engraved to you. Shall I tell you what mine shall be, “Toujours aimée”.’

‘I think this would be unwise.’ Mary was imagining the lock of hair falling into the hands of Madam von Schwellenburg and being carried to Queen Charlotte. The thought of Harriot Vernon had become an obsession with her. People were dismissed from Court within an hour if they became a nuisance; and the Queen had shown clearly what she thought of those unwise women who allowed the Prince of Wales to become enamoured of them.

The Prince was going on rapturously: ‘And you must allow me to present you with a bracelet. Please … just a plain one and on it I shall inscribe a message for you. I have decided on it “Gravé à jamais dans mon coeur”.’

‘This could be dangerous.’

‘Dangerous.’ His eyes sparkled at the thought. ‘I would face the whole world for your sake.’

Maybe, she thought, but he would not be called upon to do so. Possibly only the King, who would reprimand him and tell him to mend his ways. Whereas for Mary Hamilton it would be banishment and disgrace. She did not remind him of this, for she had no wish to spoil the idyll by mentioning such practical matters; but she must never be carried away by the charm of the Prince unless she wanted to rush headlong to ruin.

A passionate but platonic friendship would be delightful, but there it must end.

‘You must not be too impetuous,’ she warned him.

‘Impetuosity. Ardour. No word is too strong to express my feelings. I see beauty, accomplishments … in fact everything in you that could make your Palamon happy.’

In his romantic way he had called himself her Palamon and she was his Miranda. And when she thought of the passionate letters – and he loved to write letters, for no sooner did he find a pen in his hand than he must use it, and he enjoyed the flowery sentences which he wrote with ease – she was terrified.

‘You must write to me as your sister,’ she told him. ‘Only then can I receive your letters.’

‘No matter what your Palamon calls you, my Miranda, you are the love of his life.’

So fervently did he speak that Mary was deeply touched and a little afraid of her own feelings.

She knew that it was going to be difficult to keep her friendship with the ardent young man on the only possible plane which could ensure her remaining at Court.

The King’s mood had lightened a little. He had been at odds with his government for some time and the friction between them was all due to the disastrous affair of the American colonists.

‘I would accept any ministry,’ he had said, ‘that would keep the Empire intact, prosecute the war and treat me with the respect due to the King.’

North was continually pointing out that times had changed. North was a weakling. Always in the background of the King’s mind was that blackguard Charles James Fox. Up to no good, thought the King. He likes to plague me. There was a distant kinship between them because, through his mother, Fox was connected with the royal family, on the wrong side of the blanket it was true, for Fox’s mother, Lady Caroline Lennox, was the great-granddaughter of Charles II by his Mistress Louise de Quérouaille; and sometimes Fox reminded him of pictures of his royal ancestor.

It was all very disturbing, but he had received news that Admiral Rodney had defeated the Spanish fleet at Gibraltar and that Sir Henry Clinton had had some success in the southern colonies. Fox and his supporters might declare that these were no major victories and it was true that there was nothing decisive about them, but the King was pleased to have news of them and it set his mind at rest a little.

He could go to Kew with a good conscience and give his mind to domestic matters.

What a joy to visit his model farm, to stroll in the country lanes and receive the curtsies of the country women while the men touched their forelocks as they would to any country squire; to visit the nurseries and see the little ones and make sure that Lady Charlotte Finch was obeying his orders with regard to their eating habits; to take the babies on his knee and caress them. Mary and Sophia were adorable and the elder girls were charming. There at Kew he could be at peace. He could rise early in the morning and light the fire which had been laid for him the night before and then get back into bed and wait until it warmed the room. His servants might laugh at his simple habits but he did not care.

Then he would talk with Charlotte and perhaps walk a little with her in the gardens. She would talk about the children and her Orangerie and how she had found a new way of saving the household accounts.

It was all so … soothing.

Of course there was one subject which gave them cause for alarm – the Prince of Wales – and they must talk of him frequently.

As he sat in the Queen’s drawing room alone with her like a simple married couple – he spoke to her of the Prince.

‘He is much less wild lately,’ said the Queen happily. ‘He has become so attached to his sisters. It is most touching.’

‘H’m,’ grunted the King.

‘It is truly so. Augusta tells me he is constantly in their apartments. He is so fond of her and Elizabeth – and so interested in all they do.’

‘No more chasing maids of honour.’

‘That is all over.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. It gave me some sleepless nights.’

He thought of those nights when his imagination had not let him rest, when he had dreamed of women … Cumberland’s women, Gloucester’s women and the Prince’s women.

‘It was just a little youthful folly, I am sure. He is over that. After all he is so brilliantly clever. Everyone says so.’

‘They’ll say these things of princes, eh, what?’

‘It is true,’ insisted the Queen.

‘He’ll be eighteen soon … agitating for his own establishment … fancying himself a man. He’ll not get it.’

The Queen thought that was a matter for Parliament to decide, but she refrained from commenting. Long experience had taught her that she was not expected to offer opinions on any political matter – and her eldest son’s coming of age was certainly that. All that was expected of her was that she bear children. She might keep her household accounts and had the power to dismiss her maids. That was all.

Perhaps, thought the Queen, if I had not been so busy being a mother I might have insisted on having some say. But it was too late now. George would never allow it; and she was becoming increasingly afraid of upsetting him, for when he was upset his speech grew faster than ever, the ‘ehs’ and ‘whats’ multiplied and that queer vague look came into his eyes.

Charlotte was sure that the most important thing was to keep the King calm; and today he was calmer than she had seen him for some time. She must keep him thus.

‘We should be seen about together,’ said the King. ‘Best place to be seen would be the playhouse. We’ll have a royal command performance, eh, what?’

‘With George accompanying us. That would be an excellent idea.’

‘So I thought. I’ll send to that fellow at the Drury Lane Theatre. Sheridan, eh?’

‘You mean you would command a performance of his play.’

‘I don’t like the name of it, and I hear it’s immodest. The title’s enough to tell you that: The School for Scandal. It’ll have to be Shakespeare, I dare swear. Sad stuff, Shakespeare. Never could see why there had to be all this fuss about it. But it would have to be Shakespeare. The people expect it.’

‘Well, you will ask this Mr Sheridan to submit some plays for your choice.’

‘Yes, I’ll do this. And we will have a family party, eh, what? Good for the Prince to be seen with us. Friendly, family party … I’ll send for this Sheridan and when I’ve chosen the play we’ll go to the playhouse. It’ll show we’re a united family, eh? And the Prince of Wales is but a boy yet, what?’

‘I think,’ said the Queen, ‘that it is a very pleasant idea.’

The Prince had shut himself into his apartments in the Dower House to write to Mary Hamilton.

There was one little doubt which was beginning to worm its way into his mind. It was a most romantic love affair this – but he did find that his eyes kept wandering to other personable young women. Not that his eyes had not always thus wandered; but there was a difference. A very disturbing thought had come to him. Would it be very unromantic, while devoting himself to his soulful love, to have a little fun with young women who did not set themselves such a high standard as Mary did?

He dismissed the thought as unworthy. So this love affair must be perfect. He must stop thinking of indulging in light frivolity with other women. The only one in the world who mattered was Mary Hamilton.

He looked at his reflection in the ornate mirror. It really was a very pleasing reflection. In his blue velvet coat which brought out the blue in his eyes, he was undoubtedly handsome. No one could look more like a prince.

He sat down to write a description of himself to Mary. It would amuse her, he was sure:

Your brother is now approaching the bloom of youth. He is rather above normal size, his limbs well proportioned, and upon the whole is well made, though he has rather too great a penchant to grow fat. The features of his countenance are strong and manly …

He rose and looked at himself again, changing his expression several times, laughing and frowning, looking pleading as he would to Mary and haughty as he would when entering his father’s presence. He continued:

… though they carry too much of an air of hauteur. His forehead is well shaped, his eyes, though none of the best and although grey are passable. He has tolerably good eyebrows and lashes,

un petit nez retroussé cependant assez aimé

, a good mouth, though rather large, with fine teeth and a tolerably good chin, but the whole of his countenance is too round. I forgot to add very ugly ears. As hair is generally looked upon as beauty, he has more hair than usually falls to everyone’s share, but from the present mode of dressing it, from the immense thickness necessarily required for the toupees and the length and number of curls it makes it appear greatly less thick than in reality it is. Such are the gifts that nature has bestowed upon him and which the world says she has bestowed on him with a generous hand.

He stopped to laugh at himself. This was amusing. He was beginning to see himself very clearly indeed. But to look in a mirror and write of what one saw was one thing; to assess the character quite another.

He took up his pen.

I now come to the qualities of his mind and his heart.

He paused, put his head on one side and began to write rapidly:

His sentiments and thoughts are open and generous. He is above doing anything that is mean (too susceptible even to believing people his friends and placing too much confidence in them, from not yet having obtained a sufficient knowledge of the world or of its practices), grateful and friendly when he finds a

real friend.

His heart is good and tender if it is allowed to show its emotions. He has a strict sense of honour, is rather too familiar with his inferiors, but will not suffer himself to be browbeaten or treated with haughtiness by his superiors.

He sighed. What a lot of virtues he seemed to possess. If she believed this Mary would surely find him irresistible. But he would not have her think he was boasting or wished to influence her unfairly. Indeed he would perhaps more likely win her esteem by giving her an account of his faults. Now for his vices, he went on. He hesitated. It was a strong word.

Rather let us call them weaknesses. He is too subject to give vent to his passions of every kind, too subject to be in a passion, but he never bears malice or rancour in his heart. As for swearing, he has nearly cured himself of that vile habit. He is rather too fond of wine and women, to both which young men are apt to deliver themselves too much, but which he endeavours to check to the utmost of his power. But upon the whole, his character is open, free and generous, susceptible of good impressions, ready to follow good advice, especially when he receives it from so affectionate and friendly a sister as you are.

He stopped again; the vices had somehow turned themselves into virtues. But that was exactly how they seemed to him. He was a good young man – or he would be to those of whom he was as fond as he was of Mary.

Mary, adorable Mary, who had inspired him with such a noble passion. No wonder he felt good when he wrote to her.

Adieu for the present. I will finish this in my next. I have been too favourable I fear for my manifold faults, my dearest, dearest Friend; I shall try to correct them, for you shall ever find me ready to lend an attentive ear to your advice. Great imperfections and faults I have, but ingratitude towards you shall never be reckoned among them. My attachment to you shall never cease with my life.

It was very pleasant to ride in Hyde Park in the company of Frederick. The people recognized him at once and cheered him as he passed. He always acknowledged their acclaim with a bow that was not only gracious but friendly. He wanted them to know that it was his desire to be liked by them. There was nothing of the German about him; he was entirely English. His father was the first of the Georges to speak fluent English, but he had somehow remained a German. There was nothing Teutonic about the Prince of Wales; he had all the gaiety and charm of the Stuart side of the family and the people recognized this in him.

As for Frederick, he was happy as usual to see his brother’s popularity and to take second place, which was one of his most endearing traits and was one of the reasons why they were the closest friends.

Now, to ride through the park side by side, made him feel free. They might have equerries in front and attendants behind but they could forget them and chat together like two young men out to take the air, unencumbered.

The Prince was talking of the perfections of Mary Hamilton, but Frederick was aware that his brother was not insensible to the charms of some of the ladies who passed by. There were some beauties. Very different from the young women who made up the household at Kew – with one or two exceptions of course like Harriot Vernon and Mary Hamilton. Beautiful ladies in hoops and feathers, with tight bodices cut low to disclose exquisite necks and bosoms, brocade and silk gowns open in front or looped as a polonaise to show an ornamental petticoat. They were rouged and patched and made a brilliant picture in their big straw hats decorated with flowers and ribbons. And all eyes were on the elegant Prince who sat his horse so skilfully and those eyes were so languishing and, yes … inviting … that he found his attention straying from his pure love and an excitement possessed him.

‘Riding here like this, I feel free, Fred. By God, what the devil are we doing allowing ourselves to live like children in the nursery?’

And just at that moment a carriage came bowling towards them, a very ornate coach bearing the royal arms, and seated in it was their uncle the Duke of Cumberland who, perceiving them, immediately called to his coachman to stop.

He alighted and approached the Prince with tears in his eyes.

‘Your Highness, my dear, dear nephew. Forgive the intrusion but I cannot pass you by without the greeting due to your rank when I long to give you a warmer one. When all is said and done I am your uncle.’

Cumberland! thought the Prince. The rebel. The uncle who was concerned in the Grosvenor scandal and had such a fascinating wife!

Cumberland had taken the Prince’s hand and was kissing it with emotion.

‘And … Your Highness Prince Frederick. This is a happy day for me.’

‘We are pleased to have an opportunity of speaking with you, Uncle,’ said the Prince warmly.

‘I knew you would be. I trust this will be no isolated meeting. The Duchess and I have talked of you often … with tears in our eyes. We feel for you so much … my dear, dear nephew.’

Uncle Cumberland was determined to be friendly and the Prince had been right when he had said he was susceptible and ready to accept friendship when offered. Uncle Cumberland had quarrelled with the King and the Prince could well understand that, for his uncle represented the great exciting world outside the royal nurseries. He was implying by his words, his looks and his manner that he felt the Princes were badly treated by the King; they were shut away from the world, treated like children. What could be more humiliating to young men of seventeen and sixteen.

‘We hope you will do us the great honour of allowing us to entertain you sometime. There are men … and women …’ Just a little avuncular leer suggesting the delight this could be. ‘… charming men, beautiful women … witty, worldly … who long to make your acquaintance. They have caught glimpses of you now and then … in public places, and been enchanted. But it is not enough, nephews, it is not enough. Why at Drury Lane … where Sheridan’s School for Scandal has been playing to packed houses … there is the most delightful little play actress I ever set eyes on. Mrs Robinson is the most beautiful woman in London and London abounds with beautiful women. You should be meeting the world. It’s a shame to keep such charm … such elegance shut away at Kew. What a coat! What cut! What shoe buckles! I swear I never saw the like … Why Your Highness is the leader of the ton … and shut away at Kew. I have said too much. Why, nephews, I fear I am the most indiscreet man you ever met. But I let my concern for you run away with my tongue … and my pleasure too … my deep, deep pleasure in this encounter.’

The Duke of Cumberland touched his eye with the corner of his lace kerchief and the Prince of Wales was a little affected too.

‘Well, I must not delay you. We are being watched. This will mayhap be reported. I shall be in even greater disgrace. But it’s a sad world when a loving uncle cannot have a word with his two handsome nephews. Adieu, my dear, dear boys.’

‘Let us rather say au revoir,’ replied the Prince.

Cumberland kissed first George’s hand, then Frederick’s; and went back to his coach.

The Prince’s eyes were shining as they rode on.

‘Why,’ he demanded, ‘should we be kept shut away? Our uncle is right. We should be out in the world. We should not be living like children. I tell you this, Fred, I’ll not endure it much longer. The day is fast approaching when I shall demand my freedom. And when I have my rights I shall visit our uncle. It was most affecting, was it not? Why should he be kept from us merely because he fell in love with a woman.’

‘Lady Grosvenor was a married woman.’

‘Ah, love!’ sighed the Prince. ‘How can we be sure where it will appear. Is one supposed to wait for it to come suitably … as our father did with our mother. I hear our uncle’s wife is a most fascinating woman, Fred. I should like to meet her.’

‘It will never be permitted.’

The Prince pressed his horse into a canter.

‘All that, Fred,’ he prophesied, ‘will shortly be changed. You will see.’