Sweet lass of Richmond Hill

Return of the Duke of York

They are together again. Society could talk of nothing else.

The Prince's recovery was miraculous. The very next day he was well enough to drive Maria down to the Epsom races in his phaeton, singing as he went, the healthy flush back in his cheeks, the radiant Mrs. Fitzherbert beside him.

He kept declaring that he had never been so happy in his life. And indeed there was every reason why this should be so. His debts were paid; he had a grant for Carlton House; there had been an addition to his income; his succession to the throne was no longer in peril—and crowning glory, he had his Maria back, as loving as she ever was, admitting that the separation had been as painful to her as to him and that he, Prince Charming, had been in no way to blame. It was all the fault of the villain Fox.

Poor Charles! The Prince felt he had been rather unjustly treated, but he was enjoying life in Italy with the very charming Lizzie and he guessed Charles wouldn't grudge him his happiness.

That evening the Duchess of Gordon gave a ball and naturally she craved the honour of the Prince's company and that of Mrs. Fitzherbert. They came together; he danced almost every dance with her, only leaving her side when duty demanded it. Everyone smiled on them, implying pleasure in seeing them together and happy again. And at the end of the ball the Prince was heard to say, as he had said so many times before: "Madam, may I have the honour of taking you home in my carriage?"

And regal, dignified Mrs. Fitzherbert graciously gave her permission.

All was well. The balls and banquets would start again. The Prince was the leader of Society and Princess Fitz, as they called her, shared that honour with him. It was realized that if one wished to entertain the Prince of Wales one must be on terms of friendliness with Mrs. Fitzherbert.

The Prince took a house for her in Pall Mall; and the carriages of the nobility were seen constantly stopping at her door. At dinner parties she was put at the side of the Prince in the place of honour; it was as though everyone was determined to treat her as the Princess of Wales, in spite of Mr. Fox's denial—because it was quite clear that that was what the Prince wished.

He would make up for that denial by making sure that she received every honour which would have been hers had she been his wife; he could not of course make the King and Queen receive her, but who cared for the King and Queen? The Prince of Wales was the leader of society—and his "wife' with him.

Whig hostesses were eager to show their loyalty; and lory ones were even more ready to accept her as the Princess of Wales because that would show that Fox had lied.

The Duke and Duchess of Cumberland hastened to pay their respects and show their affection for Mrs. Fitzherbert and to treat her as though she was their niece of marriage. Her triumph seemed complete when the Duke of Gloucester—Tory that he was and more friendly to the King than his brother Cumberland was—wrote to her from Florence where he preferred to live since his wife w T as slighted in England by not being accepted at Court. He sent her a present to show his cordial feelings and Maria was delighted when she read it.

H.R.H. The Duke of Gloucester to Mrs. Fitzherbert.

Florence, May 24th, 1787 "Dear Madam, I take the opportunity of a private hand to desire your acceptance of a Cestus, done in oyster shell. I hope you will think it pretty. Pray send us some account to trust to of the present negotiation. I hope the Prince will be made easy in his affairs. I sincerely hope you are happy and well for I know you deserve it. I remain, dear Madam, your humble servant.

"William Henry."

So since the Gloucesters and Cumberlands accepted her, surely this implied that although Fox had emphatically denied that she was married to the Prince and nothing had been done to contradict it, the world believed in the marriage and were determined to accept her as the Prince's wife.

She would not have believed a short while ago that this would have been possible.

It was true there were some who whispered against her. Gilray's Dido Forsaken was insulting, yet that in a way implied that she had been ill used and that Fox had lied. There she was on a funeral pyre on the shore, the Crown and the Prince of Wales's feathers floating away from her; making off from her was a little boat on the prow of which was written the word "Honour'. Pitt was steering the boat and in it were the Prince and Fox. From the Prince's mouth came a balloon in which were the words: "Never saw her in my life." And from Fox's: "No, damme, never in his life."

Well, of course every well-known figure was a target for the cartoonists and lampoonists and Maria dismissed the insults with a shrug.

They left London for Brighton—the Prince to inhabit this Marine Pavilion, and she to the house with the green shutters which was almost in the Pavilion gardens; and there society was gayer than Brighton had ever known it. London was deserted. The centre of the fashionable world was Brighton. The inhabitants of that town, delighted with the prosperity which the Prince's preference had brought to them, cheered him and Mrs. Fitherbert whenever they appeared. The Prince could be seen strolling along by the sea in the company of Maria and a group of friends, riding through the town, taking his morning dip under the surveillance of Smoker, walking in his gardens, dancing there in one of the houses of his noble friends—almost always in the company of that lady known by some as "Princess Fitz' or by the name Smoker had given her—'Mrs. Prince'.

Humble houses were hastily transformed into mansions. Not only were the builders of Brighton making fortunes but so were the lodging houses and shop-keepers. Everywhere the Prince of Wales's feathers were displayed; and the theme was God Bless the Prince of Wales'.

The Prince constantly reiterated that he had never been so happy in his life and Maria echoed those sentiments. The Prince was full of high spirits yet Maria was having a decided influence on him. Her dignity was undeniable. She might not have been the most beautiful woman in Brighton but her grace and regality were unique. No one could doubt which of the ladies bore the title of Princess Fitz; Maria, said the people of Brighton, looked like a queen. Seated on a garden chair in the Pavilion grounds she was indeed like a Queen on the throne. There she would watch the Prince play cricket in his flannel jacket, trimmed with blue ribbon, and very tightly fitting white trousers, his face under the white beaver hat beaming with pleasure in the game while his eyes were constantly going in Maria's direction to make sure she was not missing any part of his performance. He was proud of the costume which he had designed himself, proud of his game, proud of Maria, proud of the way he had arranged skilfully his life so that he could keep his place as the prospective King and at the same time his hold on Maria and the people's affections.

That was doubtless a glorious summer.

Throughout troubled France there was sweeping a wave of admiration for the old enemy England, and the aristocracy from across the Channel must come to see Brighton. So not only was Brighton visited by the fashionable world of London but that of Versailles was also in evidence.

The people of Brighton were amazed by the French fashions. The English had been startling enough; but now came the exaggerated headdresses, the enormous hooped skirts; and the latest "simplicity styles' set by Marie Antoinette in her artificially created "natural' village known as the Hameau. Ladies in muslin dressed as shepherdesses, even carrying crooks, appeared in the Brighton streets; but the men were the most extraordinary; they appeared to mince in a manner new to Brighton; they threw their hands and arms about and chattered wildly; and jewels scintillated on their persons, so that they glittered even more than the Prince of Wales himself.

There were no dull moments in Brighton that summer.

And the French nobility, no less than the English, did honour to Maria; she could be seen riding in her carriage, with the Princesse de Lamballe, kinswoman of the King of France and reputed to be one of the greatest friends of Marie Antoinette.

The Prince had quickly replenished his stables and now racing was one of his greatest pleasures; he loved his horses; in fact it was said of him that the two things which delighted him most in the world were women and horses. He was constantly going to the Lewes races—though it was said not as often as he would have gone if Mrs. Fitzherbert had really enjoyed it.

During the hot summer days along the seafront and away to the downs was one moving panorama of glitter and colour; and in the centre of it was the man who was known as the First Gentleman of Europe, hardly ever seen without Maria Fitzherbert at his side.

In the Marine Pavilion one night at the beginning of August the Prince was supping with a few friends. On one side of him sat Maria and on the other the Princesse de Lamballe. The Princesse was chatting in her somewhat inconsequential manner of Versailles and her dear friend the Queen when one of the footmen came in to announce that a message had arrived for the Prince from Windsor. Would His Highness receive it now or wait until after supper?

"Windsor!" cried the Prince; and he thought of the last lime he had seen his father. "I will have it now."

He turned to the Princesse and craved her indulgence. Then to Maria, and did the same.

He read the message and exclaimed with joy. "This is wonderful news. My brother Frederick has come home from Germany. I haven't seen him for seven years. I cannot tell you how this news pleases me." He smiled at Maria. "I thought that I had all I desired. Now I know that I wanted just this to make my contentment complete."

"This is your brother?" said the Princesse de Lamballe.

"My brother Frederick. One year younger than I. We were brought up together ... never apart. We are the best friends in the world and it is seven years ... think of that, Madame, seven years since I have seen him. I remember the day he left for Germany."

"For Germany ..." echoed the Princesse.

"You may well look surprised. He was to have Army training. Why not in England? To answer that question, Madame, you must not turn to me, but to my father."

The Prince's eyes narrowed; but one did not of course discuss the King derogatorily with members of another nation. The Prince shrugged his shoulders and was content to talk of the friendship between himself and his brother.

As soon as supper was over—and Maria noticed that the Prince, who set the pace, had hurried it somewhat—he told his guests that he was all impatience to see his brother and that he was going to lose no time in leaving for Windsor.

It was a hint. They left, Maria only remaining.

"You will go to Windsor in the morning?" she asked him.

"In the morning! A fine way that would be to greet Frederick. No ... no. I am leaving at once, my love. I shall drive to Windsor tonight."

"What ...in the dark?"

He laughed aloud. "My dearest you cannot surely think that I'm afraid of the dark."

She knew that it was no use trying to dissuade this self-willed boy, although she thought it would have been more dignified for him to leave next morning in befitting style.

He called for his phaeton and at once set out, driving himself at great speed through the night from Brighton to Windsor.

They embraced. They wept.

"My dear Frederick, is it indeed you?"

"It is, George. And is this the Prince of Wales whose adventures have been startling all Europe?"

They began to laugh suddenly. "Frederick, this is a happy day. You must tell me of your affairs."

"Oh, you admit I have some. Then you do not think the Prince of Wales is the only one to have ... affairs?"

They were laughing again, embracing, weeping, examining each other.

"George, you've grown fatter."

"So have you."

"The curse of the family."

"Never mind. It shows contentment."

"You are contented George?"

"Never more in my life. You must come to Brighton. Wait till you see Brighton ... and Maria."

"I can't wait," declared Frederick.

The King was delighted with his second son. He talked to the Queen about him. "He's not like his elder brother. Oh, no. There's a difference. You've seen it, eh, what?"

"No one could be quite like George," said the Queen half admiringly, half resentfully. And she added: "I should hope."

"Frederick is a good boy at heart. He'll be able to give us some tales of battle, eh? I'm glad I sent him to Germany."

The Queen looked dubious. The people hadn't liked it; and she believed that the Prince of Wales might have behaved a little better to them if they had not robbed him of the brother he had loved. And wouldn't the Duke of York have been able to learn how to be a soldier as well in England as in Germany? Now he was returned to them—and although he was their son, they hadn't seen him for seven years and that did, in a way, make him seem like a stranger.

"Frederick," mused the King, "he's the Hope of the House. That's how I think of him. You understand ... eh, what? Now that George seems bent on giving us trouble ..."

"George seems to have reformed a little under the influence of that ... of that..."

"He'd never reform. He's putting on a show. He knows how to act a part... the rip! No, Frederick is a good boy. He's done well in Germany; he'll do well at home. Come. We'll go to your drawing room. He'll be there now."

It was not often that so many of the family were assembled. There were the six princesses, even baby Amelia, all standing solemnly about the Queen's chair awaiting the arrival of their parents; the equerries and some members of the household were there, and George and Frederick were together, deep in conversation, heads close, laughing as though no one else in the drawing room existed for them.

They all stood to attention at the arrival of the King and Queen; the Princesses curtsied prettily, including baby Amelia, who for once was too impressed by the glittering personalities of her two big brothers to assert her right to be the centre of attention.

The King and Queen took their places. Frederick stood by his father's chair, George by his mother's. The conversation was stilted. Why was it they never knew what to say to each other?

The Queen saw the glances which passed between her two sons—eyes raised to the ceiling, affecting to suppress yawns.

George was bored with his family. Could it be that Frederick —the King's Hope of the House—was going to be his brother's ally?

Oh why, why, thought the Queen, in this family is there always a state of war!

"We'll have some music," said the King. "Til swear you've heard some good music in Germany, eh, what?"

The Duke of York said that he had heard excellent music in Germany.

"Well we will try to give you some here." He raised a hand and his equerry was at his side. He asked that the musicians be sent for.

"I doubt you've heard a better pianist than Cramer," said the King. "And Fischer is a genius with the hautbois."

"I look forward with immense pleasure to hearing these gentlemen, sir."

"And the rest of the band," said the King with a smile.

The concert started.

Oh, God," whispered the Prince of Wales to the Duke of York, "did you think it would be so deadly!-"

"The music's good. It's the company."

"You should come to Brighton."

"So I've heard."

"You shall come to Brighton."

"When?"

"As soon as we escape from this funereal gathering. Tonight .. . I'll drive you there in my phaeton. I'll take a bet with you. A thousand guineas. When you get to Brighton you'll find excuses why you must stay there."

The King was frowning in their direction. Concert time was not the occasion for conversation.

But that evening the Prince of Wales drove the Duke of York down to Brighton.

"Frederick, this is the lady I want you to meet and love as a sister. Maria, my brother Frederick Duke of York and Bishop of Osnaburgh ... Now Bishop!"

The two brothers were laughing. "You remember those cartoons of you, Fred. Maria, he was made a Bishop before he took his first tottering steps and the cartoonists always drew him balancing a mitre that was as big as himself."

"It is a great pleasure to meet you, Madam," said the Duke of York, bowing.

Maria replied with the regality of a Queen receiving visiting royalty that it gave her the utmost pleasure to see him and she trusted that he intended a long stay in Brighton.

"We have a bet on it," said the Prince. "He's going to be as reluctant to leave Brighton as I always am."

"My God, George." said the Duke of York, "you have made yourself a pleasant place here."

"Nothing to what I intend to make it. I'm going to show you round. Come on ... now. You shall inspect Marine Pavilion and I'll tell you of the schemes I have for the place."

He slipped one arm through Frederick's and another through Maria's; but as they went from room to room and the brothers shouted and laughed together and recalled to each other the ridiculous and tragic scenes from their youth Maria began to feel that she was a little less close to the Prince than she had been.

Frederick's coming did put an end to the halcyon days. Maria was still the Prince's "dear love'; he must know that she was there to return to; but that did not mean that he wished to be in her company all the time.

Frederick was full of high spirits in which George joined; and this meant driving madly about the country, drinking, gambling, playing practical jokes on each other. Maria's dignity did not fit into this; and while the Prince wanted the home atmosphere he also wanted the sort of horseplay so beloved by his brother.

Maria was realizing the difference in their ages; never before had those six years seemed to represent such a gap. He seemed to her very childish, such a boy, and she thought regretfully of the days immediately following their reconciliation when he had seemed more sober and as though he had really grown up. But he was after all a lighthearted boy; and he must, she supposed, have his fun.

They seemed to be surrounded by two different kinds of friends. There were some who shared the friendship of both of them, people like the Duchess of Devonshire, the Sheridans, the Dukes of Grafton and Bedford. But the Prince had his own set which consisted of people like Major Hanger, that eccentric fellow who was so fond of practical joking—a habit Maria deplored. She was never amused to be the subject of such jokes, although to please the Prince she accepted the role she was sometimes called upon to play.

Two people of whom Maria could never approve were Sir John and Leticia Lade. Sir John was celebrated for the manner in which he could handle horses, and was soon taking charge of the Prince's stables. His wife was an amazing woman who swore more colourfully than any soldier, a fact which was perhaps not surprising because before she had married Sir John she had lived in St. Giles's and had been the mistress of a highwayman known as Sixteen String Jack. When he was caught and hanged Letty married Sir John. She was an amazon of a woman and could handle a horse even better than her husband and had immediately called attention to herself by riding astride and by her management of a curricle and four.

They had a house near Brighton and at the races had made the acquaintance of the Prince of Wales, who was amused and intrigued by the free talk of Letty and the skill she shared with her husband in the management of horses. The Prince's love of horses drew him to the pair and they were often seen together.

Then there was the wild Barry family. Hellgate, Cripple-gate, Newgate and Lady Billingsgate. Hellgate was Richard, Earl of Barrymore, who had such a quick temper that he was constantly Hying into violent rages; hence his name. His brother Henry was club-footed and so was Cripplegate. A young brother, Augustus, had been so often imprisoned for debt that he was called Newgate, this being the only prison he had not stayed in; and their sister Caroline swore in such a manner that she was Lady Billingsgate. Hellgate explained to the Prince that their wildness was due to their having been left orphans at an early age and put into the care of a tutor which had taught them all a virtuous society would say they should not know.

"We called him Profligate," said the Earl, which made the Prince roar with laughter. Although of course when he repeated the joke to Maria it brought only a forced smile to her lips.

Maria did not approve of the Lades, nor the Barrys.

Dear Maria was decidedly prim. Not that he would have her otherwise. She was perfect as she was. He would not have liked to see her swearing with Letty Lade or joining in the pranks he played with the "Gates'. But she must remember that he was young—six years younger than she was—and that he wanted to enjoy all the fun that was to be had; so he wanted to be with these amusing friends and when he wearied of them to return to Maria's comforting bosom.

He had taken her brothers Walter and John into his circle, and they were in constant attendance. They clearly adored him and would do anything however wild to amuse him. This worried Maria a little; but what could she do? How could she tell her brothers that they must avoid the company of her husband, particularly when that husband was the Prince of Wales. They were getting into financial difficulties and could not understand why Maria did nothing for them. Why did she not procure some rewarding post for them in the Prince's household? It was true she extracted them from several financial embarrassments; but the Prince would have done anything for her. She only had to ask for some sinecure to be bestowed on her brothers and it would have been done in a flash.

But Maria was adamant. She would have liked them to go back to the country; she deplored the fact that their father had been unable to control them owing to his illness. Uncle Henry was far too easy going.

So Maria kept an eye on her brothers and longed for the days before the return of the Duke of York, who was always agreeable to her and ready to be her good friend; but she did deplore the practical jokes, the wild horseplay, the extravagance.

It was different from those lovely days at Brighton when the Prince had scarcely ever left her.

But he was still devoted; still determined that everywhere she should be accepted as the Princess of Wales.

In her house in Pall Mall where the walls of her drawing room were hung with puckered blue satin, and on the walls of the dining room hung full-length portraits of the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York, she entertained lavishly during the winter; and in the spring she rode down to Brighton with the Prince.

They were happily married—as she saw it; and she did not believe it would ever be otherwise.

Then there was disturbing news of the King.