The Regent's Daughter

Minney, Prinney and Mrs Fitzherbert

MRS FITZHERBERT SAT on her balcony looking over the Steyne and watched the scene below. Brighton – the place she loved best in the whole world because she had known such happiness there. Now that the Prince had made such extensive alterations at the Pavilion she had moved from the little house she had occupied close by, but this one suited her perfectly. It was to her the homeshe shared with her husband and her dearest daughter.

It was a strange irony of fate that many would say that the man she called her husband was not, and her daughter was adopted.

She shivered a little in the bright May air, for an awareness of the uncertainty of life had come to her. All was happy at the moment, but she knew it could change within a few weeks.

The Prince would always have an eye for women and although he assured her at every meeting that she was his dear love, his soul, the wife of his heart, that did not prevent his indulging in minor love affairs now and then. He always returned to her penitent and contrite but because she had a hot temper she could not always restrain her comments. There could be a little rift and although the reconciliations which followed were pleasing to them both, there were moments of uneasiness when she felt that she wished to imprison every bright moment and keep it for ever – just in case in the future there was change.

And then Minney – darling Minney – her comfort and solace, her beloved child could be snatched away from her by her relatives who were at times trying to take her. Life was full of alarming possibilities.

Miss Pigot, her faithful friend and companion who had been with her when she had first set up house after her marriage to the Prince, came on to the balcony, fussing a little. The sun was bright but there was a keen wind. Wouldn’t Maria like a silk wrap about her shoulders?

‘Oh, Pig, you treat me like an old woman,’ she said, ‘or a child perhaps.’

‘People who sit in draughts behave like children,’ retorted Miss Pigot.

‘Sit down a moment and talk to me. Where’s Minney?’

‘At her lessons. She’s having difficulty with her essay. That’s why she’s been kept.’

‘Dear child. What a good little thing she is! Oh, Pig, how lucky I am to have her.

‘And lucky she is to be with you.’

‘Sometimes I’m afraid of too much happiness.’

‘Nonsense, Maria. What’s happened to you? Everything will be all right.’

‘But this case. It drags on and on.’

‘Cases always do.’

‘But what if they should win and take her from me?’

‘His Highness will see they don’t do that.’

Maria smiled. ‘You look upon him as a god, I think.’

‘Well, he is the Prince of Wales. God bless him. Now don’t you fret. Would you like me to bring a dish of tea?’

‘Wait until Minney joins me.’

‘That shouldn’t be long if I know Miss Minney. And it wouldn’t surprise me if His Highness was here at any minute. He’ll be putting in an appearance at the usual place, I’ll be bound.’ Miss Pigot laughed. ‘It always amuses me. The way he appears and no one sees him coming. Well, that’s our little secret.’

‘Such things are a constant delight to him. He’s a boy at heart – and always will be, I think.’

‘And what’s wrong with that? I must say when we heard you were to lose that nice little house right in his garden so to speak, I was a bit put out. But this you might say is even closer to the Pavilion even though it’s farther away. It makes it like part of the place and that’s how I reckon it should be. And what amazes me is how all the time it was being made there was no talk about it.’

‘He took Minney to the Pavilion the other day by means of the passage. She was delighted.’

‘How he loves that child!’

‘And she him.’

‘Well, who could help it?’

‘Pig, you’re a besotted old fool.’ Maria looked at Miss Pigot fondly. ‘And so am I,’ she added.

But why worry on a lovely May morning when everything seemed well, and below, the Steyne was gay with the colours of the promenaders’ fashionable clothes and every now and then one of them would look up and bow to the regal figure seated on the balcony. Maria Fitzherbert was ‘Mrs Prince’ to some who took the epithet from old Smoker, the man who dipped the Prince in the sea each morning, and to many others she was the Queen of Brighton, the true Princess of Wales although the Prince had married for reasons of State and the scandalous Princess of Wales was living apart from him at Montague House, and there was young Princess Charlotte to prove that Mrs Fitzherbert was not his legal wife, for how could he have married a foreign princess and produced a child who was heiress to the throne if that were so?

But these were matters which had been the cause of too much controversy and Maria was ready to take Miss Pigot’s advice and forget them.

And here was Minney – pretty dainty Minney come to the balcony, having escaped from the schoolroom for her hour with dear Mamma, as she called Maria; and, she thought fiercely, no one was going to stop her doing so.

‘Minney, my love, Piggy is going to bring us a dish of tea.’

‘That will be lovely, Mamma. What a glorious day, but shouldn’t you have a shawl?’

‘Piggy has just been scolding me for the same reason. Between you you will make an old woman of me.’

Minney ran inside and came back with a grey silk shawl which she placed about Maria’s shoulders.

‘Darling child, what should I do without you?’

There were lights of fear now in Minney’s eyes. ‘But you are not going to do without me.’

‘We shall do everything in our power.’

‘No one will dare go against Prinney’s wish.’

‘This is matter of law, dearest, and your aunt could claim that she is nearer to you than a woman like myself who am no relation.’

‘But my mother gave me to you.’

‘Don’t distress yourself, dear. We shall have to await the verdict and abide by it.’

‘If they take me away from you, I shall never abide by it.’

‘We should see each other now and then.’

‘But this is my home. I couldn’t imagine any other. You are my dearest Mamma. I never knew another and I will never accept another.’

‘My darling Minney, you are my great comfort.’

Minney looked alarmed. Oh dear, was Prinney being bad again? She knew a great deal about the wickedness of Prinney. When she sat on his knee and they laughed together he was such a jolly man, and he seemed so happy; he always looked at Maria in a melting way which was very affecting and tears came into his eyes when he talked of how happy they all were together. And yet there were whispers about him and she couldn’t help knowing that he did make dearest Mamma unhappy at times. And then when she played with Charlotte, that very knowledgeable young person would tell her secrets which she had picked up through keeping her eyes open which, she was always pointing out, was a talent Minney seemed sadly to lack. All was not as well as it often seemed. There were undercurrents which Minney did not understand; and that was why dearest Mamma was often a little sad and Piggy went around clicking her teeth.

But when he came large and glittering, when he laughed and wept and said how happy he was to be home with his dearest ones, how pleasant life was. Minney could always be deluded then into thinking that that was how it was going to be for ever. There he would sit with his elegantly arranged neckcloth which always seemed to be trying to keep his chin from escaping (‘My chin, Minney,’ he had said when she told him so. ‘I’ll tell you a secret. I have more than one.’), the beautiful cloth of his coat so smooth to the touch, fitting his large torso so neatly, the great diamond star, which she never failed to find fascinating – he was indeed a fairytale Prince and next to Maria she loved him best in the world with Miss Pigot a very close third. It was their home – the three of them were in a magic circle. And if Maria was Mamma, Prinney was Papa, although it was difficult to think of Prinney in such a role, particularly as he was in fact Charlotte’s father.

Well, thought Minney, he is my Prinney, and our names even rhyme.

Maria, looking at the child, thought: Should I prepare her? It would be a terrible shock to her if she had to go. I am sure her Aunt Waldegrave would do everything to make her happy, but Minney is such a loyal little soul and she has already given her allegiance to me.

Miss Pigot arrived with the tea and Minney poured gracefully and charmingly. How can I ever bear to part with her? thought Maria, and watching her Miss Pigot knew what was in her mind.

I pray God the case goes our way, thought Miss Pigot.

While she sipped her tea Maria was thinking of the first time she had seen Minney. That was at the period of her greatest despair when the Prince of Wales had married Princess Caroline of Brunswick. It had happened more than ten years ago and she would never forget the day when Orlando Bridgeman, Lord Bradford, had brought her the news that the ceremony had taken place. She had fainted, for that had seemed like the end of everything.

But she had been so sorry for him when she had heard how he loathed the marriage, how his bride was repulsive to him, and how as soon as she was with child and he had done his duty he left her. And when little Princess Charlotte was born he had declared that he would never live with his wife again. She knew that he hated the woman, that he could not bear to hear her spoken of, and that nothing would please him more than to be rid of her. And now that this investigation was going on, who knew what would come out of it?

But it was not the end. He had tired of Lady Jersey, who had influenced him so strongly at the time of his wedding, and he had sought every opportunity of returning to Maria. With his usual abandon he had begged her, implored her, gone to all the lengths which she had experienced before. The most telling of course was his imminent death. So it had been when he had attempted suicide for her sake. Some denied he had really done this and that it was a piece of play-acting on his part, but she liked to believe it was true. She had stood out against him, telling him that in marrying Caroline of Brunswick he had denied his marriage to her and since he denied it she had no wish to remind him of it.

It had all been a mistake, a terrible mistake, he had declared. He had wept; he had knelt. She was his true wife; he demanded she do her duty and return to him; if she did not he would publish the truth. The whole of England should know that she was his true wife and that creature … that coarse vulgar German hausfrau … could go back to Brunswick. Maria had been shocked, for she saw the purpose in his eye and she knew him capable of the most impulsive actions.

‘And your little daughter, the Princess Charlotte?’

‘She can take the child with her, for if I am not married to her mother what is her position here?’

Maria was shocked. ‘That innocent child! Your own daughter!’

‘I have no room in my heart for anyone but you.’

‘What a pity you did not remember that before you allowed them to bring the Princess Caroline to England.’

But what was the use? He was determined; and because she loved him, she knew she would give in in the end. But she had insisted on being treated with the dignity of a wife; and had sent to Rome for the Pope’s verdict on whether or not that ceremony which had taken place in her house at Park Street was valid. The answer had come back from Rome that it was; she had returned to the Prince and for a time they had been idyllically happy.

But knowing it was not in his nature to be faithful to one woman she was always aware that such happiness could not last. He was the lover of all women, as Sheridan had said, so how could he be the lover of one? Maria was however sure that she was supreme in his affections, and however much he might stray, he wanted her there all the time. She was his ‘dear love’, his ‘soul’s wife’, as he was fond of telling her.

Yet she could not rely on him. Was that why she clung to Minney? Did she believe deep in her heart that if ever the Prince left her she would turn to this lovely child whom she looked on as her own? But now they were threatening to take Minney from her. It was one of the greatest sorrows of her life that she had had three husbands and no children.

The Seymours had been Maria’s particular friends and in fact Lord Hugh had expressed his disapproval of the Prince’s public marriage to Caroline of Brunswick so strongly that the Prince had been annoyed by his criticism and had cut him ever since. But the friendship between Maria and Lady Horatia was very deep and it had been a cause of great grief to Maria to see Horatia growing weaker and weaker and to know that her friend was suffering from galloping consumption and had no hope of recovery. Lord Hugh had arranged to take his wife to Madeira for the winter as soon as their child was born.

Little Mary Seymour (Minney) was born on a bleak November day at Brompton. Maria arrived soon afterwards to see her friend and the new baby, and as soon as she took little Mary into her arms she loved her, but like her parents she was alarmed by the child’s frailty.

What a momentous day that was in her life – and although she was so anxious on account of Horatia, how could she be anything but grateful for the turn of fate which brought her Minney.

Horatia had already borne seven children, two of whom were girls, and Maria had often envied her her large family; so when it was discovered that the new baby was not strong, it was decided that she must certainly not undertake the journey which was essential to her mother’s health, but must be left behind with someone who would care for her.

The first person Horatia had thought of was her friend Maria Fitzherbert; she wrote to her telling her of her dilemma and Maria’s response had been immediate. Her dear Horatia must not think of postponing her trip; Maria would take any of the children into her house and they should be cared for until Horatia’s return.

Maria had been in Bath at the time but had set out at once for Portsmouth where the Seymours were staying. There she saw the frail little Mary and took her tenderly into her arms.

‘This is my child until your return, Horatia,’ she had said.

‘I know you, Maria. You will worry yourself to death over her. Perhaps it would be better for her to go with some of my relations who have several children. They won’t be alarmed at any little ailment – and I believe she will have many.’

‘Horatia, you are not going to take her from me now.’

Horatia smiled. ‘You know there is no one with whom I would rather leave my child. I am thinking of you.’

‘Then the matter is settled. Little Mary is my baby until your return.’

Of course Horatia was relieved; and so was Hugh.

‘God bless you, Maria,’ he said. ‘I know we shall sleep more peacefully now we know that the baby is in your hands.’

So Maria took little Mary and in a very short time loved her as tenderly as though she were her own child.

For two years Horatia remained in Madeira and her health improved a little so that she made up her mind that she would return to England, as she was eager to have all her children with her. Maria, glad as she was to see her friend, was desolate at the thought of parting with Mary who had now christened herself Minney; but before Horatia could put her plan into action she died; and a few weeks later Lord Hugh, who had remained in Madeira, also died, leaving little Minney an orphan.

When Lord Hugh’s will was read, it was found that provision had been made for the guardianship of all the children except Minney who had been born after he had made the will. It was however ruled that Lord Hugh had intended the same arrangement to apply to his youngest child and Lady Waldegrave, Horatia’s sister, immediately offered to take Minney.

Maria, horrified at losing the child, begged to be allowed to keep her a little longer. She pointed out that Minney was too young to be taken from one whom she had come to regard as her mother, and the executors, headed by Lord Henry Seymour, agreed that Minney should stay with Maria for a further year before she was passed on to Lady Waldegrave.

Maria’s great hope during that year’s respite was to win the consent of Minney’s family to keep the child. The Prince of Wales, who, since Maria regarded Minney as her daughter, sentimentally wished to share in the parentage, petted the child, played games with her and in every way possible took on the role of affectionate father.

‘If,’ Maria used to say to Miss Pigot, ‘I could only be assured that I was not going to lose Minney, I should be perfectly happy.’

If this and if that! thought Miss Pigot. Why did there always have to be an If?

But she put her faith in the Prince of Wales. He clearly wished the child to remain with Maria, so surely her family would not go against him.

But Lord Henry Seymour was a very determined man. Lady Waldegrave wanted the child and she was her aunt. Maria for all her dignity and respectability was after all in the eyes of the State the mistress of the Prince of Wales. Lord Henry was going to insist on justice being done. The year was drawing to a close; little Mary should go to her aunt.

Minney, realizing the controversy which was raging about her and having some inkling that it was to separate her from Maria, was frightened. She followed Maria wherever she went and could not bear her to be out of her sight: This seemed particularly pathetic to Maria and she was determined to fight.

When she told the Prince of her fear he went into battle on her behalf like the chivalrous knight he liked to believe himself to be.

‘You shall not lose Minney, my dearest love. I shall see to that.’

His chamberlain wrote to Lord Henry that His Royal Highness had decided to settle £10,000 on Miss Mary Seymour provided she was left in the care of Mrs Fitzherbert.

With great delight he took a copy of the letter to show Maria. And what joy it gave him to witness her pleasure. ‘My dearest love, what is £10,000? I would give the whole world for your happiness and that of our dear Minney.’

But Lord Henry was not to be lured by money. He wanted justice. Mary belonged to the Seymours and the Seymours would take over the care for her. Mary, he pointed out, would have enough money of her own; she did not need His Highness’s generous gift.

Maria was now in despair. She had never liked Lady Waldegrave, for the woman was one of those who had refused to accept her as the Prince’s wife; she knew what would happen if Minney went to her; it would be final separation.

Seeing her unhappiness, the Prince declared that he would not allow this to happen. Minney was Maria’s child; Maria had looked after her since her birth; to take her away now would be a tragedy, not only for Maria but for Minney. He would not stand by and see this done.

‘But what can we do?’ asked Maria. ‘It is true they are her legal guardians. Oh, why did I not foresee this? If Hugh and Horatia had known what would happen they would have taken steps to make Minney my child.’

The Prince disliked being frustrated and such an issue as this was one which strongly appealed to him. Now he would show Maria how she could rely on him. He was going to win Minney for her; he was going to show her his devotion to his little family.

He consulted Samuel Romilly, a brilliant young lawyer who suggested that there could be a way out of the difficulty since the will was made before Mary was born, but shortly afterwards the obstinate Lord Henry had employed a lawyer to work for him and the tiresome case of Fitzherbert against Seymour had begun.

Maria could think of nothing else, as with the custom of such affairs the case dragged on.

One point which had been brought out was the fact that Maria was a Catholic and the Seymours were Protestants. Was their child, given into the care of an undoubted Catholic, to be brought up in that religion? Maria had retorted that she firmly believed that a child should be brought up in the religion of its parents. Mary Seymour had had no instruction in the Catholic faith from her and the child should be brought up in the Church of England until she was able to decide for herself.

This matter of religion was undoubtedly one of the main reasons why the Master in Chancery came to the decision that the rightful guardians of Mary Seymour were her own family and although Maria Fitzherbert had brought her up from babyhood, since the child’s own family were demanding her, justice insisted that to them she should go.

When this news was brought to Maria she was desolate. The Prince arrived at the house in Tilney Street to find Minney in tears, clutching Maria and sobbing, declaring that she was never going to leave her.

This was more than he could endure.

‘I tell you they have not won yet. Do you think I am going to allow them to? Henry Seymour is an arrogant dog. He wants to show me that he can flout me. By God, he knows my feelings on this matter. I’ve already seen Romilly. We’re going to take this to the House of Lords.’

Maria lifted her grateful eyes to his. She was fearful because there was justice in the verdict though it ignored human feelings, but she loved Minney as a daughter and Minney loved her as a mother; it was cruel – though perhaps just – to tear them apart. But could the Prince of Wales divert justice?

He believed he could. He was astonished that the Seymours should have gone against his wishes. He would not forget that.

And now while she sipped tea on the balcony of her house on the Steyne and Minney sat with her, she was asking herself what hope there was that the case would go her way and that her dearest wish would be granted.

If I lost Minney, she thought, I should never be happy again. Even the Prince’s love and devotion – and when she thought of that she was a little uneasy although he had shown himself assiduous in his care for her since the case started – could not make up for that.

I want them both, she thought, with me for ever.

And at that moment he appeared on the balcony. He must have stood there for some seconds before they had been aware of him.

She turned and gave a cry of joy. The sight of him never failed to delight her. He was indeed a sparkling figure exquisitely dressed, glittering and scented. He bowed to Maria, his eyes twinkling with love and pleasure. It was the bow for which he was noted and which never failed to impress all who beheld it. It was the essence of grace and charm and it always implied that the pleasure he found in the company of the person to whom he was making it was the reason for its grace.

‘My dearest love …’ His voice was soft and musical.

‘Such a great pleasure, my dearest.’

Minney cried: ‘Prinney!’ And there was no ceremony then. She flew at him and gave a little jump at which he lifted her and she put her arms about his neck. ‘You smell so lovely this morning, Prinney. And this is a beautiful new neckcloth.’

‘I designed it with help from Brummell.’

‘Oh, it is soft!’ She buried her face in it. Maria watched them affectionately. If only Minney were their own child; if only there did not have to be this fearful battle, this tragic uncertainty.

He put Minney down and she brought his chair forward and when he sat, placed herself between him and Maria. She took his hand and examined the rings.

‘Such lovely things he always has, does he not, Mamma? I could look at him for ever even if he were not my dear Prinney.’

He sat back in his chair, eyes glazed with sentiment. ‘Dearest Minney, so you are a little fond of your old Prinney then?’

‘Old?’ said Minney. ‘I had never thought that you could be old … or young … or anything.’

‘So you see, Maria, Minney has placed me among the immortals. I cannot grow old although it seems I have never been young.’

‘Are you going to sing for us?’ asked Minney.

‘Here on your Mamma’s balcony? Do you want to collect a crowd?’

‘Yes, I do. No, I don’t, because then you will have to be on duty and bowing and smiling to them, instead of talking to me. We’ll sing when we are in the drawing room.’

‘Minney has spoken,’ said the Prince.

Why, Maria asked herself, could he not be on those easy terms with his own daughter? Poor Charlotte! She was sorry for the child; and she was a charming creature, too. Perhaps in the presence of the Prince she was gauche and uncertain. Who could wonder at that, considering the state of affairs between their parents?

What ironic problems life presented! Charlotte – an heiress to the throne – separated from her mother and with a father who could not love her because she reminded him of her mother. And her own sad problem – dear Minney who was her child and not her child.

Minney left them after a while as she always did, knowing that the Prince had come to see Maria and would no doubt wish to talk to her.

‘Minney grows more enchanting every day,’ he said when the child had gone.

‘Which makes it all the harder if …’

‘We are going to win, never fear,’ he replied lightheartedly.

‘Oh, if only I could believe that.’

‘My dearest, I have sworn we shall have Minney. Do you think that I would not keep my word?’

She smiled at him fondly, but his words scarcely comforted her. How many times had he betrayed her trust in him. She thought of the infidelities; it was not marriage with Charlotte’s mother which had brought about their painful separation but his infatuation for Lady Jersey. He had once been completely under the spell of that woman whom he now could not bear, sufficiently involved with her to desert Maria. True, he had come back to her, but after such a shock, how could one help wondering when the next would come? So she could only smile at him when he asked her if she could not trust his word.

‘Lord Henry seems so determined. And I know Lady Waldegrave has never been a friend of mine. They are going to do everything they can to take Minney away from me.’

‘Don’t despair. I shall think of something.’

‘I have thought of something,’ said Maria. ‘Lord Henry gives himself airs, but he is not the head of the family. Lord Hertford is that, and he has so far kept out of the affair. I wonder if I called on Lady Hertford and asked her to speak to her husband, it would help.’

‘An excellent idea. And I will let them know my wishes. I fancy you have hit on the solution, Maria, my love. We’ll go over that insolent fellow’s head and speak to Hertford.’

Maria’s spirits rose at the prospect; she wondered why she had not thought of it before.

‘I shall call on her tomorrow,’ she said.

‘And when you have called, I will send for Hertford to come and see me. I am sure of success now, my love.’

He was smiling, wishing to talk of pleasant things. How well she knew him. He never wanted to discuss that which was unpleasant. He began to tell her about Brummell’s new invention to the trouser leg.

‘It is cut at the sides, Maria, and closed by the most exquisite buttons and buttonholes you ever saw. As Brummell says, this gives great scope and he has many ideas for buttons.’

Maria had never liked Brummell; she considered him arrogant and he presumed on the Prince’s friendship she believed; and what had the fellow ever done but become the dandy to outdo all other dandies? But the Prince’s interest in clothes had drawn them together and he was often in Brummell’s company.

He went on to talk of the way in which Brooks’s Club had deteriorated.

‘It’s since Fox went.’ His eyes filled with tears. Fox had had more influence on him than any other man. He had died only recently and since his death the Prince had become even more devoted to him. ‘The wit is not there … how could it be without the incomparable Fox? Sherry is getting old, too. Stab me, that son of his, Tom Sheridan, has the most lovely wife I ever saw – apart from you, Maria. I said when I saw her: “By God, there’s only one woman who excels Tom Sheridan’s wife and that’s my own Fitzherbert.”’

‘You see me with the eyes of affection.’

He was delighted with the remark, his comfort restored.

‘Well, I admit to it, but you are still the most beautiful woman in London to me.’ He sighed. ‘You still look the same as when I first saw you along the river bank. Do you remember, Maria? That was long ago. There have been changes since. Poor Fox gone. Brooks’s is not the same without him. The conversation is dull and so is the food. Beefsteaks and leg of lamb, boiled fowls with oyster sauce. I’ve asked my chef Watier to found a new club and that is exactly what he is going to do.’

‘You think the ton will let it take the place of Brooks’s?’

‘By all means, when they know that it is under the management of my chef. Brummell and my brother Fred will give it their support and in a week or so there won’t be a vacant place at any of the tables.’

He was beaming with joy at the certain success of the venture and Maria thought it was the moment to introduce a subject which might not please him so much but of which she was determined to speak.

‘How devoted Minney is to you. She speaks of you continually. I can tell you that nothing is done in the right manner unless it is done as Prinney does it.’

He smiled indulgently.

‘It is Prinney this and Prinney that, all the day through. And Pig is the same. In this house you are not so much His Royal as His Holy Highness.’

‘They are a dear pair and I am devoted to them both.’

‘Dearest, I wish that you could show the same affection for Charlotte that you show to Minney.’

‘Charlotte!’ The mention of his daughter had jerked him out of his pleasant reverie. ‘How lacking in grace that girl is.’ He shuddered. ‘She is so gauche.’

‘She is overawed in your presence. Believe me, she can be so charming.’

‘To others, but not to her father?’

‘It is because she is so much in awe of you … so anxious to please.’

‘My dearest Maria is apt to believe the best of everyone. I always feel that the child is proclaiming her indifference to me, her desire to flout me.’

‘Oh, no no. That’s not so.’

He was mildly astonished. He was not used to being contradicted, although Maria did it now and then.

‘So I do not know my own daughter?’

‘Please understand me. Charlotte is so anxious to win your approval that she becomes over-anxious. She admires you greatly.’

‘How can you be sure of that?’

‘It would be impossible for her not to.’

His good humour was momentarily restored and she hurried on: ‘If to please me …’

‘Anything in the world to please my dear love.’ His hand was on his heart as it was when he bowed to the people’s cheers – a not very frequent blessing these days except in Brighton.

‘If you would smile at her, show her a little affection, indicate that you are pleased to see her, I think you would make her very happy.’

He sighed. ‘Every time I look at her, Maria, I think of that creature.’

‘Why should you? Charlotte is very like you.’

‘She may have my family’s looks but her manners … that awkwardness …’ He shivered. ‘That is her mother and anything that reminds me of that woman puts me into an ill temper. By God, Maria, this affair at Montague House! This child she has! If it can be proved that it is her own then I can surely be rid of her. She can be sent back to Brunswick. I should feel a great deal more at ease if she were out of the country.’

‘And you think it is possible to prove this?’

‘These matters are difficult to prove, but I am sure. And If only I could get the help I need, I would divorce her. You cannot imagine what peace of mind that would bring. The most unfortunate day of my life was when I allowed myself to go through that ceremony with her.’

Maria was silent and he was unhappy, for he was deep in a subject which he would have preferred to forget. There were tears in his eyes, tears of self-pity. That he, the most elegant of princes, the First Gentleman of Europe, should have been married to that coarsest and most vulgar of German princesses! Now he was on the subject he could not stop talking of it.

‘To think of her there … living that degraded life at Blackheath, receiving those men and living on intimate terms with them … as I am convinced she did. The sailors, Smith and Manby, the artist Lawrence … any one of them might be the father of that boy, and do you realize, Maria, that that boy could have been presented to the nation as a future King of England? She has actually said that she would foist him on me if need be. She has said that before he was born she had spent a night or two at Carlton House and that as I was under the influence of brandy most of the time I could not deny it. It’s treason. Oh, God, Maria, do I deserve this?’

‘The Princess of Wales is certainly a very strange woman.’

‘Strange! She’s half-mad. She behaves like a maniac. These Douglases have done the right thing in bringing this to public notice. Before this investigation is through I hope – by God, how I hope – to prove that this so-called wife of mine is an immoral creature unworthy in every way to bear any title that has come to her since she arrived in England. I am going to prove this, Maria. I am determined.’

‘You upset yourself. We can only wait for the verdict, as with Minney. Let us pray that it will be the right one in both cases. But because you have such a kind heart you will, I know, not blame that poor child for her mother’s shortcomings. You will be kind to her and make her love you. I am sure that she longs for a little kindness from you. Will you try it … to please me.’

His good humour was coming back. He saw himself as the kindly parent who would not allow the child to suffer for her parent’s wrongdoing. He would win her allegiance from her mother. And at the same time he would please his dearest love.

He took her hand and kissed it.

‘You may rely on me to do what you ask of me … at all times,’ he said.

The people on the Steyne looked up and saw him.

They were delighted with him and Maria, who had always been a favourite. It was one of the sights of Brighton to see him sitting there on her balcony, tender and affectionate. In Brighton Mrs Fitzherbert was the Princess of Wales, not that other woman who was now causing such a scandal through what was being revealed in this case they called the Delicate Investigation.

The royal lovers, how charming they were – two large, not very young figures up there, but a reminder to all who were not so young that youth was not necessary to romance.

And no one saw him leave the Pavilion; he just appeared on the balcony. They said there was a secret passage from the Pavilion to Mrs Fitzherbert’s house which he had had made so that he could visit her at all times unseen.

How romantic! How charming! Trust the Prince of Wales to provide them with some excitement.

So they passed to and fro below and occasionally they caught his eyes when he would nod or smile and on some occasions rise and give them the chance to witness the most graceful bow in the world.

Maria took an early opportunity of calling on Lady Hertford, who received her graciously. Lady Hertford was by no means a beauty but married to one of the richest Tory peers in the country, she had a very high opinion of herself. She was always elegantly dressed, her only frivolity being her interest in clothes; this was instinctive and she was reckoned to be the best-dressed woman in England.

She had been friendly towards Maria in spite of the fact that she was an ardent Protestant; it was true, Maria – as far as she was concerned with politics – had Tory tendencies, and Lady Hertford was an ardent Tory and as the two reigning passions in her life were maintaining Toryism and achieving elegance this gave them something in common. At the same time Maria’s position with the Prince of Wales was rather dubious and although Maria lived as respectably as one could wish, Lady Hertford was extremely frigid by nature and averse to the slightest scandal. Still, she looked on Maria, if not as a friend, as a worthy acquaintance.

So now she took her hand with as much warmth as she was capable of and bade her welcome.

‘My dear Isabella,’ said Maria, ‘I have come to speak to you of a matter which causes me a great deal of concern, and I am going to ask you if you can help me. The Prince will join his supplication to mine.’

‘The Prince?’ said Lady Hertford.

‘Oh, yes, he is almost as involved as I am over this because he loves the child dearly. I refer to your relative, Mary Seymour.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Lady Hertford, ‘this pitiful case. The family seems determined to take Mary away from you.’

‘And I – and the Prince – will do all we can to prevent it. You see, Isabella, Minney – our name for her – is like my own child. I have had her since she was a baby. It will break her heart and mine if they separate us.’

‘I understand that the child’s Aunt Waldegrave wants to take her.’

‘Why?’ demanded Maria. ‘If she loved the child she would want to make her happy and Minney is happy with me.’

‘Mary regards you as her mother,’ said Lady Hertford with the air of Solomon. ‘It is certainly wrong to take her from you.’

Maria was delighted for it appeared that Lady Hertford was on her side.

‘You say the Prince will be displeased if they win this case?’

‘I don’t think he will ever forgive them. You see he is very fond of Minney … and she of him. You should see her climb on his knee and inspect his clothes. She calls him her Prinney. Oh, Isabella, if you could see those two together! I know he will be desolate if she is taken from us … for her sake as well as mine.’

Lady Hertford was thoughtful. The Prince supported the Whigs. What a triumph if she could be the means of bringing him over to the Tories! The old King was ailing. In fact there were rumours that he was often incoherent. He had had one unfortunate bout when there had almost been a Regency. The Prince of today could be the King of tomorrow.

She said: ‘I think, Maria, that I might speak to my husband about this. He is after all the head of the family and if anyone should decide this child’s future it is he … and not some band of lawyers.’

‘Oh, Isabella, that is exactly what I think.’

‘I could speak to him.’

‘If you would you would earn my eternal gratitude … and the Prince’s.’

‘Leave this to me, Maria. I will see what can be done. Now, could you drink a dish of tea?’

Lady Hertford lost no time in telling her husband about Maria’s visit.

Francis Seymour, second Marquis of Hertford, was a man of great political ambition. He had spent some forty years in the House of Commons and had been Lord of the Treasury in Lord North’s administration. When his father was created Marquis of Hertford he had become Earl of Yarmouth and taken his place in the Lords.

Isabella was his second wife; she was rich in her own right and her husband respected her opinions; therefore he listened intently to what she had to tell him.

She folded her beautiful hands in her lap and said somewhat primly: ‘The child’s place is clearly with Maria Fitzherbert. It would be cruel to take her from her. She is happy there. Besides, it would displease the Prince.’

‘Yet,’ pointed out Lord Hertford, ‘it might be better for her to be brought up with her own family. It is not as though she is alone in the world.’

‘My dear Francis, Mary has been well looked after with Mrs Fitzherbert all these years. I am sure it would be most harmful to remove her now. I think the Prince will never forgive Henry for being so insistent.’

‘He’ll fare none the worse with the King for suffering the Prince’s displeasure.’

‘The Prince is but the Prince … as yet. Should we not look to the future?’

‘One should always look to the future.’

‘Maria Fitzherbert says that His Royal Highness will be speaking to you soon on this matter. I think you should shake your head and say that it is very difficult but that you will do your best to please him. Let him think that you wish to work for him, to please him. And then perhaps in due course let Maria Fitzherbert have the child.’

‘But if the law says her Aunt Waldegrave is to have her …’

‘My dear Francis, are you the head of the family or not? Let the case proceed. Let them, if they will, give the custody of Mary to Lord Henry. Then you step in as head of the family and declare that the best guardian for Mary Seymour is Maria Fitzherbert. That, my dear Francis, will bring you the Prince’s eternal gratitude … or as lasting as is possible with His Highness.’

Lord Hertford smiled at his cool, elegant wife. ‘You are right, as usual, Isabella,’ he said.

The Prince kept his word. He intimated that he would like to visit the Hertfords and was cordially welcomed at their house. He discussed at great length his desire to see Mary Seymour happily settled with Maria and the Hertfords both pledged their support.

‘Your Highness realizes the difficulty,’ Lady Hertford said. ‘For myself and my husband there is no question of what is best, but Henry is stubborn I fear and having started this case he is determined to go on with it. We must try to find a way of outwitting him.’

The Prince looked at this elegant woman and thought her enchanting. There was something about her which was so graceful. What a figure! And so well did she carry herself that it was a joy to see her walk across a room. Her gown was exquisite. She reminded him of a china ornament – a collector’s piece – cool, aloof, unattainable … almost. It was a long time since he had seen a woman who attracted him in a certain way as yet indefinable.

He was glad that this affair had sent him to the Hertfords.

They must discuss the matter in detail, said Lady Hertford, because if they did so they might discover some way out of the difficulty.

She gave the Prince her gracious smile that was completely without warmth. ‘I have no doubt,’ she said, ‘that this court will award the child’s guardianship to her family. So we shall have to work out a way from there.’

The Prince was completely fascinated.

‘I am sure we can,’ she added, ‘if we but set our minds to it, and both my husband and I feel strongly that the best solution is for Mary to remain with Mrs Fitzherbert.’

The Prince would have seized her hand and kissed it, but without seeming to do so she managed to evade him.

‘How can I thank you for showing such kindness to me?’ he asked fervently.

‘Your Highness has no need to be grateful to me,’ she told him. ‘I am thinking of what is best for the child.’

He was impressed. What an unusual woman. He admired her remoteness almost as much as her elegance.

‘May I call on you tomorrow so that we may discuss this matter further?’

‘Lord Hertford and I are at Your Highness’s command.’

‘No,’ he told her fervently. ‘It is I who am at yours.’

After that he was a constant visitor. He sometimes called when Lord Hertford was not at home, for Lady Hertford could discuss the matter of Mary Seymour as well as her husband, and this she did.

He would sit watching her glacial features, her gracious movements and marvel at their excellence. But she remained as remote as the moon and never seemed to be aware of his admiration.

Sometimes the tears would come into his eyes when he tried to tell her that he could almost be glad of this controversy over the child because it had brought him the friendship of herself and her husband; to which she replied that if it brought also the happiness of the child it would then be a double blessing.

He went to Maria and told her that although the case seemed to be going against them he had great faith in the Hertfords, particularly Lady Hertford who seemed to possess such fine feelings with regard to Minney’s happiness.

‘We are going to win,’ he cried.

‘If we do,’ Maria told him, ‘it will be due to your efforts.’

‘My dearest, you know I would not spare myself in my desire to bring you and Minney together for I am convinced that the place of two such special people is under the same roof.’

She embraced-him and wept; and he, ever ready with the tears, wept with her.

‘My dearest love, the three of us shall be together, never fear.’

Miss Pigot said that as the dear Prince was determined they were bound to win. He summoned several of his friends among the peers who would be giving their vote and told them why they must vote for the child’s being left with Maria. It was hard for them to refuse him; but there remained a contingent of those who would be only too ready to work against him.

And when the case was nearing its end he called on the Hertfords and was received by them both – a little to his disappointment – for he had been hoping for a tête-à-tête with Isabella.

‘We have had an idea,’ she told him, ‘and I trust Your Highness will think it a good one. Francis believes that it means certain victory.’ She inclined her head to her husband. ‘Pray explain it, Francis.’

Lord Hertford said: ‘I propose to make a statement in the Lords during which I will explain that this matter is distasteful to me. It is a family matter; and as there is some dispute as to who should be the guardian of little Mary Seymour, I believe that I, as the head of the house, should take over that duty myself. I shall be the child’s guardian. Henry cannot object to that. He dare not. Justice would most certainly be with me.’

‘You will take the child?’ asked the Prince.

‘I will, Your Highness. And when she is given into my care I shall appoint the one whom I think most suitable to care for her, who, Your Highness can have no doubt, will be Mrs Fitzherbert.’

The Prince had risen, tears springing to his eyes. He grasped Lord Hertford’s hand, and gripped it for a moment; then he turned to Lady Hertford. He would have embraced her, but she must have realized his intention for with skilful grace she had somehow placed herself behind her husband.

‘How can I thank you good people for all you have done?’ demanded the Prince.

‘It has been our duty and our pleasure,’ said Lady Hertford.

‘It cannot fail,’ added Lord Hertford.

‘My thanks … my warmest thanks!’ The Prince looked momentarily melancholy. ‘One thing occurs to me. This matter has brought us close together. We have discovered friendship. I hope that now it is over that friendship will continue.’

He was looking at Lord Hertford but he was thinking of his wife.

‘We are honoured,’ said Lord Hertford.

‘Honoured indeed,’ echoed Lady Hertford.

The Prince was delighted. He took his leave and went at once to Maria.

‘Maria, my dearest love, I have the best news in the world. But perhaps I won’t give it to you yet. Or shall I? Let me say this. Minney is ours … for ever.’

‘The case is not over.’

‘That’s the secret part, but I promise you that Minney is yours. You need never have another qualm. I have settled this matter.’

‘But they are meeting tomorrow.’

‘Let them. You will see.’

‘You have made some arrangement?’

He was nodding delightedly. It was at such moments when her love for him was almost unbearable. He was a like a boy who has provided some rich treat which he is going to enjoy as much as those for whom it was intended, and if he meant that the anxiety about losing Minney was over then she was the happiest woman in the world.

‘You must tell me, please,’ she cried. ‘I cannot endure the suspense. I must feel sure before I can be completely at ease.’

So he put his arm through hers and they walked up and down her drawing room while he told her. ‘As head of the family, Hertford is going to claim Minney and he has sworn to me that as soon as he has done that he will proclaim you her guardian.’

She clasped her hands together. It was rarely she wept but she did so then. These were tears of joy.

‘You have done this … you … my darling.’

He admitted it. ‘Have I not told you that I would do anything in the world for you?’

For a moment those unpleasant thoughts came into her mind. Anything? Had he not betrayed her … once when he had let Fox deny his marriage to her in the House of Commons and a second time when he had left her for Lady Jersey? Had he not been guilty of many infidelities? But the present dilemma had appealed to his chivalry; he loved Minney even as she did, and the loss of the child whom she regarded as her own would have been a greater tragedy than anything that could have befallen her then or now. She was sure of that. With such an unaccountable lover perhaps a woman turned naturally to her children – and Minney was her child.

But he had done this for her. He had thrown himself into the fight for Minney with all that youthful sentiment of which he was capable, and at such times he was at his most lovable.

This must be the happiest time of her life; she had him and Minney as well.

‘We should tell them,’ she said. ‘Minney and Pigot. They are as anxious as we are.’

‘We will tell them now,’ he said. ‘Send for them.’

And so they came and he embraced them both. He always laughed at his dear Pig who wanted to curtsey and grew fiery red when he seized her as she was about to do so. Of course he loved that sort of adoration; and there was Minney. ‘Prinney, darling, what are you doing here now? This is not your time.’

And he, with his sense of the dramatic, took the little girl by the hand and led her to Maria.

‘Here is your mother, Minney. I give you to her. Love each other always.’

Minney looked from one to the other and understood what he meant, for her days had been haunted by the fear that one day a carriage would draw up and a wicked aunt would come to take her away; at night sometimes she would awake crying because she thought they had come by stealth to take her. But there he was, looking like a plump benevolent god. Their fears were over. He – being a god – had worked the miracle.

Minney threw herself into Maria’s arms and clung to her for some seconds; then she turned to him. He was her dear, dear Prinney, the best Prinney in the world.

And they were all laughing and weeping together, with Miss Pigot standing by crying and laughing too.

The weeks that followed were indeed happy ones for Maria, for everything worked out as the Hertfords had said it would. Lord Hertford made his announcement in the Lords and as a result was, by a unanimous vote, granted the guardianship of his brother’s daughter which he would share with his wife. No sooner was this given him than he declared that he appointed Mrs Maria Fitzherbert to continue to act as a mother to his niece.

It was wonderful. After three years of uncertainty they were safe.

Miss Pigot was continually pointing out how His Highness had worked to give Maria her heart’s desire; and Maria agreed with her. As for the Prince, he went about beaming his pleasure, playing games with Minney and being very gracious to young George Keppel. Even his manner towards his daughter had changed and although he could not feel at ease with her as he did with Minney and George, there was a new warmth in his manner. Maria noticed this and was delighted that he had listened to her.

She intended to add Charlotte to her little family circle and since she was the Prince’s daughter to try and be a mother to her and bring a little security into her life.

Minney would be eight years old in November of the year and Maria planned to give a very special party to celebrate this event.

When she discussed this with the Prince he cried: ‘Certainly. Let it be ball and a supper. It shall take place in the Pavilion. You must start arrangements at once, my dearest love.’

Minney was delighted at the prospect of such a ball and she and Maria set about making the plans.

The Prince meanwhile went to London. There he called on the Hertfords and was entertained by them. It was beginning to be noticed that he was a constant visitor there; and if Lady Hertford had not been known to be a lady of great frigidity and one whose concern for her reputation was known to be greater than her desire for royal patronage, there would have been a new scandal and people would have been asking each other whether Maria Fitzherbert was not heading for more troublous times.

Minney, planning for her ball, believed now that they were all going to live happily ever after. The bogey had been removed, for wicked Aunt Waldegrave had been defeated by the all-powerful Prince.

Prinney had said her birthday should be celebrated at the Pavilion – that exciting Palace which never failed to enchant her. She was to make up her lists of young guests and she would receive them in the gallery among the dragons and pagodas and the lanterns. It was like a fantastic dream of fairyland. Mamma would dress her in her first ball gown of blue silk with a wide white sash; and then she would go through the secret passage – always a delight – from Mamma’s house on the Steyne to the Pavilion.

When her guests were assembled she would take them into the banqueting hall – the most elaborate of all the rooms. She had always been fascinated by the banqueting hall since she first remembered seeing it, when she had gazed up in amazement at the great palm tree painted on the ceiling and the fear-some dragon from whose claws appeared to swing the massive chandelier.

Minney loved Brighton especially in the summer when the streets were crowded with fashionable people strolling for the benefit of the sea air, or riding in their carriages. She liked to sit on Mamma’s balcony and look over the Steyne; and it was pleasant when they rode together in the carriage. There was always gaiety round the Pavilion. The Prince’s band played in the mornings in the gardens there and people came just to listen to it – perhaps hoping to get a glimpse of the Prince and Mamma, and herself too, because since the case she had become quite notorious.

It was a great treat – although a frequent one – to visit the Pavilion and to sit on the lawns and watch Prinney playing cricket which he liked to do; and when he scored she always applauded more loudly than for anyone else which made Mamma laugh. There were musical evenings which were held in the music room which was dominated by those fascinating gold and green dragons, for Prinney loved music, but of course Minney did not attend these. She supposed she would when she was a little older.

And now she was to have her first birthday ball and this was an indication that she was growing up.

In the gallery she received her guests – all the young people of Mamma’s circle whose parents had been very eager to get them invitations.

Minney had become an important little person since the Prince treated her as though she were his daughter.

Gravely she received her guests as she had seen Maria do and the party was a great success. George Keppel and George Fitzclarence were at her side all the time, both determined to look after her. Everyone, thought Minney, wants to look after me. I’m different from Charlotte, who always seems to be so capable of looking after herself.

Then she sighed and said: ‘I wish Charlotte could have been here.’

‘She’s at Windsor,’ said George Keppel. He shuddered. ‘I hate Windsor. London’s more fun.’

‘Poor Charlotte!’ sighed Minney. ‘I don’t suppose she likes it there at all.’

George Fitzclarence who was the eldest son of the Duke of Clarence – Charlotte’s Uncle William – and the actress Dorothy Jordan, said that Charlotte would have to stay there he believed for a long time, because it was hardly likely that they would let her see her mother.

Minney’s expression clouded. She had forgotten that although her troubles were over, those of others might persist.

‘Poor Charlotte,’ she repeated.

The two Georges laughed.

‘She wouldn’t like to hear you call her that.’

Minney joined in the laughter. ‘No. She would pinch my ear … hard.’

And thinking of Charlotte in a bellicose mood made it impossible to be sorry for her. So they gave themselves up to enjoying Minney’s party.