Victoria in the Wings

Double Wedding at Kew

ADELAIDE WAS APPREHENSIVE. This was a different marriage from Ida’s. Ida had been in love and able to return home easily, whereas she was so far away that they could not visit each other comfortably. There was something final about crossing the sea.

The Duchess Eleanor was uneasy too. It was for this reason that she had refused a proxy wedding and was determined to accompany her daughter to England; she was glad that she had von Effa and von Konitz with her, for she was sure that she would need their services.

Adelaide was on deck when land was sighted. She stood, her eyes shielded, waiting for the moment when her new country would be more than a hazy white cliff in the distance. Her mother came to stand beside her.

‘Very soon now, Adelaide,’ she said, ‘you will be stepping ashore … on to your new land. It is a solemn moment.’

‘A very solemn moment,’ agreed Adelaide.

‘The Duke of Clarence will be waiting to greet you … impatiently.’

Impatiently? wondered Adelaide. She had heard rumours that he had refused to marry because the allowance Parliament offered was not large enough. So could he be said to be impatient?

And he was fifty-two. He had been notorious for his love affairs – like most of his brothers. He had lived for twenty years with a charming actress. And there had been other women. What would he think of a plain young woman whose appearance had not been enhanced by a long sea voyage? She hoped he would not be there to greet them. A little respite would be desirable.

Now she could see the land more clearly. Away to the right were the treacherous Goodwin Sands where many a ship had foundered. She had heard that sailors on watch at night declared they could hear the cries of those long dead who had been swallowed by the Sands. And here were the white cliffs of Dover and St Margaret’s Bay.

Nearer and nearer came the land. They came ashore at a little fishing village called Deal.

When she discovered that no member of the royal family was waiting at Deal, the Duchess Eleanor was annoyed. Was this the way to greet the princess who might be the mother of a king? She had heard that the royal family treated its new members churlishly; and they were having proof of this.

I am glad I insisted on accompanying my daughter, she thought.

Poor Adelaide. She looked pale, tired and in no mood to face a bridegroom who might be critical. As she might well be of him, thought Duchess Eleanor grimly.

How much better, how much more civilized if he had had the grace to come and woo her as the Duke of Kent had the Princess Victoria, who would be arriving in England at the same time. There was to be a double wedding. But she was not coming to a stranger, as poor Adelaide was. It seemed that there had been a courtship, and the Duke of Kent and his Victoria already had an affection for each other.

I would rather have had Kent for Adelaide, thought Eleanor, although Clarence undoubtedly has the first chance.

Out of the little houses which straggled along the front the people came to see the arrival of the Princess from Saxe-Meiningen. ‘Another German,’ they murmured. ‘Always Germans.’ But it was an exciting time with so many royal weddings; and Deal was pleased that Adelaide had first come to their town.

The dignitaries of the town were there to greet her – but no bridegroom, nor any member of his family. The speech of welcome was difficult to understand, but Adelaide had been assiduously studying her English since she knew she was to marry the Duke of Clarence and it was the Kentish accent which made the words unintelligible.

But if there was not a royal welcome there was at least a bed and hot food; and what Adelaide felt she needed more than anything was a good night’s sleep.

They put up at an inn near the sea and although it was July the wind rattled her windows all night and she could hear the waves crashing on the shingle below. She slept fitfully and her mother came into her room soon after dawn and sat on her bed and looked at her somewhat fearfully.

‘The journey has only just begun, Mamma,’ she said.

The Duchess nodded. ‘I wondered whether we should come ashore when I realized that they had sent no one to welcome us.’

‘The people of Deal were kind.’

‘That at least is something to be grateful for, but I’ll swear they are astonished that we should be treated so churlishly. I have been informed though that they have sent two coaches in which we and our suite may travel to London.’

‘At least we should be grateful for that,’ said Adelaide.

That day they set out in the coaches for Canterbury where they passed a night and the next day left for London.

No one cheered them on their way; no one was aware that the young woman who was seated in the leading carriage with her mother and two ladies-in-waiting might one day be their Queen.

No lodgings had been assigned to them so they drove to Albemarle Street and there put up at Grillon’s Hotel.

Von Konitz was angry; he discussed with von Effa what move should be made. It was an incongruous situation. The bride of a royal Duke to arrive and no one to greet her!

He would despatch a message to the Prince Regent without delay.

Meanwhile Adelaide was shown to a room in the hotel and when she looked in the glass at her pale face with the somewhat muddy complexion she was relieved that there had been no one to meet them. There were shadows under her eyes which looked strained; they were never very strong at the best of times. Her hair was fair, though not golden or flaxen as Ida’s had been but yellowish, almost lemon colour. She needed a little time to recover from the strain of the journey.

And even when I have, I wonder what he will think of me? she asked herself.

So she was here, thought Clarence.

He had heard that she had arrived in Deal with her mother and that was two days ago. She had spent a night in Canterbury and was now at Grillon’s Hotel.

There was no turning back.

It was strange that he who had been trying to get married ever since he had said goodbye to Dorothy Jordan was now on the verge of undertaking that adventure – and had no great desire for it.

He was not anxious to see her for some reason. He kept thinking of Dorothy and that night when he had first seen her as Little Pickle on the stage of Drury Lane. What a delightful creature she had been! Many believed her to have been the most charming woman in England. She had grown fat and they had quarrelled – and all about money. That was the only real disagreement between them. How happy they had been in the early days of their association! Here at Bushy all the children had been born and grown up. His children, on whom he doted.

His new wife would have to understand that he had no intention of giving up his children. They were Dorothy’s legacy to him; he loved them; he was proud of them; and they had been brought up to know that he was their father.

He hoped it had all been explained to her that when she married him she would have to accept his ten illegitimate children.

He believed she would; he had received one or two letters from her when they had been betrothed and he was impressed by the good sense with which she wrote.

He had said to George FitzClarence, his eldest son: ‘I think we shall get along well with your stepmother. She seems a sensible woman. I don’t think she’ll be over-dazzled by the prospect of becoming the Duchess of Clarence.’

No, she would accept the family; she, who came from a tiny dukedom must be overawed at the prospect of marrying a son of the King of England. He often thought of himself as a future King of England, for neither George’s health nor that of Frederick was very good – and if they died … without heirs … he would be King William, and Adelaide would not be unaware of that.

She was in her twenty-sixth year. It was quite young – at least when compared with a man over fifty. He should be looking forward eagerly to the nuptials. But was he? He was not sure. He had set his heart on Miss Wykeham. But of course that would have been unsuitable; but what a jolly, bouncing, healthy female Miss Wykeham was! He believed she would have presented him with a son at the earliest possible moment.

But he must forget her; he must do his duty. It was what he had said to Dorothy at their parting; and he would not forget that in a hurry either. In any case there was the family to remind him.

They would live at Bushy, dear Bushy, which was more like a gentleman’s country house than a palace, but none the worse for that. Bushy would be their home then and the ten FitzClarences her stepsons and daughters.

We must start as we intend to go on, he told himself and going to the window and seeing his son George in the park with his brother, Frederick, bawled in the voice he had used at sea: ‘George! Hi, George! Come here. I want to speak to you.’

If the servants heard they would shudder. That was not the manner in which the Prince Regent – that arbiter of good manners – summoned people to his presence. But William was a rough sailor and had no intention of changing his manners. People must get used to them. They should be by now.

George came and stood before him. William’s eyes grew sentimental as he looked at his eldest son. He was very handsome in his military uniform. He had a look of Dorothy about him, and William flattered himself – for George was very attractive – he was not without a resemblance to his father.

‘George,’ he said, ‘your new stepmother is at Grillon’s. Go and welcome her.’

‘You mean I’m to go?’

‘Why not? You’re her stepson.’

‘Won’t she expect to see you?’ The FitzClarence children never stood on ceremony with their father although, regarding themselves as royal, they could be arrogant enough with others.

‘It may be she will; but she will see her stepson instead.’

‘What about her mother and the statesmen they’ve brought with them? Will they be pleased?’

‘It’s a gesture, you see. It’s like saying to her: See, this is your new family. I want her to understand that she’s to be a stepmother as well as a wife.’

George thought it a good idea that she should be made aware of the importance of the FitzClarence children in their father’s life and said he would set out at once.

William watched him leave.

In due course, he said to himself, I shall put in an appearance. Poor girl, she must be overwrought. An ordeal to come to marry a stranger. She must be terrified of the impression she may make on me.

It did not occur to William to wonder what impression he might make on her. He was, after all, third son of the King, with a fair chance of wearing the crown.

George FitzClarence arrived at Grillon’s and was conducted to a room where he was received by Adelaide and the Duchess Eleanor.

He announced himself: ‘George FitzClarence, son of the Duke. He suggested I should come to welcome you.’

The Duchess Eleanor’s face was a mask of disapproval, but Adelaide smilingly held out her hand.

‘You are the eldest son.’

‘Yes – and there are ten of us – five boys and five girls – even numbers, you see.’

‘Yes,’ said Adelaide. ‘Even numbers will be easy to remember.’

‘My father wants to present us all to you.’

‘And I shall be eager to meet you all.’

‘We’re not all at Bushy at the moment. The girls are most anxious to meet you.’

‘All five of them?’ asked Adelaide.

The Duchess Eleanor could not understand her daughter. This was an affront. Was the Duke of Clarence deliberately trying to insult Adelaide? The idea of sending the son of his mistress to greet his future wife!

And Adelaide did not seem to see this. She was talking to this FitzClarence man – who could only be a year or so younger than she was herself – as though she found his conversation entertaining and there was nothing disgraceful in his being here.

‘Tell me about your brothers and sisters,’ Adelaide was saying.

‘There’s Henry, a year younger than I. He’s in the Army now although he did join the Navy at first. Following in Father’s footsteps, you might say. But he didn’t care for it and transferred to the Army. There’s Frederick – also a soldier and the handsome one of the family. Adolphus is in the Navy, and then there is Augustus. He’s the youngest boy and is only thirteen, although Amelia is the youngest of us all, aged eleven.’

‘And the girls?’

‘Sophia, Mary, Elizabeth, Augusta and Amelia.’

‘I feel I know something of the family already.’

‘My father will be pleased. He said he wanted you to like us.’

‘Did he say that?’

The Duchess Eleanor said: ‘I believe someone is arriving. I should hope it is the Duke of Clarence.’

‘I hardly think so … yet,’ said George FitzClarence and strode to the window.

The manners of these people! thought the Duchess Eleanor. Is this what my daughter is expected to endure in England?

‘Oh, it’s Uncle George,’ announced FitzClarence. ‘My namesake.’

‘Uncle George …’ stammered Adelaide.

‘The Prince Regent,’ announced George.

Now the Duchess Eleanor could not complain of the lack of good manners.

He had entered the room – a glittering personage, his diamond star blazing on his mulberry velvet coat, his white buckskin breeches gleaming, his chins carefully hidden by the swathed silk of his cravat; his nut-brown wig was an elegant mass of curls; the most delicate of perfumes came from him; and his bow was a masterpiece of perfection.

He held out both hands – delicately white, discreetly flashing with diamonds – in a gesture of informal friendliness.

‘My dear dear sister. So you have come to us at last.’

The little nose was humorous, the eyes shrewd. He – that connoisseur of feminine beauty was thinking: Poor William, she’s a plain little thing and her complexion is very bad.

Maria Fitzherbert’s complexion had been the most dazzling in the world – completely naturally so. He had noticed it the first time he had seen her on the towpath near Richmond, years and years ago. And her hair was golden like the corn in August. This young woman reminded him of Maria by what she lacked.

Poor William!

But he said: ‘Enchanting! Enchanting! And I trust you are well looked after here?’

‘Your Highness is gracious,’ said the Duchess Eleanor. ‘The Duke of Clarence has not yet called but he sent his … this gentleman … to welcome us.’

The Regent gave a surprised look in the direction of George FitzClarence. What a tactless fool William was! If there was a wrong thing to do William could be relied upon to do it.

Well, he would save the situation as he was well able to do; he was delighted to see that even the mother was in awe of him. So charmingly he set them at their ease and chatted light-heartedly about the family, what they must see in England, how delighted he was that they had come.

And while they were chatting easily another arrival was announced.

The Duke of Clarence had at last arrived to greet his bride.

They regarded each other cautiously.

He was an ageing man; it was true his head was the shape of a pineapple; he had the Hanoverian eyes, blue, protuberant, and there was a hint of wildness in them; he was not nearly as tall nor as glorious as his dazzling brother; but somehow the thought of that ready-made family to whom she had been introduced by the eldest member of it – if only by hearsay – made her feel less alarmed than she might have done. There was something about him that was young, in spite of his age. She supposed it would be called naïve, and oddly enough this was comforting.

She had been brought up to believe that one day she would have to marry and very likely a strange Prince in a foreign land. Well, having seen him she was not as afraid as she had thought she might be.

He looked at her and felt a twinge of disappointment. She was no beauty. But he liked her gentle manner. And when she told him that she had already made the acquaintance of his son George and that George had talked to her of the rest of the family, he felt his spirits uplifted.

If she would come to Bushy and live there with them all, if she was ready to be a stepmother to the children, and if she could give him the child who would be the heir to the throne, he would be content.

They talked of her journey and he told her of the improvements he had made to the house at Bushy which was quite his favourite residence. He was looking forward to showing it to her.

It was almost a prosaic meeting. They had come nowhere near falling in love at first sight.

But she had decided that she might have had worse than her ageing Duke; and he perceived that although she did not possess the attractions of that brash young beauty Miss Wykeham, nor the exquisite features of Miss Tylney-Long, nor the handsome looks of Miss Mercer Elphinstone – all of whom he had tried to persuade to marry him – it might well be that she had qualities which those more flamboyant ladies lacked.

When they parted, although they could scarcely be said to be elated, they were not unduly dismayed.

When they were alone the fury of the Duchess Eleanor broke forth.

‘I never imagined that you would be treated like this! I am going to suggest that we return to Saxe-Meiningen tomorrow. Or … or …’ She faltered, but Adelaide smiled.

‘Dearest Mamma, you know that it is the last thing you wish.’

‘We should be objects of ridicule. It would be said that he had seen you and refused to marry you.’

‘And I should never have another chance to marry. Think of that, Mamma.’

‘But not to greet us! To let us come to an hotel. And then … insult on injury to send that, that … bastard of his to be so insolent to you.’

‘I liked him, Mamma; and after all, he will be my stepson.’

‘I should not use that word to describe your future husband’s bastard.’

‘But that’s what he is, Mamma. They will all be my stepchildren … all ten of them.’

‘You must refuse to see them.’

‘I could not do that.’

‘Why not? Why not? Von Konitz shall speak to the Regent immediately. We will make it a condition.’

‘It is not what I wish.’

The Duchess Eleanor looked in surprise at her daughter. There had been one or two occasions in Adelaide’s life when she had taken a stand and like all usually malleable people when she did stand firmly there was no shaking her.

‘You can’t mean …’

‘I mean this,’ said Adelaide, ‘that my future husband already has a large family of whom he is obviously fond. What chance of happiness should I have as his wife if I refused to acknowledge them?’

‘Your husband’s family. The children of an actress … who by all accounts must have been a loose woman, for these ten children are not the only ones she has had.’

‘They are nevertheless the Duke’s children. You always knew, Mamma, that I wanted to be a member of a big family. I regretted that I had not more sisters and brothers. Well, when I marry the Duke I shall become a member of one. That is one of the things that please me most in this marriage.’

The Duchess Eleanor stared at her daughter.

‘I shall speak to both Konitz and Effa in the morning.’

‘Mamma, I am sorry to say this, but this is my marriage. I think that I should be the one who decides how it shall be conducted.’

What had happened to Adelaide? She had become an autocrat already. Perhaps though, decided the Duchess Eleanor, one should rejoice because she had not given way to melancholy at the sight of her ageing bridegroom.

A very unbecoming welcome; and I tremble to think of leaving my daughter behind in such company.

Adelaide, oddly enough, seemed quite composed. It was strange to think that it was due to her future husband’s family of bastards.

The Duke of Kent had brought his Duchess to England that the ceremony might be repeated there in the presence of the Prince Regent and the Queen. They considered themselves in fact, already married.

The Queen received the Duchess graciously; she liked what she saw of her; but as she said afterwards to Augustus and Sophia she was so disgusted by Cumberland’s wife that any of her son’s consorts seemed admirable in comparison.

But undoubtedly the Duchess of Kent was a discreet and worthy woman. She had left her son and daughter in Leiningen, whither she and the Duke would return for a while after their three weeks honeymoon in England.

Apartments at Kensington Palace were offered to the Duke and these he gratefully accepted. They rode out to Claremont to see Victoria’s brother Leopold, who wept with joy and declared that nothing now could please him more than to see this match brought to fruition, for theirs was a union very near to his heart.

‘I have not been so happy since my dearest Charlotte died,’ he said.

Victoria, who was practical, asked him if he were wise to remain at Claremont, the scene of his last months with Charlotte.

‘Wise?’ he asked. ‘I am nearer to Charlotte here than anywhere else.’

‘Dearest Leopold,’ said Victoria, ‘you prolong your grief. You should get away.’

‘You don’t understand,’ groaned Leopold.

‘I too have lost a husband.’

Leopold looked at her in astonishment. How could she compare that old husband of hers with his young and vital Charlotte. But he merely covered his eyes with his hands and Victoria said no more.

He took them over Claremont. ‘This was the room where she died. I have left it just as it was on that dreadful day. This is her cloak. After the last walk she took in the grounds, she hung it there. I won’t have it moved.’

Victoria said: ‘Dearest brother, it is time you took a holiday away from England.’

‘It is what I propose to do. And when you are married you may borrow Claremont for your honeymoon.’

‘That is excellent news, is it not, Edward?’ asked Victoria.

Edward was forming the habit of agreeing with everything Victoria said and did, and he immediately concurred.

So it was decided that after the wedding the honeymoon should be spent here.

‘And the first thing I shall do,’ the practical Victoria told her husband, ‘is take down Charlotte’s cloak and rearrange that bedroom in which she died.’

The Duchess Eleanor was received by the Queen, who was feeling a little better on this day. She explained to Duchess Eleanor the nature of her complaint and how it varied with the days.

‘Anxiety does not improve it,’ she explained. ‘And I have had plenty of that and to spare.’

Duchess Eleanor inclined her head sympathetically.

‘I trust Adelaide will be happy here,’ said the Queen.

‘I shall feel that she has found a mother in Your Majesty.’

The Queen graciously inclined her head.

‘William is not the most level-headed of the Princes, so I am particularly relieved that Adelaide seems to be a sensible young woman.’

‘Your Majesty will find her so. She has a good heart. In fact there is a matter on which I would ask Your Majesty’s advice.’

‘Pray proceed.’

‘On our arrival the Duke sent a young man, a George Fitz-Clarence, to greet my daughter. He was in fact the first one to do so.’

‘Surely this could not be!’

‘Alas, Your Majesty, I assure you it was so.’

‘Monstrous!’ said the Queen; and Duchess Eleanor nodded in relief. ‘Something must be done about it,’ went on Charlotte, and added, ‘Something shall be done about it.’

‘How grateful I am to Your Majesty; but I knew of course that you would deal with this matter … as it should be dealt with. The Duke plans that the honeymoon should be spent at Bushy. He proposes to take Adelaide there … in the midst of this family.’

‘It is not possible. I will see the Regent immediately. We could never allow such a thing to be. I fear that William has little sense of the rightness of things – although I am sure Adelaide will find him an indulgent husband. But pray leave this matter to me.’

When the Duchess had retired the Queen went to her bedroom and lay down for a short while. These internal controversies upset her now far more than they used to. She was afraid of having another turn like the last she had had. One of these days, she thought, and that soon, I shall not recover.

There was so much to be done.

She wanted to live to see the heir born, to know that all these marriages had not been in vain; and the affairs of Adelaide and William were most important for they could produce the King or Queen of England.

If only William were not such a fool!

She sighed, roused herself and sent for him.

‘William,’ she said sternly, ‘you really must behave with more decorum.’

He raised his eyes, looking hurt. ‘What have I done now?’ he asked reproachfully. ‘I have accepted this marriage you have arranged for me. I have made no fuss about it … even though the Parliament has not met my demands. I …’

The Queen held up a hand for silence. ‘I beg of you cease, William. I am not feeling well and my strength threatens to give out. So pray let us get quickly to the point. You have that actress’s family at Bushy.’

‘I have my family there, Mamma.’

‘Your bastards, William.’

William flushed hotly; sailors’ oaths rose to his lips. He thought of his darling daughters, the pride of his life; he adored them. Gay and pretty Sophia just twenty-one; he liked to have her here with him, showing her off. Mary of twenty down to eleven-years-old Amelia. Nothing on earth would induce him to part with them. And if his new wife was asking that this should be done he would refuse to marry her even now.

The Queen saw the stubborn set of his jaw and sighed.

‘You propose to spend your honeymoon at Bushy?’

‘Where else? Leopold has offered Edward and his wife Claremont. I have had no such offers. In any case, I don’t want them. I prefer Bushy.’

‘The honeymoon should not be spent at Bushy, although you will wish to take Adelaide there in due course. There should be just you and Adelaide there … with your servants, of course.’

William looked surprised. ‘My daughters live there. It is their home. And that of the boys when they are home.’

‘So you propose to take your bride into the heart of this … this family of yours, all of whom are the illegitimate children of an actress.’

‘I must remind you again, Mamma, that they are mine as well,’ said William with dignity.

‘You have no sense, William. This cannot be. It would be a scandal. You must move your children from Bushy. The Regent has in any case decided that you leave for Hanover three weeks after the wedding. What happens later could be a matter for you and Adelaide to work out between you; but you cannot take your bride to Bushy while those children are there; and as it has been arranged that you should spend three weeks in England before going to Hanover you should spend them at St James’s. The FitzClarence family must leave Bushy.’

‘They will not like it.’

‘And I should not like it if they stayed. Nor would your brother, the Regent, nor the people, nor any decent thinking person.’

‘Adelaide has raised no objection.’

‘Her mother has raised it on her behalf.’

‘I thought she was an interfering old woman.’

‘William!’

‘I’m sorry, Mamma, but this is my private affair.’

‘It is an affair of the State when an insult is offered to visitors to our country even if they are shortly to become a member of the family. I have spoken to the Regent about this and he agrees with me. While he sympathizes with your affection for this … this … family … he thinks the FitzClarence children should not make Bushy their home. You may leave me now, William, for I am very tired. But I shall expect you to consider my wishes.’

The Regent was sympathetic as the Queen had said, but he did urge on William the need to remove the FitzClarences from Bushy.

‘It’s what people would say, William. God knows how we always have to consider that. I’ve spent my life doing it.’

‘What is so infuriating is that Adelaide has raised no objection.’

‘She seems a pleasant creature … docile, amenable. I think she will make a good wife. Edward seems to have been put into leading strings. Victoria is not unprepossessing in her way but she has her fixed opinions and she won’t rest until those about her share them. An attractive woman, but not as comfortable as your Adelaide.’

‘Yes, I think Adelaide will make a good obedient wife – and all things considered I prefer her to Victoria. But why should I disrupt the Bushy household when Adelaide doesn’t object?’

‘Because, William, the people would object.’ The Regent was a little weary of the subject, so he yawned gracefully to show that the subject was closed as far as he was concerned and he expected William to comply with his wishes.

‘Who was that woman you thought of engaging as a governess?’

‘Her name is Miss Cooper. She is a very intelligent and capable woman.’

‘There is your answer, William. Now I must ask you to leave. I have a long session with my tailor.’

William realized there was no help for it. He acquired a house in South Audley Street and amid the protests of his daughters moved them there and put the efficient Miss Cooper in control.

Then he prepared for his wedding. He must devote himself to his wife and the object of the marriage, which was to make it fruitful as soon as possible.

It was the day of the double wedding, which was to take place in the Queen’s drawing-room at Kew. The Regent was due to arrive just before four o’clock in order to preside benignly over the proceedings and give both brides to their husbands.

The Duke and Duchess of Kent were less nervous than Adelaide and William. They had in fact already been married in Germany two months before and were quite satisfied with each other.

Victoria was attractive and domineering; and Edward in spite of a somewhat pompous exterior was a good subject for her domination. He had been able to salve his conscience concerning Julie by doing everything possible for her comfort and he was sure that she had found peace in her convent. He had to admit that he was such a man of habit that Julie had to some extent become a habit; and it was more exciting to have a young – or comparatively young – wife, who was gay, affectionate and charming – as long as it was accepted that she was always right. And she invariably was – a fact which might have been a little irritating to some, but not to Edward. He liked precision and efficiency; he liked Victoria.

As for Victoria she was enjoying her new life. Edward was dignified it was true; strictly religious, unimaginative; but she was satisfied with him. When she compared him with her first husband, the old Duke of Leiningen, she considered herself lucky. She had come satisfactorily through that first marriage because of her own sound good sense; but everyone had agreed that the old Duke was a trial. From him, though, she had her dearest Charles and Feodore, and for them she was grateful; and she looked forward to the time when she would have her children with her in one nursery with that all-important child who was to be the ruler of England.

She was sure she was going to be the one to produce the heir – and wasn’t she always right? Only Adelaide and Clarence stood between the throne and the child she would have; and there was a certain ineffectuality about Clarence which she recognized – and as for Adelaide she did not believe she was a strong woman. She lacked the radiant health of Victoria.

Soon, soon, she prayed every night. I shall have my child – and that child is to be the one.

Edward had told her of the gipsy’s prophecy, which she would have dismissed as rubbish if it had concerned anything else. But this prophecy was right – only she did not accept that it would be a Queen. She believed it would be a King.

But a Queen would do very well as the English did not regard sex as a bar to sovereignty.

So it was a very satisfied Victoria who stood before her mirror surveying her plump but seductive form. The dress of gold tissue was so becoming to a widow. Adelaide would be dressed in white no doubt. But the fact that she was in gold was a symbol that she was not a newcomer to marriage and she had already proved her ability to bear children. Her darling Charles and Feodore were living evidence.

It was a very complacent Victoria who made her way to the Queen’s drawing-room.

Adelaide was less composed. The dress was charming. The insignia of a bride – silver tissue and Brussels lace. And the effect was enchanting.

As the diamond clasp was fastened about her waist she thought: Even I look beautiful today.

Duchess Eleanor clasped her hands with delight.

‘You look lovely, my dear. No bride ever looked more beautiful.’

‘It’s the dress that’s beautiful, Mamma.’

‘Oh, why must you always denigrate yourself!’ exclaimed the Duchess impatiently.

‘I don’t want to shut my eyes to the truth, Mamma.’

The Duchess clicked her tongue; but she was not displeased. That unfortunate matter had been comfortably settled and the FitzClarences moved to South Audley Street. A victory, she decided; and it showed that the Queen was ready to treat Adelaide with due respect even if William were not.

‘It is time to go,’ said the Duchess, studying her daughter intently to make sure that all was well.

‘I am ready,’ said Adelaide.

In the drawing-room members of the royal family were assembling. The Cambridges were already there – Augusta looking very beautiful – and Mary with ‘Slice’. The Duke of York arrived, without the Duchess, who was ill and unable to attend. Though they had not lived together for years they were good friends and the Duke was melancholy on his wife’s account. None of the other brothers and sisters were present and the Duchess Eleanor, noting this, thought how strange it was. There seemed to be so many rifts in this family. She knew that the Cumberlands had been dismissed from the country and the Duchess was not received at Court. The rumours she had heard over the years of the quarrels of the family were certainly based on fact.

But that did not matter. Her daughter’s wedding was about to take place.

Adelaide looked composed and quite lovely; the Duchess of Kent, Eleanor decided, was too flamboyant in her gold tissue. How buxom she was, how healthy! Adelaide looked frail beside her. But Adelaide had more grace. She might not be beautiful but she managed to look elegant – far more so than Victoria. But Victoria did look as though she were bursting with vitality and very fit to bear children – which was, after all, what this ceremony was about.

But Eleanor refused to think of that, for the Regent was leading in the Queen, who looked very old and very ill, and the Archbishop of Canterbury was ready to preside with the Bishop of London, the Prime Minister and the Hanoverian ambassador as witnesses.

Leaflets were distributed among the company on which the service was printed in German and English. Victoria had found it very difficult to learn English and knew scarcely anything of the language; Adelaide had progressed much better; but it was comforting to have the German translation.

The Regent took his place at the altar which had been set up in the drawing-room and the ceremonies began.

Thus were the Dukes of Clarence and Kent married to their Duchesses in the presence of the Queen and Regent.

The ceremony over, the Queen looked as though she were about to faint and the Regent insisted on conducting her to her bed.

‘I insist,’ he told her playfully. ‘Dearest Madre, if you had one of your attacks on such a day we should all be plunged into melancholy.’

‘I know that as long as you are there everything will be conducted in the most fitting manner.’

The Regent inclined his head in acknowledgement of this; and having handed her over to her attendants and telling her that he would come back to make sure she was comfortable before he left Kew, he returned to his guests.

The company then adjourned to the dining-room where a banquet awaited them. The Regent at the head of the table, a bride on either side of him, conversed with grace and wit while he consumed large quantities of the most excellent turtle soup, delicious fish garnished with highly flavoured sauces and venison.

Victoria, who had a good appetite, did justice to the food and the Regent talked to her in some German and chiefly French (which he found a more graceful language admirably suited to his musical voice). He did not forget Adelaide whose quiet charm appealed to him. As he commented afterwards to Lady Hertford, she was a pleasant creature if one did not look on her face.

Clarence was at first a little sullen because he believed that the FitzClarence children should have been at the wedding and the Queen had firmly refused to allow this.

She’s got to accept her stepchildren some time, he was grumbling to himself.

But grievances never disturbed him for long and he was at last married … a state he had never achieved before, although he had made many attempts.

And Adelaide – she was growing on him. He thought: I’d rather have her than Victoria. There is something about her … gentle and kind. The Regent likes her – and he knows a great deal about women. I fancy he is more taken with her than with Victoria who talks too much and is too sure of herself.

His eyes met Adelaide’s and he smiled almost shyly.

She thought: He is young at heart. I believe he will be kind. It is not so bad. I really believe I am rather lucky.

The banquet was over and the company went back to the drawing-room from which the altar had now been removed. The Regent walked about among the guests and talked to them in his charming affable way.

Then Leopold’s carriage which he had put at the disposal of his sister and her husband arrived to take them to Claremont for the honeymoon.

The Regent took a farewell of the Duke and Duchess; and the company went out to see them ride away for the first stage of their honeymoon in that house which so recently had been the scene of so much happiness and so much tragedy.

The Regent then led the company on a tour of the gardens which were such a feature of Kew.

He had taken Adelaide’s arm and told her how he remembered these gardens so well from his youth. Here he used to make assignations with delightful young ladies. Happy, romantic days.

He sighed, thinking of occasions when he had crept out of his apartments to meet Perdita Robinson, the heroine of his first big romance. What joy that had brought in the beginning and what humiliation in the end when she had threatened to publish his letters. But he would not think of the end of that affair, only the beginning when they had met in the glades of Kew and later on Eel Pie Island.

So long ago and yet with this young bride beside him they seemed like yesterday. He looked at her with affection. Suppose he were the bridegroom instead of William. He would be content. If he were rid of that woman. Oh God, why had fate been so cruel as to burden him with Caroline of Brunswick!

And here he was back to an ever-recurring theme. His bondage with that woman; his desire to escape.

‘I grow melancholy,’ he said to Adelaide. ‘You see, I am envious of William.’

At the Queen’s cottage beside the Pagoda they stopped for a dish of tea; and afterwards they returned to the palace and as they came across the gardens it began to rain.

The Duke’s carriage had now arrived. It was time to leave; the ceremonies were over.

William had been hoping that Duchess Eleanor would have been invited to stay at Kew, but the Queen had not mentioned this. It was typical of William’s affairs that he should find himself on his wedding night to be in a quandary about his mother-in-law.

He looked hopefully towards the Regent, but his brother was saying his farewells in that manner which was slightly ceremonious and could clearly not be broached on such a matter at such a time.

He had been hoping too that someone might have offered him a house for the honeymoon as Leopold had offered Claremont to the Kents.

But William had always been treated less royally than his brothers; it was an attitude he seemed to attract.

And here was his carriage – new for the occasion – with his coat of arms glistening on it – very fine, he commented; but where could he take his bride? If it were to Bushy, how easy it would have been; but everyone had set their minds against Bushy. He was beginning to think they were right; there would have been too many memories of Dorothy Jordan there; there might even be some of her possessions about the place.

The only place was his apartments in Stable Court at St James’s. They were not large nor particularly grand, but they had been his headquarters when he was at Court – and in any case it was all he could think of.

And the Duchess Eleanor must accompany them!

So through the rain they drove to St James’s and when they arrived there it was to find a little crowd of people assembled to see the bride.

There was a little laughter to see the mother-in-law as well, but they could trust Clarence to get himself into ridiculous situations.

Adelaide, however, appealed to them; she bowed and smiled and if she was not as beautiful as the Duchesses of Cambridge and Kent, she was more affable; so they cheered her.

The people still waited when they went into the Palace and Adelaide came out and stood on the balcony. That she should do this in the rain, won their hearts still further and it was some time before they would let her go in.

William had given orders for the Duchess to be conducted to a bedchamber – and then he and Adelaide were alone.

He waved his hand at the furnishings. ‘They should have been renewed,’ he said. ‘I thought we should go to Bushy.’

‘I know,’ she said in her halting English.

The bed was rather grand; William looked at it and laughed.

‘It was put here for the King of Prussia not long ago when he paid a visit. He used these apartments then. They were somewhat shabby so this bed was put in for him.’

Adelaide touched the deep pink silk bedcurtains and in some embarrassment traced with her finger the fluting on the pillars of the magnificent four-poster.

He smiled at her; then he took her hands; and as she lifted her face to his she thought gratefully: I need not fear him.