Victoria in the Wings

Kent

THERE COULD NOT have been a more domesticated couple than the Duke of Kent and Madame de St Laurent.

It had been said that the Royal Marriage Act countenanced adultery and fornication in the royal family. An Act which forbade the sons and daughters of the King to marry without royal consent until the age of twenty-five and after that without the consent of the Parliament made a choice necessary; princes and princesses must either marry the partner chosen for them or not at all; and if no partner was offered they must either live in celibacy or in sin.

What could men – lusty Hanoverians at that – be expected to do?

If they were young and romantic they married secretly and morganatically as the Prince of Wales had married Mrs Fitzherbert, or openly as Augustus Duke of Sussex had married Lady Augusta Murray. The Fitzherbert marriage had caused endless conflict and few people were sure whether or not it had taken place; it was one of the reasons for the unpopularity of the Regent at this time; and had caused suffering and humiliation to Mrs Fitzherbert. As for Augustus, when he had married the Lady Augusta the King and Queen had refused to acknowledge the marriage and there had been a case to decide whether or not the marriage was legal, although it had been celebrated before an English priest in Italy and later in St George’s, Hanover Square. The verdict, however, was that although the Duke of Sussex might have been married in the eyes of the Church this was no true marriage in the eyes of the State because it flouted the Royal Marriage Act which was a law of the land. So Sussex and his Augusta set up house together, supported by his brothers who deplored the Act as much as he did. Sussex had since left her as the Regent had left Mrs Fitzherbert, but both believed that if life had been made less difficult for them, if the women they looked upon as their wives had been able to share their social as well as their private lives, they would have been happily married to this day.

The Duke of Kent, the serious military man, cared passionately for his career; twenty years before he had met in Canada and fallen in love with Mademoiselle Alphonsine Thérèse Bernardine Julie de Montgenet, a beautiful young refugee from the French revolution.

He would have married her but he knew that the King would never have given his consent to his marriage with any but a princess – preferably German and certainly Protestant – of his choosing. So they too set up house together, and had lived a life of great happiness and devotion to each other for more than twenty-five years.

Edward Duke of Kent was a martinet in the Army; he was a man without humour and in every way different from his brother the Prince Regent. He had suffered acutely when he had been recalled from the Governorship of Gibraltar where his stern methods had not been appreciated; he had been jealous of the Duke of York’s Command of the Army, considering him to be but an indifferent soldier; it was said he had played some part in bringing the Mary Anne Clarke scandal to light and had hoped – in vain – to become Commander-in-Chief of the Army when York was forced to resign. But through all his troubles Julie, who had taken the name of Madame de St Laurent after the St Lawrence River on whose banks they had met, had remained with him, to comfort him, to love him, to nurse him when he was sick and to restore his belief in himself when he felt himself to be unappreciated and overlooked.

When they had come to England the Regent with his usual charm and sympathy had received Julie as though she were the Duchess of Kent; and they had bought Castle Hill Lodge at Ealing from Maria Fitzherbert who, being a Catholic like Julie, was drawn to her; they acquired a house in Knightsbridge for Julie, and Edward had his apartments in Kensington Palace. These establishments were costly to keep up and Edward, like all his brothers, was soon deeply in debt.

He and Julie lived in a pleasantly domestic atmosphere. There were young people constantly in and out of the houses. Julie was fond of children and had become godmother to several when she was in Canada and these paid frequent visits. It had been an exceptionally happy household – more domesticated than that enjoyed by Dorothy Jordan and the Duke of Clarence because Dorothy’s frequent absences at the theatre had meant that the occasions when the family could be all together were rare. Not so with Edward and Julie. They, as Julie often told Maria Fitzherbert, lived for each other.

Julie’s charm offset the rather morose character of Edward – not that he was morose with her, but in company her gaiety was the charming antidote to his seriousness. He liked everything to be done at precisely the time assigned to it. His servants must be on duty all the time; a manservant must remain awake all night to come into Edward’s bedroom during the night and light the fire so that the room was warm by morning; another servant must bring in his coffee at the stroke of six; another, exactly half an hour later must come to take away the tray. In this he resembled his great-grandfather George II who had, it was said, even made love by the clock. In fact Edward was fascinated by time-pieces; in his bedroom it was impossible to escape from their chiming and ticking.

Like all his brothers, Edward was in debt, but he did not take the matter as lightly as they did. With his precise methods of keeping accounts he deplored the fact that his expenses were more than his income.

He talked this over with Julie who was concerned to see his anxiety. ‘Castle Hill,’ he pointed out, ‘Knightsbridge and my apartments in Kensington Place! That is three homes. Do we need three?’

‘I need only one if you are in it,’ Julie replied.

‘And as I am of like opinion,’ he replied, ‘why should we keep up these three homes? Why don’t we settle for one? Do you know, it’s three times cheaper in Brussels than it is in London.’

‘Brussels!’ Julie’s eyes gleamed at the thought. She would be closer to her family who were in Paris, and now that the war was over it was safe to travel on the Continent.

‘I have an idea,’ said Edward. ‘We’ll take a house there. We’ll sell Castle Hill and the Knightsbridge place and I’ll give up my apartments in the Palace. That would settle some of the debts and we’d be more or less free to start again.’

Julie was clearly delighted, but she was eager that he should be sure that he wanted to make this move.

‘Your family …’

He shrugged them aside. He had been unpopular with the Duke of York since the Mary Anne Clarke scandal and that had meant to some extent with the Regent, for George believed firmly in family loyalty; and in any case he and Frederick had always stood together. The Queen did not approve of the irregularity of life; and he and Ernest had always been the outsiders in the family.

‘You are my family, Julie,’ he said. ‘Your godchildren could come and visit us there, and you could see your family frequently.’

Julie was delighted, so they rented a mansion in Brussels and Julie, who loved flowers, immediately began planning the gardens while Edward made a few improvements to the house, for why should they not settle here where they could live on a quarter of his income and the rest could be used to pay off his debts?

It seemed to be an admirable arrangement, and they settled down to a peaceful existence, visiting Paris, entertaining Julie’s family, playing cards and chess together, giving parties in the gardens of which Edward was growing very proud.

Then the Princess Charlotte died.

When they heard the news they could not believe it.

‘Not that great bouncing girl!’ cried Edward.

‘Poor, poor Leopold!’ sighed Julie. ‘I have heard that he was so devoted to her. I can’t get him out of my thoughts.’

What Edward could not get out of his thoughts was the fear of what this was going to mean. He would have to go to England, he supposed. Sooner or later he would receive a summons from the Regent and there would be a family conference. He wondered what suggestions the Queen would make.

He watched Julie covertly. Was she remembering how often they had congratulated themselves that he was the fourth son of the King, for had he been the first or second he would have been forced into marriage as the Regent and the Duke of York had been. And with what disastrous results in both cases! He kept thinking of Julie’s distress over poor Dorothy Jordan when William had abandoned her. ‘I should not have believed it of William,’ she had said. ‘I do not admire him for it.’

And she must have been thinking of him and herself, for were not their cases similar?

He wondered if pressure had been brought to bear on William by the family, and if that were not the reason why he had suddenly deserted a woman with whom he had lived for more than twenty years and who had borne him ten children.

He had soothed Julie. ‘You should put the thought that it could happen to us out of your mind.’

‘I think I should die if it did,’ Julie had answered.

What he could not get out of his mind was that conversation.

And Dorothy had died. He did not believe those stories of her walking down Piccadilly and in the Strand. Nor did he believe that her ghost had appeared there. Poor Dorothy Jordan!

He could not sleep for thinking of what lay in store for him. He waited for the message. The peace of Brussels was shattered. He knew the summons would come; and when it came he would have to obey it.

He had had a sleepless night; he had lain still afraid lest Julie should be aware of his lack of ease. He did not want her to suspect just yet. He wanted her to enjoy every hour to the full. It was important now that they both did.

He was tired when he went down to breakfast. His letters with the papers from England were awaiting him at the breakfast table as they always were. They were placed there precisely five minutes before he appeared.

He picked up the letters and Julie held out her hands for the papers.

He gave them to her and settled down to the letters.

She did not speak but he was aware that something dreadful had happened. He looked up. She was lying back in her chair, her face the colour of the cloth on the table, her eyes closed.

‘Julie, my darling, what’s wrong?’

She opened her eyes and her fingers caught at his sleeve.

The paper! Of course it was the paper.

He looked down. There it was in large print on the front page. ‘Dukes of Clarence and Kent to marry now. The death of the Princess Charlotte has made it imperative that her uncles do their duty by the State. There are rumours that …’

So it had come.

He threw the paper to the floor. He laughed. ‘Oh come, Julie. Newspaper talk. You know what the press is like.’

She opened her eyes and looked at him. She was begging him to reassure her, and he went on talking. His lips told her what she wanted to know, but in his heart he knew he was lying. He could hear those words she had spoken beating like a malicious tattoo in his head. ‘I think I should die.’