Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series) (12 page)

In the morning he said to himself: I have fallen in love at first sight with Maria Fitzherbert.

Drama at Carlton House

THE PRINCE HAD
always lived publicly; his affairs could not be hidden, so he made no attempt to hide them. He was passionately in love with Maria Fitzherbert and he could not have kept that secret had he wished to. He made it clear that if any of his friends wished to please him, they must invite Maria Fitzherbert to their houses and him at the same time; they must make sure that at their dinner tables he was seated next to her; he wanted to talk to Maria Fitzherbert, dance with her, be with her every moment that was possible, and he wished no one to attempt to prevent this.

His friends reminded each other of Perdita Robinson. So it had been in the early days of that affair; and that hadn’t lasted very long. Of course Maria was different from Perdita, Maria was socially acceptable; she had been twice married and she was a poised society woman; she was not very rich, but on the other hand she was by no means poor. She had a house at Richmond and a house in Town; she did not entertain a great deal, but then she had no need to. Every fashionable hostess knew that unless she invited Maria Fitzherbert she would not have the Prince of Wales.

And Maria herself? She was not honoured; she was not delighted. She could not see how any good could come from the Prince’s infatuation. Maria was sensible; she knew that she was no beauty but that she was a great deal more attractive than many who were; there was about her a dignity, an almost maternal air; she was not even very young, being twenty-eight; and she did not see how there could be any honourable relationship between herself and the Prince of Wales, and she was not the sort of woman to indulge in any other.

The Prince was very soon declaring his admiration.

‘Never in my life have I met anyone who had moved me so deeply,’ he told her. ‘I could be perfectly happy in a world which contained no one else but you.’

She smiled serenely and said he was very charming to her, and she knew that she owed her welcome into society to him.

He tried to explain. He wanted her to owe everything to him;
he wanted her to know that it was his greatest desire to serve her … not only now, but for the rest of his life.

She smiled her placid smile, which really meant that she believed he had made similar declarations many times before; and although she found him charming and it was pleasant to know that he enjoyed making them to her, she did not take them at all seriously.

‘I don’t doubt you have heard stories of my adventures with women,’ he said ruefully.

‘The affairs of a Prince of Wales must always attract interest, of course.’

‘But you don’t understand, Maria … Oh what a beautiful name. Everything about you is perfect. What I feel now is something entirely new. I realize now that I was never seriously involved with anyone before.’

But she did not believe him. She was gracious and charming, completely unruffled; she liked him; she thought him amusing, charming, a delightful companion; but she refused to consider him as a lover. She had been twice most honourably married, and she did not consider it an honour to be any man’s mistress – even that of a Prince of Wales.

He was frustrated. He did what he always did in moments of stress. He took to his pen. He wrote to Maria, pouring out his feelings for her. She did not always answer the letters, but when she did she did so in the manner of a friend and he could not break through the barrier she had set up.

He was interested in nothing. In vain did his friends try to tempt him. The Duchess of Cumberland would give an entertainment to outshine any she had ever given before. He was not interested. Georgiana would invite all the most interesting people in London – all those who had most delighted him. Was that going to make Maria consider him seriously? Major Hanger would think up some delicious practical jokes. Maria thought them childish, said the Prince; and so they were. He was finished with such amusements.

‘Mrs Fitzherbert is a Tory and a Catholic,’ Fox reminded him.

‘I’d be a Tory and a Catholic if that would give me any headway with her,’ was the Prince’s retort.

That was an alarming statement. ‘For God’s sake,’ said Fox to Sheridan, ‘let the woman give in before real damage is done.’

The Prince could not eat; he lost his good humour; he wanted Maria, but Maria, while ready to be his friend, would not become his mistress.

Lady Sefton called on Maria. Maria received her in the drawing room at Park Street and Isabella Sefton studied her as people were studying Maria now, which made her smile.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Maria. ‘It’s what everyone thinks when they look at me nowadays. What does he see in her?’

‘Well, Maria, you are very attractive.’

‘That may be, but surely not attractive enough for so much fuss.’

‘Too modest, Maria. You could have accepted Bedford. Then you would have been a Duchess.’

‘A title for which I have no great desire, Isabella.’

‘No more than you have a desire to become the first lady of London society.’

Maria laughed. ‘For how long? Remember poor Perdita Robinson. Her reign was of very short duration.’

‘You’re no Perdita. Yours could be for ever, perhaps.’

‘I can see no honour in it, Isabella.’

‘You must be fond of him. He is charming, is he not?’

‘Charming yes … and modest for one in his position. He is interesting too when he is not talking in the most exaggerated terms of his feelings for me which, I am fully aware, are aimed at one object. No, Isabella, your charming Prince is not going to succeed.’

‘Not mine, Maria. You mean yours.’

‘Our Prince, then. He will soon be tired – have no doubt of that. He is far too young and impressionable not to discover someone more willing than I who will be the most beautiful woman in the world, who will embody all he looks for in women and so on.’

‘He is gallant,’ admitted Isabella. ‘He has always been fond of women; but I … and others tell me the same … have never seen him in this state before. He is interested in nothing but you; he talks of nothing but you. He makes no secret of his passion. You cannot deny, Maria, that the young man is in love with you.’

‘Oh, Isabella, I am too old, too experienced of life …’

‘With two old husbands?’

‘Thomas was not so old. He was only twelve years older than I.’

‘But you were little more than a nurse to both of your husbands, Maria; is it not time that you began to enjoy life?’

‘I enjoy it well enough, Isabella; and I certainly should not if I were doing something of which I was ashamed.’

‘Other women …’

‘I am not other women, Isabella. How could I go to confession if I were living in sin … which is clearly what he wishes. No, the best news you could give me would be that someone else has caught his fancy and that he is no longer interested in me.’

‘I don’t believe he will be satisfied until you give in.’

‘Then he will have to prepare himself for a life of
dis
-satisfaction. I have decided to leave London. The less he sees of me the better. Pray do not mention the fact that I am going. I am leaving early tomorrow for Marble Hill.’

Isabella smiled sardonically. Did Maria think that by removing herself to Richmond she would escape from the Prince of Wales?

Isabella was right. Within a few hours the Prince had discovered where she had gone. He immediately called for his phaeton and rode out to Marble Hill.

She must receive him. She must listen to an account of his sufferings when he had heard she had left Park Street; he had thought at first that she might have hidden herself somewhere. It was a great joy to find that she had only removed her bright presence to Marble Hill.

She felt the need of a little country air, she told him. She lived very simply.

There was nothing like the simple life, he agreed. He too longed to get away from balls and banquets and everything that went with them. The glitter of society had no charm for him … since it had none for her.

‘I’m afraid the simple life I prefer would have no charms for Your Highness.’

‘There is only one life that has any charms for me, Maria – and that is life with you.’

She sighed; she begged him to change the subject and talk of other matters. Anything in the world she wished, he said; so they talked lightly of politics, of her gardens, of people they knew, and she laughed gaily and he was enchanted with all her views, with her quick spontaneous laughter, with everything she said and did; and when he left, reluctantly, for it was she who suggested that he should go, he was more in love than ever.

Every day he drove out to Marble Hill. He declared that he would not let a day pass without a glimpse of Maria. She would understand in time how much he loved her, she would realize that she could not go on being so cruel … and so on.

He was determined to become her lover; and she was equally determined that he should not. But she could not turn him away when he came to Marble Hill; she could not help being fond of him; but her answer was always the same.

Everyone was talking about the Prince’s passion for Mrs Fitzherbert and a new ballad had been written and was sung all over the town:

‘On Richmond Hill there lives a lass

More bright than May day morn,

Whose charms all other maids’ surpass

A rose without a thorn.

This lass so neat, with smile so sweet,

Has won my right good will,

I’d crowns resign to call thee mine,

Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.’

In desperation the Prince rode out to Chertsey. Charles James Fox had helped him over the Perdita affair; he had known how to act when she threatened to present the bond he had given her and publish his letters. Very satisfactorily Charles had dealt with that matter – and had rounded it up in a characteristically cynical way by becoming Perdita’s lover. Charles would help him with Maria. He was certain of it.

Charles received him with pleasure and so did Lizzie Armistead. A delightful woman, Lizzie; she reminded him in some ways of Maria – a pale shadow of Maria, of course; but that serenity, that poise! And Charles had changed since they lived together in an almost respectable manner. It showed what
the right kind of woman could do for a man. Charles, he believed, was more or less faithful to Lizzie; he still drank too much and gambled heavily – but he had changed. He had mellowed; it was as though he had found something well worth while in life.

The Prince sighed. It would be the same with him and Maria. He had sown enough wild oats; he wanted now to reap the contentment which should be the right of any man who was capable of enjoying it.

‘We are honoured, Your Highness,’ said Lizzie, sweeping a graceful curtsey. She gave no hint that they had once been very intimate indeed. Admirable Lizzie!

He embraced her with tears in his eyes.

‘I am happy to see you well, my dear. And Charles?’

Charles had heard his arrival and was coming out to greet him.

‘My dear, dear friend.’

Tears, thought Charles. This means he wants me to do something. How can I induce the woman to throw aside her principles and jump into bed with him?

‘Your Highness, you honour us.’

‘And envy you, you fortunate pair! I would give up everything to know contentment such as you enjoy in this little cottage.’

Cottage! thought Lizzie. It was scarcely that. It was a comfortably sized house and she was very proud of it. Compared with Carlton House, of course …

‘We are astonished that Your Highness should deign to visit such a humble dwelling,’ she replied.

‘My sweet Liz, it’s not the dwelling I come to see but you two dear friends.’

‘Your Highness will come into our humble drawing room doubtless,’ said Fox, ‘and perhaps partake of a little humble refreshment which will be served by our humble servants.’

The Prince laughed through his tears. Then he said appealingly: ‘The humility is all on my side, Charles. I come to beg of you to help me.’

He sat in the drawing room, diminishing it by his dazzling presence. His large plump form weighing heavily on the chair he had selected – feet stretched before him, glittering shoe
buckles almost vying with the magnificent diamond star on the left side of his elegant green coat.

When wine had been brought he looked helplessly from Charles to Lizzie. ‘What am I going to do?’ he demanded. ‘She receives me. She is kind; she laughs; she is gracious; but she will not allow me to as much as kiss her cheek.’

‘Mrs Robinson held off for a very long time,’ said Lizzie. ‘I remember how she used to pace up and down her room and declaim: “His wife I cannot be. His mistress I will never be.” It is a quotation, from some play most likely. She was full of such quotations. But all the time she had a firm intention to give in. She was being reluctant in order to make you more eager.’

‘You cannot compare Mrs Robinson with Mrs Fitzherbert.’

‘Except that they are both women. Mrs Robinson had one husband and Mrs Fitzherbert has had two.’

‘Perdita’s husband was living. He was somewhere in the background. Maria has been twice widowed.’

Lizzie knew when to be silent. Charles said: ‘Has Your Highness tried offering her estates … er …’

The Prince laughed bitterly. ‘You don’t know Maria. She does not want money. She had made it clear to me that she is perfectly happy with her income. Moreover, she knows how to live within it which is more than we do within ours.’

‘If she were not such an
admirable
woman,’ said Charles, ‘we should not be confronted by this impasse. Virtue can have its drawbacks. A little sin is very convenient now and then.’

It was Lizzie’s turn to flash a warning at Charles.

‘We must try to find some solution to His Highness’s problem,’ she said. ‘He knows we would do anything … just anything …’

‘My dear, dear Lizzie, I know it well.’ The tears were in his eyes; he covered his face with his hands. ‘But what … what …
what
?’