The Golden Prince (31 page)

Then the noise began.

It erupted the second their carriage emerged into full view. Every inch of pavement on the streets leading to Castle Square was jam-packed with flag-waving spectators, and every last one of them was shouting and cheering at the top of their lungs.

When they reached the square, the procession halted and the cheering intensified as the King knighted Caernarvon’s mayor. Then it was back into the landaus for a climb up Castle Hill amid a sea of waving Welsh flags and Union Jacks. In many respects it was like a rerun of the procession on Coronation Day, but with one huge, momentous difference. On Coronation Day, it had been King George who had been center stage, with Queen Mary coming a very close second.

Today, David was in the spotlight. It was
his
investiture. He was in Wales as the Prince of Wales, and though there were cheers in plenty for the King and Queen, the cheering he was receiving was far greater.

At first he felt so overcome at being the focal point of attention for so many thousands of people, he simply wanted to die of shyness. But then all his natural friendliness came to the fore. He liked people—and these people liked him. He remembered Lily telling him how, as Prince of Wales, he was in a position to effortlessly bring great happiness to people who would often have waited hours and hours to see him pass by.

Uncertain at first, and then with greater confidence, he began to smile and wave.

Once within the picturesque ruins of the ancient castle he waited with the Garter King of Arms as the King and Queen were seated, together with Bertie and Mary and all the civic and military dignitaries who had been in the procession. Then, as the sun beat down from a cloudless sky, preceded by the Garter King of Arms and accompanied by a fanfare of trumpets, David began
walking up the great outdoor transept to where, beneath a magnificent canopy, his father waited for him.

During his approach, as he paused to make three successive bows, he forgot about the fanciful doublet and hose he was wearing.

He forgot about everything but the solemnity of what was about to happen.

Winston Churchill, the home secretary, sonorously proclaimed his titles. As well as Prince of Wales he was Earl of Chester, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay, Earl of Carrick, Baron of Renfew, Lord of the Isles, and Prince and Great Steward of Scotland.

When the impressive roll call came to an end, the regalia of the Prince of Wales was carried forward on tasseled cushions and the ceremony of investiture began. He was robed in the purple velvet mantle. His father put the coronet studded with pearl and amethyst on his head and kissed him on both cheeks. He handed him the sword of Welsh gold as a symbol of justice. As a token of duty he put onto the middle finger of his left hand the ring featuring the Welsh dragon. Finally, he handed him the rod as a symbol of government.

Welsh voices rose in song as his father then led him by the hand through an ancient archway to the battlement tower known as Queen Eleanor’s Gate. There, where hundreds of years ago Edward I had presented his baby son to the people of Wales as their prince, he, too, was presented.

This was the moment when he had to speak to thousands of people in Welsh. The heat was so overpowering that he felt close to fainting. Nerves gripped him with such ferocity he thought he was going to be sick. He thought of Lily. He thought of how much he loved her and of how much she loved him. He thought of how much he wanted her to be proud of him.

Loudly and clearly he declaimed, “
Diolch fy nghalon i Hen wlad fy nhadau.
” Thanks from the bottom of my heart to the old land of my fathers.

He sensed the appreciation of the vast throng packed like
sardines into Castle Square below him and how they were all willing him to do well. By the time he came to
Mor o gan yw Cymru i gyd
—All Wales is a sea of song—he was happily confident that even Mr. Lloyd George himself couldn’t have done better.

The cheering was thunderous. Hats were thrown into the air. Flags were waved.

As David waved back he wondered if Rose was among the crowd in the square or if she was in one of the streets he would shortly be passing through on his way back to the royal train. The knowledge that he had a personal friend among the vast sea of ordinary people cheering him filled him with happiness so deep he had no words for it.

Accidentally knocking Rose from her bicycle had changed his life. It had shown him what a loving informal home life could be like. At Snowberry he’d experienced being treated as an ordinary young man—something he’d previously only dreamed about. Most important of all, it had given him Lily, and he knew that with Lily by his side he would be able to carry out whatever royal duties were asked of him.

His father touched him on the arm. It was time to turn and lead the ceremonial procession out of the castle for another carriage ride through Caernarvon’s flag-decked streets.

Just as on Coronation Day, after he’d paid homage to his father, now that the difficult part of the day’s ceremony was over, he felt vast, euphoric relief. Or at least he did until he remembered the interview he still had to have with his father.

It had been his own decision to leave asking for the interview until after his investiture was over. “The King will be in a much better mood then, darling,” he’d said over the telephone to Lily. “He’s always tetchy, but he’s tetchier than ever just before a big ceremonial event. Once the investiture is over—especially if it’s gone well—he’ll be far more receptive to the kind of news I shall be giving him.”

In the couple of days since their telephone conversation, he’d
realized he had a problem they’d never previously thought of. Though Lily was old enough to have been presented at court, she hadn’t been. She wasn’t yet a debutante. She wasn’t officially “out.” Until she was, in society’s eyes she was off-limits as far as romance was concerned. His father was a stickler for proprieties. It would not go down well that David had taken no notice of them.

Because his father was the King, David couldn’t simply speak to him any time that he wished. Occasionally, of course, if they were out together on a shoot, for instance, conversation would take place between them, but it was always to do with the task at hand—or about the weather. His father, like a lot of his subjects, was obsessed with the subject of the British weather. Usually if it wasn’t the task at hand, or the weather, it would be a criticism of some sort, such as his poor marks in maths at Naval College. Good marks, which he quite often got in French and German, never were mentioned.

The morning after the investiture David wrote a letter to his father saying he would like an interview with him, then he sealed it and gave it to a footman to deliver via miles of Buckingham Palace’s red-carpeted corridors. Then he clenched his hands together until the knuckles shone white and fought the excruciating nerves paralyzing his stomach.

The interview took place in the library, as did all interviews with his father, whether at Windsor or Buckingham Palace or Sandringham. He paused outside the door before entering, reminding himself of all the things that were in his favor. Though he was only seventeen, his mother had indicated that his father was in favor of his marrying young. And he wasn’t about to ask for permission to
marry
at seventeen. He was about to ask for permission to become betrothed at seventeen. The problem would not be his age, but Lily’s nonroyal status. Praying that his father was going to be
reasonable, he dug his nails into his palms and allowed a footman to open the door and announce his arrival.

The instant he entered the room he sensed with vast relief that his father, happy that the investiture had gone well, was in a good mood.

“You did remarkably well yesterday, David,” he said genially as David stood before his desk, legs apart and hands clasped behind his back. “I’ve received compliments on your behalf from both Mr. Lloyd George and Winston Churchill. Mr. Lloyd George has assured me that you have forged a lasting bond of affection with the Welsh people and that you won the admiration of all those who witnessed the ceremony yesterday.”

Compliments from his father, even though they were compliments he was passing on from someone else, were rare. David flushed with pleasure.

“It was Mr. Churchill’s opinion that you possess a voice which carries well and is capable of being raised without losing expressiveness.”

David was an admirer of his father’s bullish home secretary, and his pleasure deepened.

“So now, with your investiture behind us, we come to your immediate future.”

“Yes, sir. I believe Mama may have mentioned to you that I wished to speak about it. Something very extraordinary and wonderful has happened to me and …”

“It was indeed a most extraordinary and wonderful occasion. The first investiture of a Prince of Wales on Welsh soil for over six hundred years—and now I have a pleasant surprise for you.”

King George stroked his immaculately clipped Vandyke beard.

David yearned to interrupt him and to begin telling him about Lily, but he knew better than to do so.

“Because of your disappointment at not being able to finish your time at Dartmouth with the traditional training cruise I have arranged a three-month tour for you aboard the battleship
Hindustan
.”

He waited for a sign of gratitude and pleasure. David was completely unable to oblige. “Three months, sir?” All he could think was that it would be a three-month separation from Lily. Clutching at straws, he said hopefully, “Will this be sometime next year?”

Having not met with the reaction he had expected, his father frowned. “Not at all. You will be going to sea as a junior midshipman in three weeks’ time. The
Hindustan
is commanded by an old navy friend of mind, Captain Henry Hervey Campbell. He’s a splendid chap. You will have a grand time and learn a great deal.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sure I shall.” David knew that it was absolutely pointless to object to the plans that had been made for him. He licked dry lips, his heart hammering. “I have some news of my own, sir. It’s going to come as rather a surprise to you.”

King George seldom listened to what the person he was talking to was saying, and his son was no exception. “When you return from your three months aboard the
Hindustan
, you are going to have to put in some work reading up the subjects you will be studying next year at Oxford.”

“Oxford?” The ground shifted beneath David’s feet. “
Oxford
? But I’ve never been led to believe I would be going to Oxford! I’m not an academic. I’m not interested in academia. Oxford would be a complete waste of my time and …”

“In the early part of next year, before you go up to Oxford, you will be going to France to learn something of French politics and to polish up your language skills.”

The ground wasn’t merely shifting beneath his feet now; it was opening into a yawning chasm. How, with such a program before him, would he ever be able to spend time with Lily? Oxford would mean three years away from her. It would also be three years spent in an environment totally at odds with the kind of environment he flourished best in. He needed physical exercise. The kind of physical exercise he’d been accustomed to as a naval cadet. If he’d been given a choice, he would have chosen to remain in the navy. But he never was given a choice. And he knew that as far into the future as he could see, he never would be given one.

Irritably, his father, his good humor fast evaporating, shifted a couple of Fabergé paperweights into different positions on his desk. “In France you will be staying with the Marquis de Valmy and his family and will be there incognito, traveling as the Earl of Chester. Mr. Hansell and Finch will accompany you. The marquis, who has the advantage of having been a close friend of your grandfather, has two sons close to you in age, one of whom will act as your equerry.”

It was all getting worse and worse. With desperation in his voice, David said: “I do appreciate all the time and trouble that has gone into making all these arrangements for me, but I have news of my own that might mean rethinking some of them.”

“Rethinking some of them?” King George blinked. Not even his ministers ever suggested he should rethink anything. “
Rethinking
some of them? What the devil do you mean?”

Well aware that he had lost the advantage of his father’s previous good mood, David screwed his courage to the sticking point. “I’d like to talk to you about my future marriage, sir.”

Amazingly, his father calmed down an edge. “Hrrumph,” he said into his beard, believing that after the conversation they’d had on the subject, Queen Mary had then spoken with David. “You’re not going to want any
rethinking
done on the subject of your marriage, are you?”

Not knowing what thinking anyone had done on the subject of his future marriage, David couldn’t answer him, but the way his father had phrased the question didn’t bode well. It indicated that without his knowledge, plans for a future Princess of Wales were already under way.

The thought froze him in fear. The plan for him to spend three months aboard the
Hindustan
was reasonable, considering the coronation had meant he couldn’t go on the much longer training cruise that traditionally rounded off an education at Dartmouth. Even the plan for him to go to Oxford was understandable, if unwelcome, as was the plan for him to spend time in France, brushing up his
French. But if plans were already in hand as to whom he should marry …