The Regent's Daughter: (Georgian Series) (28 page)

‘It’s most becoming,’ said Mary.

‘Trust His Highness to choose the right colours,’ said Thomas.

A letter had fluttered to the floor and Thomas picked it up and handed it to the Princess.

Amelia glanced at the flourishing handwriting, and read the fulsome phrases with pleasure. He could scarcely wait to see his dearest sister. He was coming with all speed the next day. He would be delighted if his dearest Amelia were wearing one of these pelisses which he, with Brummell’s help, had spent two hours in choosing. And so on … flowery phrases from the most charming brother in the world.

Mary smiled to see her sister happy. One could almost believe she were well again.

‘My dearest sister!’

Amelia rose from her chair and was enfolded in his scented arms.

‘George, dearest, let me look at you. Oh … you are magnificent!’

He laughed. ‘What do you think of this cloth? Brummell brought my notice to it.’

‘You are constantly in the company of that fellow, I hear.’

‘He’s a wizard, I tell you. Have you heard of the new cravat he has invented?’

‘I am glad you find such pleasure in these things.’

‘Which sounds a little censorious, sister.’

‘Not in the least. If there are things in life which give pleasure without harming others it is foolish to turn one’s back on them. Besides, think of what pleasure
I
get from wondering what you will appear in next and having little games with myself to guess. There is one thing I can always be sure of. You will look elegant, and more than that – magnificent … all that a Prince of Wales should. Pray turn that I may have a better view.’

He did so. The epitome of elegance. The cloth of his coat fine and of pleasant moss green, his neckcloth snowy white to match his buckskin breeches, moulded to a fine though plump thigh; the diamond star flashing on his breast and few diamonds adorning his white and shapely hands.

‘Oh, George,’ cried Amelia. ‘I’m so
proud
of you.’

He embraced her, the tears in his eyes. This was a scene such as he loved. From his parents he had nothing but criticism and when he rode into the streets the crowds were either silent or hostile; Maria in the last year had thrown plenty of home-truths at his head. But here he was with his favourite sister who adored him.

‘The pelisses are lovely. I shall think of you every time I wear them. Not that I need a’pelisse to remind me of you. Oh, George, sit down, and let us be alone to talk. There is so much I want to say to you.’

He sat down and looked at her. She was growing very frail. He wanted to weep for Amelia, his little sister who had never had a chance to live and was now not far from death. What could he do for her?

‘Dearest Amelia, if there is anything on this earth that I can do for you …’

‘There is something, George. Let us face the truth. I am not going to live much longer.’

‘I won’t allow you to talk in such a way.’

‘Then I shall do so without your permission. The time is passing and I have certain affairs to settle. George, help me.’

He brought a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. ‘Anything,’ he declared brokenly. ‘Anything.’

‘I want everything I have to go to Charles …’

George nodded. He knew of her hopeless love for Charles
Fitzroy. He was genuinely sorry for his sisters and definitely intended to do something for them when it was in his power. He often thought – when he was not concerned with his own affairs – how sad their position was. They had no allowances they could call their own, no freedom; they were the complete slaves of their parents. His brothers were fortunate; they had escaped that thraldom; but George would never cease to be sorry for his sisters and he swore that when he was in control the first thing he would do was to see what could be done for them.

‘I borrowed five thousand pounds from Charles and have only paid back one. He must be paid back.’

The Prince nodded. He was not very fond of Charles Fitzroy, but since Amelia was enamoured of him he would do his duty.

‘You should have another executor,’ he told his sister. ‘What about Adolphus? I’ll tell him that he will act with me. Now let us have done with this painful subject.’

‘Oh, George,’ she said, ‘how I love you! How grateful I am to have such a brother.’

There were the tears again, the flurry of the beautiful handkerchief, the emotion which did not mar his fresh complexion or dull the brilliance of his eyes.

It was pleasant to bask in his sister’s adoration. If only some people were as appreciative of him he would be less troubled. Maria for instance who was being so difficult and determined to quarrel and had refused his invitations. Even Lady Hertford was as cold as ever, determined not to be the mistress of the Prince of Wales until he became a Tory – he, who had been a Whig from the earliest days when he had had his tuition from the famous Fox – and who insisted on Maria’s acting as a chaperon whenever she visited him, a task which Maria refused point blank to accept. However, for the time he would enjoy the undemanding homage of his favourite sister.

‘Then,’ he said, ‘let us talk no more of this doleful subject. I will tell you of the new alterations I am planning at my Pavilion, and I am going to insist on your coming to Brighton.’

‘I should enjoy that … if I were well enough. But I should hate to be ill at Brighton. Brighton is such a gay place. And how is darling Charlotte?’

‘As full of whims and fancies as ever. She is a troublesome girl. I fear she takes after her mother.’

‘When I last saw her I thought you must have looked exactly like her when you were her age.’

‘I’m not complaining of her looks. It’s her spirits. She has too many and they are too high.’

‘Well, she is her father’s daughter. Would you expect a meek little creature without an original thought in her head?’

‘Certainly not, but I wish she would not be troublesome. There’s trouble enough in the family.’

‘Oh, George, what news of Ernest?’

‘He’s getting on. You know he is recuperating at the Pavilion.’ The Prince frowned slightly. Brighton was his town. There at least the people were loyal to him; he feared that Ernest was impairing his popularity in Brighton. There were so many rumours about that unfortunate affair of the valet and when scandal touched one member of the family it touched the rest. It was particularly disastrous following so quickly on Fred’s scandal with Mary Anne Clarke.

Still, what could he do? Ernest had had to get away from Town; he had to recover from his very serious accident … if that was the right word for it … and none of the brothers refused to help each other when the need arose.

This unpleasantness would pass.

‘It’s good of you to look after him,’ said Amelia. ‘But you are always good to your poor brothers and sisters.’

‘I wish to God I’d been able to do something for you girls. It’s not much of a life for any of you.’

‘There were too many of us.’ She laughed. ‘How strange are the lives of kings and queens. So many have suffered because they could not get one child; and our parents had fifteen. Thirteen of us growing into adults to cause them trouble.’

‘You have never given any cause for trouble.’

‘Have I not? Papa continually worries about my health and what he would say if he knew that I loved Charles I cannot imagine.’

‘He wants you to love only him.’

‘How was he when you last saw him?’

‘Poor Papa!’

She shook her head and did not speak for a moment; she was aware of that somewhat eager look in her brother’s eyes.

‘Very bad,’ she said. ‘Worse. He can scarcely see now. He is almost blind and the other …’

‘The rambling,’ supplied the Prince.

‘That,’
she said, ‘is worse, far worse. He keeps asking me how I am and embracing me and weeping over me and I keep telling him that I am getting stronger every day, which is a lie, George.’

‘Yet it comforts him. Poor old man, he is in need of comfort. Can it be much longer?’

‘People are noticing. Not only the family … but his ministers. There will be a Regency soon. I am sure of it, though it may be that I shall not be here to see it.’

‘How you harp on that,’ he said almost pettishly, ‘when you know how it grieves me.’

She held out a hand and pleaded forgiveness. ‘When the Regency comes you will be too busy to miss me.’

‘That could never be.’

‘Wherever I may be, my love and hopes for your success will follow you.’

‘My blessed Amelia!’

She looked at him tenderly. Dared she attempt to advise him? Could she say: Be careful with Maria. Maria is the one for you. No other woman will be as she is to you, none will love you as well.

How could she? She knew the fervour that possessed him when he was in pursuit of a woman and Lady Hertford was cold and cruel – Maria Fitzherbert warm and loving. And in his heart he knew that whatever fancies he had, it would always be Maria whom he loved. Maria whom he looked upon as his true wife.

Frederick and William had mentioned this to her. They both admired Maria Fitzherbert greatly and they were fond enough of their brother to wish for his happiness. She knew that they had tried to bring George and Maria together – to make Maria more tolerant of his weakness, to make him see the folly of his ways. But it was useless. They could do nothing against Maria’s pride and his infatuation for a woman who would bring no good to him.

How she would like to see him happy with Maria, bringing her tales of little Minney Seymour whom he had looked upon as a daughter. She would have liked to see Maria’s good sense made of use to Princess Charlotte. But how could she, a poor invalid, who had not been able to suppress her hopeless love
for Charles Fitzroy, hope to guide the lives of others?

She thought of the trials of the family, the scandals that beset the brothers. Was there to be no end to them and were they not of their own making? But the young Princess Charlotte needed guidance. She was torn between her parents – her father who could not take to her because she reminded him of her mother, and her mother who smothered her with affection and saw nothing wrong in luring the girl into that scandalous household which she had built up at Montague House.

It was better to talk of lighter matters: of the
objets d’art
he had acquired; of the Chinese decorations he was having done in the Pavilion.

But her thoughts ran on the sorrows of her family; and there was one whom she could not banish from her mind: the poor ailing King, who loved her more dearly than he loved any other.

When I die, she wondered, what will become of him?

That October Amelia was afflicted with erysipelas – the doctors called it St Anthony’s Fire – and it became clear that she was approaching her end. The Princess Mary was broken-hearted; she had nursed Amelia since she had become so ill and although she had known what the end must be – and that it could not be long delayed – nevertheless the shock was great.

There was mourning throughout the royal family. Amelia had been the best loved of them all, but none mourned her as deeply as the King. She alone, in the last year, had been able to soothe his troubled mind; only his beloved youngest daughter had been able to bring a smile to his lips. That she had been thinking of him at the end, that she had had made for him a ring containing a lock of her own hair under crystal and set with diamonds, could only accentuate his loss.

He took her ring; he slipped it on his finger and shut himself in his apartments. The Queen could hear him talking and talking all through the night.

He was moving fast into twilight. The anxieties of the world were too much for him; and the loss of his dearly beloved Amelia was beyond bearing.

One day his equerries came to him to find him smiling happily. ‘My darling Amelia is not dead,’ he told them. ‘She has gone to Hanover with her little brother Octavius.’

As Octavius was the son who had died when he was four
years old some twenty-six years before, it was known that the King’s mind was wandering.

That was the beginning. His situation worsened. His troubles had been too much for him and he could no longer keep up the pretence of sanity.

The time had come for him to retire from the scene. The need for the Regency had once more arisen and this time it was brought into effect.

The Prince of Wales became the Prince Regent.

The gallant Captain Hesse

IT WAS INEVITABLE
that life should change for Charlotte with the Regency. Instead of being the frivolous Prince of Wales, her father was now, in all but name, the ruler of the kingdom, which implied that she herself had, in a way, taken a step nearer to the throne.

She was now seen in public more often than before and the people took a lively interest in everything she did. She was very popular and although she was constantly reproved by poor old Lady de Clifford for her inelegance, her impetuousness, her boisterous manners, at least the people did not mind these failings.

They liked her a great deal more than they liked her father, for all his perfect manners. They were in fact annoyed with him; they did not like Lady Hertford, his new inamorata, and would have preferred him to have stayed with Maria Fitzherbert, which in Charlotte’s opinion showed their good sense, for she herself would have much preferred it. She never saw Maria now and she often thought enviously of Minney Seymour to whom that lady devoted herself. So instead of visiting Maria as he used to, the Regent was constantly in the company of Lady Hertford who, although she might be exquisitely dressed, and look like a china figure, had little charm for the people, and did not help the Regent to regain their esteem one little bit.

The lampoons which were circulating about them were very malicious and Charlotte couldn’t help chuckling over them when Mrs Udney brought them to her notice. She liked
particularly the references to Lord Yarmouth, Lady Hertford’s son, as ‘The Yarmouth Bloater’.

She would have liked to ask her father why he did not go to see Maria Fitzherbert now; she wanted to say to him: ‘But can’t you see she is so much more pleasant to be with.’ Imagine her daring to do that! It was only when she was not in his company that she imagined all sorts of daring conversations with him; when he was present she seemed to become petrified, unable even to walk with grace, and these were the occasions when the stutter was apt to return.