Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series) Read online

  Contents

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by Jean Plaidy

  Title Page

  Family Tree

  A Birth in Tong Castle

  Life in Lulworth Castle

  Mrs Fitzherbert

  An Evening at the Opera

  Adventures of a Prince

  Drama at Carlton House

  The Prince’s Dilemma

  Maria in Exile

  Fox’s Warning

  The Ceremony in Park Street

  Prince William’s Indiscretion

  Family Conflict

  Attack at St James’s

  Marine Pavilion

  Betrayal in the House

  The Prince in Despair

  Return of the Duke of York

  The King’s Madness

  The Regency Bill

  The Duke’s Duel

  The Quarrel

  Lady Jersey

  The Test Case

  The Fateful Decision

  Bibliography

  Copyright

  About the Book

  The day the Prince of Wales set eyes on Maria Fitzherbert on the towpath at Richmond, she was twice widowed and eminently appealing. The Prince was in love. The more she resisted him, the more determined he became.

  The courtship of Mrs Fitzherbert, set against the backgrounds of the Brighton Pavillion, the court at Windsor and Carlton House, was to bring betrayal, scandal and the downfall of one of the greatest politicians of the day.

  It is a story full of the elegance and arrantry of the close of the eighteenth century, peopled with characters like the wily Charles James Fox, the coy Fanny Burney, and old George III, slowly descending into madness, while the balladmongers sang …

  About the Author

  Jean Plaidy, one of the preeminent authors of historical fiction for most of the twentieth century, is the pen name of the prolific English author Eleanor Hibbert, also known as Victoria Holt. Jean Plaidy’s novels had sold more than 14 million copies worldwide by the time of her death in 1993.

  Also by Jean Plaidy

  THE TUDOR SAGA

  Uneasy Lies the Head

  Katharine, the Virgin Widow

  The Shadow of the Pomegranate

  The King’s Secret Matter

  Murder Most Royal

  St Thomas’s Eve

  The Sixth Wife

  The Thistle and the Rose

  Mary, Queen of France

  Lord Robert

  Royal Road to Fotheringay

  The Captive Queen of Scots

  The Spanish Bridegroom

  THE CATHERINE DE MEDICI TRILOGY

  Madame Serpent

  The Italian Woman

  Queen Jezebel

  THE STUART SAGA

  The Murder in the Tower

  The Wandering Prince

  A Health Unto His Majesty

  Here Lies Our Sovereign Lord

  The Three Crowns

  The Haunted Sisters

  The Queen’s Favourites

  THE FRENCH REVOLUTION SERIES

  Louis the Well-Beloved

  The Road to Compiègne

  Flaunting, Extravagant Queen

  The Battle of the Queens

  THE LUCREZIA BORGIA SERIES

  Madonna of the Seven Hills

  Light on Lucrezia

  ISABELLA AND FERDINAND TRILOGY

  Castile for Isabella

  Spain for the Sovereigns

  Daughters of Spain

  THE GEORGIAN SAGA

  The Princess of Celle

  Queen in Waiting

  Caroline, the Queen

  The Prince and the Quakeress

  The Third George

  Perdita’s Prince

  Indiscretions of the Queen

  The Regent’s Daughter

  Goddess of the Green Room

  Victoria in the Wings

  THE QUEEN VICTORIA SERIES

  The Captive of Kensington

  The Queen and Lord M

  The Queen’s Husband

  The Widow of Windsor

  THE NORMAN TRILOGY

  The Bastard King

  The Lion of Justice

  The Passionate Enemies

  THE PLANTAGENET SAGA

  The Plantagenet Prelude

  The Revolt of the Eaglets

  The Heart of the Lion

  The Prince of Darkness

  The Battle of the Queens

  The Queen from Provence

  The Hammer of the Scots

  The Follies of the King

  The Vow of the Heron

  Passage to Pontefract

  The Star of Lancaster

  Epitaph for Three Women

  Red Rose of Anjou

  The Sun in Splendour

  QUEEN OF ENGLAND SERIES

  Myself, My Enemy

  Queen of this Realm: The Story of Elizabeth I

  Victoria, Victorious

  The Lady in the Tower

  The Goldsmith’s Wife

  The Queen’s Secret

  The Rose without a Thorn

  OTHER TITLES

  The Queen of Diamonds

  Daughter of Satan

  The Scarlet Cloak

  Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill

  The seventh book in the Georgian Saga

  Jean Plaidy

  A Birth in Tong Castle

  DUSK WAS BEGINNING to throw long shadows across the Red Room in Tong Castle as Mary Smythe pushed aside the red hangings about the bed and sat down uneasily. It was too early as yet for the child to make its appearance – but how could one be sure? Children had a habit of coming before their time.

  She wished that the child could have been born in their own home. Walter had said that as soon as they had a child they must certainly look for a house, and she anticipated with great pleasure the prospect of choosing her own furniture and making her own home; it would be quite different from living in her brother-in-law’s mansion at Acton Burnell or here in Tong Castle.

  It was of course very kind of the Duke of Kingston to lend them his castle until after the birth of the child; he preferred to have someone living there during his absence, to keep the servants in order and see to the running of the place, so why not his good friend Walter Smythe whom he knew was longing to leave the parental roof now that he had acquired a wife?

  She had been delighted to come to Tong Castle, as grand and impressive an edifice to be found not only in the county of Shropshire but in the whole of England. But it was not one’s own home. She had tried to make it so by installing the priedieu in a corner of the room, the crucifix over the bed and the flask of holy water on the carved mantelpiece. But whenever she was conscious of the manner in which the servants eyed these things, an irrepressible indignation swept over her. She would never be reconciled to the laws of England which, while they did not go so far as to forbid Catholics to worship as they pleased, excluded them from their civil rights and penalized them in a hundred different ways.

  Mary clenched her hands together and reminded herself that she would be ready to die for her faith in the same way in which those of her own faith were murdering those not of theirs throughout the world.

  Walter came into the room. He was the best of husbands, good looking, financially secure and, most important of all, a Catholic. The marriage would never have taken place if he had not been. She had brought him a good dowry; they were even remotely related to each other, which was often the case with Catholic families in England, for few married outside their own religion.

  He looked startled when he saw her. ‘Mary?’ he cried questioningly. She nod
ded. ‘I am not sure. But it may be.’

  ‘It’s a little soon.’

  ‘It often happens so, I believe.’

  ‘Should I call the midwife?’

  ‘Not yet. Wait a little. She will laugh at me for being over-anxious.’

  He sat down beside her and took her hand.

  ‘It’s strange,’ he said, ‘that the child should be born in a castle.’

  ‘I’d rather he were born in our own home.’

  ‘We’ll find a house as soon as you are ready.’

  ‘I should like to settle near my brother in Hampshire.’

  ‘In Red Rice?’ mused Walter. ‘An excellent spot, as it is not far from Winchester.’

  ‘Walter, after your adventures in the Austrian Army do you think you can settle down?’

  ‘With you … to raise a family, yes.’

  To raise a family. She saw the gracious house, the garden with its peaceful lawns and the children they would have clustered about them. It was a pleasant picture; and the subsequent births would be less tiresome than this one. The midwife had told her that the first was always the most difficult.

  ‘A house,’ she mused, to take her mind of the pains which she fancied were becoming a little more frequent, ‘with a chapel.’

  ‘Perhaps it would be a little unwise to have a chapel in the house, my love.’

  ‘Oh, Walter, why should we be persecuted?’

  Walter admitted that the intolerant laws were a burden to all Catholics, but being a fair man he pointed out that they were less severe in England than in any other country in the world.

  ‘Yet … we are penalized,’ cried Mary, her eyes flashing. ‘If this were not so we should have our own house now. You would not have had to leave England to follow a career.’

  ‘Well, I have at least travelled and seen service in the Austrian Army.’

  ‘And that was England’s loss,’ cried Mary vehemently. ‘Oh, Walter, if only it had gone differently at the ’45.’

  ‘But it did not, Mary, and we know full well that the Stuarts lost all hope after Culloden. Charles Edward will never come back now. He is drinking himself to death across the water and the Hanoverians are firmly on the throne. They say young Prince George is a good young man, and popular with the people. No, Mary, the Hanoverians are here to stay so we had better make the best of it.’

  ‘But to live as we do … hearing Mass almost by stealth, being debarred from privileges. What of our children? Are they going to grow up in a society which will deprive them of their rights because they worship God in the only true way?’

  ‘You must not excite yourself, my dear. One thing is certain. Our children will worship God in accordance with the laws of the Roman Catholic Church no matter what the laws of the country.’

  Mary sighed. Anything else was unthinkable, of course.

  ‘You should not concern yourself. As long as the laws are not made more harsh we shall be able to look after ourselves.’

  Dear Walter! He was so resigned. Perhaps she was apt to become excited over this matter simply because she was about to bear a child. The future looked bright enough. Soon the uncomfortable business of childbearing would be over; they would have their own house and she would be a happy matron. How different that would be from sharing her bother-in-law’s house at Acton Burnell – large and comfortable though it was. Perhaps the Duke of Kingston hoped they would buy Tong Castle, for he wanted to sell it. But no, Tong Castle was too grand for them; they would not be able to keep it up, for in spite of her dowry they were not rich according to the Duke’s standards as Walter was the second son of the late Sir John Smythe and naturally his inheritance could not equal that of Sir Edward, his brother, who had inherited the title and the bulk of the family estates.

  She caught her breath suddenly. ‘Walter, I think … I am almost certain … that my time has come.’

  Walter lost no time in summoning the midwife.

  Mary was right. Within a few hours she had become the mother of a daughter.

  She was a little disappointed, having hoped that the first-born would be a son; but the child was healthy and perfect in every way. She was named Mary Anne; but as her mother was Mary the baby soon became known as Maria. Little Maria grew prettier every day; and very soon her mother was once more pregnant.

  Mary Smythe was determined that her second child should be born in a home of her own; so when Maria was only a few months old her parents gave up their custodianship of Tong Castle and came to Red Rice to stay with Mary’s brother, Mr Henry Errington, while they searched for a suitable residence. This did not take long to find; and before the birth of little Walter they had settled into a large country house in Brambridge which was not very far from Red Rice and had the additional advantage of being close to the town of Winchester.

  Here Mary settled happily and during the next few years increased her family. John followed Walter; and after him came Charles, Henry and Frances – a pleasant little family, living comfortably in the country, undisturbed by great events in the capital. The old King died and young George came to the throne; they heard of his marriage to Princess Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, of his coronation and the birth of the Prince of Wales, which was followed in due course by the birth of a second son.

  ‘Oh yes,’ repeated Walter Smythe, ‘the Hanoverians are here to stay.’

  Life in Lulworth Castle

  MARIA SMYTHE LAY on the hard pallet in her sparsely furnished room – which was more like a cell – and wept silently, asking herself how she could bear to be torn away from this place which had been her home for so many years.

  Tomorrow Papa would come to take her away and she would leave her school-fellows, the dear nuns, the Mother Superior, the routine of the convent and Paris, and go back to England. How strange it seemed that when she had known she was to come here she had wept as bitterly at the thought of leaving her home in Brambridge as she was now weeping at the prospect of leaving the convent.

  Maria sat up. Perhaps there was comfort in that. Perhaps she would become reconciled to life in Brambridge just as she had to life in the convent before she had grown to love it. But it would be different, of course. At home she would have to think about marrying for she knew well enough that this was the reason why she was being brought back to England. It happened with regularity to all the girls. They came here to be educated as good Catholics in the Convent of the Blew Nuns; then they returned home where suitable husbands were found for them; they produced children and, if they were girls, they in their turn came to the Convent. That was the pattern of Catholic girlhood.

  The door opened slightly and her sister Frances appeared. Frances’s eyes were red with weeping and she sniffed pathetically as she ran to the pallet and threw herself into Maria’s arms.

  ‘It’s all right,’ soothed Maria. ‘You’ll be all right when I’m gone. And in a very short time it will be your turn.’

  Frances looked up at her sister with adoration. Maria was not only the most beautiful person she knew; she was the kindest. What was little Frances going to do – newly arrived at the convent – with no Maria to protect her?

  Maria immediately dismissed her own misgivings in order to comfort her sister. She pushed the heavy corn-coloured hair out of her eyes and said: ‘Mamma and Papa will come and visit you perhaps. Perhaps I shall come myself. And in a very short time – far shorter than seems possible now – you will be feeling sad because it is your turn to leave all this.’

  ‘But you will not be here, Maria.’

  ‘I shall write to you.’

  ‘But they will find a husband for you and even when I come home you won’t be there.’

  ‘I shall invite you to my house and find a husband for you. You will live close by and we shall see each other every day.’

  ‘Oh, Maria, is that possible?’

  ‘With Maria Smythe all things are possible.’

  Frances began to giggle. ‘Oh, Maria, Reverend Mother would say that you blaspheme.’r />
  ‘Then I pray you do not tell her or I shall be summoned to her presence.’ Maria folded her arms in an imitation of Reverend Mother. ‘“Maria Smythe, I hear that you believe yourself omniscient.” “Yes, Holy Mother.” “Then I pray you go to Versailles and tell the King that he must give up his evil ways.” “Yes, Holy Mother.”’ She began to laugh. ‘Oh, I am ridiculous, am I not, Frances? Still, you are laughing.’

  ‘But you did go to Versailles, Maria, once.’

  Frances was asking for the story which she had heard before, so Maria obligingly told it.

  ‘It was when Mamma and Papa came to visit me here … as they will come to visit you. And naturally they took me to see the sights. One of the most exciting of these was a visit to Versailles. Oh, Frances, you will love to visit Versailles. There is not another palace in the world like it. The gardens, the fountains, the statues … they are like something you have dreamed of. And the great palace with all its windows that sparkle like diamonds when the sun is on them.’

  ‘I wish we could go together, Maria.’

  ‘Well, we will talk about it when you come back to England. And we shall laugh together. Oh, you will love it here. Everyone seems so gay.’ Maria’s face clouded for a moment. ‘Except some of the poor people. But you will love Versailles and you can go into the Palace and see the King having his dinner. It is so funny. There he sits in state behaving as though he is quite alone and only the barrier separates him from all the people who have come to watch him eat. I have heard that the funniest thing is the way in which he can knock the top off his egg at one stroke. But, alas, he was not eating an egg on the day Mamma and Papa took me to see him dine.’

  Frances was already beginning to laugh at what was to come, but Maria had no intention of arriving at a hasty conclusion.

  ‘It is necessary to have a ticket to get into the Palace and this Papa had. Anyone can go in provided they have a ticket, except begging friars and people marked with the small pox, but before you go in you must have a sword and a hat and there are people at the gates selling these. You will laugh at the people, Frances. They put on their hats and flourish their swords and some of them have never carried a sword before. And then into the Palace. You will never forget it. It is quite magnificent. The hall of mirrors! You can see yourself reflected again and again and again.’