Victoria in the Wings: (Georgian Series) Page 6

  Her cold face was touched with sudden warmth and she looked almost handsome for a second. His confidences were the delight of her life.

  He put his head close to hers. ‘Caroline is behaving in quite a shocking manner. I don’t despair of ridding myself of her. And if I did … who knows, I might present the nation with the heir myself. What do you say to that?’

  ‘I would say,’ said the Queen fervently, ‘that Heaven had granted my dearest wish.’

  They were silent for a moment contemplating that happy event.

  But they both knew that the House of Hanover could not continue to exist on the hope of a granted wish however dear to them both.

  William, Duke of Clarence, called at Kew and asked for an audience with the Queen.

  When he was brought to her Charlotte looked at him quizzically. He was not very attractive, she had to admit. He had never had half George’s looks; none of them had, but the others had more presence than William. She had always known it had been a mistake to send him to sea at such an early age. It had certainly not developed his royalty. She had told the King so a hundred times; but he had never taken any notice of her. Now of course he was shut away and had no say in matters at all; and it was hardly likely that he ever would.

  It was too late to brood on William’s upbringing now that he was a man of fifty-two; at least he was a Prince, a son of a king and very likely would be the father of one. He had the family’s jaw and protuberant eyes – all the faults of the family which she fondly assured herself George had missed – and she had heard it said that his head was the shape of a pineapple. She could see what was meant by that. No, poor William was not the most attractive of her sons; but the death of young Charlotte had made him one of the most important, due to the unfortunate matrimonial difficulties of his two elder brothers.

  ‘William, my dear son,’ she said perfunctorily.

  ‘How are you today, Mamma?’

  ‘Not as well as I would wish to be. But who of us is? My rheumatism was not improved by the Bath waters. But that may have been due to the shock of Charlotte’s death.’

  ‘It grieves me to hear it.’

  ‘I think we are all grieved by this terrible calamity.’

  ‘I was referring to your rheumatism, Mamma,’ said William.

  ‘Thank you. But that is a small matter compared with our loss. I believe George will have something very serious to say to you.’

  ‘I have something very serious to say to you, Mamma. And that is why I have come here to see you.’

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘You have always told me that I should marry.’

  ‘It was your duty to have done so years ago. If you had and those children of yours were legitimate Parliament and the people would be better pleased with the family.’

  ‘My son George would make a fine King.’

  ‘The son of an actress! Don’t be ridiculous. The illegitimate son at that!’

  William flushed a little. ‘Your Majesty would find it hard to name a more handsome fellow and better soldier.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt the young man is admirable, but he happens to be your bastard son and his mother was a play actress.’

  The Queen looked coldly at her son. William had always been such a fool. He was a little abashed at the reference to Dorothy. It was not that he wanted to forget her; he merely wanted to forget his treatment of her. He wished that he had waited a little until she had died naturally; then there would have been nothing with which to reproach himself.

  But he had good news to tell his mother so he said: ‘I am engaged to be married.’

  ‘What did you say?’ said the Queen.

  ‘That I have decided to marry. I have chosen my bride.’

  ‘Then the Regent has spoken to you?’

  ‘I have not yet told him of my decision.’

  ‘I did not know that the arrangements had gone so far. So you are pleased with the prospect.’

  ‘It delights me. I shall go ahead with arrangements as quickly as possible.’

  ‘It is my fervent hope – and the Regent’s – that you will.’

  ‘Have no fear. We’ll have the child before the year’s out.’

  He really was a little crude. The rough sailor attitude could be carried too far. She wondered what Adelaide was like. But German princesses were brought up to be docile.

  ‘It should not take long to make the arrangements. I am sure the Duke will have no objection. I believe he would have welcomed the suggestion before.’

  ‘The Duke?’ asked William bewildered.

  ‘Adelaide’s father, the Duke of Saxe-Meiningen.’

  ‘Adelaide!’

  ‘The lady’s name.’

  ‘I don’t understand, Your Majesty. Miss Wykeham’s name is not Adelaide.’

  ‘And who is Miss Wykeham?’

  ‘The lady I have asked to marry me and who has accepted me.’

  ‘William, are you mad?’ In spite of her agitation she wished she had not used that word which was one she rarely allowed to intrude into her vocabulary. It was a constant fear of hers that one of her sons should have inherited his father’s illness.

  ‘Mad! Indeed not. It is to tell you of this that I called here today. I have asked Miss Wykeham to marry me and she has accepted me, and I see no reason why the marriage should be delayed. Can Your Majesty name one?’

  ‘I can name several; but I will content myself with giving you one why it should not take place at all.’

  ‘Not … take … place!’

  ‘You are going to marry Adelaide, the daughter of the Duke of Saxe-Meiningen. Envoys are being sent to the Duke now. Who is this woman with the ridiculous name?’

  ‘If you mean Miss Wykeham, I must protest. Her name is not ridiculous and she happens to be a considerable heiress. I gather that is not considered to be an obstacle.’

  ‘We know your debts are shamefully large; but the possession of wealth does not qualify a commoner to become the mother of a future King of England.’

  ‘If she has a child she nevertheless will be, for I am going to marry her.’

  ‘That is where you are mistaken.’

  ‘I have offered marriage and been accepted. I cannot step out of it now.’

  ‘You can and you will, for the simple reason that you are going to marry the Princess Adelaide.’

  ‘I am sorry to disagree with Your Majesty, but I have given my word.’

  ‘Have you forgotten the Royal Marriage Act, which makes it a law that a member of the family cannot marry without the King’s consent?’

  ‘Under the age of twenty-five, Mamma. I am a little older than that.’

  ‘And after that, without the consent of Parliament. Now do you think that the Parliament is going to allow this young woman to be the mother of the future heirs?’

  ‘I think that when the Parliament realizes that I have given my word it will give its consent.’

  ‘This cannot be allowed. Leave me now. You have upset me very much.’

  William bowed. ‘I am sorry for that,’ he said, ‘but it does not alter the fact that I intend to keep my word to Miss Wykeham.’

  When William had left the Queen summoned the Princesses Elizabeth and Sophia.

  ‘My snuff-box,’ she commanded; and Elizabeth immediately brought it.

  Having taken a comforting pinch the Queen said: ‘I am most distressed. It is William again. What a fool your brother is! When I think of his behaviour from the time he was a young man, I cannot remember one occasion when he has acted with the slightest wisdom. He was constantly promising marriage to this one and that. Miss Fortescue, Miss Somebody else … I’ve forgotten the names; and then of course he settled down with that actress and produced all those children. And after that we had to watch his ridiculous efforts to get married. Now he has proposed and been accepted by a Miss Wykeham.’

  ‘She is a very considerable heiress, Mamma,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘So she may be, but she is not going to b
e William’s wife. 1 must write to the Regent immediately. I can see that we are going to have trouble with William. Bring my writing materials and call the messenger. He should take my note to Carlton House immediately.’

  The Regent had asked the Duke of Kent to visit him at Carlton House. Edward was not one of his favourite brothers; they were so different. Edward was too serious; George was prepared to admit that he was a good soldier, but he had never really forgiven him after the Mary Anne Clarke scandal, and he had been secretly pleased that the post of Commander-in-Chief to the Army, which Edward had hoped would be his when Frederick was forced to resign, had not fallen to his lot.

  But the Regent had no desire to quarrel with any of his brothers. He liked to be outwardly at least on good terms; so now he received Edward with a show of affection and when the greetings were over he allowed a mask of concern to fall over his face. It was not entirely false; he was thinking of Madame de St Laurent, a charming woman, who had been Edward’s faithful mistress – for twenty-seven years was it? He disliked hurting charming women; but Madame de St Laurent, he was sure, was a sensible woman, as Dorothy Jordan – another of his favourites – had been. She would have to understand.

  ‘Well, Edward,’ he said, ‘I’ll swear you know why I’ve sent for you.’

  ‘Does it concern marriage plan?’

  The Regent nodded. ‘The Princess Victoria of Saxe-Coburg … Leopold’s widowed sister. She is young, good looking and by all accounts very charming.’

  ‘I see,’ said Edward gravely.

  ‘I can guess your thoughts, Edward. You are thinking of your … commitments. Poor Julie! But she is a brave and clever woman. I am sure she will understand.’

  George always made other people’s troubles seem so light, thought Edward resentfully; but the smallest cloud in his own blue sky was a matter for great tribulation in which everyone was expected to participate. Edward asked himself as he had many times before why a grudging fate had not made him the eldest son.

  ‘It will be a great blow to her.’

  ‘I know, Edward, but she must already be aware …’

  Edward thought of Julie at the breakfast table. Poor sad Julie! She was going to be broken-hearted. But he must do his duty. There was no evading it.

  He said: ‘Has the Princess Victoria made her willingness known?’

  ‘No. That’s the point. You should visit her at Wald-Leiningen and persuade her how advantageous it will be to become the Duchess of Kent. The fact is it is not easy to find Protestant princesses who would make suitable wives. We have fortunately found two.’

  ‘And the other?’

  ‘Adelaide of Saxe-Meiningen.’

  ‘Should I not be allowed to select one of the two?’

  ‘One is for William. He would doubtless say that he should have first choice. The fact is, Edward, Victoria must be wooed and we don’t trust William as a wooer. That is why Adelaide is for William. We fear that if he went to court Victoria, the courtship would end in failure. You’ll make a better job of it.’

  The Regent watched his brother covertly. Edward was rising to the flattery.

  ‘What do you know of Victoria?’

  ‘That she is delightful – beautiful and intelligent.’

  ‘All marriageable princesses are.’

  ‘You have become cynical, Edward. I daresay Victoria is as attractive as most young women. She will not be stupid either for she is a mother and has two charming children, so I hear.’

  ‘So I am to have a ready-made family?’

  ‘My dear Edward, the only family you have to concern yourself with is the child the Duke and Duchess of Kent will have. You should be grateful that Victoria has already proved her ability to bear children. How frustrated you would feel if you discovered after marriage – as William may well do – that he has married a barren woman.’

  ‘And I am to visit this Victoria?’

  ‘As soon as possible.’

  ‘And what am I to tell Madame de St Laurent?’

  ‘I should tell her nothing as yet. It is possible that the Princess Victoria will reject you. She is able to make her own choice. As I told you that is the reason why we have decided on her for you. She will find you irresistible I am sure, Edward, but in case she should not, you will not want to lose Julie before you have gained Victoria.’

  ‘You make it sound so unromantic.’

  ‘The marriages of princes always are. It is the extra-marital affairs which bring such joy. No, do not worry Julie. Tell her that you are going on a mission for me to Leopold’s family. I think that would be the best. And then … if things went wrong she need not know. There is no need to alarm her before it is necessary.’

  ‘Thank you, George,’ said Edward. ‘And when shall I leave?’

  ‘At once. Don’t lose any time. An attractive young woman like Victoria will doubtless be much sought after. Go at once.’

  ‘I will,’ said Edward.

  As soon as he had left a messenger arrived with a letter from the Queen. The Regent read it and frowned. William was being difficult. He had proposed marriage to and been accepted by a Miss Wykeham. If he could not get royal assent, he was going to Parliament.

  The Regent passed his hand across his brow.

  If only Charlotte had lived! It was odd that at the time of her birth she had been so important because her coming had meant that he need never go near her mother again; and now her death had thrown them all into this state of panic. Her birth and her death had been so important; it was only during her lifetime that they had been able to ignore her.

  William was a fool. Of course he could not marry his Miss Wykeham. How fortunate that the decision did not rest with him. He would tell his ministers that the marriage between the Duke of Clarence and Adelaide of Saxe-Meiningen must be brought to its satisfactory conclusion no matter what objections were made by the Duke of Clarence.

  Julie was delighted to see Edward back.

  As they went together into the house and she showed him the new improvements which had been completed since his absence, she clung to his arm.

  ‘Edward,’ she whispered, ‘is all well?’

  ‘Er … yes, yes. All is well.’

  ‘I thought you would come back and tell me that a marriage had been arranged for you.’

  ‘No … no, no.’ It was true. Nothing had been arranged yet.

  ‘I suppose they just wished you to be there because of Charlotte’s death.’

  ‘Because of that,’ he said.

  ‘I have so missed you.’

  ‘And I you, my darling.’

  ‘I’ve been longing for a game of chess, of all things. That seems so trivial … and yet …’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know. I have in fact been sent on a mission … for George.’

  ‘A mission?’

  ‘Yes, to Germany.’

  ‘I see.’ She did not ask what. She was discreet enough for that. A mission could be anything. She would not associate it with courtship. He should tell her, but he could not. The words would not come. He who could face the most barbarous enemy could not face her. It was cruel but he must do his duty.

  ‘And you will be away long?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t suppose so.’

  ‘Then you’ll come back to Brussels, I suppose.’

  ‘I shall have to report to London first.’

  ‘Just briefly,’ she said. ‘And then you’ll be back.’

  He had to let it rest there. He could not be so brutal. Besides, this Victoria might refuse him. They might not be able to find a bride for him.

  He had asked George to keep the matter secret so that she did not hear through the press. George would do what he could. He was always gallant to women and it would grieve him to make Julie suffer more than was necessary.

  He would stay here for two days before going on to Wald-Leiningen, and who knew perhaps he would never have to tell her how near he had come to deserting her.

  The Princess Victoria was thou
ghtful. She had always known that she was too young to remain unmarried for the rest of her life, for she was only thirty-one years of age. She had two delightful children, healthy and good looking; it was natural that there should be suitors.

  Her brother Leopold, now mourning the Princess Charlotte at Claremont, had written to her. He believed that nothing could be more suitable than a marriage with the Duke of Kent. He desired it and he hoped that as his dear sister had done him the honour in other important matters of taking his advice, she would in this one.

  Victoria considered.

  There were certain things a widow must give up if she married again. Freedom was rather pleasant and so rarely enjoyed by German princesses; but since the death of her husband, Prince Emich Charles, she had enjoyed it; merely in her household of course, but the castle of Wald-Leiningen was her little world and she was complete mistress of it.

  There were the children to consider. Charles and Feodore. She adored them and they her, in spite of this discipline she enforced. She was a woman who liked to have her own way, but, she always reminded herself, it was for the good of others.

  Leopold was her favourite brother, although younger than she was. There had been great rejoicing in the family when he had married Princess Charlotte, heir to the throne of England. Young Charlotte had loved him passionately, which was small wonder for Leopold was handsome and attractive in every way, although very serious; but that in the Princess Victoria’s eyes was a virtue. The Princess Charlotte must have thought so too for by all accounts Leopold was the only one who could subdue her – and she loved him for it.

  And then the bitter tragedy! The death of Charlotte in childbirth and the misery of poor dear Leopold who had loved his wife so tenderly and had believed that he was to be the father of a future King of England.

  And it was due to Charlotte’s death that she was facing her present problem now. The loss of Charlotte meant an imperative need to marry and produce an heir quickly among the King’s sons; and the Duke of Kent was one of them.

  She heard the sound of children’s voices and looking from her window she saw Charles and Feodore riding into the court-yard with their grooms. Little Feodore was ten years old and was going to be a beauty, and Charles was a boy to be proud of. He was now waving the groom aside and helping Feodore out of the saddle. He was very courteous, her young Charles. They would change from their riding habits and present themselves in her drawing-room, for the Duke of Kent was due within the next hour and she wished him to see the children before he committed himself.