Dorset reluctantly accepted the affair was over even though Georgiana refused to give a satisfactory explanation for her sudden change of feelings. Only Bess, and probably Harriet, knew what had prompted Georgiana to break off with him. It was the appearance at Devonshire House of a rising young politician called Charles Grey. He was only twenty-three years old, the eldest son of a general from a well-connected Northumberland family. Georgiana had met him before, when he was a schoolboy at Eton, and had visited his parents at Coxheath. In the intervening period he had grown into a tall, handsome young man with an aristocratic appearance, possessing a high forehead, thick hair, melancholy dark eyes, and a long nose. “He has the patrician thoroughbred look . . . which I dote upon,” remarked Lord Byron, when he first saw him.
Grey delivered his maiden speech in the Commons on February 22, 1787; it was sufficiently eloquent for Sir Gilbert Elliot to praise it as “excessively good indeed, and such as has given everybody the highest opinion both of his abilities and character. . . . he professes not to be of a party but I think he has a warm leaning to us.”18 Following her usual practice, Georgiana quickly snatched him up into Whig society, flattering him with invitations to select dinners to meet the party grandees. For many months she tolerated his attentions with the gentle amusement she reserved for her younger admirers—she was seven years older than him and he seemed no match for the sophisticated womanizing ambassador to Paris.
Dorset had the further advantage of having been friends with Georgiana for more than thirteen years. He fitted in easily with the rest of her life; he was safe, light hearted, and not without a touch of cynicism. Grey was dangerously impulsive, vain, and moody. An acquaintance described him as “peevish and wayward . . . always desponding, always out of spirits unless he thinks he is riding the winning horse,” and “always thinking of himself.”19 His violent expressions of love for Georgiana both frightened and fascinated her. She complained to Bess about the teasing she had suffered “for my liking to talk to so young a man,” but she couldn’t stop herself from falling in love.2 Grey’s passionate and vehement declarations appealed to the romantic in her. The thought of Georgiana juggling lovers no doubt appeased Bess’s conscience and she surreptitiously encouraged Grey’s suit. On the occasion of his first major speech she wrote: “I suppose you are in Town; and poor Black’s [Charles Grey] day by this time is over, and he is either very happy or very sad—the others are veterans and I suppose felt little.”21 By 1788 Georgiana was more entranced by him than she was prepared to admit. Grey was in London—a great advantage over Dorset—and Georgiana was his only love while she knew for certain that Dorset kept several women about him.
While Bess was away there was a by-election in Westminster. Georgiana had no desire to expose herself to another nationally orchestrated attack on her character and she remained at home while Harriet joined the canvass. Nevertheless she attended the strategy meetings at Devonshire House which allowed her to fight the election vicariously. “We were 236 ahead today and 454 on the whole and I hope a very popular meeting tonight about the shop tax secures our success. . . . I hope our friends will not slacken their exertions,” she told her mother on July 29.22 She had secured a great coup in persuading the Duke of Bedford to donate to the subscription fund much more money than he had originally intended. “He is wonderfully eager,” she wrote after her success. Lavinia informed George:
She looked well and healthy but is so coarse that I hardly knew her—she says they are sure of carrying the election but it will cost us very dear—the D of Bedford has at last . . . subscribed 3000 . . .the bribery is higher than it ever was and so are the shameful riots and excesses—such blood shedding I never heard of—your sister the Duchess does not canvass at all and I could not help saying I was very glad of it—but Lady Duncannon is most violently busy at this business—she is about all day long and has done infinite good to the party, Lady G Cavendish and Mrs Stanhope are also wonderfully active.2323
Another correspondent, Miss Lloyd, described Georgiana’s efforts behind the scenes:
all the intelligence I have had has been from the Dutchess of Devonshire, who has come once a week to dine here, and who I suppose does not tell us the whole truth, but what she does is bad enough. She has not gone about canvassing as she did the last time; she only writes about fifty notes, and sees about fifty people every day. At night the Heads of the Party meet and sup at Devonshire House, and are so jolly and so eager that she says it is quite delightful. . . .24
Fox and Lord John Townshend beat the opposition by a convincing margin, and once again the Whigs organized a march of their supporters from Covent Garden to Pall Mall. A procession of 120 carriages, including the state carriages of the Duchesses of Devonshire and Portland, rumbled down the Strand to Charing Cross. Two hundred Whigs on horseback, all dressed in blue and buff, followed, led by Lord Galway. The electors marched behind carrying the usual banners: SACRED TO FEMALE PATRIOTISM and NO NAVAL JUDAS in reference to the defeated Pittite candidate Admiral Lord Hood. But there were no women present; when Fox and Sheridan addressed the crowd from the balcony of Devonshire House Georgiana remained inside, ignoring calls for her appearance. Lavinia sat with her in the drawing room to make sure she did.
Bess arrived from France shortly afterwards. Despite having written in her diary, “I will cease to live in error with him,” she resumed her place as the Duke’s second wife as soon as she returned.25 Her permanent residence at Devonshire House kept Georgiana and her mother apart. Lady Spencer had revealed to George the year before, in 1787, that “G., makes a point of my going to D. House, but I have an insurmountable objection to being in the house with the obstacle, which is I think giving my sanction in some degree to that incomprehensible connexion. . . . I can have your uncle’s house in Bentinck Street which is more conveniently situated for Harriet and may consequently have that pretence made for giving it preference.”26 She continued to make public her opposition to Bess.
“The Miscarriage or His Grace Stopping the Supplies,” July 30, 1788. A cartoon accusing Georgiana of depleting the Cavendish fortune to help the Whigs during the election. The Duke protests and insists that he will wear the breeches. Dent. BM Cat. 7360.
Lady Spencer’s hostility upset Georgiana, who felt she owed her security at Devonshire House to Bess, certain that were it not for Bess the Duke would have separated from her long ago. It was remarkable how much the balance of power within their relationship had moved in Bess’s favour. From being “a poor little thing,” she had become the mainstay of the ménage à trois. What had not changed was her obsessive jealousy of Georgiana. Moreover, it was Bess’s single-minded pursuit of her which had proved to be the enduring attraction for Georgiana. Her need for attention was so boundless that only someone like Bess would be willing, or able, to satiate it. Georgiana would continue to love Bess for as long as her friend remained preoccupied with her. It was a love which made her blind to Bess’s other faults. She simply could not understand why Lady Spencer loathed her.
You know how anxious I am to make you happy, and to shew my regard and gratitude to the Duke for the constant tenour of his behaviour to me [Lady Spencer wrote in August 1788 after receiving another complaint from Georgiana], I always avoid naming Lady E.F., and if anybody is injudicious enough to mention her to me, I endeavour to give such answer as will shew them I am determined not to enter into the subject. My behaviour was not premeditated, it arose at Chatsworth from my own feelings at scenes I was unfortunate enough to be witness to, and finding I have so little power to command myself when I am deeply affected, I thought it better to avoid all opportunities of acting in a manner that might distress us all. I certainly mean to behave civilly to Ly E.F. whenever I meet her, and hope of late especially I have done so.27
But it took several months of pleading before Lady Spencer wrote, somewhat stiffly, that Bess “might come down some day” to St. Albans. Georgiana’s gratitude at this small concession was pathetic: “I love you, Dearest M.
as an ador’d mother, as a darling friend, nor can I express to you the delight it would be to me if some day next week we might come down for one night. . . . I do not deceive you in assuring you that [the Duke] loves you with all the affection of a son,” she lied. “I should not be thus anxious if I did not know all [Bess’s] merits, and if I was not certain of her virtue as of my own.”28
Visitors to Chatsworth found the atmosphere harmonious although somewhat eccentric. Bess’s confession about her pregnancy the year before had fixed the ménage à trois into certain patterns. It was as if, in order to accommodate the more bizarre aspects of their relationship, the two women had colluded in creating an unreal life based on fantasy and melodrama. When Harriet was there she joined in with them, tipping the balance so that everyone was obliged to play along. James Hare wrote a gentle satire on life at Chatsworth called “A Rational Day in the Country”:
The Ladies rise from one o’clock to two—breakfast in their own rooms for the convenience of having their hair combed while they drink their tea. Cold meat is brought for the Dogs at the same time. Send messages, or (if Time permits) write notes to each other, just to say, “Dearest one, how do oo do?” The usual answer is “As oo do, so does poor little I, by itself . . . I.” This delicate complaint of solitude sets the whole house in motion. All the Ladies run from one room to another till they have mustered a sufficient force to venture among the men. . . . they write with the greatest ease and tolerable accuracy long letters on all subjects and to every sort of correspondent, standing, walking and even running, and without the least interruption of conversation, which at Chatsworth never goes beyond a whisper. . . . they take the precaution of beginning them all alike with the general terms of general civility that may apply to anybody, such as “My Dearest most dear ever adored Lord without whom I cannot live—Bess oo.”
. . . If by this time it is grown nearly dark and snows and freezes pretty hard, walking is usually proposed. I forgot to observe that when the Ladies first come down to a small Room with a large fire they are wrapped up with furs and waddings of various sorts, but as this heavy “furniture” might impede their agility in walking, they throw it off, and chuse lighter drapery before they venture out—such as gauze or muslin shawls, thin silk sandals, which with the help of a long Pole with a spike in the end of it (to throw over their shoulders or stick into any gentleman’s foot who has the honour of accompanying them) form the walking apparatus. The reflection of the snow in the glimmering of the Moon through the trees, if it is a clear night, enables them to find their way round the pleasure ground very tolerably.
. . . When the Dinner has been served up about half an hour they usually retire to dress, and then meet either in the Duchess’ or Lady E.F.’s room for a quarter of an hour’s social talk. At length the female cohort enter the Dining Room. It is difficult to ascertain their exact diet, as it varies according to their health and humours. . . . By the noise and chatting that ensues on their leaving the Dining Room it is concluded that they remain some time in the Drawing Room, but as soon as the Gentlemen come out to Tea and Coffee, each Lady retires to her respective apartment, where to pass the time, for want of anything to do, she goes to sleep. . . . On waking they assemble in one of their rooms, and between eleven and twelve retire to the Music Room and crowd round the Pianoforte that each in her turn may have the pleasure of refusing to sing or play. . . . the moment that [supper] is brought in, everybody hastens to begin the day’s amusements and repairs to whist, chess, backgammon, billiards, according to their fancies’ direction. In the course of a few hours, the supper being sufficiently cooled, the Duke invites his friends to partake of the genial Board; every one presses eagerly for a place, especially those who do not sup. The Ladies sip by turns cowslip wine, punch, or cherry syrup, take their leave, and spend the remainder of the night in confidential discourse, dividing into small parties of two and three for this purpose, and then leaving the supper room, and separating for the night, as the Housemaids begin to twirl their mops and open the shutters to the sunshine.29
Among the guests during the summer was the disgraced French minister Alexandre de Calonne, whose friendship with the Polignacs ensured his entrée into Devonshire House society. George thought him “a great rogue,” but the effervescent Frenchman had met his match in his sister. He fell in love with Georgiana, a weakness she capitalized upon to obtain loans for herself and Harriet. However, the extra income made only a tiny inroad into her worries; she still showed no sign of producing an heir. The Cavendishes referred to her failure almost every day of their visit. She had more reasons than they to want a boy, and yet they continued to blame her. Their disapproval made her feel like an outsider, tolerated but not welcomed by her husband’s family. “I do think there is nothing in beauty that equals Chatsworth,” she wrote sadly, “tho’ I like a number of places better. I believe if I had a son I should like it best of all; but there is something in its not being my children’s that makes me fancy it is not mine.”30
CHAPTER 13
THE REGENCY CRISIS
1788–1789
Most of the Ladies of fashion appeared at the Opera on Saturday in a new head-dress in honour of the Prince of Wales. It consisted of three large white feathers connected by a band, on which was inscribed the motto of the Principality—Ich Dien, and is the most becoming ornament that has graced the female world for many years.
Morning Post, February 9, 1789
Dr. George Baker was called to see the King on a quiet day in October 1788 and found him drenched in sweat, unable to sit, stand, or lie down except in excruciating pain. Any movement triggered shooting cramps down his legs and up through his back. The doctor noted that his eyes were yellow; an examination of his urine showed it had turned brown, and occasionally flecks of foam appeared on the patient’s lips. Even more disturbing than this precipitous decline in the King’s physical health were the obvious signs of mental disorder. At times his speech was almost normal, at others rambling and agitated. He was prone to violent rages interspersed with bursts of uncontrolled jabbering, repeating the same sentence for hours. During the next two weeks the King was well enough to be aware of his worsening condition, and in moments of clarity he made pathetic appeals for help; “I wish to God I may die,” he wept in front of his distraught children, “for I am going to be mad.”1 Even the Prince of Wales was so shocked by his father’s state that he visited Windsor every day to console his mother and sisters.
Naturally courtiers began to whisper, first among themselves and then to family and friends. The circle of gossip widened until the King’s illness became an open secret. Dr. Baker informed Pitt on October 22 that the situation was serious and yet so baffling that he could give neither a proper diagnosis nor a prognosis. Newspapers alluded to the rumours, but the lack of real news and the delicacy of the subject made their reports circumspect. The Morning Post claimed the King was suffering from an un-usual form of dropsy.2 To dampen speculation about his state, the King made a heroic effort to appear in public, which exacerbated his disorientating attacks. He insisted on attending a concert where, as soon as the music began, he startled the room by breaking into spasmodic movements and sudden fits of speech. The Queen and courtiers behaved as if nothing was happening, which added a surreal element to the already disconcerting display. After this, the whispers rose to a babble. Medical ignorance and royal etiquette induced a paralysis at court until, on November 5, the King jumped from his chair during dinner and attacked the Prince of Wales. He grappled with him in front of his terrified family and attendants and, with the energy of a lunatic, smashed his son’s head against a wall. Several people noticed how afterwards he turned and gave the Queen, who had been screaming throughout, a strange, glaring look.
The following day her attendants were ordered to move her belongings into another bedroom. Later that night the King went in search of her. On entering her former bedroom he found Dr. Baker, the Prince of Wales and his brothers, and the entire male section of the
court nervously crowding around the walls of the room. The sight of this silent chorus checked him for a moment, but no one dared approach him. Dr. Baker made a timid movement to usher the King out which enraged him, and he chased the doctor into a corner. After a few moments the Queen’s Vice Chamberlain had the presence of mind to walk over to the King and pull him away from his crouching victim. George III allowed himself to be led back to his own bed. Shortly afterwards he called “Mr Pitt a rascal, & Mr Fox his friend.”3 There was no longer any doubt that the King had lost his mind.
The Regency crisis unfolds like a morality tale in which the foolish are punished and the wise and temperate are rewarded. It is not difficult to understand its interest to historians and dramatists—the characters’ foibles are so vivid: Pitt’s coldness, Fox’s carelessness, Sheridan’s duplicity, Grey’s arrogance, and the Prince of Wales’s self-indulgence.4 The reason we know so much about what went on behind the scenes is that Georgiana kept a diary. Her eye-witness account, recorded in a daily journal for her mother—“my letters will be a regular newspaper,” she had promised—remains the most quoted source material for the period.
Georgiana learned the true nature of the King’s illness on November 7, two days after his assault on the Prince of Wales. Fish Craufurd dispatched a hurried note:
I can give you no just account of the King’s disorder. Nobody can get at the truth but he is certainly very ill and dangerously ill. . . . The Chancellor was sent for yesterday while he was at dinner and came back this morning. Why he was sent for, or whether he saw the King, I don’t know. The truth is, I believe, that the King is quite disordered in his mind. . . . I understand that the Prince has desired Charles [Fox] to be sent for, which ought to be a secret, but is none, for I heard it at Brooks’s.5
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