The Duchess

by Amanda Foreman

  London Chronicle, October 5–7, 1802

  The Prince of Wales was pacing up and down the courtyard when Georgiana’s carriage arrived at Devonshire House. She had been travelling for several days and had not heard the news of Pitt’s resignation. The Prince told “me as he came up the stairs,” she wrote, “that Mr. Pitt and Dundas, my Brother and Ld Camden and all the Grenvilles were out. When he left me Lord Morpeth and Ld Carlisle confirmed the news.”1 Their visits left her exhausted but also exhilarated.

  Pitt was out but he had urged his colleagues to remain at the pleasure of the new Prime Minister, Henry Addington, the former Speaker of the House of Commons. Half the cabinet, including George, had ignored his request, but the rest remained in their places—among whom, “I am sorry to say,” wrote Georgiana, was the Duke of Portland. People could hardly believe the choice of Addington. He was a quiet, respectable nobody; perfect as the Speaker, incredible as Prime Minister. Georgiana had met him a few times at Bognor Regis and found him pleasant enough. “I like both him and Mrs Addington very much,” she had written a little condescendingly. “He is simple and good-natured, and interesting from their attachment to their children and their being so little us’d to live in the World.”2 His father was one of the King’s physicians, and in the rarefied world of aristocratic politics no one could really accept a doctor’s son as the King’s First Minister. It seemed almost indecent.

  From her first day back in London Georgiana began keeping a political diary; news was coming in by the hour. She was the recipient of confidences from all sides. Either through friendship, family, or mutual interest, she was connected with the leaders of all the main parties. Lord Morpeth kept her informed about Pitt’s circle of friends, George about the ex-members of the cabinet, Fox and Grey about the Whigs, and the Prince of Wales about his own plans. During the first heady days after Pitt’s resignation she listened, speculated, and occasionally offered her advice. She thought it was too soon to have “any clear insight into public affairs—I think these new men will never do and that it is a pity Pitt pressed them to stay.”3 What hope could there be for Addington’s administration, she wondered, “with all the talents of opposition on one side against it and the talents of this administration at least neutral?”4

  Her first concern was that the opposition should not further damage its tattered reputation by behaving rashly. Consultation with Grey and the others reassured her slightly and she recorded, “I think they will keep quiet, and I hope not take any violent measures.” Her second was for her brother’s reputation, but his subsequent actions made both his sisters extremely proud. “He crowns the most brilliant administration by the most honourable retreat,” was Georgiana’s characterization of his prompt resignation.

  Everyone was waiting for Pitt’s next move when the King suffered a return of his old malady on February 21. Dr. Willis was recalled to Windsor, and the Prince once more faced the possibility of a Regency. However, the Whigs were saved from a repetition of the 1789 Regency crisis. The King recovered after only three weeks, too soon for the party to become embroiled in vicious leadership struggles. As it was, the Prince avoided seeing most people, including Georgiana, while he deliberated over whom he would choose as Prime Minister if he became Regent. He had reservations about all the main contenders and was probably relieved when the restoration of the King’s sanity closed the matter. Pitt handed in his Seals of Office on March 14 and Addington officially became Prime Minister.

  George III’s recovery heralded a return to normality, of a sort, in Parliament. Fox resumed his seat in the Commons, but it was not his return which received the most attention. The House held its breath the first time Pitt took his seat on the back benches. He betrayed no emotion except to “hear, hear” Addington and MPs became bored of watching him. A familiar routine returned to Devonshire House as more Whigs followed Fox’s example and began to attend debates. Lady Holland still wanted Holland House to be the centre of the Whig universe, but despite having married Fox’s nephew she had neither Georgiana’s popularity nor her experience. Georgiana was once more hosting political dinners for the party, and the Prince resumed his practice of consulting her on every issue, much to Mrs. Fitzherbert’s annoyance.5

  There is also circumstantial evidence that Georgiana and Grey were, if not lovers again, closer than ordinary friends. Their letters to each other do not survive, but he came to Devonshire House most days while Mary Grey remained tucked away in the country with the children. He also gave her a locket containing their hair and a lock of Eliza’s with the words IL M’EST FIDEL (he is true to me) inscribed on it, and other people noticed some sort of unspoken understanding between them.6 Georgiana was gratified by the return of Grey’s affections, but it was far from being the passionate, reckless affair it once had been. He couldn’t quite tear himself away from Georgiana, but nor was he truly in love with her. “Black [Grey] is now very good-natured to me,” Georgiana told Lady Melbourne, to whom she always had to play down the affair.7 “But I do not see him often [alone] and I do not believe anybody knows I do see him.”8 One reason she saw less of him was because he had also taken up with Hecca, Sheridan’s unpopular second wife. Grey played them off against each other—to the distress of both women. “His manner to the Dss in the last 5 years [of her life] was much alter’d,” Hecca claimed in self-justification after her affair with Grey was exposed.9 But Harriet, who had witnessed everything, knew that Hecca was lying, although the truth hardly brought her more comfort. Mary Grey also became aware of Grey’s relationship with Mrs. Sheridan; in the manner of Lady Jersey, Hecca had made sure of that.10

  Yet the resemblance between the present situation and the politics of twenty years earlier was only superficial. There was a new generation of clever women and ambitious young men, and even though the old guard was still in command it would not be long before youth pushed aside old age and infirmity. Some of the younger Foxites, such as George Tierney, complained with some truth that Fox was out of touch with political realities. They were encouraged by Sheridan, who wanted to capitalize on Addington’s pro-peace stance to make a pact in exchange for seats in the cabinet. Fox, on the other hand, was at best neutral towards Addington—or the “Doctor,” as he was nicknamed. There were endless discussions at Devonshire House over which strategy the Whigs should adopt. Every month the Doctor remained in office consolidated his position.

  Georgiana’s own views were definite on the matter: the brief talk of a general coalition the previous spring had planted an idea which had grown into a conviction for her—that the old party rivalries were an irrelevance. She was willing to erase eighteen years of hostility towards Pitt in order to achieve an ideal: a coalition government which combined the best talent of all sides. She confided to Little G, who was anxious to learn about politics:

  My being here is rather fortunate as I keep the Prince a little from Sheridan’s power and as my Brother means to attend for a few days, I should perhaps have made Fox and him meet. But it cannot be helped and there are such difficulties in the only thing that could do good, the junction of the old and new opposition (tho’ I believe neither Fox or Pitt would be averse to it) that perhaps in being away I only spare myself mortification. Besides a woman has no business in these things unless very sure of serving La Patrie. . . .11

  This short paragraph demonstrates the development of Georgiana’s political beliefs. She had abandoned Fox’s “influence of the crown” ideology as irrelevant to the politics of the day. She did not rate Addington’s skills as a politician and saw it as the duty of the Whigs to end the war; this, she believed, could only be achieved in coalition with Pitt. Regarding her own place in politics, patriotism, she repeated, gave her the right to interfere.

  By October 1801 Addington had worked out a peace proposal for the French. Although the Whigs laughed at his inability to string a logical sentence together (“to doubt is to decide” was one of his more baffling pronouncements from the dispatch box), his government remained on cour
se. Perhaps his very dullness lay behind his success. Hare told Harriet that “he heard but one sentence in Mr. Addington’s Speech the other night. He woke from his sleep, and heard ‘For as this is that which was said to!’ ” He was “quite satisfied, and turn’d to sleep out the rest. . . .”12 Nevertheless Addington achieved in less than a year what had eluded Pitt for almost a decade—peace. On March 25, 1802, France and Britain concluded the Treaty of Amiens and war was officially over.

  CHAPTER 22

  POWER STRUGGLES

  1802–1803

  A decent regard to female dress, is we trust, about to be restored. In consequence of a notification on the cards of invitation, the Marchioness of Townshend’s late rout was composed of persons in full dress. The Duchess of Devonshire has given the same precautionary hint, and the decorous example, will, it is hoped, run the whole line of female fashion!

  Morning Herald, April 4, 1803

  Not everyone shared Georgiana’s enthusiastic response to the treaty (“Peace! Peace!” she wrote to her mother). Lord Grenville’s party sulked because it disliked the terms, and the Whigs were gloomy because it appeared to confirm Addington’s position. Bess also had little reason to celebrate; five months earlier, in October 1801, the Duke of Richmond had finally admitted that he had no intention of marrying her. After the initial shock Bess felt rage and disappointment. He had “exposed me to much censure without in fact increasing his comfort,” she wrote bitterly to Lady Melbourne.1 She knew that his decision had been partly influenced by the objections of his family, particularly his niece Lady Charlotte Lennox. “He must be conscious of how wrong his conduct has been to me,” Bess continued the theme in another letter. “Tho’ had he not luckily for me, broke thro’ my romance by showing me he had to a certain degree not only resisted but subdued his attachment to me, I might have long gone on as I did these four years.”2 When the treaty was announced Bess was still dwelling on her disappointment: “As to the D of R,” she wrote, “I am quite certain that he now both feels and laments the line of conduct he adopted. I answered some of his questions fairly and told him where I thought he had acted ill by me, and what alter’d my conduct to him. He said he should answer me (which he never has) and that he was a helpless wretched Man. Lady C[harlotte] L[ennox] is an odious being and I should like to be certain of never seeing her again.”3

  Georgiana understood her friend well enough to know how her pride suffered, and tried to include Bess in as many of her activities as possible. When Lord Carlisle invited the Devonshires to visit Little G and Morpeth at Castle Howard Georgiana made sure that Bess was one of the party. It was not Georgiana’s fault that she was content in her life, not least in her happy relations with Little G and Morpeth; “they do seem to prefer coming to me to anything,” she told her mother proudly. She also derived considerable satisfaction from her writing. In April 1802 the Morning Herald reported that Georgiana was working on an opera which, it optimistically predicted, would be “brought forward at Covent Garden Theatre in the course of the next season.”4 This was something Georgiana would never do. There were aristocratic women who had their plays performed: Lady Craven, who had since married the Margrave of Ansbach, had been a serious playwright in the 1780s. But Georgiana no longer sought to be in the public eye. Now, especially, she was loath to do anything that might embarrass her children. She discussed with her mother the possibility of publishing anonymously a sacred drama and a children’s story she had written: “Mr. Fox and others encouraged me of letting them pass without my name but without any adopted name and trusting Johnson—he will give me more and there is no reason why they should not be guess’d.”5 The printer in question, Joseph Johnson, accepted Georgiana’s submission from “her friend” and encouraged her to send him more writing so that he might publish the work in a single volume, but Georgiana changed her mind.6

  She missed Little G’s company when the couple left London to live with the Carlisles, as custom demanded they should until Morpeth’s father died. However, another young girl came into her life as a consolation—the Little Po’s granddaughter Corisande de Grammont. Her mother had tuberculosis and the Duc de Grammont was relieved when Georgiana offered to look after Corise, who reminded her strongly of her late friend in both looks and manner: “I am sure you will be delighted with Corise and allow me to bring her,” she wrote to Lady Spencer. “I long for her to see you and you to know her. I am sure you will be delighted with her and she is prepared to revere and admire you.”7 She was even more enthusiastic to Lady Melbourne: “Corisande will make me very gay. She is a delightful girl and D of D is so good natured about her, he thinks I cannot be too gay for her.”8

  Georgiana entertained regularly now, and her parties always received favourable attention in the press. After one supper the Morning Herald congratulated her on gathering together so many English and French royal dukes under one roof.9 She also continued to be on good terms with the Duke even though their respective ailments often made them crotchety with each other. Lady Spencer felt that the Duke’s tendency to morbid hypochondria placed an extra strain on Georgiana and agreed with Hare that “by his conversation one should suppose health was the principal object of his life—but by his conduct one must imagine he had come to some decided plan of destroying it.”10

  It was inevitable that something would interfere with Georgiana’s happiness. By the end of 1801 the Duke of Bedford’s money had run out and she had no means of paying him the interest on the loan. When she first hinted to him that she might default on her payments he was shocked. Georgiana had assured him that the £6,000 would clear all her debts. “I am truly sorry for all your plagues, both since and before you left London, but it is a source of vexation and the cause of it seems inexhaustible,” he replied, not unreasonably.11 When he realized that no payments would be forthcoming his sympathy turned to anger. He was furious, thinking she had used him, and, unlike so many of Georgiana’s friends who shrugged their shoulders and knew better the next time she asked for money, he resolved never to speak to her again. “Alas when he only sees me as he does now, by starts,” Georgiana lamented, “he can make no allowances, all my faults are in full force and I have not the power to do them away.”12 Bedford’s disavowal of their friendship, after his unwavering loyalty during her years in exile, was the first time Georgiana had ever suffered a direct rebuff for her deceitfulness. The experience finally made her realize that she could no longer live by lying and prevaricating.

  Georgiana turned to religion for strength. She had always maintained her faith in God, although for most of her life religion had been a source of guilt rather than comfort to her. She went to hear her friend Dr. Randolph, the Duke of York’s chaplain and a regular preacher at Bath, and felt inspired by his sermons. On Christmas Day 1801 she wrote to him about her resolution. She had just come from church, where she had prayed for courage:

  I am determined to give up all vain hope, to meet my situation and to form some plan thro’ my relations and to gain their confidence, by sacrifices in expence, etc., and then to write to all those with whom I have form’d engagements, state my case to them and see if they will be satisfied with gradual payment—If not, as I cannot now speak to the Duke (who is not well) I must get them to give me a few months before I do speak to him and during that space endeavour to form some plan that may satisfy the Duke and put him in a way of assisting me by savings I could find out elsewhere—all this my sanguine mind sees with the return of hope. But on the other hand I shrink from the task before me—the task of viewing myself with the Eye of severe Truth—of viewing the disgrace and shame of having ever made engagements upon slight grounds of hope in the fear of hurting others—the knowledge of the harm I have done myself and all belonging to me—the certainty that my friends will doubt my steadyness, etc., are the objects I must dwell on. I have pray’d sincerely to be guided right.

  . . . I feel could I ever be relieved from these [chains] of distresses I should be a different person and the happiness of
many would be benefited. But I fear it is impossible. I fear being again driven to escape from pain by neglecting investigation—in short it has been to strengthen myself in every way and to meet the worst, that I have made the chief objects of my meditations today.13

  She had already started to work with Coutts on the daunting process of listing and classifying her debts. It was a sad task; each one had a little story or an excuse attached. Georgiana entrusted a letter to Coutts’s care, which in the event of her death he was to present to the Duke, exculpating the banker from any wrong doing and urging her husband to take “my character and my children’s welfare into consideration.”

  Georgiana wanted to tell the Duke of Bedford about her repentance and show him the steps she was taking as a result, but he wouldn’t see her. Shortly after writing to Dr. Randolph she heard news that could not have been more unwelcome—Bedford was courting the Duchess of Gordon’s youngest daughter Lady Georgiana. The thought that her mean-spirited rival might steal the greatest prize in the Whig matrimonial field made Georgiana weep with frustration. Nor did she like to think of the slight to Little G, even though her daughter was happy with Morpeth. Bedford’s sin was compounded by his failure to inform Lady Melbourne of his intentions. “Indeed we are all undone,” Georgiana commiserated with her; “no possible event could have so thoroughly overturned the habit of our society as this.”14 She feared the Duchess of Gordon would turn him against the party. Reconciliation between Bedford and herself, she was certain now, would be impossible. Three weeks later the Duke of Bedford was dead, having collapsed while playing tennis.