Victoria in the Wings: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  And while they were chatting easily another arrival was announced.

  The Duke of Clarence had at last arrived to greet his bride.

  They regarded each other cautiously.

  He was an ageing man; it was true his head was the shape of a pineapple; he had the Hanoverian eyes, blue, protuberant, and there was a hint of wildness in them; he was not nearly as tall nor as glorious as his dazzling brother; but somehow the thought of that ready-made family to whom she had been introduced by the eldest member of it – if only by hearsay – made her feel less alarmed than she might have done. There was something about him that was young, in spite of his age. She supposed it would be called naïve, and oddly enough this was comforting.

  She had been brought up to believe that one day she would have to marry and very likely a strange Prince in a foreign land. Well, having seen him she was not as afraid as she had thought she might be.

  He looked at her and felt a twinge of disappointment. She was no beauty. But he liked her gentle manner. And when she told him that she had already made the acquaintance of his son George and that George had talked to her of the rest of the family, he felt his spirits uplifted.

  If she would come to Bushy and live there with them all, if she was ready to be a stepmother to the children, and if she could give him the child who would be the heir to the throne, he would be content.

  They talked of her journey and he told her of the improvements he had made to the house at Bushy which was quite his favourite residence. He was looking forward to showing it to her.

  It was almost a prosaic meeting. They had come nowhere near falling in love at first sight.

  But she had decided that she might have had worse than her ageing Duke; and he perceived that although she did not possess the attractions of that brash young beauty Miss Wykeham, nor the exquisite features of Miss Tylney-Long, nor the handsome looks of Miss Mercer Elphinstone – all of whom he had tried to persuade to marry him – it might well be that she had qualities which those more flamboyant ladies lacked.

  When they parted, although they could scarcely be said to be elated, they were not unduly dismayed.

  When they were alone the fury of the Duchess Eleanor broke forth.

  ‘I never imagined that you would be treated like this! I am going to suggest that we return to Saxe-Meiningen tomorrow. Or … or …’ She faltered, but Adelaide smiled.

  ‘Dearest Mamma, you know that it is the last thing you wish.’

  ‘We should be objects of ridicule. It would be said that he had seen you and refused to marry you.’

  ‘And I should never have another chance to marry. Think of that, Mamma.’

  ‘But not to greet us! To let us come to an hotel. And then … insult on injury to send that, that … bastard of his to be so insolent to you.’

  ‘I liked him, Mamma; and after all, he will be my stepson.’

  ‘I should not use that word to describe your future husband’s bastard.’

  ‘But that’s what he is, Mamma. They will all be my stepchildren … all ten of them.’

  ‘You must refuse to see them.’

  ‘I could not do that.’

  ‘Why not? Why not? Von Konitz shall speak to the Regent immediately. We will make it a condition.’

  ‘It is not what I wish.’

  The Duchess Eleanor looked in surprise at her daughter. There had been one or two occasions in Adelaide’s life when she had taken a stand and like all usually malleable people when she did stand firmly there was no shaking her.

  ‘You can’t mean …’

  ‘I mean this,’ said Adelaide, ‘that my future husband already has a large family of whom he is obviously fond. What chance of happiness should I have as his wife if I refused to acknowledge them?’

  ‘Your husband’s family. The children of an actress … who by all accounts must have been a loose woman, for these ten children are not the only ones she has had.’

  ‘They are nevertheless the Duke’s children. You always knew, Mamma, that I wanted to be a member of a big family. I regretted that I had not more sisters and brothers. Well, when I marry the Duke I shall become a member of one. That is one of the things that please me most in this marriage.’

  The Duchess Eleanor stared at her daughter.

  ‘I shall speak to both Konitz and Effa in the morning.’

  ‘Mamma, I am sorry to say this, but this is my marriage. I think that I should be the one who decides how it shall be conducted.’

  What had happened to Adelaide? She had become an autocrat already. Perhaps though, decided the Duchess Eleanor, one should rejoice because she had not given way to melancholy at the sight of her ageing bridegroom.

  A very unbecoming welcome; and I tremble to think of leaving my daughter behind in such company.

  Adelaide, oddly enough, seemed quite composed. It was strange to think that it was due to her future husband’s family of bastards.

  The Duke of Kent had brought his Duchess to England that the ceremony might be repeated there in the presence of the Prince Regent and the Queen. They considered themselves in fact, already married.

  The Queen received the Duchess graciously; she liked what she saw of her; but as she said afterwards to Augustus and Sophia she was so disgusted by Cumberland’s wife that any of her son’s consorts seemed admirable in comparison.

  But undoubtedly the Duchess of Kent was a discreet and worthy woman. She had left her son and daughter in Leiningen, whither she and the Duke would return for a while after their three weeks honeymoon in England.

  Apartments at Kensington Palace were offered to the Duke and these he gratefully accepted. They rode out to Claremont to see Victoria’s brother Leopold, who wept with joy and declared that nothing now could please him more than to see this match brought to fruition, for theirs was a union very near to his heart.

  ‘I have not been so happy since my dearest Charlotte died,’ he said.

  Victoria, who was practical, asked him if he were wise to remain at Claremont, the scene of his last months with Charlotte.

  ‘Wise?’ he asked. ‘I am nearer to Charlotte here than anywhere else.’

  ‘Dearest Leopold,’ said Victoria, ‘you prolong your grief. You should get away.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ groaned Leopold.

  ‘I too have lost a husband.’

  Leopold looked at her in astonishment. How could she compare that old husband of hers with his young and vital Charlotte. But he merely covered his eyes with his hands and Victoria said no more.

  He took them over Claremont. ‘This was the room where she died. I have left it just as it was on that dreadful day. This is her cloak. After the last walk she took in the grounds, she hung it there. I won’t have it moved.’

  Victoria said: ‘Dearest brother, it is time you took a holiday away from England.’

  ‘It is what I propose to do. And when you are married you may borrow Claremont for your honeymoon.’

  ‘That is excellent news, is it not, Edward?’ asked Victoria.

  Edward was forming the habit of agreeing with everything Victoria said and did, and he immediately concurred.

  So it was decided that after the wedding the honeymoon should be spent here.

  ‘And the first thing I shall do,’ the practical Victoria told her husband, ‘is take down Charlotte’s cloak and rearrange that bedroom in which she died.’

  The Duchess Eleanor was received by the Queen, who was feeling a little better on this day. She explained to Duchess Eleanor the nature of her complaint and how it varied with the days.

  ‘Anxiety does not improve it,’ she explained. ‘And I have had plenty of that and to spare.’

  Duchess Eleanor inclined her head sympathetically.

  ‘I trust Adelaide will be happy here,’ said the Queen.

  ‘I shall feel that she has found a mother in Your Majesty.’

  The Queen graciously inclined her head.

  ‘William is not the most level-headed
of the Princes, so I am particularly relieved that Adelaide seems to be a sensible young woman.’

  ‘Your Majesty will find her so. She has a good heart. In fact there is a matter on which I would ask Your Majesty’s advice.’

  ‘Pray proceed.’

  ‘On our arrival the Duke sent a young man, a George Fitz-Clarence, to greet my daughter. He was in fact the first one to do so.’

  ‘Surely this could not be!’

  ‘Alas, Your Majesty, I assure you it was so.’

  ‘Monstrous!’ said the Queen; and Duchess Eleanor nodded in relief. ‘Something must be done about it,’ went on Charlotte, and added, ‘Something shall be done about it.’

  ‘How grateful I am to Your Majesty; but I knew of course that you would deal with this matter … as it should be dealt with. The Duke plans that the honeymoon should be spent at Bushy. He proposes to take Adelaide there … in the midst of this family.’

  ‘It is not possible. I will see the Regent immediately. We could never allow such a thing to be. I fear that William has little sense of the rightness of things – although I am sure Adelaide will find him an indulgent husband. But pray leave this matter to me.’

  When the Duchess had retired the Queen went to her bedroom and lay down for a short while. These internal controversies upset her now far more than they used to. She was afraid of having another turn like the last she had had. One of these days, she thought, and that soon, I shall not recover.

  There was so much to be done.

  She wanted to live to see the heir born, to know that all these marriages had not been in vain; and the affairs of Adelaide and William were most important for they could produce the King or Queen of England.

  If only William were not such a fool!

  She sighed, roused herself and sent for him.

  ‘William,’ she said sternly, ‘you really must behave with more decorum.’

  He raised his eyes, looking hurt. ‘What have I done now?’ he asked reproachfully. ‘I have accepted this marriage you have arranged for me. I have made no fuss about it … even though the Parliament has not met my demands. I …’

  The Queen held up a hand for silence. ‘I beg of you cease, William. I am not feeling well and my strength threatens to give out. So pray let us get quickly to the point. You have that actress’s family at Bushy.’

  ‘I have my family there, Mamma.’

  ‘Your bastards, William.’

  William flushed hotly; sailors’ oaths rose to his lips. He thought of his darling daughters, the pride of his life; he adored them. Gay and pretty Sophia just twenty-one; he liked to have her here with him, showing her off. Mary of twenty down to eleven-years-old Amelia. Nothing on earth would induce him to part with them. And if his new wife was asking that this should be done he would refuse to marry her even now.

  The Queen saw the stubborn set of his jaw and sighed.

  ‘You propose to spend your honeymoon at Bushy?’

  ‘Where else? Leopold has offered Edward and his wife Claremont. I have had no such offers. In any case, I don’t want them. I prefer Bushy.’

  ‘The honeymoon should not be spent at Bushy, although you will wish to take Adelaide there in due course. There should be just you and Adelaide there … with your servants, of course.’

  William looked surprised. ‘My daughters live there. It is their home. And that of the boys when they are home.’

  ‘So you propose to take your bride into the heart of this … this family of yours, all of whom are the illegitimate children of an actress.’

  ‘I must remind you again, Mamma, that they are mine as well,’ said William with dignity.

  ‘You have no sense, William. This cannot be. It would be a scandal. You must move your children from Bushy. The Regent has in any case decided that you leave for Hanover three weeks after the wedding. What happens later could be a matter for you and Adelaide to work out between you; but you cannot take your bride to Bushy while those children are there; and as it has been arranged that you should spend three weeks in England before going to Hanover you should spend them at St James’s. The FitzClarence family must leave Bushy.’

  ‘They will not like it.’

  ‘And I should not like it if they stayed. Nor would your brother, the Regent, nor the people, nor any decent thinking person.’

  ‘Adelaide has raised no objection.’

  ‘Her mother has raised it on her behalf.’

  ‘I thought she was an interfering old woman.’

  ‘William!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mamma, but this is my private affair.’

  ‘It is an affair of the State when an insult is offered to visitors to our country even if they are shortly to become a member of the family. I have spoken to the Regent about this and he agrees with me. While he sympathizes with your affection for this … this … family … he thinks the FitzClarence children should not make Bushy their home. You may leave me now, William, for I am very tired. But I shall expect you to consider my wishes.’

  The Regent was sympathetic as the Queen had said, but he did urge on William the need to remove the FitzClarences from Bushy.

  ‘It’s what people would say, William. God knows how we always have to consider that. I’ve spent my life doing it.’

  ‘What is so infuriating is that Adelaide has raised no objection.’

  ‘She seems a pleasant creature … docile, amenable. I think she will make a good wife. Edward seems to have been put into leading strings. Victoria is not unprepossessing in her way but she has her fixed opinions and she won’t rest until those about her share them. An attractive woman, but not as comfortable as your Adelaide.’

  ‘Yes, I think Adelaide will make a good obedient wife – and all things considered I prefer her to Victoria. But why should I disrupt the Bushy household when Adelaide doesn’t object?’

  ‘Because, William, the people would object.’ The Regent was a little weary of the subject, so he yawned gracefully to show that the subject was closed as far as he was concerned and he expected William to comply with his wishes.

  ‘Who was that woman you thought of engaging as a governess?’

  ‘Her name is Miss Cooper. She is a very intelligent and capable woman.’

  ‘There is your answer, William. Now I must ask you to leave. I have a long session with my tailor.’

  William realized there was no help for it. He acquired a house in South Audley Street and amid the protests of his daughters moved them there and put the efficient Miss Cooper in control.

  Then he prepared for his wedding. He must devote himself to his wife and the object of the marriage, which was to make it fruitful as soon as possible.

  It was the day of the double wedding, which was to take place in the Queen’s drawing-room at Kew. The Regent was due to arrive just before four o’clock in order to preside benignly over the proceedings and give both brides to their husbands.

  The Duke and Duchess of Kent were less nervous than Adelaide and William. They had in fact already been married in Germany two months before and were quite satisfied with each other.

  Victoria was attractive and domineering; and Edward in spite of a somewhat pompous exterior was a good subject for her domination. He had been able to salve his conscience concerning Julie by doing everything possible for her comfort and he was sure that she had found peace in her convent. He had to admit that he was such a man of habit that Julie had to some extent become a habit; and it was more exciting to have a young – or comparatively young – wife, who was gay, affectionate and charming – as long as it was accepted that she was always right. And she invariably was – a fact which might have been a little irritating to some, but not to Edward. He liked precision and efficiency; he liked Victoria.

  As for Victoria she was enjoying her new life. Edward was dignified it was true; strictly religious, unimaginative; but she was satisfied with him. When she compared him with her first husband, the old Duke of Leiningen, she considered herself lucky. She had come sat
isfactorily through that first marriage because of her own sound good sense; but everyone had agreed that the old Duke was a trial. From him, though, she had her dearest Charles and Feodore, and for them she was grateful; and she looked forward to the time when she would have her children with her in one nursery with that all-important child who was to be the ruler of England.

  She was sure she was going to be the one to produce the heir – and wasn’t she always right? Only Adelaide and Clarence stood between the throne and the child she would have; and there was a certain ineffectuality about Clarence which she recognized – and as for Adelaide she did not believe she was a strong woman. She lacked the radiant health of Victoria.

  Soon, soon, she prayed every night. I shall have my child – and that child is to be the one.

  Edward had told her of the gipsy’s prophecy, which she would have dismissed as rubbish if it had concerned anything else. But this prophecy was right – only she did not accept that it would be a Queen. She believed it would be a King.

  But a Queen would do very well as the English did not regard sex as a bar to sovereignty.

  So it was a very satisfied Victoria who stood before her mirror surveying her plump but seductive form. The dress of gold tissue was so becoming to a widow. Adelaide would be dressed in white no doubt. But the fact that she was in gold was a symbol that she was not a newcomer to marriage and she had already proved her ability to bear children. Her darling Charles and Feodore were living evidence.

  It was a very complacent Victoria who made her way to the Queen’s drawing-room.

  Adelaide was less composed. The dress was charming. The insignia of a bride – silver tissue and Brussels lace. And the effect was enchanting.

  As the diamond clasp was fastened about her waist she thought: Even I look beautiful today.

  Duchess Eleanor clasped her hands with delight.

  ‘You look lovely, my dear. No bride ever looked more beautiful.’

  ‘It’s the dress that’s beautiful, Mamma.’

  ‘Oh, why must you always denigrate yourself!’ exclaimed the Duchess impatiently.