Victoria in the Wings: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  But it was all part of the pattern of fate.

  Money was a difficulty, of course. They had left England because of the Duke’s debts and as they were still unsettled it was a little dangerous to return; but the important child must be born in England.

  They must borrow money for their journey; the Duke could drive the coach to save a coachman’s wages; and as it was an exceptionally large coach they could carry quite a lot of their baggage in it.

  It was April when they left and the news had just reached them that Adelaide and William had started on a visit to Würtemburg.

  ‘She will have another try,’ said Victoria glumly, but the Duke so trusted his gipsy that he was sure nothing would come of that or any try.

  ‘We must take no chances,’ said the Duchess.

  She would engage a midwife whom she had heard was the best in Germany and the woman should travel with them – in case of accidents.

  Why, by all accounts, but for an accident, Adelaide might have a healthy girl to stand in the way of the child who was about to be born.

  They must be prepared.

  Fräulein Siebold was a most efficient woman. She told the Duchess that she did not anticipate much trouble, that all was going well, and she had no doubt that the child would be as bonny as Charles and Feodore.

  So they set out for England.

  Apartments in Kensington Palace had been prepared for the birth; and on 19 May, with the utmost confidence of success, Victoria settled down to produce her child.

  In the early morning the child was born.

  ‘A girl!’ The Duchess heard the voices about her bed.

  The Duke was at her bedside. She smiled at him faintly. ‘I’m sorry it was not a boy.’

  But the Duke shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘It was to be a great queen, you know.’

  Now she believed in the gipsy’s prophecy as firmly as he did.

  Three days after the birth of a princess to the Duke and Duchess of Kent, Frederica, Duchess of Cumberland, produced her child. To her great joy – and that of the Duke – it was a boy.

  ‘We’ll call him George,’ declared Frederica. ‘It’s a good name for a king.’

  So during that year three candidates for the throne had appeared – two boys and a girl; but the girl being the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Kent, the fourth son of the King, was in the lead.

  Only Adelaide had been disappointed.

  ‘But there will be another,’ she assured herself, ‘and the next time nothing shall be allowed to go wrong.’

  It was her only hope of happiness; just as it was the prevailing fear of the brothers- and sisters-in-law.

  Christening at Kensington

  THE PRINCE REGENT was feeling peevish. He was undoubtedly growing old; he was obliged to use a touch of rouge to give his cheeks some semblance of the delicate colour that had glowed in them in his youth. The gout worried him too frequently; he was prey to mysterious illnesses which the doctors did not understand and for which they prescribed perpetual bleeding, which made him feel weak.

  His wife was behaving outrageously on the Continent and in spite of all his efforts he could not get the evidence against her he wanted. And now there was all this fuss about babies in the family.

  He had one grand-niece and two nephews; and how much more fitting it would have been if he had had a son.

  It was not too late. He insisted on it. If only he could rid himself of Caroline he could marry and produce an heir like the rest of them.

  He was sorry that Adelaide had lost her child. If he himself could not provide the heir he would rather William did it. He had never liked Edward who was too self-righteous; and he had taken a dislike to Edward’s wife. Madame de St Laurent had been so much more charming and Madam Victoria gave herself too many airs. She was a typical German, he decided; arrogant, sure of herself and eager to lead everyone by their noses. She might lead Edward, but there it would stop.

  Aggravating indeed that the woman should now be behaving as though she were the mother of the heiress to the throne. It was almost as though she was saying to him and his father and to William: Hurry up. Die please, so that my daughter can inherit the throne.

  Madam Victoria of Kent must be relegated to her place. If he were to remain as unlucky as he had been since he met Caroline of Brunswick, then there was Adelaide and William and their child to come before Edward’s and hers.

  Simply because he was tied to Caroline, and Adelaide’s child had died, did not mean that this infant was heiress to the throne. Far from it. Madam Kent was counting her chickens before they were hatched.

  He mentioned the matter to Lady Hertford who was constantly in his company and who, when she had become his devoted companion, saw that her family was there too. Her son, the Earl of Yarmouth, popularly known as the Yarmouth Bloater, was reckoned to be one of the Regent’s closest friends.

  Lady Hertford, frigid, and eager that everyone should believe that the relationship was a platonic one, disliked the Duchess of Kent as much as the Regent did. The woman with her laces, ribbons and feathers was overdressed; she was constantly surrounded by a retinue of little dogs; and her hats with their drooping feathers were quite ridiculous. It was not to be expected that Lady Hertford, that leader of fashion and as elegant in her way as the Regent was in his, should approve of the flamboyant Duchess of Kent.

  ‘That woman is too sure of herself,’ she told the Regent.

  ‘As usual, my dear, we are in complete agreement,’ he replied. ‘It tires me merely to think of her.’

  ‘She is arranging the christening of her daughter as though the child were a young Queen. She is really quite impertinent. Do you know, she tried to humiliate me.’

  ‘My dear, how insolent of her! I think it is time Madam Victoria learned that we will not allow her to rule now as she believes her daughter will one day.’

  ‘The Duchess of Clarence is far more amiable.’

  ‘Far more, my dear.’

  ‘I hear they are going to call the child Georgiana, as near to Your Highness as possible, of course.’

  ‘They have not yet consulted me.’

  Lady Hertford laughed coldly. ‘Your Highness, I do not believe they intend to. The Duchess of Kent is arrogant enough to believe she can dispose of all normal formalities.’

  ‘She will discover,’ said the Regent grimly.

  His irritation had increased. They had desired him to be the infant’s godfather and indeed he must be. He was, after all, her uncle. William’s affairs always went awry. He even had to marry a woman who lost her baby, and since this was so, nothing could alter the fact that, for the time being, the most important royal child was this girl of the Kents.

  But not for long, he promised himself. Next time William must succeed. It would be a pleasant day for him when the Duchess of Kent’s daughter was obliged to take a step backwards for the sake of William’s child.

  The Duchess of Kent was in a state of exultation. Her child was in the lead – her ‘plump little partridge’, as someone had called her; a perfectly formed little girl, with a lusty pair of lungs and a look of smug satisfaction with the world as though she had come to stay in it for a very long time. When she thought of poor Adelaide’s failure she pitied her; but the very fact that the Duchess of Clarence had not produced a living child could only add to the glory of this little one.

  She and the Duke stood by the child’s cradle, admiring. It was wonderful how she had fascinated Edward so that he had completely forgotten – or at least he gave no sign of remembering – that woman with whom he had lived all those years. He was absolutely devoted to his new family; and now that she had their little daughter and Feodore and Charles were with her, the Duchess could admit that she had acted wisely when she had accepted the challenge to give up her freedom and become the Duchess of Kent, for she had relinquished little compared with what she had gained.

  ‘Georgiana,’ she murmured to the Duke. ‘A queenly name for a q
ueen.’

  ‘William and Adelaide still have to be considered.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ declared the Duchess. ‘Adelaide will never succeed.’

  The Duke believed her, as he was beginning to believe everything she said. Besides there was the gipsy’s prophecy.

  ‘Named after her illustrious godparents,’ went on the Duchess. ‘Georgiana after Uncle George and Alexandrina after the Tsar of Russia.’

  ‘It is always wise to choose names with care.’

  The Duchess nodded.

  It was while they were discussing the baby’s names that a note arrived from the Regent. It concerned the christening of their child. He could not allow them to give the child the name of Georgiana, he wrote, because they were also naming her Alexandrina. Surely it would be a breach of etiquette for his name to appear before that of the Tsar of Russia – nor would he wish it to appear after that sovereign’s. In the circumstances he could not allow the daughter of his brother Edward to be given the name of Georgiana.

  The Duchess looked at the Duke with horror when he translated the note into German for her benefit, for she had progressed scarcely at all with her English.

  ‘Not Georgiana!’ she cried. ‘But it is her name. I have always thought of her as Georgiana. It is the only name for her.’

  ‘The Regent forbids it.’

  ‘Oh, he hates us. He hates our little girl.’

  ‘I would not say that,’ protested Edward mildly. ‘But there is no doubt that he hopes Adelaide and William will forestall us. He is not going to accept our baby as the heir if he can help it.’

  ‘He will have to,’ declared Victoria fiercely.

  ‘It’s true. If Adelaide and William fail he will have to.’

  ‘They will fail and he will have to,’ repeated Victoria firmly. ‘But what of my little Georgiana’s names?’

  ‘He says he will talk to me about them at the christening.’

  ‘At the christening! But then he will choose just what he wishes.’

  ‘We must abide by his decision, of course.’

  The Duchess stamped her foot. ‘The Regent is no friend of ours,’ she declared.

  ‘I never thought I was his favourite brother.’

  ‘It is your wife he does not like. Your wife and your little baby daughter.’

  ‘Oh no, you take this too much to heart. It is only a matter of a name.’

  ‘Too much to heart. This is my daughter! Never mind. I will fight the whole world for her … and that includes the Regent.’

  The Duke took her hand and kissed it. She was magnificent in her anger against the Regent and her zeal for the child.

  ‘No matter if she cannot have a grand-sounding name,’ he said. ‘She has the finest mother God could have given her.’

  And the Duchess was somewhat mollified.

  A font had been set up in the Cupola Room and those who were to attend the christening of the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Kent had gathered there.

  All were awaiting the arrival of the Prince Regent, the chief godparent; he was late in arriving and when he did come it was easy to see that he was scarcely in a benign mood.

  Curtly he received the greetings of the child’s parents and made a gesture which suggested that the ceremony should start immediately.

  The look he cast in the direction of the child’s mother was almost distasteful. Overdressed, he thought. No sense of the solemnity of the occasion. These German women! And his mood was not softened by the memory the woman brought to him of his own wife. She had always been overdressed; too colourful; they were all the same.

  The Archbishop of Canterbury was ready to begin. He picked up the child who fortunately did not yell; and taking her to the golden font looked askance from the Duke of Kent to the Regent as he waited to hear with what names the child should be christened.

  ‘Alexandrina,’ said the Regent testily.

  ‘Alexandrina,’ repeated the Archbishop.

  The Duchess of Kent opened her mouth as though to speak but her husband for once was able to silence her with a look. Alexandrina! she wanted to cry. This was no name for an English queen. Georgiana! Georgiana! That was what she wanted. It was an echo of Gloriana, the name which had been bestowed by her admirers on another queen. Elizabeth would have been a good name. A right and proper name. But perhaps better still Georgiana to follow the Georges. And the Regent showed his contempt for them by proposing Alexandrina.

  But the child should have a second name.

  Breathlessly she waited, but the Regent was still silent.

  ‘Charlotte?’ whispered the Duke of Kent. For queens need not be called by their first names and but for the recent family tragedy there would have been a Queen Charlotte on the throne in the years to come.

  But the Regent would not have Charlotte.

  His eyes were on the feathered hat of the Duchess and the face beneath distorted by passion; the woman looked as though she were going to burst into tears of anger and frustration at any moment.

  ‘She should be called after her mother,’ pronounced the Regent.

  The matter was settled. The baby was christened.

  Alexandrina Victoria.

  The Duchess left the Cupola Room in tears. Alexandrina Victoria. Were those the names of a queen?

  Adelaide’s Disappointment

  TO ADELAIDE’S DELIGHT she was once more pregnant.

  ‘I told you so,’ said the delighted William. ‘Why, you didn’t think I could manage it! Dorothy Jordan had ten children – one following close on the other.’

  Adelaide had ceased to wince at his lack of restraint; she had come to accept it and understand that it was due to a kind of naïveté which was not unattractive. He did not use so many oaths now as he had, and seemed eager to please her. Better, she often told herself, that he should say openly what was in his mind than attempt to deceive her.

  ‘I believe,’ she said, ‘that our child should be born in England, for it is almost certain to be the future sovereign.’

  ‘Excellent! Excellent!’ cried William. ‘We’ll begin our journey back at once – and take it slowly, eh? We’ll go visiting as we travel.’

  And so they set out – first to visit Würtemburg where they were warmly received by the Queen of that land. This was William’s eldest sister, the Princess Charlotte, who as Princess Royal had married – to the envy of her sisters – twenty years or so before and even then she was thirty or even just past it.

  She had changed a great deal, having developed an enormous stomach. Her face had grown so fat that her eyes had almost disappeared; she had lost most of her hair and refused to wear a wig. But she greeted her guests with pleasure, particularly Adelaide.

  ‘I know what it is to lose a baby,’ she said; and she looked forward to womanly chats, she assured her, so they discussed pregnancies and babies and the Queen gave Adelaide lots of advice which Adelaide could not help viewing with some suspicion as the Queen had lost her child. But she was kind and good and talked of the old days in England and how stern her parents had been; and how glad she had been to escape from the dreary lives led by the princesses who spent their days waiting on their mother, filling her snuff-boxes and walking the dogs.

  ‘Marriage was our only escape but Papa would not let us,’ she explained. ‘He hated the thought of our marrying and was determined not to allow us to leave. But I was the lucky one. He had so many daughters he could not refuse to let one escape. Oh, my dear, how terrified I was that something would go wrong, for my husband had been married before and there was a scandal about his first wife. Some said that she had been murdered. In any case she had disappeared. She was the sister of my brother George’s wife, Caroline, she who is causing such a scandal in Italy and wherever she happens to be. So what could you expect in that family. However, it was proved that she was dead, at least it was proved to my parents’ satisfaction – and I was married, although I was terribly ill, while I waited. I remember my skin went quite yellow – and it still was
when I married. And now I have lost my husband. Oh, it is a sorrowful life. But you have your husband … and your baby on the way. William is a good man, although a trifle foolish at times. But who is not? I believe he will be kind to you.’

  The Queen could not stop talking but as she spoke in German was easy to follow; and when she spoke in English her accent was a decided German one, so long had she been out of England.

  But Adelaide enjoyed listening to her stories of life at the English Court in the days before her marriage.

  ‘I am delighted that you have married William,’ she told Adelaide. ‘It is good for him to be sensibly married. His manners have improved since I last saw him. That liaison with the actress was not good. And all those children! No, there is the family to consider with us royal people. And I hear that the Duchess of Kent is giving herself airs because of this child of hers. There is one nose which is going to be put out of joint.’

  ‘But the child is strong and healthy. She must be a very happy woman, for she already has two delightful children. I don’t suppose she will grudge me mine when it comes.’

  ‘It’s the throne, my dear. That’s what she’ll grudge. I wonder if they know of your state? And she is not the only one who is going to be just a little put out.’ The Queen of Würtemburg looked really grotesque when she laughed; and it was no use Adelaide’s trying to explain that it was not so much a crown she was thinking of, as a child. Her very own child.

  When they left Würtemburg they passed through Homburg where Elizabeth had just arrived with her new husband.

  Elizabeth greeted them warmly; she was eager to entertain them, and so delighted to have as she confessed ‘escaped’ from England.

  ‘Although,’ she said, ‘it seems a little sad now that Mamma is dead. Perhaps I should have waited a while. But how was I to know? And when the chance of marriage came I had to take it, hadn’t I?’

  ‘Are you happy?’ Adelaide asked her.

  She was happy, ecstatically so. Her husband was kind; he never minded having to be reminded to take a bath and he very often agreed to do so. He was amused that she should think it necessary. It was a matter of custom, of course.