Charlotte remembered the excitement in as small a Court when the news had come to Mecklenburg-Strelitz that the Prince of Wales— now King of England and this poor man seated there at his table— had asked for her hand.
‘Very pleased. Keeping it in the family, eh, what? I’m relieved he is thinking of settling down at last. It’s not before it’s necessary either. Perhaps he’ll soon have children. That should sober him.’
‘If anything could sober him,’ retorted the Queen. ‘I am wondering if this Caroline is the best choice—’
‘There is only a choice of two— my niece or yours. And he has made that choice. It is to be mine.’
The Queen’s mouth tightened. He had done it to spite her. He had passed over beautiful intelligent Louise of Mecklenburg-Strelitz for the sake of this creature from Brunswick. And there was nothing she could do about it.
‘I am writing to Malmesbury at Hanover,’ said the King. ‘The time has come for him to go to Brunswick and there make the formal offer for the hand of Princess Caroline.’
So, thought the Queen, it is too late then. She remained with the King while the letter was written and sealed.
Then she left him and went to her own apartments. She thought of the Princess who would be coming to the Court; she imagined how gauche she would be, for had she herself not been exactly so on her arrival? The English Court was certain to be quite different from the poor little one of Brunswick. She herself had been very young— only seventeen and Caroline was twenty-seven, so she should at least be more mature. But was that a point in her favor? A young girl would have been easier to mould.
The Queen remembered those first weeks at her young husband’s court when one of her biggest enemies had been. her sister-in-law the Princess Augusta who had determined to make her life as unpleasant as possible. Waspish and angry, doubtless because she was unmarried, she had tried to make trouble between the new young Queen and her mother-in-law, the Dowager Princess of Wales, and the latter had been nothing loath, for she had meant to keep her hold on the King and not have it slackened by the young bride, Queen though she might be.
I hated my sister-in-law Augusta, thought the Queen now. Arrogant mischief-maker. How pleased I was when she married and went off to Brunswick. And once she had gone she was never welcomed back. Nor shall her daughter be, Charlotte promised herself . I already hate the creature.
The Prince of Wales looked up from his writing table and across St. James’s Park.
He then sighed and read through what he had written.
And I don’t mean a word of it, he said to himself, and taking his kerchief flicked it across his eyes. But it was a half-hearted gesture as there was no one there to witness it.
He quickly read through the letter. ‘Whichever way the Princess is to come, I am clear it should be determined on instantly—’
Instantly, he thought. That meant that in a few weeks she could be here.
‘The very thought of it makes me feel ill,’ he murmured. ‘Yet it has to be.
There is no other way out.’
When he was married an adequate allowance would be his. Even his father and Pitt could not deny him that. And his creditors were clamouring for payment now. He was so deeply in debt that he dared not calculate how deeply. He had always had debts from the time he had been old enough to accumulate them but never thought of them very seriously until the reckoning came. Parliament settled them. It was one of the duties of Parliament. How could they expect a Prince of Wales to live like a pauper?
They realized this but they did come along with their damned conditions and he had been obliged to give way and agree to marry this German woman; at one time it had seemed the reasonable and only solution, but the closer he came to it the more the idea sickened him.
Frances kept assuring him that all would be well. He would still have Frances, and she continued to fascinate him; but deep in his heart he wanted Maria— not urgently but rather to know that she was there in the background of his life, to return to again and again, to confess, to repent and to be forgiven. Only Maria could fill that need in his life; and in his heart he knew that Maria was the woman he loved, the woman he regarded as his wife and that that ceremony which had taken place ten years ago in Park Street was a true ceremony of marriage.
Maria was his wife— and now he proposed to marry a German Princess because Parliament, the King and Mr. Pitt demanded it. They did not accept his marriage to Maria because the King had passed a law saying that no member of the royal family could marry without his consent. That was the law; and any ceremony which ignored that law— even though a priest had officiated, even though the marriage vows had been taken— was null and void. A court had proved it with Augustus. So it was clear enough and Maria must understand that it was not his fault. He had been bludgeoned into this for the sake of the State.
Oh, what a burden it was to be heir to a Crown! He let his thoughts wander back to the early days with Maria. His passion for her, that wild uncontrollable Passion when he had believed that he would do anything— just anything— in order to marry her.
‘I’d crowns resignTo call thee mine he had sung, and meant it.
Oh yes he had meant it. And he would have given up everything then and left England with her. They could have had a pleasant little house on the Continent, in France say. No, not France, that unhappy country, which had so bloodthirstily rejected monarchy— not France, which had brought home to him how uneasily crowns sat on royal heads; and this very precariousness had made them seem infinitely desirable. Infinitely, yes— and he had reassured himself there was no need to give up his crown for Maria, because he could have them both.
So the marriage had been denied by Fox in the House of Commons and it had been shown to him that although he and Maria considered themselves husband and wife, the State did not. So all was well, which it would not have been. If the marriage had been accepted by the State— for not only was Maria a commoner but a Catholic. And on the grounds of the latter alone he could have lost his crown.
I’d all resign, Except my crown might have been a more accurate expression of his feelings. Maria must understand. She must.
Maria was unlike other women. Most would have stormed and raged— at least made some attempt to get him back.. Ne remembered Perdita’s futile endeavours for which he had despised her. But Maria made no such attempts.
Maria left England; she did not answer his letter but meekly accepted his decree — as though she did not care.
But now she was back in England, how he would like to see her again. To reason with her, to explain: See my difficulties Maria. I have to marry this German woman. I know I am going to dislike the poor thing. But I have to marry her. We have to have heirs. I shall endeavour to do my duty and when it is done— I need never go near her. Frances Jersey? She’s a siren. Irresistible. But I don’t love her— not as I love you— always have— always will— Until death, Maria— But Maria made no attempt to see him. And how could he return to her now?
One of the conditions of this horrible bargain had been that he must give her up.
Only while he behaved as though there had been no marriage with Maria could he enter into one with Caroline of Brunswick. Although the State declared the marriage with Maria was no marriage, the Church accepted it. And there would be many people in the country who did.
What would the people think of a prince who, married to one woman, allowed himself to be married to another?
It was quite clear— Frances aside— that he dared not return to Maria now.
But he did not want her to think he had forgotten her. He wanted her to know how sad this situation had made him. He decided that he would go without delay to see the King.
The King received the Prince of Wales with a show of affection.
How the old man has changed! thought the Prince. By God, he looks as if he could lose his reason again at any moment. But there was one benefit from the change; he had grown more mellow; he was more inclined to see reason.
He’ll do his duty now.
‘Your Majesty, I have today written to Malmesbury telling him to expedite matters over there.’
The King looked pleased. No sign of truculence. After all these years of resistance to doing his duty, the Prince was now prepared to take this step.
Excellent, eh, what? thought the King.
‘I hope she proves as fertile as your mother.’
God forbid, thought the Prince. Surely even his father realized that thirteen— and there might have been fifteen— was more than enough with which to burden the State.
‘I feel optimistic that we shall not disappoint Your Majesty.’
The King inclined his head and, determined to come to the point while he was in this tolerant mood, the Prince said quickly, ‘There is one matter on which I should like to consult Your Majesty.’
‘Yes, what is it, eh?’
‘Your Majesty will know that I had a connection with a certain lady which— er— no longer exists.’
‘I am glad to hear it no longer exists. It must no longer exist, for if it did that could provide very grave consequences you understand, eh, what?’
The Prince kept his temper and went on, ‘I know this full well, Your Majesty.
The connection no longer exists but I feel certain obligations towards the lady.’
The King grunted but the Prince hurried on, ‘During this connection the lady received three thousand pounds a year, which I intend to continue although my connection with the lady is completely severed. But I should like Your Majesty’s assurance that in the event of my death before that of the lady this pension should be continued.’
The King interrupted him. ‘I know I know—’ Then he softened. ‘This lady is Maria Fitzherbert, a comely widow.’ The King’s mouth slackened a little, he was looking back over the years before he had been ill; he was thinking of all the temptations which had come his way and how he had resisted them. They would be surprised, these people who surrounded him, if they knew that in his way he was as fond of women as his sons were proving themselves to be.
Sarah Lennox making hay in Holland House. What a little beauty she had been! And he would have married her. He certainly had it in his mind to do so.
And before her there had been Hannah Lightfoot, the beautiful Quaker girl. He had better not think of her. But he had done what he had thought right and married plain homely Princess Charlotte and tried to put other women out of his mind.
Elizabeth Pembroke— what a beauty! There was a woman he could love. She was at the Court and he had to see her every day and he had to remind himself that he was married to Charlotte and that it his duty to set an example. Duty.
Always duty.
Plain Charlotte instead of beautiful Sarah Lennox. Fifteen children and not an illegitimate one among them. There had been Hannah of course but that was before that was all in the past. Since his marriage he had been a faithful husband — except in thought, of course. But how could a man help his thoughts?
And because of his own feelings, he could understand the Prince’s. This Maria Fitzherbert was a good woman by all accounts. Pity she had not been a Protestant German Princess instead of a Catholic English widow. He believed she would have had a good influence on the Prince. In fact he knew she had had this because she urged him to live less extravagantly, to gamble less, to drink less, to give up his more disreputable friends.
Oh yes, this Maria Fitzherbert was entitled to a little consideration. And he, from remembering certain incidents his own past, would be the first to admit it.
‘Your— your sentiments do you credit,’ said the King. ‘I think this lady has a right— to such consideration. I believe she has always behaved in a— a very admirable manner, eh, what?’
‘It’s true— true!’ declared the Prince fervently.
The King nodded. ‘Then we will settle this matter. But it had better come through Loughborough. The Lord Chancellor is the man who should deal with it.
Tell him to bring the matter to my notice. Have no fear. I find these sentiments do you credit.’
‘I thank Your Majesty with all my heart.’
The King laid his hand on his son’s shoulder and his eyes filled with tears.
There were tears in the Prince’s also.
How pleasant— how unusual— for them to be friends. He’s changed, thought the King. He’s settling down at the prospect of marriage More amenable. More reasonable. We shall get on now. The Prince was thinking: His madness has changed him. Made him mellow— reasonable. Perhaps we can be more friendly now. Within a few days the Prince received a letter from Lord Loughborough in which the Lord Chancellor wrote that he had presented the Prince’s problem to the King concerning the provision he had thought proper to make to a lady who had been distinguished in by his regard, and asking that in the unfortunate event of his death His Majesty would see that it was provided. His Majesty wished to convey that His Highness need have no anxiety on this account.
The Prince was delighted.
He wanted Maria to know that he had not in fact deserted her. He waited her to know that although he could not see her she was in his thoughts.
He could not write to her because he had given his word that he had broken off all connection with her. But he did want her to see that letter.
He had an idea. He would send it to his old friend Miss Pigot, who would certainly show it to Maria. He sat down at his desk immediately and dashed off a letter.
Miss Pigot could not curb her excitement when she saw that handwriting on the envelope. And addressed to her! It could only mean one thing. He wanted her to make the peace between himself and Maria.
She opened the envelope and the Lord Chancellor’s letter slipped to the floor.
She picked it up, looked at it in astonishment, and then turned to the Prince’s.
He did not wish his dear friend Miss Pigot to think he had forgotten her. His thoughts were often at Marble Hill; and he sent her the enclosed letter so that she should show it to one whom it concerned which would in some measure explain the regard he had for that person.
Miss Pigot re-read the Chancellor’s letter, grasped its meaning, and rushed to Maria’s bedroom where she was resting.
‘Oh, Maria, my dear, what do you think? I have heard from the Prince.’
‘ You— have heard?’
‘Oh, it is meant for you, of course. That’s as clear as daylight. Here’s a letter from the Chancellor about your income.’ Maria seized it and her face flushed angrily.
‘I shall not accept it,’ she said.
‘But of course you’ll accept it. You’ve debts to settle, haven’t you? Debts you incurred because of him. Don’t be foolishly proud, Maria. He wants you to have the money.’
‘Is he paying me off as he did Perdita Robinson?’
‘This is entirely different. She had to blackmail. You didn’t even have to ask.’
‘I shall not take it. You may write to His Highness and tell him so, since he sees fit to correspond with you about affairs which I had thought should be my concern.’
Miss Pigot left Maria and went to her room to write. She did not however write to the Prince but to Mr. Henry Errington, Maria’s uncle, telling him what had happened and advising him to come to Marble Hill to make Maria see reason.
He arrived within a few days and talked earnestly to Maria Had she settled her debts? She had not. And did she propose to do so from the two thousand a year which she had inherited from Mr. Fitzherbert? It was impossible, she realized. And this talk of a pension seemed to her a finality.
‘Maria,’ said Uncle Henry, who had been her guardian since the days when her father had become incapacitated thro
ugh illness and who had indeed introduced her to her first and second husbands, ‘will you leave this matter to me?
What has happened was inevitable. You should emerge from that affair with dignity. This you cannot do if you are to be burdened with debts for the rest of your life. You must accept this pension, which is your due. Settle your debts in time; and then return to a solvent dignified way of living. It is the best way. Don’t forget I am your guardian and I forbid you to do anything but what I suggest.’
She smiled at him wanly. ‘Uncle I am sure you are right.’
‘Then will you allow me to settle these financial matters for you?’
‘Please do, Uncle. I do not wish to hear about them.’
Henry Errington kissed her cheek and told her that he was glad she had such a good friend as Miss Pigot to be with her.
‘I have much to be thankful for I know, dear Uncle,’ said Maria. ‘And don’t worry over me. I am recovering from the shock of being a deserted wife.’
But when she was alone, she asked herself: Am I? Shall I ever? How different life would have been if Uncle Henry had introduced her to a steady country gentleman like Edward Weld or Tom Fitzherbert, then she would have settled down to a comfortable middle age.
But what she would have missed! That’s what I have to remember, she told herself . I have been ecstatically happy. I must remember that. And remember also that in the nature of things that kind of happiness does not last. Then she laid her head on her pillow and wept quietly for she had lost.
And this talk of pension seemed to her a finality.
—On the 30th of December the King announced to both Houses of Parliament: ‘I have the greatest satisfaction in announcing to you a conclusion of a Treaty of Marriage between my dear son, the Prince of Wales, and the Princess Caroline Amelia Elizabeth, daughter of the Duke of Brunswick.’
The whole Court was buzzing with the news while the Prince grieved in the privacy of Carlton House.
‘There is no turning back now,’ he mourned.
And in Marble Hill Maria heard the news and said to Miss Pigot: ‘This is the third time that I have become a widow.’
Indiscretions of the Queen Page 8