The people would be against him if he treated Caroline so churlishly.
He looked grim. He could see that there was nothing to be done but marriage and yet— Who knew, some miracle might happen.
Caroline lifted her eyes to the protuberant ones of her uncle. There at least she saw kindness.
‘Welcome to England, my dear,’ he said in German, which was comforting.
‘We are happy that you are joining the family.’
She could have hugged him and almost did— until she remembered that he was the King. This was the brother of whom her mother had talked so often— George who had a kind heart and addled head.
And now the Queen. Caroline was startled by the venom in the face of the little woman who was Queen of England. She is ugly, thought Caroline, and they were right when they said I should beware of her, for she hates me. She was bidding her welcome in English but that was no welcome. Queen Charlotte had no friendliness, no warmth to offer the stranger. Caroline had come without her blessing and she had no intention of pretending that it was otherwise.
And there were the Princesses who quite clearly took their cue from their mother.
This is my new family, thought Caroline.
The Prince called on the King and Queen to express his feelings forcibly.
‘The thought of marriage with Caroline fills me with horror,’ he declared.
‘She is the most unattractive woman I ever saw.’
‘She seems a pleasant sort of young woman,’ said the King. ‘I thought she was good looking— in a way. Surely you exaggerate, eh, what?’
The Queen watched her husband and son slyly. The Prince was really distressed, there was no doubt about that.
He sent for his phaeton and rode out. He drove wildly and the horses were heading for Richmond.
Miss Pigot saw the well-known phaeton. ‘Maria,’ she called, ‘he has come.
He is here.’
Maria came running into her drawing room crying: ‘What are you saying?’
‘He rode past just now. I saw him clearly.’
‘He rode by,’ said Maria sadly.
‘He will come back. He has ridden by in the hope of seeing you.’
Maria took her stand at the window— to the side so that she could see and not be seen.
‘Are you sure?’
Miss Pigot nodded. ‘Poor, poor darling. He is so unhappy. All he needs is a sign from you.’
Maria shook her head. ‘It is I who need the sign.’
‘This is it. He is coming back to you. He has come to tell you so.’
‘Then why ride by?’
‘Because he wants that sign from you. He wants you to bid him come in, to make him welcome.’
‘He was never so coy, before, my dear.’
‘He is begging you to take him back.’
‘I have not noticed it. A strange way to beg. To become betrothed when he already has a wife.’
‘Oh, Maria, don’t turn your back on happiness.’
‘I tell you it is for him to say. Have not the decisions always been his? As for myself, I must just wait.’
‘He is coming again. He is coming back. I can hear the horses.’
‘Stand away from the window.’
‘It is for you to stand there. To beckon him as he passes.’
Maria stood very still, hidden from sight. She did not move. The phaeton drove past but she was aware that the pace of the horses slackened as they approached.
Was he in truth waiting for that sign?
I cannot give it, she thought. How can I? I am his wife. What does he want? For me to go back to him, to acknowledge myself his mistress? ‘He has gone,’ said Miss Pigot. ‘But perhaps he will come again.’
He did— twice past the house; and on each occasion Maria stood at the window, waiting, hoping, but not showing herself.
She gave no sign and he rode back to Carlton House.
But she kept thinking of him, riding out to Richmond. Surely it must have been because he hoped she would welcome him to her house. She thought of the vows of eternal fidelity he had made to her. She believed herself to be his wife.
Did he believe her to be?
She would know the answer to that question in a few days’ time. If he refused to marry the Princess Caroline she would know that he considered he had a wife already, and since he had come to Richmond could that mean that he wished the world to know it?
The Prince had had a sleepless night, but when he awoke on that Wednesday morning of the 8th of April, he knew he must go on with the marriage.
While he was being dressed in his splendidly embroidered blue velvet coat and his elegant knee breeches he called for a glass of brandy. He drank it quickly and felt a little better. But by the time he had put on his high heeled buckled shoes and was ready to leave for the Chapel Royal at St. James’s, he needed more brandy to sustain him in his ordeal.
Lord Moira, who was to accompany him, asked the Prince very cautiously if it were wise to take so much brandy before this important event.
‘I need it, Moira,’ he declared with tears in his eyes, ‘for I do not think I can go through this ceremony without it.’
Lord Moira was sympathetic, but he could not agree that more brandy was what was needed.
‘My dear friend,’ said the Prince, ‘you see before you the most reluctant bridegroom in the world.’
‘Your Highness takes this too hardly.’
‘How otherwise can one take a bad business?’
The carriage was at the door and the resplendent bridegroom took his place in it. Lord Moira beside him.
As they rode from Carlton House to St. James’s, he said mournfully: ‘It is no use, Moira. I shall never love any woman but Fitzherbert.’
Caroline was being dressed in St. James’s whither she had come after the family dinner at Buckingham House. What an ordeal with those sly looking Princesses watching her all the time, and the Queen showing her disdain.
If I had known what it would be like I would never have come, she told herself. My father would never have forced me. Oh, how I wish I was home in Brunswick. And the Prince hates me. He shows that clearly. More and more every day he hates me. There was only one member of the family who was kind to her and that was the King. His hands shook as he embraced her and he kissed her as though he enjoyed doing so. She almost wished that she had come as his bride instead of his son’s. At least he would have been kind.
When she had left Buckingham House he had taken her into his arms and kissed her fondly.
‘This is a happy day, my dear,’ he had said rather mournfully, and the rest of the family showed quite clearly that they considered it a calamity. The Prince and the Queen hated her— and those silly parrot-like Princesses followed their mother.
She looked at her white satin dress with the pearl embroidery. It was beautiful; and she, who liked flamboyant clothes, should have been pleased with it and the big cloak of crimson velvet which covered it. But she was very apprehensive as she left the apartment for the Chapel Royal.
The Prince swayed as he walked into the Chapel Royal. The two unmarried Dukes on either side of him moved closer for they thought he would totter. A fine thing it would be if the Prince had to be carried to the altar because he was too drunk to walk there.
Caroline, who had entered the chapel on the arm of the King had decided that she would hide her true feelings from all those who had come to watch her married and consequently appeared to be unbecomingly gay. Walking down the aisle with the King she smiled and nodded to people as he passed. The King did not appear to notice her odd behaviour but everyone else did.
There was a hushed silence throughout the chapel and all attention was focused on those two brilliant figures. The Prince swayed a little, magnificent in his blue velvet and Collar of the Garter but, as many noticed, looking confused and uneasy; and Caroline, shimmering in her be-jewelled white satin with the diamond coronet on her head, looked a true Princess.
But
the Prince could not bear to look at her and kept his face turned from her.
He was thinking of that other ceremony which had taken place in Mrs.
Fitzherbert’s house in Park Street. That was a real marriage; this was a farce and he yearned for Maria, whom he knew he should never have left— and he had done so for the sake of Frances Jersey! If he had left her for marriage to this woman, it would have been a different matter, for this could be blamed on the exigencies of State. But he had deserted her for Lady Jersey whom he was discovering to be worthless in spite of her fascination. He was a traitor to Maria.
He despised himself and he longed for an opportunity to tell her so.
And here he was at the altar about to be married to a woman he hated. Yes, he did hate her; he hated her fiercely. He could see no virtue in her. To him she was utterly repulsive and even the fumes of brandy which dulled his brain and his senses could not free him from the horror he visualized in the marriage bed.
How different that ceremony in Park Street and the ecstasy which had followed!
Oh Maria, Maria, you have deserted me! But that was wrong. He had to admit it. It was he who had deserted Maria.
Is it too late? But of course it was too late. Here he was at the altar and Dr.
Moore, the Archbishop of Canterbury, was about to conduct the ceremony.
He knelt while the Archbishop began to say those words which had been said before in a house in Park Street, when he had made his responses with a joy as great as the revulsion he now felt.
The Prince was feeling dizzy; the brandy was having its effect though it relieved his feelings very little. He heard the Archbishop asking if anyone knew of an impediment why they might not be lawfully joined together in Holy Matrimony; and in that moment he saw Maria’s reproachful eyes begging him to remember.
He stumbled to his feet. He must get away. He could not go on with this.
There was a sudden silence in the chapel. All eyes were on the Prince of Wales; all wondered what drama they were about to witness.
Then the King rose from his seat and stepped up to stand beside the Prince.
‘For Heaven’s sake,’ whispered the King, ‘remember what this means.’
‘I—’ began the Prince, his face creased in his misery, the ever-ready tears springing to his eyes.
‘It’s too late— too late—’ whispered the King. Wretchedly the Prince nodded and once more knelt beside the Princess.
Dr. Moore was aware of the cause of the Prince’s distress. Who in the chapel was not? Everyone had heard of the marriage with Mrs. Fitzherbert.
The Archbishop proceeded with the ceremony and when he came to the injunction to the bridegroom to forsake all others but his wife, he repeated it.
There was a tense expectancy throughout the chapel. Until the ring was on the Princess’s finger, many believed that the Prince would stop the ceremony.
But at last it was over, and the Prince of Wales had been married to Caroline of Brunswick.
Organ music filled the chapel and the choir began to sing: For blessed are they that fear the Lord. O well is thee! O well is thee! and happy shalt thou be.’ And the chorus: Happy, happy, happy shalt thou be.’
The Wedding Night
THE bells were ringing all over London; from the Park and the Tower, the guns were booming; people stood in little knots in the streets and talked of the marriage of their Prince of Wales. Many had seen the huge wedding cake which had been driven to Buckingham House and which was so enormous that it filled a whole coach.
The Prince, whose antics never failed to cause comment— although lately it had been adverse comment— was married at last to a German Princess who would one day be his Queen. Now the heirs would come along and if he were anything like his father and the Princess of Wales like the Queen, there would be plenty— and to stare jokes were made— coarse but friendly. The Prince was pleasing them more today than he had for a long time.
And what, asked some, of Mrs. Fitzherbert, the lady who had caused such a stir when the great question in everyone’s minds had been: Is she or is she not married to the Prince?
The Queen held a drawing room and it was seen that she was noticeably cool to the bride. Caroline was going to get no help from her. It was also noted that she received Lady Jersey graciously, which was strange on such an occasion.
That lady was pleased with the way everything had happened, although there had been that horrible moment in the chapel when everyone thought that the Prince would refuse to go on with the ceremony. Now he was safely married to a wife whom he loathed. What could be better? This would give her complete ascendancy— particularly as the fact that he had been publicly married was a death blow to his liaison with Mrs Fitzherbert— the rival whom Lady Jersey most feared.
But Caroline had looked rather splendid in her glittering wedding dress; and the Prince must spend the night with her.
Alarming thought! For who could say what might happen in the privacy of the bedchamber? The Prince’s revulsion might turn to acceptance— which it must of course— and suppose he came to like the woman a little!
Lady Jersey was determined to make the Prince’s revulsion complete on that wedding night; she was reminded of something which one of the ladies of Charles Il’s seraglio had done when she feared a rival. Was it Nell Gwyn? She believed it was. That was a more ribald age of course but for that very reason the Prince of Wales might be less amused than King. Charles had been. She gave orders that the pastry which was to be given to the Princess of Wales should be impregnated with a very strong close of Epsom Salts, explaining to the cooks that there was an old maxim that if the bride were a virgin this ensured conception.
And so the family supper party took place. The Princess plied with too much spirits— as arranged by Lady Jersey’s spies and servants— was brash and over excited‚ the Prince looked on sombrely and drank steadily throughout the banquet.
He had eyed his bride mournfully and declared to his neighbour that the only manner in which he could face the ordeal before him was through a haze of intoxication.
The ceremony over, it was time for the bride and groom to leave for Carlton House.
The King, with tears in his eyes, embraced his new daughter-in-law, with deep feeling he wished her well. The Queen kissed her cheek coldly and muttered her wishes perfunctorily, but her eyes, Caroline noted, were as cold as a snake’s.
She was glad to be rid of them all at Buckingham House and in the coach with her highly intoxicated husband.
Mrs. Fitzherbert sat in her drawing room at Marble Hill where she had remained all during the morning. Miss Pigot looked in every few minutes, her eyes anxious.
This was his wedding day.
Miss Pigot knew that in her heart Maria believed that the wedding would never take place. How could it when he already had a wife?
Miss Pigot was not so sure. She kept thinking of that occasion only a day or so ago when he had ridden by the house several times, hoping for a sign from Maria. If she had given that sign, Miss Pigot knew that everything would have been so different. He had wanted Maria’s support then and she had not given it.
Miss Pigot shook her head. She regarded these two— the Prince and Maria— as her very dear wayward children who could have been so happy together and yet were constantly hurting each other.
‘Come and sit with me,’ said Maria. ‘You fidget me— wandering about like that.’
Miss Pigot sat down.
‘He’ll never do it,’ said Maria. ‘I’m sure he never will.’
Miss Pigot shook her head. She thought of all the arrangements, the ceremonies in the streets. Was it possible to bring over a foreign princess, after she had undergone a proxy marriage and then refuse to go on with the ceremony?
Yet he would have done that, she was sure, if Maria had just given that one sign.
‘He can’t,’ went on Maria. ‘It would be a bigamous marriage.’
Not in the eyes of the State, Miss Pigot wanted to sa
y sadly . Dearest Maria, you are not married to the Prince in the eyes of the State. But Maria believed she was married to the Prince no matter in whose eyes.
Miss Pigot knew that Maria was hoping that a messenger would come to her here at Marble Hill with the news that the ceremony had been stopped. That was what she was waiting for.
‘Had you lifted the curtain, had you shown him yourself standing at the window ready to welcome him—’ began Miss Pigot.
‘I could not. The first move had to come from him.’
‘But it did. Didn’t he show that he had come out to Richmond to see you?’
‘How could we be sure that he had come to see me?’
Miss Pigot laughed. ‘Why else should he come riding out here like a madman?’
‘Oh, Piggy, this could be the end!’
‘It won’t be, my dear. Whatever happens it won’t be.’
‘She will be the Princess of Wales— the Queen of England. Well, I could never have been that, could I?’
They were silent; ears strained for the sound of horses’ hoofs.
‘They would be at St. James’s now,’ said Maria. ‘The ceremony would be beginning— Do you think—’
‘We shall hear,’ soothed Miss Pigot.
They sat listening. Miss Pigot was aware of an intense melancholy. How could it be otherwise? How could he refuse to go through with this ceremony?
She knew him, for she loved him even as she loved Maria. He was her splendid boy— spoilt, selfish and lovable. And now he was unhappy, she was sure of that.
Oh, why had he been so foolish as to leave Maria for that wicked Lady Jersey!
But then he had always been foolish, always impulsive, always acting in a way which would bring sadness to himself and those who loved him.
No two people could have been as happy as he and Maria had been— in the beginning. She had shared in that idyll; she had wanted to preserve it for the two people she loved best in the world. And they had smashed it between them like two petulant children, for Maria was not entirely blameless with her dignity, her determination not to give way and finally those outbursts of temper. Such a melancholy spectacle it had been to see that union disintegrate; and there was that dainty monster, that wicked Jezebel, Grandmamma Jersey waiting to step in.
Indiscretions of the Queen Page 14