by Jean Plaidy
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I cannot let this pass. I cannot pretend I don’t know what is going on. He is keeping his plans secret from me, which is very significant, but I must let him know how he stands. Damn it, Liz, I have always advised him in the past. I have guided him in his political life. Where would he have been without me? And in those most important steps of all …’
‘But he is only not consulting you because he fears that you will persuade him of the folly of what he proposes to do.’
‘Princes like those who agree with them and applaud all their actions, however foolish. But I never did that. I have advised him honestly and he has had the good sense to appreciate this. I must let him know what danger he is in.’
‘What do you propose?’
‘To write to him. I will do it at once. He must be made aware of the consequences of such an act as he proposes.’
Lizzie nodded and brought out pen and paper.
‘The Right Hon. C. J. Fox, M.P., to
H.R.H. the Prince of Wales.
December 10th, 1785
‘Sir,
‘I hope that Your Royal Highness does me the justice to believe that it is with the utmost reluctance that I trouble you with my opinion unasked at any time, much more so upon a subject where it may not be agreeable to your wishes. I am sure that nothing could ever make me take this liberty but the condescension which you have honoured me with on so many occasions and the zealous and grateful attachment that I feel for Your Royal Highness and which makes me run the risk even of displeasing you for the sake of doing you a real service.’
Fox paused. It was indeed a delicate subject; and was he presuming too much on the friendship he believed the Prince had for him? Here was a spoilt boy just ready to grasp a long awaited treat. How would he feel about the friend who was attempting to spoil his enjoyment by explaining in detail how bad it would be for him? But I must, thought Fox. It could be ruin for him and the party.
He took up his pen resolutely:
‘I was told just before I left Town yesterday that Mrs Fitzherbert was arrived; and if I had heard only this I should have felt most unfeigned joy at an event which I knew could contribute so much to Your Royal Highness’s satisfaction; but I was told at the same time, that from a variety of circumstances which had been observed and put together, there was reason to suppose that you were going to take the very desperate step …’
Again Fox paused. Could he refer to the Prince’s cherished dream as a ‘desperate step’. But what else could he call it? And indeed a desperate step was a mild way of expressing it. It was disaster.
‘ … (pardon the expression) of marrying her at this moment. If such an idea be really in your mind and it be not now too late, for God’s sake let me call your attention to some considerations, which my attachment to Your Royal Highness, and the real concern I take in whatever relates to your interest, have suggested to me, and which may possibly have the more weight with you when you perceive that Mrs Fitzherbert is equally interested in most of them with you.
‘In the first place you are aware that a marriage with a Catholic throws the Prince contracting such a marriage out of the succession of the Crown. Now, what change may have happened in Mrs Fitzherbert’s sentiments upon religious matters I know not, but I do not understand that any public profession of change has been made; and surely, Sir, this is not a matter to be trifled with; and Your Royal Highness must excuse the extreme freedom with which I write. If there should be a doubt about her previous conversion consider the circumstances in which you stand; the King not feeling for you as a father ought, the Duke of York professedly his favourite, and likely to be married agreeably to the King’s wishes; the nation full of its old prejudices against Catholics, and justly dreading all disputes about the succession. In these circumstances your enemies might take such advantage as I shudder to think of; and though your generosity might think no sacrifice too great to make to a person whom you love so entirely, consider what her reflections must be in such an event, and how impossible it would be for her ever to forgive herself.
‘I have stated this danger on the supposition that the marriage should be a real one, but Your Royal Highness knows as well as I that according to the present laws of this country it cannot; and I need not point out to your good sense what uneasiness it must be to you, to her, and above all to the nation, to have it a matter of dispute and discussion, whether the Prince of Wales is, or is not, married. All speculations on the feeling of the public are certain; but I doubt much whether an uncertainty of this kind, by keeping man’s mind in perpetual agitation upon a matter of this moment, might not cause a greater ferment than any other possible situation. If there should be children from the marriage, I need not say how much the uneasiness (as well of yourselves as of the nation) must be aggravated. If anything should add to the weight of these considerations it is the impossibility of remedying the mischiefs I have alluded to; for if Your Royal Highness should think proper, when you are twenty-five years old, to notify to Parliament your intention to marry (by which means alone a legal marriage can be contracted) in what manner can it be notified? If the previous marriage is mentioned or owned will it not be said that you have set at defiance the laws of your country; and you now come to Parliament for a sanction for what you have already done in contempt of it? If there are children, will it not be said that we must look for future applications to legitimate them and consequently be liable to disputes for the succession between the eldest son and the eldest son after the legal marriage? And will not the entire annulling of the whole marriage be suggested as the most secure way of preventing all such disputes? If the marriage is not mentioned to Parliament, but yet is known to have been solemnized, as it certainly will be known if it takes place, these are the consequences—First, that at all events any child born in the interim is immediately illegitimated; and next, that arguments will be drawn from the circumstances of the concealed marriage against the public one. It will be said that a woman who has lived with you as your wife without being so, is not fit to be Queen of England; and thus the very thing that is done for her reputation will be used against it: and what would make this worse would be, the marriage being known (though not officially communicated to Parliament) it would be impossible to deny the assertion; whereas if there was no marriage, I conclude your intercourse would be carried on as it ought, in so private a way as to make it wholly inconsistent with decency or propriety for anyone in public to hazard such a suggestion. If, in consequence of your notification, steps should be taken in Parliament, and an Act passed (which considering the present state of the power of the King and Ministry is more than probable) to prevent your marriage, you will be reduced to the most difficult of all dilemmas with respect to the footing on which your marriage is to stand for the future; and your children will be born to pretensions which must make their situation unhappy, if not dangerous. Their situations appear to me of all others the most to be pitied; and the more so, because the more indications persons born in such circumstances give of spirit, talents or anything that is good, the more they will be suspected and oppressed, and the more will they regret the being deprived of what they must naturally think themselves entitled to.
‘I could mention many other considerations upon this business, if I did not think those I have stated of so much importance, that smaller ones would divert your attention from them rather than add to their weight. That I have written with a freedom which on every other occasion would be unbecoming, I readily confess; and nothing would have induced me to do it, but a deep sense of my duty to a Prince who has honoured me with so much of his confidence, and who would have but an ill return for all his favour and goodness to me if I were to avoid speaking truth to him, however disagreeable, at such a juncture. The sum of my humble advice, nay, of my most earnest entreaty, is this – that Your Royal Highness should not think of marrying till you can marry legally. When that time comes you may judge for yourself; and no doubt you will
take into consideration, both what is due to private honour and your public station. In the meanwhile, a mock marriage (for it can be no other) is neither honourable for any of the parties, nor, with respect to Your Royal Highness, even safe. This appears so clear to me that if I were Mrs Fitzherbert’s father or brother I would advise her not by any means to agree to it, and to prefer any other species of connection with you to one leading to so much misery and mischief.
‘It is high time I should finish this long and perhaps Your Highness will think, ill-timed letter; but such as it is, it is dedicated by pure zeal and attachment to Your Royal Highness. With respect to Mrs Fitzherbert, she is a person with whom I have scarcely the honour of being acquainted, but I hear from everyone that her character is irreproachable and her manners most amiable. Your Royal Highness knows too that I have not in my mind the same objections to inter-marriages of Princes and subjects which many have. But under the circumstances a marriage at present appears to me to be the most desperate measure for all parties concerned that their worst enemies could have suggested.’
Fox threw down his pen and frowned at the paper. Then he called: ‘Liz. Come here, Liz.’
When she came he handed the sheets to her. She opened her eyes very wide. ‘So much?’
‘It has to be fully explained to him.’
She sat down and read the letter. ‘He won’t like it,’ she said.
‘It can’t be helped. I must put the case to him. There’ll be disaster if he marries this woman.’
‘He won’t thank you for being the prophet on this occasion.’
Fox shrugged his shoulders. Lizzie remembered that he had always been a man of integrity where politics were concerned. It was no doubt the reason for his feud with the King.
This could mean, thought Lizzie shrewdly, the end of friendship with the Prince of Wales. Charles was right, of course; but he was advocating a course of action which was completely contrary to the Prince’s desires; and although the future would doubtless prove Charles right, the Prince would not thank him any more for that.
No need to point this out to Charles who knew it already.
As a politician and a friend Charles was doing his duty.
She watched him seal the letter and send for the messenger.
When the Prince received the letter he took it to his bedchamber so that he might be quite alone to read it.
So Charles had ranged himself with those who would disapprove of the marriage. What depressing reading! The more so because in his heart the Prince realized the wisdom of Charles’s comments.
Charles was a rake. He could not understand a woman like Maria; he did not in his heart believe that the only way she would live with the Prince was if a marriage was performed. There must be a marriage. Without that he would lose her. He wanted to shout at Charles: Do you think I don’t know all that you say has some truth in it? Of course I do. But it’s no good. There must be a marriage ceremony and I am going to see that there is one. I have promised Maria. She has come back to England for this purpose. The next step is a marriage ceremony – and it is inevitable.
Why must Charles plague him? It was not like Charles. His friendship had always been amusing as well as instructive; they had had such gay and pleasant times together; and in this, the most important event of his life, Charles was against him.
If Charles was going to preach against the marriage, then he must not be in the secret. He must not know what was taking place. In fact very few people were going to be in the secret, the fewer the better. He would not, of course, show Fox’s letter to Maria. He would show it to no one. He must try to placate Fox, allay his suspicions, and at the same time go ahead with the arrangements for his marriage to Maria. But Charles was too shrewd to be put off with anything but a denial.
He sat down and wrote:
‘H.R.H. The Prince of Wales to
the Right Hon. Mr Charles James Fox, M.P.
‘My dear Charles, Your letter of last night afforded me more satisfaction than I can find words to express; as it is an additional proof to me (which 1 assure you I do not want) of your having that true regard and affection for me which it is not only the wish but the ambition of my life to merit. Make yourself easy, my dear friend. Believe me, the world will soon be convinced that there never was any ground for these reports which of late have been so malevolently circulated …’
He paused. And that, he admitted, was a deliberate lie. But what can I do? he asked himself. How can I admit to Charles that I am determined to go through a ceremony of marriage with Maria because it is the only thing that will satisfy her. Maria will believe in our marriage … and so shall I and if necessary I will resign the Crown.
He took up his pen to write a political acquaintance – a Whig who had recently changed sides and become a Tory.
‘It ought to have the same effect upon all our friends that it has upon me – I mean the linking of us – closer to each other; and I believe you will easily believe these to be my sentiments; for you are perfectly well acquainted with my ways of thinking … When I say my ways of thinking, I think I had better say my old maxim, which I ever intend to adhere to; I mean that of swimming or sinking with my friends. I have not time to add much more except to say that I believe I shall meet you at dinner at Bushey on Tuesday; and to desire you to believe me at all times, my dear Charles, most affectionately yours.
George P.
‘Carlton House, Sunday morning 2 o’clock.
December 11th, 1785’
As he sealed the letter he felt uneasy.
Then he demanded of his reflection in the mirror on the wall: ‘But what else could I do?’
The Ceremony in Park Street
MUCH AS HE tried to forget Fox’s letter, the Prince could not. Phrases from it kept coming into his mind. It could not be a real marriage. There was that obnoxious Marriage Act haunting him; it might have been designed by his father especially to plague him. His uncles, Cumberland and Gloucester, had escaped it, although it was due to their actions that it had been brought into force. Why should not a man be allowed to marry where he pleased?
On one point the Prince had made up his mind: nothing was going to stop his union with Maria.
When he was with her he was in such transports of delight that he forgot mundane necessities. He could only think of the arrangements that must be made quickly so that she could consider herself his wife. The Maria who had returned from her travels was more enchanting – if that were possible – than the one who had left England; for now in her serious way she admitted her love for him.
‘I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve the love of a pure good woman like you, Maria,’ he cried.
He looked back on the man he had been – at all those sordid intrigues with women. He regretted them; he confessed to them with tears to Maria. He was unworthy of her; but she embraced him and said that it was the rest of the world who would consider her unworthy and she would never forget all he was prepared to give up for her.
‘You will see,’ he cried. ‘Maria, there is nothing in the world I will not do for you. I cannot wait for the ceremony to be performed. Why does there have to be this delay?’
‘We have waited so long,’ replied Maria tenderly, ‘that a week or so is not much more.’
‘It seems an age to me … as every minute does away from my beloved White Rose. Ah, Maria, you are a Catholic and therefore a Jacobite, I believe. An enemy of the House of Hanover!’
‘There is one member of that house to whom I will be faithful unto death do us part.’
He repeated the words ecstatically. He could not wait to say them before a priest.
‘Gardner has not yet succeeded in getting an undertaking from Rosenhagen to perform the ceremony,’ he commented grimly.
She was anxious. ‘Do you think we shall be unable to find a priest to marry us?’
‘I’ll find a priest. Have no fear of that.’
‘Still, Colonel Gardner does seem to be having difficulty. So
you think …’
She paused and when he tenderly urged her to continue she said: ‘Colonel Gardner is not only your private secretary but your very good friend. He may think it in your interests not to find that priest.’
The Prince was alarmed, remembering Fox’s letter.
He grew a little pink and said: ‘He had my instructions. He will obey them.’
‘Then perhaps it is Rosenhagen who is reluctant.’
‘Rosenhagen will do what is required of him, my dearest.’
A particular phrase from Charles’s letter occurred to him: ‘If I were Mrs Fitzherbert’s father or brother I would advise her not to agree.’
Her father was still living but more dead than alive having suffered a paralytic stroke some years before, so he would not be in a position to raise any objections; but she had brothers and an uncle who had taken a particular interest in her. What if they should write to her as Fox had written to him?
‘Your family should be present at our wedding. Do you think so, my love?’
She turned to him all eagerness. How lovely she was when animated. It was something she had hoped for but had hardly dared to suggest.
‘You had dared not suggest it! Oh, am I such an ogre then? Do you so fear to offend me … you who did not hesitate to break my heart when you ran away and left me?’
‘How could I believe that it would be broken merely because I went away? And I promise most faithfully to do such a skilful job of repairing it that you will never notice the cracks.’
He laughed; he embraced her; and then he said that her family should be presented to him. Her brothers, her uncle – he wanted to ask them in person to their wedding.
She was pleased, so he was happy.
He sang for her and what better choice than that popular ballad.
She listened fondly. Each day she grew more attached to him. She wanted this wedding as eagerly as he did; and what more appropriate song than that which was so popular throughout the town.