The Regent's Daughter: (Georgian Series) (29 page)

Oh, what is the use? she asked herself. He’ll never like me. It’s all pretence that he does. He can’t forgive me for being my mother’s daughter.

She was regretful, but there was so much in life to make it enjoyable, especially now she was growing up. Mercer kept her informed on politics and many a joyful discussion they had together. She was a staunch Whig and her father was beginning – under the influence of Lady Hertford – to forget his loyalty to that party.

It was fun to ride out in the park at Windsor and to flirt with George Fitzclarence who was really quite taken with her. Not that she was with him. It was his background which fascinated her. He was her cousin – though he was only half royal – his mother being the beautiful Dorothy Jordan. How interesting to have an actress for a mother! She made him tell her all about her. How she studied her parts and acted them at odd moments when her family were around her and how Uncle William used to love to hear her and would tell her whether she was good or bad. How exciting some people’s lives were – and how dull others! Compare Maria Fitzherbert and Dorothy Jordan with the Old Girls. And yet they were supposed to be virtuous and Maria and Dorothy not really so – although no one could call Maria anything but a good woman. It was very interesting and she liked to tease George and flutter her eyes at him and gallop off in a way which made him spur his horse and come after her. They gave the grooms the slip sometimes and went off by themselves, which would of course be forbidden if it were known. But they both enjoyed it – chiefly because it was forbidden.

‘You’re a flirt, Charlotte,’ George told her.

Was she? She certainly liked attention … masculine attention. And it amused her to tease George a little and perhaps
make him think that he might marry her one day not because
They
would say he might for
They
never would, but because the Princess Charlotte herself insisted.

Poor Lady de Clifford would have a fit if she knew the conversations which went on in the Park between the Princess Charlotte and George Fitzclarence.

She was thinking of this as Louisa and Mrs Gagarin were dressing her for the visit to the New Drury Lane theatre where she was going with her father, the Queen and the Princesses. This was one of those public occasions which she so much enjoyed. Lots of people would be there and her father would ceremoniously view the theatre before it was opened to the public. The day before there had been a ceremony in Whitehall Chapel at which she had played a prominent part.

‘There now,’ the fond Louisa was saying, ‘they’ll have eyes for no one but you.’

‘Well, they’ll spare a glance for Papa, I shouldn’t wonder, for he will look most splendid.’

‘They’ll like you better.’

‘I should hope so, for they don’t like him one little bit.’

‘Hush!’

‘Really, Louisa, I am not a child now, remember. I am really growing up, and you will have to treat me with just a little more respect. I shall have to insist on it, you know.’

They looked so alarmed that she laughed at them and threw herself into a chair, her legs stretched out before her.

To reassure them she began to tell them about yesterday’s ceremony in the chapel and was in the midst of this when Lady de Clifford entered and seeing her stretched out in such an inelegant pose cried out in horror: ‘Princess Charlotte, you are showing your drawers.’

‘I never do but when I can put myself at ease,’ retorted Charlotte.

‘You are showing them now.’

‘But I am at ease.’

‘And when you get in and out of a carriage you show them.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘Your drawers are too long.’

Charlotte lifted her skirts and surveyed the lace edging of the offending garments. ‘I don’t agree,’ she said, ‘and I’ve seen longer drawers. The Duchess of Bedford’s for one. She wears them
long because she wants to show off the Brussels lace with which they are bordered. I like to show mine too.’ She stood up and drawing herself to her full height and lifting her skirts to her knees, declared: ‘If I wish to show my drawers I shall … and there is an end of the matter.’

Lady de Clifford looked as though she were about to burst into tears; she shook her head in desperation.

She really could not continue to cope with the waywardness of the Princess Charlotte.

It was pleasant travelling down to Oatlands, inevitably accompanied by Lady de Clifford. Charlotte was amused watching her guardian who appeared to have an unpleasant smell under her nose. Anticipation perhaps, Charlotte laughed to herself. The house
did
smell like a zoo, but she for one would forget the smells because in spite of Aunt Frederica’s odd ways there was a warmth of affection in her which was rare.

‘I should not fondle the dogs so much, Princess Charlotte, if I were you,’ said Lady de Clifford.

‘No, I don’t suppose
you
would,’ countered Charlotte.

‘I have heard that sometimes … er … unpleasantness … can be passed on through such a habit. I do recommend your not forgetting this, at the same time not allowing Her Highness to be aware of it.’

‘Oh,’ laughed Charlotte, ‘you are teaching me to be deceitful.’

Poor Cliffy! She raised her eyebrows in the well-remembered way and that helpless look came into her face. One shouldn’t tease her really, but if one did take her seriously nothing exciting would ever be allowed to happen. All the same Charlotte was sorry for poor Lady de Clifford’s impossible task and for the rest of the journey sat with her hands quietly resting on her lap.

When they arrived it was delightful to be made immediately aware of the lack of ceremony. Aunt Frederica did not appear to greet her. One of the dogs, in the charge of the pensioner whose duty it was to care for him, was sick and so Aunt Frederica could not be expected to spare much thought for visitors, even if one of these was the heiress to the throne.

Never mind. Charlotte was delighted. She immediately walked out to the cottage with Lady de Clifford panting behind
her and helped Aunt Frederica with the sick animal, while Lady de Clifford tut-tutted and wondered what the world was coming to and Aunt Frederica was completely unaware of her.

It was certainly good fun to be at Oatlands. Charlotte made a pilgrimage to the pets’ cemetery near the grotto where there were about sixty little tombstones each bearing the name of a beloved pet. She laid a small posy on the newest grave which she knew would please Aunt Frederica, who could not fail to see it when she paid her daily visit to the little graveyard.

She sat with Aunt Frederica while that lady busied herself with her needlework. In this she was different from the Old Girls because she did not expect Charlotte to sew with her. Charlotte could sit on a footstool and select the skeins of silk for her and idly lure the conversation away from animals to the family.

Such a strange family, thought Charlotte; and Aunt Frederica one of the strangest. Looking at her Charlotte wondered how she had felt when she had known she was to be married, for being married was a matter which constantly occupied Charlotte’s thoughts nowadays; she discussed it endlessly with Mercer. How she wished Mercer were with her now; there was no one on earth to compare with Mercer and she was for ever grateful that they had become friends. She would write and tell Mercer all about this visit to Oatlands because she could not bear that they should be apart, and when they were, the next best thing was to write to Mercer as though she were talking to her.

She would be luckier than Aunt Frederica, who, poor soul, had had to leave her home and come to a strange land. Not for me, Charlotte told herself. They’ll never be able to make me leave England. I’m here for ever, and no one would dare say otherwise. Poor Aunt Frederica was so small that she looked quite incongruous when with Uncle Fred; and no one could call her pretty with her skin spoilt by the pox, and her brown teeth. How had she felt about Mary Anne Clarke? Oh, yes, Charlotte knew all about that – thanks to Mrs Udney and her own Mamma! How they had gloated! And neither of them had spared a thought for poor Aunt Frederica. Not that she cared, perhaps. It was not like an animal being sick and everyone knew that Uncle Fred didn’t live with her, so why shouldn’t he have a mistress? But those love letters! Of course he would
never have written letters like that to poor Aunt Frederica.

And, thought Charlotte, she grows stranger and stranger – wandering out at night with all the dogs, never wanting to go to bed because she can’t sleep; making the servants read to her in the night, and having the animals living in the house. But she was good because she did care for the poor and all those in the neighbourhood who benefited from her goodness were devoted to her.

Now as she stitched away, three of the dogs were lying close to her; one had leaped on to her lap and was nuzzling against her. Occasionally she stopped work to pat the animal and murmur some endearment.

Charlotte said dreamily: ‘I do wonder whom they will choose for me.’

‘Choose for you?’

‘To marry. Do you realize how old I am?’

Frederica wrinkled her brows. She remembered the age of all the dogs but not of her niece.

‘Sixteen,’ said Charlotte dramatically. ‘You have to admit it is quite an age.’

‘They will find suitors for you soon, never fear!’

‘I don’t exactly fear it,’ said Charlotte, ‘but I confess I look forward to it with some apprehension, although no one shall make me marry where I do not wish.’

‘Let us hope not.’

‘Indeed it is a certainty.’

Frederica lifted her eyes, her needle poised.

‘Oh,’ demanded Charlotte, ‘you do not think so? You think Papa might
find
a suitor for me and I should be
obliged
to accept him.’

‘It is often the way with royal princesses.’

‘I am heir to the throne.’

‘You should not forget that you are not the heir apparent.’

‘W … what?’

‘But the heir presumptive.’

‘You mean that if my parents had a son …’

Frederica nodded.

‘But they do not live together. How is it possible for them to have a son if they never see each other?’

Frederica hesitated and shrugged her shoulders. ‘If the Regent married again,’ she said … ‘Well, it is a possibility.’

‘How … when he is married to my mother? You mean if she should
die
.’

‘I did not. But we must not discuss such things.’

‘Aunt Frederica, please don’t you be like the Old Girls.’

After another slight hesitation Aunt Frederica decided that she would not be like the Old Girls and she said: ‘What the Regent hopes for is a divorce that he might marry again. In which case if he had a son, you my dear Charlotte, would no longer be heiress to the throne.’

‘A d … divorce. The Prince of Wales!’

‘Royal people are sometimes divorced. But it is foolish to speculate.’

A divorce! thought Charlotte. The Delicate Investigation. Willie Austin; and the wild strange life her mother led. It was a possibility.

She could not endure it. Always she had believed she would be the Queen. She wanted to be another Elizabeth – a great queen who inspired brave men to go out and conquer the world for her. It was a dream she had always had, a dream which had comforted her more than anything else in those days when she had been so jealous of Minney Seymour and had wished her father to love her. And it could happen. A divorce. A young princess for a stepmother; a child born to them … a brother … who would come before her!

‘But … she is his wife,’ she stammered.

‘Of course. Of course. I talk nonsense. Look at this artful fellow. He is jealous. He wants to have the place on my lap. Oh, you are a crafty old man!’

A divorce, thought Charlotte. It is possible.

‘Soon,’ Aunt Frederica was saying, ‘we shall have to be a little social. We are going to celebrate your stay here, my dear. We are going to have a ball for you here at Oatlands.’

‘A ball! For me. Oh, what fun!’ But she was thinking: He hates her. He wants to be rid of her. He will marry and have a son and he will love
him
dearly. And that will make him hate me all the more.

‘Yes, a ball, my dear. And who, do you think, will be our guest of honour?’

‘Not … my father.’

‘But of course. Who would think of giving a ball without him?’
The Prince Regent drove down to Oatlands in the company of William Adam, whom he had some years before made his Solicitor General and whose company he found interesting. Another member of his party was Richard Brinsley Sheridan.

The Prince was in a sombre mood. A party at Oatlands for his daughter Charlotte was not a very enlivening prospect. He was always ill at ease with the girl, although he was determined to feel an affection for her. That such a child should have been his daughter seemed incongruous; the only characteristic she had inherited from him was her daring on a horse. If it were not for the fact that she looked so much like him he would say she was not his daughter. The great desire of his life was to be rid of her mother; to remarry, to get a son. They would relegate Charlotte to a position he would very much like to see her occupy.

He was now in all but name the King; and it was becoming more and more obvious that his father would never be fit to rule again. The old man was afflicted with incipient blindness to add to his other disabilities. No, he would never rule again. The Prince Regent was the ruler. But what had the supreme power brought him? A break with Maria. Yes, it had been inevitable. It was not only that Isabella Hertford insisted, but there could not be rumours that the King (though he was not being given that title yet) was married to a Catholic; and people would insist that he was married while he continued to live with Maria. So he had broken with Maria – and this could often depress him. He was flirting with the Tories and had allowed them to continue in office. ‘My God,’ his mother had said, ‘if the King recovered and found the Whigs in power it would send him mad again.’ Still, he kept the bust of Fox in his apartments. Isabella was being charming to the ruler yet still keeping the lover at arm’s length. He was uncertain of the future, but one thing he had done was make sure that his sisters had separate allowances so that they were no longer dependent on the Queen. It was something he had always promised himself, for he had long been very sorry for them and they would bless him for it; for the first time in their lives they had a measure of independence, and, he promised himself, there should be more, because at this late stage if it was possible for any of them to find a suitor, he would not stand in their way of marriage.