Victoria in the Wings: (Georgian Series) (3 page)

When the Duke arrived at Oatlands he found his wife very sad, for she had genuinely loved Charlotte and the Princess had paid many happy visits to Oatlands. There were no visitors this weekend; Frederica, Duchess of York, was in mourning.

But she was pleased to see her husband. Poor Frederick, she thought, he was showing signs of wear. Who could wonder, considering the life he led. Once she had thought him so handsome; she remembered when he had presented her to his parents – he so tall, she so short. What an ordeal that had been, for she had no illusions about her appearance and her new family were so critical. Smallpox had spoiled her skin and her teeth were brown and uneven but her fair hair and blue eyes had been pleasant. She had been over-elaborately dressed, with her hair piled too high and set with diamonds, and what she remembered most from that occasion were the cold eyes of her mother-in-law, Queen Charlotte, and the silver foil frills on her sleeves which were uncomfortably itchy.

But that was years ago, when the revolution had been raging in France and they had come near to being killed as they passed through that country and were recognized by the mob for royalists. Only the calm courage of the Duke had saved them. How she had admired him then! He was at his best at such moments – the true soldier, indifferent to danger. But ordinary domestic life oddly enough was more difficult than facing a mob of revolutionaries and she had quickly realized what a failure the marriage was.

They had quarrelled; she had failed to produce the desired heir; they had parted, they had lived their own lives and in time come to friendship.

This had been strengthened at the time of the Mary Anne Clarke scandal when she had left Oatlands to stand by him; and while he was facing a serious charge and was dismissed from his post it was his wife who had been with him, comforting him,
disappointing the lampoon writers – for of what use was a faithful wife to them?

Now Frederick embraced her in the usual cool but friendly manner and they went into the house together.

‘The poor child,’ said Frederica, ‘the poor, poor child!’

‘I would not have believed it possible,’ murmured the Duke.

‘It is always possible. But she was so young, so full of vitality. How is the Regent taking it?’

‘Badly.’

‘Ah, poor George. Perhaps he reproaches himself.’

The Duke looked surprised. He, who always took his cue from his brother, was now ready to believe that the Regent had been devoted to his daughter and she to him. Frederica was more realistic. Everyone knew of the stormy conflicts which had raged between the Regent and his daughter. Death did not change that.

‘At least,’ went on the Duchess, ‘she married the man she loved. Oh, it was good to see them together. She was happy … at the end. Perhaps it is the way to die … at the peak of happiness. My dear, dear Charlotte! It grieves me that she will no longer come bounding across the lawns in the way she did. What a mother she would have made! I always used to think of her with many many children, though not as many as your mother had …’

‘God forbid,’ interrupted the Duke, remembering the necessity to curb Frederica’s flow which if allowed to would go on for an hour. It was one of the traits which had made it impossible to live with her. ‘But, Frederica, what I have come to talk to you about is my brothers.’

‘Ah yes, yes. They will have to marry now. They will understand this. They will not need to be told. It is obvious. Our darling Charlotte gone … No hope of the direct line. It is the duty of one of your brothers. If the King died and the Regent became King George IV and he died, you, Frederick, would be King.’

‘God forbid,’ said the Duke again, for his conversation was inclined to be repetitive and he relied to a great extent on overworked expletives.

‘It would break your heart, poor Frederick, because you could only be King if George died and you have always loved him dearly. I have heard him say often that you are his favourite brother. No,
you would not be happy as King. And what of me? I should have to leave Oatlands and all my darling, darling children. What would they do without me?’ She patted the head of one of the darling children – a soulful-eyed spaniel which had leaped on to her lap when she sat down. ‘Oh no, no, it must never be. You, because of George … me because of my children here.’

He let her talk; it was less exhausting to listen than to attempt to break in. She had always been animated and that had been part of her charm in her youth and at first of course one did not realize that a virtue could so soon be seen as a vice. She laughed frequently – on happier occasions than this – and that too had begun to grate.

But that was in the past. Now he knew her for a good woman and as long as he was not expected to live with her he could be fond of her. A pity she had been unable to bear a child. If they had had a son that son would now have been third in the succession and it would have been almost certain that he would have been a King. But it was not to be and fortunately Frederica was too old now to bear children so their existence need not be disrupted.

He broke in on her talk then: ‘You know what this means. It’s what I came to talk to you about. The Queen is hinting that my brothers should prepare themselves … my unmarried brothers.’ He smiled grimly. ‘All those who are not married now have to think about getting wives.’

‘Clarence has been trying … unsuccessfully for some time.’

‘Now he will have to succeed.’

‘And Kent and Sussex and Cambridge. Cumberland is the only one who so far has obliged.’

‘Obliged! The Queen would hardly call it that. She still refuses to receive his Duchess.’

‘Poor Frederica, my namesake! How difficult it makes it when so many of us have to share each other’s name! But I do not think she cares … that she is not received, I mean. I believe she and Cumberland are devoted to each other.’

‘It’s strange to think of my brother Ernest being devoted to anyone. But love works strange miracles, they say. It would not surprise me if Charlotte’s death brings them back to England.’

‘I heard she had given birth to a daughter.’

‘Still-born. But that does not mean they won’t have more. Frederica has had children in her adventurous life, and as she is still young enough there is no reason why she should not present Ernest with a son. And now that Charlotte is no more … it might seem very important to them that they should.’

‘Ah yes, but none has become as important as you, my lord Duke.’

‘Every one of us has taken a step nearer to the throne.’

‘It will be interesting to see who reaches it,’ said the Duchess. ‘But I shall not be here to do so.’

‘What makes you say that?’

She lifted her shoulders. ‘My dear Frederick, I am nearly fifty years old.’

‘That is nothing.’

Again she lifted her shoulders. No need to tell him that she believed herself to be very ill. Would he care? Yes, she thought. A little. In any case the subject of marriage was so much more entertaining than that of death.

‘I think,’ said Frederick, ‘that I’ll go and talk this over with my brothers. When George returns from Brighton they’ll be summoned and presented with an ultimatum. They must prepare themselves.’

‘They will know this.’

‘Clarence, yes; and it will not displease him. I am thinking of Kent.’

‘Ah poor Madame de St Laurent! Do you think he will abandon her?’

‘I think it will be impressed on him that he must do his duty.’

‘The Regent is very sentimental where such affairs are concerned.’

‘It’s true, but I believe that it is the Queen who will decide what should be done; and I do not think for one moment that she will allow sentiment to cloud her judgement.’

‘If she did it would be for the first time in her life.’

Frederick nodded. He was next to George but the thought of a world without George who had been his idol since they shared the royal nursery at Kew was distressing. He was, he reflected, the only one of the brothers to be unaffected. He was already married
to a barren woman so they could not think of marrying him to anyone else; he could not long for the crown when to receive it would mean losing his best friend and beloved brother.

Charlotte’s death had made less difference to Frederick, Duke of York, than to any member of the family – in spite of the fact that it had brought him nearer to the throne than any of them.

Clarence

THE DUKE OF
Clarence was driving down to Brighton to propose to the lady whom he had decided to make his wife and he was certain of the outcome this time. He had to admit that he had been very unlucky so far. No Prince could ever have been so constantly refused. He could not understand it. Sometimes he thought it was the ghost of Dorothy Jordan mocking him from her obscure grave across the Channel.

‘Nonsense,’ he said to himself. She would be the first to wish for my happiness. Had it not always been so? She had always thought of him. Why, when she drew her salary at the theatre she would write to him and say: ‘Do you want it? Please let me know before I spend it.’

Dorothy had invariably understood as soon as he had explained his motives to her.

‘Dear Miss Wykeham.’ He rehearsed the speech he would make to his prospective bride. He enjoyed making speeches and the proposal of a Prince who was third in the line of succession was surely the occasion to make one. ‘Dear Miss Wykeham, I have something of the greatest importance to say to you. I have not a farthing to my name. I owe sixty thousand pounds. But if you would like to be a Duchess, and perhaps a Queen, I should have great pleasure in arranging it.’

There! A rough sailor’s wooing. That was after all what he was.

He was fifty-two – not an ideal age to become a bridegroom
but still able to beget children, he would explain to her, as she would discover. She was young; and if they could get a son that boy would most certainly be a King of England. Unless, of course, the Regent realized his ambition to divorce Queen Caroline, remarry and have a son of his own, which was very unlikely. George was three years older than he was, and hadn’t worn so well. In spite of his gout and asthma he was in better shape than George. The life at sea had been a healthy one; it had hardened William and he had lived quietly and respectably for twenty years at Bushy Park with Dorothy Jordan and their ten children, whereas George had indulged himself far more.

Not such a bad figure of a man, thought William, considering himself. Why had the women refused him? It was a mystery to him. Had it had anything to do with Dorothy?

He frowned remembering her. He wished he could forget her; he couldn’t help feeling ashamed of the way in which he had treated her. They had been good days when she had agreed to set up house with him and they had been together – a husband and wife in all but name – and the children started to arrive; he, a young man of twenty-five, Dorothy a year or so older, clever, piquant, charming, the finest comic actress on the stage; and how deeply he had loved her! He had thought it would have lasted for ever and it would have done but for the fact that they grew older and Dorothy put on weight and he had his gout and asthma; and there was always the vexing question of money between them. Dorothy was always trying to save up money to give a good dowry to the girls she had had before she met him. That had rankled; and of course they had been the subject of considerable comment and ridicule in the press.

Moreover, he was after all the son of a king and a king’s son was expected to do his duty to the State as his mother was constantly reminding him, and one of his most unpleasant duties had been to remind Dorothy of this.

Poor dear Dorothy! How stricken she had been at that last meeting. He could see that she hadn’t believed it was possible. ‘It’s only because I have to do my duty …’ His voice had been a little more high-pitched than usual, and
false
.

That was the dreadful thing. It had been false. He need not have
deserted her. The Queen might complain that he did not do his duty but his brother George, the Regent, would have stood firmly behind him if he had refused to leave Dorothy.

But he had wanted change. That was the plain truth. He was weak; he was vain. He would not accept the fact that he was an ageing man; and how better to prove that he was not than by taking a young wife. If he married he could expect the government to settle his debts and increase his income. It had happened with George and Frederick. And if he married a woman with money, the unfortunate pecuniary difficulties need not arise again.

Miss Wykeham was an heiress to estates in Oxfordshire – pretty enough, young and rich. He asked no more. This time he would succeed.

He could not understand why he had failed to do so before for he had made several attempts since he parted with Dorothy. Was it because he was no longer young or because he had ten children named FitzClarence whom he acknowledged as his own, or because the press ridiculed him mercilessly and immediately involved the lady he was wooing in that amused contempt as soon as it was known his fancy had alighted on her. That was it, he assured himself. It was the ridicule of the press which had persuaded Catherine Tylney-Long, one of the richest heiresses in the country, to choose Wellesley Pole instead of him. He remembered now the humiliation when she refused his offer; she a commoner to refuse the proposal of
marriage
from a duke; whereas Dorothy, a leading actress, a woman of high principles, had become his mistress for love of him.

The refusal of Miss Tylney-Long might have been lived down had not another heiress, Miss Mercer Elphinstone, refused him too.

By that time he was becoming a laughing-stock. He would offer to elevate no more commoners; next time it should be a princess and then perhaps the Misses Tylney-Long and Elphinstone would begin to realize what they had missed.

His brother Adolphus, Duke of Cambridge, who was some nine years younger than William, had been sent to Hanover to act as Viceroy there. Adolphus was one of the most endearing of the brothers; there was an innocence about him; his manners
were charming and he was good looking. One could trust Adolphus.