And how can I help him, sighed Caroline, when in Henrietta’s place there might be some charming, scheming, clever woman.
Life it seemed would never run smoothly. Frederick was a constant anxiety. Charming and affectionate towards his parents as he was in public, in private he showed his dissatisfaction with what they did for him. He wanted more money; he wanted more prestige; he wanted to marry.
He must have none of these ... yet. She and Walpole could not afford to have such a rival, and rival he would quickly become with those wolves of the Opposition ready to pounce on him and make him the centre of a Party which, with Frederick at its head, might well win public support. She remembered the old days of strife between the previous King and his son. History had a way of repeating itself.
Young William was looking handsome and bright tonight; but as soon as he set eyes on his brother he would appear sullen, for he refused to hide his feelings and he deeply resented Frederick. The girls were present. Amelia looked by far the handsomest of the three, but how she favoured masculine styles and she was far too fond of outdoor sports and, Caroline knew, excelled at them. She was bold, perhaps a little brazen. One might think so now to see her openly flirting with Grafton. What a bold and handsome fellow Grafton was. Another result of the promiscuous life of that indefatigable lover Charles II. Grafton was the son of Barbara Castlemaine’s son and claimed to be the grandson of Charles Stuart. These people gave themselves airs and secretly, Caroline guessed, believed themselves to be more royal than the present German branch of the family. Grafton doubtless thought he had a chance with Amelia and Amelia would be nothing loth.
Where are we going to find husbands for the girls? sighed Caroline. It was so difficult being firmly Protestant, which they must be since it was the reason why the English had accepted them, when almost every eligible Prince in Europe was Catholic. It restricted choice so; and now that Sophia Dorothea’s double marriage scheme had come to nothing, what of a husband for Amelia, what of a wife for Frederick?
She and Walpole were not anxious to provide a wife for the Prince of course, for marriage would add to his importance. But it was certainly time Anne was married. And she was getting bitter too.
And there was Grafton trying to compromise Amelia so that marriage might benecessary.
Life was full of difficulties.
And Caroline was stooping a little, which was worrying because she was so delicate, learning to dislike her elder brother because all the others did, particularly William who would have been the Prince of Wales but for Frederick—and how she wished he had been.
She disliked her eldest son. She might as well face it, for to say anything else would have been hypocrisy. If only he had never been born there would be much less strife in the family because it was only since his coming that the trouble had been so pronounced. If she could only find suitable husbands for the girls, if William could be Prince of Wales, and being so young he would not be of age for many years which would give her and Walpole—and of course the King—years of freedom to rule as they thought fit, without interference from an Opposition which each day was seeking to draw Frederick into its net.
Troubles swirling around, conflict within the family circle! It seemed what they must always expect.
Frederick had come in and had created the usual stir. They were bowing and curtseying which was only right of course as he was the Prince of Wales. He came to her and she tried to see him dispassionately—a little man, like his father, neat as George was, and elegant too; he paid attention to the minutest detail of dress, as George did. He was so like his father that this should have endeared them to each other. It had the reverse effect. Frederick lacked his father’s quick temper. One could never imagine Frederick’s taking off his wig and kicking it round the room—a trick of George’s in the old days. Frederick was too careless; all he wanted was to enjoy life in the company of his chosen friends. And his chosen friend now was that impossibly vulgar Mr Dodington.
Frederick kissed his mother’s hand charmingly—always so charming in public. In private he would be sullen, always ready to talk of his debts, wondering why he could not have more money.
She complimented him on his healthy looks and after a short conversation he left her to wander among the guests and say a few words to each.
She watched him and saw that he had joined Anne Vane, one of her attendants, and that he stayed at her side. She knew the girl was his mistress. That was of no great Importance, except of course that the girl had not the best of reputations. She would have preferred him to have chosen a mistress as discreet and as modest as Henrietta.
She noticed that her daughter Caroline had suddenly become animated, almost pretty, a faint flush in her cheeks, her eyes brightening.
The reason was clear. Lord Hervey was presenting himself to the Queen.
Caroline’s own spirits lifted. Lord Hervey was always so amusing. She enjoyed his company more than anyone else’s —more than Walpole’s although, of course, she and the great statesman had so much of importance to discuss together.
‘My lord, it is a pleasure....’
‘Your Majesty is gracious.’
He was very handsome and most magnificently dressed. His cheeks were only faintly touched with rouge. Poor man, thought the Queen, he suffers and must disguise his pallor for he doesn’t want everyone asking after his health.
She shuddered at the thought of such a distasteful subject.
‘Pray be seated beside me,’ she said. ‘Now amuse me with the latest gossip.’
Hervey did this so effectively that now and then the Queen’s laughter rang out. The Princess Caroline came to sit on the other side of Hervey and joined in the merriment, although not in the conversation, preferring to sit quietly listening.
‘Lord Hervey,’ chided the Queen, ‘I fear you have a wicked tongue.’
‘Alas so much more entertaining than a discreet one. Is it not sad that the discreet and the virtuous are invariably bores?’
‘One could never call you that, Lord Hervey.’
‘I have always thought that I would be wicked while I was young giving myself time in which to repent and spend my last years ... no, months ... in being virtuous, a plague to myself and a bore to my friends.’
‘I should not listen to such talk.’
‘You see, I even tempt Your Majesty to forget your habitual virtue.’
‘Are you suggesting that I am a bore since I am virtuous?’
‘It is the privilege of royalty, Madam, never to bore.’
‘What do you think of this man, Caroline?’ the Queen asked her daughter. ‘Do you not think that we should dismiss him from the Court?’
The Princess Caroline blushed and murmured that the Court would be a dull place if Lord Hervey were banished from it.
‘There’s a nice piece of flattery for you,’ laughed the Queen.