‘You are no longer a boy,’ she would tell him. ‘Mounting fifty!’
William protested at that. He was only forty-five.
‘There is not much time left for you to get a legitimate heir,’ the Queen warned him. ‘When I think that the only heir all my children have been able to give to the country is Charlotte I despair.’
‘Charlotte is a very lively heir,’ William reminded her.
‘The child is not as strong as I would wish.’ The Queen’s lips tightened. Charlotte was a wayward child who more than once had expressed her dislike for Grandmamma. Her famous remark which had been bandied about the court was, ‘There are two things in the world I dislike – apple pie and my Grandmother.’
‘Only this child… and a girl.’
William liked his niece, who had a somewhat difficult time because she was denied the company of her father and mother; her mother was often forbidden to see her and her father could never look at her without remembering that she was her mother’s child. He was sorry for her. She was a hoyden but bright, intelligent and an interesting child. She was rather fond of his own young Fred and was always glad when Fred paid visits. They went riding together and she would order Fred about, telling him that she was his future sovereign, which Fred seemed to enjoy.
He wondered what the Queen would say if she knew of Charlotte’s friendship with her cousin, the son of an actress.
‘I always hope,’ said the Queen, ‘that you will see reason one day… and it will have to be soon. I think you should consider this… very seriously.’
Dorothy had no idea of the Queen’s determination, for William never mentioned it to her.
She continued with her tours, going from one provincial city to another, earning money, trying to ease the financial situation; but she had no idea how deeply in debt William was.
It was a momentous year.
That November, the King’s best-loved daughter, the Princess Amelia, died. The King was overcome with grief, and this loss, with the fears and scandals of the last years, sent him tottering to insanity.
The King was mad, and incapable of ruling. The Prince of Wales became the Prince Regent.
‘For the last time’
WILLIAM WAS ON his way to Carlton House where the Prince Regent was giving a fête. This was his first as Regent and although he could not say it was to celebrate his accession to the Regency, for to do so might seem that he was rejoicing in his father’s misfortune, that was in fact what it was.
Everything would be different now, William mused. The tiresome restrictions which the King had imposed on the court would be swept away. The court would be gay and carefree. That ridiculous Marriage Act would be annulled. George had always sworn that one of the first things he would do would be to abolish that, Their sisters would be allowed to marry, if they could find husbands. Poor things, it was a bit late. He was sure that George would see that they had allowances of their own which would give them some measure of independence from the Queen. What lives they had led! The men had been the fortunate ones, although the King would have liked to restrict even them.
And now the poor old man, who for years had been on the edge of madness, was a raving lunatic.
He would be well looked after so there was no need to waste sympathy on him. The fact was that George, his dear friend and brother, was now in all but name ruler of the realm.
The Queen had realized this and had decided to ally herself with her eldest son this time – not work against him as she had before.
The Queen was wise.
Dorothy could not accompany him to the fête – it was a very different affair from the birthday party when the Prince had led her in to dine and sat at her right hand. This was an official occasion, and the Regent would have to be more careful than the Prince of Wales had been. Perhaps that was why he had broken with Mrs Fitzherbert, and Lady Hertford was the reigning mistress now. It was sad in a way when one considered what Mrs Fitzherbert had meant to George; their relationship had been like that of himself and Dorothy, but his and Dorothy’s had been on a firmer basis; all those years, all those children. Twenty years with one woman! It was as good as a marriage. But it was not a marriage. Royal princes could not marry actresses and there was only one legitimate heiress, the Princess Charlotte – the only one they had produced between them.
He was reasoning like the Queen.
Carlton House in all its splendour! No one could design a house like George! The Pavilion was different from any residence anyone had ever seen before and there wasn’t a house in Europe which was more magnificent than Carlton House – as there was no prince more courtly, more elegant, than the Regent.
He was proud of his brother.
Poor George, he was a little sad about Maria Fitzherbert, but their connection was severed and he was devoted to Lady Hertford.
George had explained to William. ‘I love Maria,’ he had said. ‘I always shall. It’s this damned religion of hers. If she hadn’t insisted on marriage… But the main point of contention is that she’s a Catholic. How could the Regent have it said that he was married to a Catholic? It would be enough to shake the throne. We have to consider that, William. All of us.’
Was he reminding William that like the rest of them he had his duty?
George was receiving his guests, magnificent as ever, the diamond star glittering on his coat. Then he led the way into the banqueting hall with its treasures, its works of art. The table was a work of art too, with a stream running down the centre in which gold and silver fishes swam.
It was during the banquet that William became aware of the beautiful young woman. She was exquisitely gowned, animated and in conversation with a young man who appeared to be paying court to her.
‘Who is the young lady?’ asked William of his neighbour.
‘Did not Your Highness know? She has caused quite a stir since she has come to court. She is Miss Catherine Tylney-Long, daughter of the late Sir James Tylney-Long.’
‘I’m not surprised that she causes a stir. She is very beautiful.’
‘Oh, it is not her beauty which causes a stir, Sir. It is her fortune. She is worth £40,000 a year.’
‘£40,000 a year!’ cried William. ‘She must be one of the richest young ladies in England.’
‘That is the general opinion, Your Highness.’
‘And who is that who is talking to her so earnestly?’
‘Wellesley-Pole, Your Highness. Lord Maryborough’s son.’
‘Is he related to the Duke of Wellington?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Interesting,’ said William; and he thought: £40,000 a year. And a beauty too. Young, lovely and rich.
When the banquet was over he asked that Miss Catherine Tylney-Long be presented to him. He found her even more charming than he had believed possible. Witty, amusing, not the least impressed by the interest of a Royal Highness, in fact very diverting.
He insisted on keeping her at his side, much to the chagrin of Wellesley-Pole, but the young lady seemed to enjoy this; and it was a gratifying experience.
He was very loath to leave her and when he said good-bye he had discovered what functions she would be attending and decided to making a point of being there.
He did not go to Bushy afterwards, but to his apartments in St James’s.
I have been leading a strange life for a royal prince during twenty years, he thought. I have forgotten what it is like to be in fashionable society. People noticed it and did not like it. A prince should live like a prince not like some bourgeois gentleman dominated by domestic concerns.
Everywhere he went there too was Catherine Tylney-Long. So beautiful, so enchanting and so… rich. He could not think of her without thinking of £40,000 a year, and what it would mean to him.