Bitches with their puppies in the beds; monkeys climbing the banisters; parrots screeching. It’s a nightmare George. And the fleas―and the smells―’
‘Spare me,’ begged the Prince, taking a white-laced edged kerchief from his pocket and holding it to his nose as he sniffed its fragrance.
‘Well, I am explaining, George, that after marriage to my Duchess any woman seems desirable.’
‘Even Caroline of Brunswick?’
‘I did not say that. I thought her a pleasant creature. A little short in the legs perhaps and I fancy she does not carry herself as gracefully as she might— but then she was young and a bit of a hoyden. Doubtless she has grown out of that.
She has an abundance of fair hair and fine eyes, I believe.’
The Prince was obviously relieved.
‘So, George,’ went on his brother, ‘you will do well enough.’
‘I heartily wish this marriage need never take place.’
The brothers regarded each other sadly.
The proposed marriage was drawing them closer together than they had been for some time. In the days of their boyhood they had been inseparable. They had stood by each other and shared adventures and punishments. Frederick had patiently kept guard during the Prince’s assignations with Mrs. Robinson; many a time he had incurred his father’s anger in order to protect his brother; and the bond had been strong between them. The main reason why they had resented Frederick’s being sent abroad was because it meant they must be parted; and when he had come back, they had resumed their friendship as though it had never been broken.
The Prince had introduced his brother to Maria Fitzherbert whom he was then treating as the Princess of Wales and Frederick had been charmed by the lady.
She had become fond of him too although she did deplore the wild horseplay in which he indulged with the Prince, and she blamed Frederick for this because on his return the Prince had reverted to the practical joking and wild ways in which he had indulged before his association with her. But a rift had come through that wife of Frederick’s— that German Princess Frederica Charlotte Ulrica— who although she filled her house with different breeds of dogs, although she was indifferent to their fleas and habits, was a very haughty personage and determined to uphold her position as Duchess of York. She had therefore refused to accept Maria Fitzherbert’s right to any rank but that of mistress of the Prince of Wales— a fact which had humiliated Maria and, infuriated the Prince; and as he was at that time deeply in love with Maria, he had pettishly blamed Frederick for not having more control over his wife.
Frederick had considered this unfair, for he himself had always shown the greatest respect towards Maria— but the rift between the brothers widened; and it was an indication of the depth of the Prince’s feelings for Mrs. Fitzherbert that on her account the lifelong friendship with his brother could be impaired.
But now, Frederick no longer lived with his wife— and no one blamed him— and the friendship between the brothers was resumed, although it was clear to them both that it would never be quite the same again.
‘Cheer up, George,’ said the Duke. ‘Lady Jersey will comfort you.’
‘That’s true,’ replied the Prince dubiously. His affairs were indeed in a tangle.
Lady Jersey— that dainty, gadfly of a woman who while she fascinated him at the same time repelled him— was his consolation for this marriage with the German woman— and the loss of Maria.
Ah, Maria. He could never quite succeed in banishing her from his thoughts.
Sometimes he wondered whether he ever would.
He thought now that if instead of marriage with this stranger he was going back to Maria how delighted he would have been. But that could not be; and another horrible thought had struck him: What was Maria, who considered herself married to him, going to say when she heard he contemplated marrying another woman?
He sat down on a gilded couch and, covering his face with his hands, wept.
Frederick was not unduly disturbed; like all the Prince’s associates he was accustomed to his tears. The Prince had always wept most effectively— and in fact, thought Frederick cynically, it was quite a family accomplishment. We Guelphs are a weeping family, he mused— but none of us can perform so artistically as the Prince of Wales. The Prince applied the scented kerchief to his eyes which like his complexion had not suffered from the display of emotion.
‘Fred,’ he said, ‘the truth is I shall never love another woman as I love Fitzherbert.’
‘Still, George?’
‘Still and forever,’ cried the Prince vehemently. ‘And yet—’
‘It’s money, Fred. How am I going to pay these damned debts without it? And the price— marriage with a German Frau.’
Frederick nodded grimly. ‘The price of royalty, George.’
‘Why do we accept it? What would I not give for my freedom.’
Well, considered Frederick, suppose he had resigned his rights . Suppose he had made a public announcement of his marriage to Fitzherbert instead of allowing Fox to make a public denial of it in the House of Commons? Could it have been different? He would not have been wearing that magnificent diamond star, the insignia of his rank of course; he would not have been living in this splendid residence— this grand Carlton House with its scintillating chandeliers, its gilt furniture, its exquisite porcelain, its priceless pictures.
George should consider all that, for there was nothing he enjoyed as much as taking a derelict house and transforming it into a palace. Look what he had done at his Pavilion in Brighton. And here in Carlton House the state apartments were far more grand than anything in gloomy old St. James’s, tumbledown Windsor and homely Kew. Even Buckingham House suffered in comparison. Trust George to see to that.
Consider the Chinese parlour, the blue velvet closet and crimson drawing room, the silver dining room and most magnificent of all, the throne room with its gilded columns displaying the Prince of Wales’s feathers. Even what he called his own intimate apartments— these facing the park— were fit for a king as well as a Prince of Wales. No, George was too fond of his royalty to give it up even for Fitzherbert.
George was above all self-indulgent; his emotions were superficial and even the affection he bore for the incomparable Fitzherbert had not prevented his deserting her for the momentarily more alluring Lady Jersey. He was not the man to resign his hopes of the crown for the sake of a woman. Imagine George, wandering about the Continent in exile an impecunious prince whose debts would never then be settled by an understanding if somewhat tutorial Parliament; and how could George live but in the most extravagant manner? He was born to elegance; he was a natural spend-thrift; he could never understand the value of money. He was only aware that he wished to surround himself with beautiful things and that as Prince of Wales and future King of England he had a natural right to them.
And who was Frederick to criticize his brother? Had he not been forced into marriage for the very same reason?
So now he sought to comfort George by embellishing his picture of Caroline.
She was really quite charming, and bright and intelligent, he thought. To tell the truth he might have decided to marry her himself, but she wouldn’t have him.
Of course he was not the Prince of Wales. He remembered particularly her beautiful hair. It was very light and abundant. The Prince was very fond of beautiful hair, was he not?
The Prince nodded and thought of Maria’s abundant honey-coloured curls.
She had never powdered it although it was the fashion to do so; but had worn it naturally. But then of course few women had hair to compare with Maria’s.
The fact was in all ways no woman could compare with Maria.