Oh yes, this Maria Fitzherbert was entitled to a little consideration. And he, from remembering certain incidents his own past, would be the first to admit it.
‘Your— your sentiments do you credit,’ said the King. ‘I think this lady has a right— to such consideration. I believe she has always behaved in a— a very admirable manner, eh, what?’
‘It’s true— true!’ declared the Prince fervently.
The King nodded. ‘Then we will settle this matter. But it had better come through Loughborough. The Lord Chancellor is the man who should deal with it.
Tell him to bring the matter to my notice. Have no fear. I find these sentiments do you credit.’
‘I thank Your Majesty with all my heart.’
The King laid his hand on his son’s shoulder and his eyes filled with tears.
There were tears in the Prince’s also.
How pleasant— how unusual— for them to be friends. He’s changed, thought the King. He’s settling down at the prospect of marriage More amenable. More reasonable. We shall get on now. The Prince was thinking: His madness has changed him. Made him mellow— reasonable. Perhaps we can be more friendly now. Within a few days the Prince received a letter from Lord Loughborough in which the Lord Chancellor wrote that he had presented the Prince’s problem to the King concerning the provision he had thought proper to make to a lady who had been distinguished in by his regard, and asking that in the unfortunate event of his death His Majesty would see that it was provided. His Majesty wished to convey that His Highness need have no anxiety on this account.
The Prince was delighted.
He wanted Maria to know that he had not in fact deserted her. He waited her to know that although he could not see her she was in his thoughts.
He could not write to her because he had given his word that he had broken off all connection with her. But he did want her to see that letter.
He had an idea. He would send it to his old friend Miss Pigot, who would certainly show it to Maria. He sat down at his desk immediately and dashed off a letter.
Miss Pigot could not curb her excitement when she saw that handwriting on the envelope. And addressed to her! It could only mean one thing. He wanted her to make the peace between himself and Maria.
She opened the envelope and the Lord Chancellor’s letter slipped to the floor.
She picked it up, looked at it in astonishment, and then turned to the Prince’s.
He did not wish his dear friend Miss Pigot to think he had forgotten her. His thoughts were often at Marble Hill; and he sent her the enclosed letter so that she should show it to one whom it concerned which would in some measure explain the regard he had for that person.
Miss Pigot re-read the Chancellor’s letter, grasped its meaning, and rushed to Maria’s bedroom where she was resting.
‘Oh, Maria, my dear, what do you think? I have heard from the Prince.’
‘ You— have heard?’
‘Oh, it is meant for you, of course. That’s as clear as daylight. Here’s a letter from the Chancellor about your income.’ Maria seized it and her face flushed angrily.
‘I shall not accept it,’ she said.
‘But of course you’ll accept it. You’ve debts to settle, haven’t you? Debts you incurred because of him. Don’t be foolishly proud, Maria. He wants you to have the money.’
‘Is he paying me off as he did Perdita Robinson?’
‘This is entirely different. She had to blackmail. You didn’t even have to ask.’
‘I shall not take it. You may write to His Highness and tell him so, since he sees fit to correspond with you about affairs which I had thought should be my concern.’
Miss Pigot left Maria and went to her room to write. She did not however write to the Prince but to Mr. Henry Errington, Maria’s uncle, telling him what had happened and advising him to come to Marble Hill to make Maria see reason.
He arrived within a few days and talked earnestly to Maria Had she settled her debts? She had not. And did she propose to do so from the two thousand a year which she had inherited from Mr. Fitzherbert? It was impossible, she realized. And this talk of a pension seemed to her a finality.
‘Maria,’ said Uncle Henry, who had been her guardian since the days when her father had become incapacitated through illness and who had indeed introduced her to her first and second husbands, ‘will you leave this matter to me?
What has happened was inevitable. You should emerge from that affair with dignity. This you cannot do if you are to be burdened with debts for the rest of your life. You must accept this pension, which is your due. Settle your debts in time; and then return to a solvent dignified way of living. It is the best way. Don’t forget I am your guardian and I forbid you to do anything but what I suggest.’
She smiled at him wanly. ‘Uncle I am sure you are right.’
‘Then will you allow me to settle these financial matters for you?’
‘Please do, Uncle. I do not wish to hear about them.’
Henry Errington kissed her cheek and told her that he was glad she had such a good friend as Miss Pigot to be with her.
‘I have much to be thankful for I know, dear Uncle,’ said Maria. ‘And don’t worry over me. I am recovering from the shock of being a deserted wife.’
But when she was alone, she asked herself: Am I? Shall I ever? How different life would have been if Uncle Henry had introduced her to a steady country gentleman like Edward Weld or Tom Fitzherbert, then she would have settled down to a comfortable middle age.
But what she would have missed! That’s what I have to remember, she told herself . I have been ecstatically happy. I must remember that. And remember also that in the nature of things that kind of happiness does not last. Then she laid her head on her pillow and wept quietly for she had lost.
And this talk of pension seemed to her a finality.
—On the 30th of December the King announced to both Houses of Parliament: ‘I have the greatest satisfaction in announcing to you a conclusion of a Treaty of Marriage between my dear son, the Prince of Wales, and the Princess Caroline Amelia Elizabeth, daughter of the Duke of Brunswick.’
The whole Court was buzzing with the news while the Prince grieved in the privacy of Carlton House.
‘There is no turning back now,’ he mourned.
And in Marble Hill Maria heard the news and said to Miss Pigot: ‘This is the third time that I have become a widow.’
But Miss Pigot still refused to believe that it was all over.
‘He still loves you,’ she insisted. ‘Look at the way he worried about your pension. I won’t believe it till that woman’s here and married to him.’
‘Then you will believe it very soon,’ retorted Maria.
‘Never,’ cried the indomitable Miss Pigot. ‘For he can’t ever be married to her, can he? Because he’s married to you.’
But there was no comforting Maria.
Departure for England
JAMES HARRIS, first Earl of Malmesbury, had come as speedily from Hanover to the Court of Brunswick as the frosty roads would allow.
He was a man of much experience for he had been the King’s ambassador in foreign courts for many years; now close on fifty he was still handsome, somewhat debonair and extremely astute.
He had come to make an offer for the hand of the Princess Caroline; a delicate task, he considered this, for if the Princess should not please the Prince of Wales on her arrival in England he would doubtless be made to feel the Prince’s displeasure; and if he discovered the young lady to be not all that he would expect the Prince to admire, what could he do? The precise instructions from His Majesty King George III were not to comment on the lady’s charms, nor to give anyone any advice on the matter. His duty was solely to make an offer for the lady’s hand and to see that thereafter the arrangements concerning the betrothal were carried out in a correct manner.