‘This is it. He is coming back to you. He has come to tell you so.’
‘Then why ride by?’
‘Because he wants that sign from you. He wants you to bid him come in, to make him welcome.’
‘He was never so coy, before, my dear.’
‘He is begging you to take him back.’
‘I have not noticed it. A strange way to beg. To become betrothed when he already has a wife.’
‘Oh, Maria, don’t turn your back on happiness.’
‘I tell you it is for him to say. Have not the decisions always been his? As for myself, I must just wait.’
‘He is coming again. He is coming back. I can hear the horses.’
‘Stand away from the window.’
‘It is for you to stand there. To beckon him as he passes.’
Maria stood very still, hidden from sight. She did not move. The phaeton drove past but she was aware that the pace of the horses slackened as they approached.
Was he in truth waiting for that sign?
I cannot give it, she thought. How can I? I am his wife. What does he want? For me to go back to him, to acknowledge myself his mistress? ‘He has gone,’ said Miss Pigot. ‘But perhaps he will come again.’
He did— twice past the house; and on each occasion Maria stood at the window, waiting, hoping, but not showing herself.
She gave no sign and he rode back to Carlton House.
But she kept thinking of him, riding out to Richmond. Surely it must have been because he hoped she would welcome him to her house. She thought of the vows of eternal fidelity he had made to her. She believed herself to be his wife.
Did he believe her to be?
She would know the answer to that question in a few days’ time. If he refused to marry the Princess Caroline she would know that he considered he had a wife already, and since he had come to Richmond could that mean that he wished the world to know it?
The Prince had had a sleepless night, but when he awoke on that Wednesday morning of the 8th of April, he knew he must go on with the marriage.
While he was being dressed in his splendidly embroidered blue velvet coat and his elegant knee breeches he called for a glass of brandy. He drank it quickly and felt a little better. But by the time he had put on his high heeled buckled shoes and was ready to leave for the Chapel Royal at St. James’s, he needed more brandy to sustain him in his ordeal.
Lord Moira, who was to accompany him, asked the Prince very cautiously if it were wise to take so much brandy before this important event.
‘I need it, Moira,’ he declared with tears in his eyes, ‘for I do not think I can go through this ceremony without it.’
Lord Moira was sympathetic, but he could not agree that more brandy was what was needed.
‘My dear friend,’ said the Prince, ‘you see before you the most reluctant bridegroom in the world.’
‘Your Highness takes this too hardly.’
‘How otherwise can one take a bad business?’
The carriage was at the door and the resplendent bridegroom took his place in it. Lord Moira beside him.
As they rode from Carlton House to St. James’s, he said mournfully: ‘It is no use, Moira. I shall never love any woman but Fitzherbert.’
Caroline was being dressed in St. James’s whither she had come after the family dinner at Buckingham House. What an ordeal with those sly looking Princesses watching her all the time, and the Queen showing her disdain.
If I had known what it would be like I would never have come, she told herself. My father would never have forced me. Oh, how I wish I was home in Brunswick. And the Prince hates me. He shows that clearly. More and more every day he hates me. There was only one member of the family who was kind to her and that was the King. His hands shook as he embraced her and he kissed her as though he enjoyed doing so. She almost wished that she had come as his bride instead of his son’s. At least he would have been kind.
When she had left Buckingham House he had taken her into his arms and kissed her fondly.
‘This is a happy day, my dear,’ he had said rather mournfully, and the rest of the family showed quite clearly that they considered it a calamity. The Prince and the Queen hated her— and those silly parrot-like Princesses followed their mother.
She looked at her white satin dress with the pearl embroidery. It was beautiful; and she, who liked flamboyant clothes, should have been pleased with it and the big cloak of crimson velvet which covered it. But she was very apprehensive as she left the apartment for the Chapel Royal.
The Prince swayed as he walked into the Chapel Royal. The two unmarried Dukes on either side of him moved closer for they thought he would totter. A fine thing it would be if the Prince had to be carried to the altar because he was too drunk to walk there.
Caroline, who had entered the chapel on the arm of the King had decided that she would hide her true feelings from all those who had come to watch her married and consequently appeared to be unbecomingly gay. Walking down the aisle with the King she smiled and nodded to people as he passed. The King did not appear to notice her odd behaviour but everyone else did.
There was a hushed silence throughout the chapel and all attention was focused on those two brilliant figures. The Prince swayed a little, magnificent in his blue velvet and Collar of the Garter but, as many noticed, looking confused and uneasy; and Caroline, shimmering in her be-jewelled white satin with the diamond coronet on her head, looked a true Princess.
But the Prince could not bear to look at her and kept his face turned from her.
He was thinking of that other ceremony which had taken place in Mrs.
Fitzherbert’s house in Park Street. That was a real marriage; this was a farce and he yearned for Maria, whom he knew he should never have left— and he had done so for the sake of Frances Jersey! If he had left her for marriage to this woman, it would have been a different matter, for this could be blamed on the exigencies of State. But he had deserted her for Lady Jersey whom he was discovering to be worthless in spite of her fascination. He was a traitor to Maria.
He despised himself and he longed for an opportunity to tell her so.
And here he was at the altar about to be married to a woman he hated. Yes, he did hate her; he hated her fiercely. He could see no virtue in her. To him she was utterly repulsive and even the fumes of brandy which dulled his brain and his senses could not free him from the horror he visualized in the marriage bed.
How different that ceremony in Park Street and the ecstasy which had followed!
Oh Maria, Maria, you have deserted me! But that was wrong. He had to admit it. It was he who had deserted Maria.
Is it too late? But of course it was too late. Here he was at the altar and Dr.
Moore, the Archbishop of Canterbury, was about to conduct the ceremony.
He knelt while the Archbishop began to say those words which had been said before in a house in Park Street, when he had made his responses with a joy as great as the revulsion he now felt.
The Prince was feeling dizzy; the brandy was having its effect though it relieved his feelings very little. He heard the Archbishop asking if anyone knew of an impediment why they might not be lawfully joined together in Holy Matrimony; and in that moment he saw Maria’s reproachful eyes begging him to remember.
He stumbled to his feet. He must get away. He could not go on with this.
There was a sudden silence in the chapel. All eyes were on the Prince of Wales; all wondered what drama they were about to witness.
Then the King rose from his seat and stepped up to stand beside the Prince.
‘For Heaven’s sake,’ whispered the King, ‘remember what this means.’