And now— this.
They would hear soon. They must.
Yes, those were horses’ hoofs. Maria was sitting tense, her face alight with hope. She really did believe that he had refused to marry this Princess, and that he was coming back to her.
Miss Pigot was at the window. She saw the horses pulling up; the carriage was stopping at Marble Hill.
‘It is my Lord Bradford,’ she said to Maria, who still remained seated, a rapt expression on her face. Lord Bradford, who had been Orlando Bridgement when as a young man he had taken part in that ceremony at Park Street! The Prince had commanded him to stand outside the door and warn them if anyone approached because Prime Minister Pitt would have had the power to stop the ceremony if he had heard it was taking place.
It was appropriate that Bradford should come now.
The footman was at the door. ‘My lord Bradford—’
Maria rose and held out her hands. Miss Pigot took one look at Bradford’s face and knew.
‘The Prince of Wales has been married to Caroline of Brunswick,’ said Bradford.
Maria swayed a little. Miss Pigot ran forward and caught her.
‘She has fainted,’ she said to Lord Bradford.
Caroline surveyed the bridal chamber in Carlton House. ‘It’s grand enough,’
she said.
The bridegroom looked at her disdainfully.
‘Well,’ she cried, ‘you’ll have to like me a little bit tonight, won’t you?’
She recoiled before the look of loathing in his eyes. ‘You’re drunk,’ she said.
‘And I’m not so very much in love with you.’
He swayed about the room. And she thought of how she had dreamed of her wedding night; it should have been with Major von Töbingen but that was all over. Instead she had this man of whose attractions she had heard so much— and he had turned out to be a fat drunken creature who hated her.
‘I doubt many have had a wedding night like this one,’ she said, and she began to laugh But duty must be performed. Even he was aware of that.
He turned to her. She was laughing her loud vulgar laughter.
‘Oh, changing your mind?’ she asked.
So the consummation took place.
She is even more repulsive than I believed possible, he thought. Oh God, why was I ever lured into this? She was sitting up in bed, shaking the hair out of her eyes. ‘It’s all so romantic,’ she mocked.
He staggered out of the bed. He could not bear her near him.
‘Ah,’ she said, ‘where are you going? To Madame Jersey?’
He did not look at her. His one thought was to get away from her as quickly as possible. The room was whirling about him. Too much brandy, too much wine.
He felt sick and ill.
He wept, thinking of that day in Park Street; it was winter and they had ridden off to Richmond together; the roads were icy and they had had to pause at Hammersmith— a romantic inn, supper by candlelight.
Maria, Maria, why are you not with me? Why have they married me to that vulgar slut in the bed? He had reached the fireplace. How his head ached! He felt so dizzy.
He put out a hand to the mantelpiece to support himself, missed it and fell, his head close to the grate.
He was to intoxicated to get up. He did not care. He preferred the hard floor to a bed shared with Caroline. She had got out of bed and stood looking at him.
‘All right, you drunken sot,’ she cried. ‘Stay there. Spend your wedding night under the grate!’
A Child is Born
‘So,’ said Caroline, ‘they call this a honeymoon!’
They had travelled down to Windsor from Carlton House and there spent two weeks. The Prince, having and up his mind that as soon as Caroline was pregnant his duty towards her and the State ended, had one purpose in mind; and only the thought of the freedom which would come with success gave him the necessary enthusiasm to achieve that end Caroline was deeply wounded. She would, if it had been possible, have attempted to make their union a happy one but she had no notion how to please him, and when she tried to do so only succeeded in making herself more repulsive in his eyes.
He hated her. Every time he looked at her he remembered that he had been a traitor to the woman he really loved. He tried to forget Maria by becoming more and more attentive to Lady Jersey who was enjoying the situation and had no idea how often Maria Fitzherbert was in his thoughts. Her attitude towards Caroline was haughty as though she were the Princess of Wales and Caroline her lady-in- waiting.’ Caroline had never been meek and such a situation was scarcely likely to curb her impulsive eccentricity.
The Prince decided that he would take his bride to Kempshott Park and with him should go some of those friends. Who would amuse him most and lift him out of his gloom.
Perhaps Kempshott was not a very good choice with its memories of Maria. It was here that he had spent many happy times with her and although she had never actually lived in the house, for with her usual discretion she had occupied a cottage and the estate, she had chosen the decor for the drawing room and had planned much of the gardens. He had been very happy with Maria at Kempshott, and he took a savage delight in remembering those days and comparing the woman he thought of as his true wife with the one who bore the title of Princess of Wales.
But he also had at Kempshott one of the best packs of foxhounds in the country and there he kept his best hunters. He could, at Kempshott, play the country squire as his father used to enjoy doing at Kew and Windsor— but whereas the King had dressed and behaved like a country gentleman, the Prince was never anything but the Prince of Wales.
The country people were less fickle than those of the Capital. They did not joke so much as his expense. There were no lampoons and cartoons, no bawdy and disrespectful gossip such as that which went on in coffee and chocolate houses.
He was married and that seemed a good thing to the country folk. As for the Princess of Wales she was a pleasant lady, always with a smile for any who looked her way; and often she would stop and talk to the children in a manner which showed she loved them.
Caroline thought: If it had happened differently I should have been happy here. We might have made a good royal marriage. If she could have had some of her friends with her she would have felt more at ease. Why had he been so cruel as to deny her the company and skill with English of Mademoiselle Rosenzweig? If only she could have had someone just to talk to.
But she was unsure of all these English women who surrounded her, because they all seemed to be under the influence of Lady Jersey.
She talked a little to Mrs. Harcourt, who was inclined to be sympathetic.
‘The Prince hates me,’ she said. ‘Why does he hate me so much?’
‘Your Highness is mistaken. The Prince needs a little time to grow used to his marriage. He, er—’
Caroline burst out laughing. ‘The more used to it, he grows the more he hates it. Though I daresay few people here have ever seen a bridegroom try to turn away from the altar just at that moment when the Archbishop is about to make him and his bride man and wife.’
‘Your Highness finds this amusing?’
‘Very amusing,’ cried Caroline, speaking in her racy French. ‘I wonder if it has ever happened before to a Princess of Wales? If not, I shall be remembered for it, shall I not?’