As he sat in the Queen’s drawing room alone with her like a simple married couple – he spoke to her of the Prince.
‘He is much less wild lately,’ said the Queen happily. ‘He has become so attached to his sisters. It is most touching.’
‘H’m,’ grunted the King.
‘It is truly so. Augusta tells me he is constantly in their apartments. He is so fond of her and Elizabeth – and so interested in all they do.’
‘No more chasing maids of honour.’
‘That is all over.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. It gave me some sleepless nights.’
He thought of those nights when his imagination had not let him rest, when he had dreamed of women … Cumberland’s women, Gloucester’s women and the Prince’s women.
‘It was just a little youthful folly, I am sure. He is over that. After all he is so brilliantly clever. Everyone says so.’
‘They’ll say these things of princes, eh, what?’
‘It is true,’ insisted the Queen.
‘He’ll be eighteen soon … agitating for his own establishment … fancying himself a man. He’ll not get it.’
The Queen thought that was a matter for Parliament to decide, but she refrained from commenting. Long experience had taught her that she was not expected to offer opinions on any political matter – and her eldest son’s coming of age was certainly that. All that was expected of her was that she bear children. She might keep her household accounts and had the power to dismiss her maids. That was all.
Perhaps, thought the Queen, if I had not been so busy being a mother I might have insisted on having some say. But it was too late now. George would never allow it; and she was becoming increasingly afraid of upsetting him, for when he was upset his speech grew faster than ever, the ‘ehs’ and ‘whats’ multiplied and that queer vague look came into his eyes.
Charlotte was sure that the most important thing was to keep the King calm; and today he was calmer than she had seen him for some time. She must keep him thus.
‘We should be seen about together,’ said the King. ‘Best place to be seen would be the playhouse. We’ll have a royal command performance, eh, what?’
‘With George accompanying us. That would be an excellent idea.’
‘So I thought. I’ll send to that fellow at the Drury Lane Theatre. Sheridan, eh?’
‘You mean you would command a performance of his play.’
‘I don’t like the name of it, and I hear it’s immodest. The title’s enough to tell you that: The School for Scandal. It’ll have to be Shakespeare, I dare swear. Sad stuff, Shakespeare. Never could see why there had to be all this fuss about it. But it would have to be Shakespeare. The people expect it.’
‘Well, you will ask this Mr Sheridan to submit some plays for your choice.’
‘Yes, I’ll do this. And we will have a family party, eh, what? Good for the Prince to be seen with us. Friendly, family party … I’ll send for this Sheridan and when I’ve chosen the play we’ll go to the playhouse. It’ll show we’re a united family, eh? And the Prince of Wales is but a boy yet, what?’
‘I think,’ said the Queen, ‘that it is a very pleasant idea.’
The Prince had shut himself into his apartments in the Dower House to write to Mary Hamilton.
There was one little doubt which was beginning to worm its way into his mind. It was a most romantic love affair this – but he did find that his eyes kept wandering to other personable young women. Not that his eyes had not always thus wandered; but there was a difference. A very disturbing thought had come to him. Would it be very unromantic, while devoting himself to his soulful love, to have a little fun with young women who did not set themselves such a high standard as Mary did?
He dismissed the thought as unworthy. So this love affair must be perfect. He must stop thinking of indulging in light frivolity with other women. The only one in the world who mattered was Mary Hamilton.
He looked at his reflection in the ornate mirror. It really was a very pleasing reflection. In his blue velvet coat which brought out the blue in his eyes, he was undoubtedly handsome. No one could look more like a prince.
He sat down to write a description of himself to Mary. It would amuse her, he was sure:
Your brother is now approaching the bloom of youth. He is rather above normal size, his limbs well proportioned, and upon the whole is well made, though he has rather too great a penchant to grow fat. The features of his countenance are strong and manly …
He rose and looked at himself again, changing his expression several times, laughing and frowning, looking pleading as he would to Mary and haughty as he would when entering his father’s presence. He continued:
… though they carry too much of an air of hauteur. His forehead is well shaped, his eyes, though none of the best and although grey are passable. He has tolerably good eyebrows and lashes,
un petit nez retroussé cependant assez aimé
, a good mouth, though rather large, with fine teeth and a tolerably good chin, but the whole of his countenance is too round. I forgot to add very ugly ears. As hair is generally looked upon as beauty, he has more hair than usually falls to everyone’s share, but from the present mode of dressing it, from the immense thickness necessarily required for the toupees and the length and number of curls it makes it appear greatly less thick than in reality it is. Such are the gifts that nature has bestowed upon him and which the world says she has bestowed on him with a generous hand.
He stopped to laugh at himself. This was amusing. He was beginning to see himself very clearly indeed. But to look in a mirror and write of what one saw was one thing; to assess the character quite another.
He took up his pen.
I now come to the qualities of his mind and his heart.
He paused, put his head on one side and began to write rapidly:
His sentiments and thoughts are open and generous. He is above doing anything that is mean (too susceptible even to believing people his friends and placing too much confidence in them, from not yet having obtained a sufficient knowledge of the world or of its practices), grateful and friendly when he finds a
real friend.
His heart is good and tender if it is allowed to show its emotions. He has a strict sense of honour, is rather too familiar with his inferiors, but will not suffer himself to be browbeaten or treated with haughtiness by his superiors.
He sighed. What a lot of virtues he seemed to possess. If she believed this Mary would surely find him irresistible. But he would not have her think he was boasting or wished to influence her unfairly. Indeed he would perhaps more likely win her esteem by giving her an account of his faults. Now for his vices, he went on. He hesitated. It was a strong word.
Rather let us call them weaknesses. He is too subject to give vent to his passions of every kind, too subject to be in a passion, but he never bears malice or rancour in his heart. As for swearing, he has nearly cured himself of that vile habit. He is rather too fond of wine and women, to both which young men are apt to deliver themselves too much, but which he endeavours to check to the utmost of his power. But upon the whole, his character is open, free and generous, susceptible of good impressions, ready to follow good advice, especially when he receives it from so affectionate and friendly a sister as you are.
He stopped again; the vices had somehow turned themselves into virtues. But that was exactly how they seemed to him. He was a good young man – or he would be to those of whom he was as fond as he was of Mary.
Mary, adorable Mary, who had inspired him with such a noble passion. No wonder he felt good when he wrote to her.