His equerries were waiting. The King was growing impatient. He scowled. He – the Prince of Wales – was not free. He must go home with Papa and Mamma like some schoolboy.
He must have his independence. It was never so important as now that he had found Perdita, sweet Perdita!
But wait, he thought. I may not see her tonight, but there is tomorrow. And I shall never forget this night.
He spent a restless night. He dreamed of her; he longed for her.
It was no use trying to think of Mary Hamilton. What a child he had been to have imagined that was love. A pure love. He laughed. He had grown up tonight when he had fallen in love with Mary Robinson. He was going to waste no time in letting her know of his devotion.
He was still fond of Mary Hamilton, but this was different; this was real love such as he had never known before.
He would not completely neglect poor Mary. He would still write to her because writing to Mary had become a habit with him. She was after all his dear sister and he her brother.
He could see nothing but Perdita … talking in the wings with Maiden – pink satin jacket and pink heels! he thought disparagingly, but the rogue had looked handsome and he was not treated like a schoolboy – Perdita acting a love scene with the actor who had played Florizel.
Oh, beautiful Mrs Robinson, I am a real prince. I am your Florizel.
It was impossible to sleep, obsessed as he was by such emotion. So he did what he had done frequently when he needed to be soothed; he wrote to Mary Hamilton. He told her of his visit to the theatre and all that had happened there, that on this night he had discovered a goddess. What a comfort for a brother to write to his dear sister.
‘Adieu, adieu, toujours chère,’ he wrote. And added for the sheer thrill of writing that name: ‘Oh, Mrs Robinson.’
Such a tumultuous success must be celebrated and, anticipating it, Mary Robinson had invited a few friends to supper at her house near Covent Garden.
Lord Maiden, who was at her side as soon as the curtain had fallen and the royal party had left, begged to be allowed to be her escort, and knowing of his close association with the Prince of Wales graciously she accepted this.
Sheridan was of the party. He was flushed with triumph. The evening had been as successful as the first night of The School for Scandal, and he had to acknowledge the part Mrs Robinson had played in that success.
It was a gay company which assembled in her drawing room. Mrs Armistead, hovering in the background, never obtruding, noticed a new face among the guests.
We are rising in the world, she thought. Not only Lord Malden but Mr Charles James Fox himself. Who knows where this might end.
And she was elated, seeing in her mistress’s success her own; for Mrs Armistead knew that she was too handsome and more important still, too clever, to remain a lady’s maid all her life.
Lord Maiden whispered to Mrs Robinson: ‘I never saw His Highness so enchanted before, Mistress Perdita.’
And Mrs Robinson flushed and said he was very young, the dear Prince, and so handsome that she could scarcely believe it was possible.
Everyone was talking of the Prince, how different he was from his father; how elegant, how graceful, how gracious. An Englishman, nothing of the dull German about him.
He was no longer a boy either. They could not keep him in leading strings much longer. And when he attained his majority he would be the most powerful young man in the country.
Mr Fox was determined to ingratiate himself with the beautiful actress and she was wary of him. She was deeply conscious of his reputation with women; and had no intention of offering him any encouragement – particularly now the Prince had made his interest so clear. It was a pleasant compliment, of course, that the great statesman should visit her house; it meant that everyone of importance would be clamouring for an invitation; especially now that the Prince had noticed her.
Mrs Robinson felt intoxicated with success and the excitement of the prospect before her.
‘You have won on all sides,’ whispered Mr Fox. ‘The Queen thought your performance very fine. As for the Prince …’ He laughed aloud. ‘He gave the whole house no doubt of his feelings. He could not take his eyes from you. I congratulate you on making the greatest conquest in the world.’
‘You are flattering me, Mr Fox. I daresay he was merely carried away by the play.’
‘Carried away by so much beauty, Madam. And it would not be possible to flatter you, for whatever hyperbole one employed one could not praise you more than you deserve. I shall now give a toast to the whole company.’
Mr Fox had risen and raised his glass. All were silent, listening.
‘I give you the Prince – and the beauty and genius he has tonight had the wit to admire. Ladies and Gentlemen: the Prince and the fair Perdita.’
The reflections of Perdita
WHEN THE GUESTS had gone and Mrs Armistead was helping Perdita to bed she lingered over the night toilette longer than was necessary and Perdita did not deter her. It was pleasant to talk with someone – even a lady’s maid.
‘Madam’s success was complete,’ said Mrs Armistead, helping her mistress into her nightgown. ‘That much I gathered from the remarks. I could not help overhearing from the noble company.’
‘Yes, Armistead, the Prince quite clearly enjoyed the play.’
‘And admired Madam.’
Perdita laughed lightly. ‘He is a very young man.’
‘And a prince, Madam.’
‘As you say, Armistead, a prince.’
‘And the company tonight, Madam … it was more brilliant than we usually entertain.’
‘It was a special occasion.’
‘Madam will no doubt wish to hire a butler if er … if we are frequently to have such noble guests.’
Perdita drew her brows together. She had her commitments. A mother, a child and the ever demanding Mr Robinson who had to be paid to be kept in the background. Her clothes were a vast expense, but necessary, of course, to her profession. A woman with her reputation for beauty must never be seen in public except in the most becoming garments – and these were apt to be the most expensive. But Armistead was right. She would need to hire a butler as well as the footman. If one mingled in high society one must follow their customs. It would never do for them to regard her merely as a play actress. Every moment she must be on her guard that no one should forget she was a lady.
‘I will consider this, Armistead. I think you may be right.’
Mrs Armistead lowered her eyes and smiled discreetly. She was looking into the future no less than her mistress.
‘Thank you, Armistead.’ It was dismissal. And Mrs Armistead went to her own room where she looked at her face in her mirror, compared it with that of her mistress, and remembered the glance that Mr Fox had sent her way. He was a very discerning man. It might be possible that he recognized a clever woman when he saw one, even if she was dressed as a lady’s maid.
How could one sleep on such a night? Perdita asked herself. From now on she would think of herself as Perdita because Perdita was a princess – of the rank to match that of a prince.
This was surely the most significant night of her life and all sorts of glittering prospects were presenting themselves to her.
The Prince was undoubtedly more than ordinarily enamoured. He was young and impressionable and very romantic. That was what made him so enchanting and the situation so alluring.