‘He’s a friend of Mr Fox and I’ve heard it said they are the most brilliant pair in the whole of London – and act as a foil to each other.’
‘Any friend of Mr Fox is no friend of mine,’ said the King shortly. ‘I am very sorry to know that Miss Linley has married that fellow. Nor do I wish to go to his theatre. I was thinking of something more suitable.’
The Prince looked scornful. What a fool the old man was, he was thinking. He deliberately turned his back on the people who would be most well worth knowing. No wonder his Court was the dullest the country had ever known. He was not surprised that his Uncle Cumberland tried to set up a rival court. It was time somebody did.
His own turn must come soon. Was that what the old man was afraid of? The Prince’s eyes glistened. He thought of the people he would gather round him when the time came. Mrs Robinson would be there. What joy! What bliss! Mrs Robinson in pink satin with feathers in her hair – or simply gowned as she had been in some scenes of the play with her dark hair about her shoulders. He was not sure whether he did not prefer her like that than more grandly attired. Oh, no, he preferred Mrs Robinson any way. It would not matter how she was dressed. Everything she wore … everything she did was perfect.
That was why he felt so frustrated. Here he was unable to behave like a Prince … and a Prince of Wales at that … forced to present himself to his father whenever he was summoned, to stand before him and listen to his drivel about Mr Fox and Mr Sheridan. They were the sort of men he would have at his Court. Wait … just wait until he had his own establishment. It will be when I’m eighteen. I swear I’ll not allow them to treat me as a child any longer.
‘More suitable,’ went on the King, ‘and I have sent for you to tell you what I have chosen.’
Sent for you! What I have chosen! Oh, it was humiliating!
‘I have ordered a performance at Covent Garden – an Oratorio. Handel’s setting of Alexander’s Feast. You will accompany the Queen and myself there.’
‘Oh?’ said the Prince of Wales, and the King thought he detected a trace of insolence in his voice.
‘And now I give you leave to go and visit the Queen.’
‘Your Majesty is gracious.’
The King studied his son intently; he always felt the young fellow had the advantage because he was quicker with words than he was himself. That was the pity of it, he had turned all his good points to disadvantage – his good looks, his ready tongue, his scholastic accomplishments which far surpassed those of most young men … all these were now turned into weapons to use against his father.
‘And don’t show her how anxious you are to run away, eh, what?’
The Prince bowed. ‘I shall, as ever, obey Your Majesty’s commands.’
He retired; and the King said of his son what his grandfather George II had said of his: ‘Insolent young puppy.’
When the Prince of Wales returned to his apartments he sent for Lord Malden.
‘I cannot understand,’ he said, ‘why Mrs Robinson will not agree to a meeting.’
‘Sir, Mrs Robinson is a lady of great sensibility. She is not even sure that Your Highness is the author of the notes she has received.’
‘But you have told her.’
Lord Maiden lifted his eyes to the ceiling. ‘She cannot believe it. She still fears that someone may be signing himself Florizel. What if she agreed to meet you in some place and then found it was not Your Highness after all? I think that is what she fears.’
‘Then we must put an end to her fears. I will make her sure. I have it. I am to go to Covent Garden to the Oratorio. She must go too.’
‘Your Highness, the King and the Queen …’
The Prince laughed. ‘My box is opposite theirs at Covent Garden. See that Mrs Robinson is in the box above the King’s and Queen’s. There they will not see her and I can spend the whole evening gazing at her.’
‘Your Highness, what if you betray yourself?’
‘Malden, I think the King is not the only one who forgets I am the Prince of Wales. I pray you make these arrangements without delay. Go to Mrs Robinson. Tell her that I beg her to come to Covent Garden and there I will give her reason to doubt no longer that those notes have come from me.’
‘Lord Maiden to see you, Madam.’ It was the discreet voice of Mrs Armistead.
‘Show him in at once, Armistead.’
Lord Maiden appeared, elegant as ever. What a handsome man he was and his eyes told her how much he admired her, and for a moment disappointment swept over her because she feared he might have come on his own account.
He soon reassured her.
‘I come direct from His Highness, the Prince of Wales.’
She forced herself to look sceptical.
‘Mrs Robinson, I assure you this is so. His Highness is most unhappy because he fears that by approaching you he has offended you. He wishes to assure you that this is not the case. He would die rather than offend you.’
‘I would not wish to be responsible for the death of the heir to the throne.’
‘So I thought, Madam. Therefore I hope you will listen sympathetically.’
‘If the Prince wishes to write to me why does he not do so in a manner which could leave me in no doubt that he is the writer of the letters?’
‘His Highness is romantic. He thinks of you as Perdita and himself as Florizel.’
‘So could a hundred other gallants.’
‘His Highness is determined that you shall cast away your doubts. That is why he suggests a meeting.’
She was alarmed. She had heard rumours of the Prince’s light love affairs. If she met him clandestinely he would doubtless seek a quick consummation; and in a short time she would be known as Mary Robinson, one of the Prince’s light-o’-loves for a week or so. Oh, no. She had too strong a sense of her own worth, too much dignity. Nothing like that was going to happen to her, no matter if the Prince of Wales did desire it.
‘I could not agree to a secret meeting,’ she said firmly. ‘I have my reputation to consider. This happens to be rather dear to me, Lord Malden.’
‘Quite rightly so,’ said the young man fervently. ‘But hear what His Highness wishes. You could, I am sure, have no objection to being in a public place where he might see you … and give you some sign of his devotion. I am referring to Covent Garden. There is to be a royal occasion. The King and Queen will be there and the Prince begs … implores … that you will grace the evening with your presence. All he wishes is to assure you by a look and gesture that he is your fervent admirer and the writer of these letters.’
Her first thought was: What shall I wear? She thought of pink satin and discarded that. Blue! Lavender perhaps. She would have a new gown for the occasion. Because of course she was going.
‘Did you say the King and Queen will be present?’
‘Yes. The King, the Queen and the Prince of Wales.’
‘And before the King and Queen …’
‘Have no fear. Leave all arrangements to me. I will see that all is as it should be.’
‘I have not yet made up my mind whether it would be wise for me to come.’
‘Madam, I beg of you. The Prince will be desolate: he is beside himself with anxiety because he receives no reply from you. All you have to do is sit in the box I shall choose for you. He will do the rest.’
‘You plead his cause with fervour, Lord Malden. If it were your own you could not do so more earnestly.’
‘Ah, Madam. Would it were my own.’
She laughed lightly. It pleased her to be so admired.