Was he too interested in young women? No, of course not. She refused to believe it. She refused to believe anything against George; and though she deplored the passing of his childhood when she had had some control over him, she was glad in a way that he was too old for whippings, for she had suffered to think of that delicate flesh being slashed with a cane.
Oh, George, come and speak to your mother, she implored silently. Not just as a duty. Not to bow, kiss the hand, murmur a few meaningless words and be off as quickly as you can. Not that, George, speak as a son to a mother.
She thought of the next child she would bear; but such happenings were commonplace with her. The thirteenth!
A boy or a girl? she wondered. What did it matter now? She already had seven boys and five girls. No one could say she had not given the country heirs. But she had not felt so well with this pregnancy. Perhaps it was time to give up child-bearing. The King would never agree to that, she was sure, and yet what had she been doing in the nineteen years since she came to England? Bearing children, was the answer. Thirteen of them. Oh, yes, the time had certainly come to call a halt. Not that she could bear to part with any of them. But with fine strong boys like George, Frederick and William at the head of the family – surely they had enough.
The Prince of Wales was pensive tonight. Was he wrapped up in the music? Frederick was beside him. They were inseparable those two and it was pleasant to see two brothers such friends. They seemed now as though they were sharing some secret. They were both watching one of the maids of honour who was in attendance. The Queen heard an echo of Schwellenburg’s voice: ‘De Prince very much interests self in mädchens.’ Oh, no, thought the Queen. George is a boy yet. He has always been taught such restraint.
George did not hear Mr Handel’s music, though he shared the family fondness for it. He was thinking: She is exquisite. So dainty. Such little hands and feet. He pictured her delight when he made known to her the fact that he was in love with her. He had discovered her name. It was Harriot Vernon. Harriot, Harriot, he murmured.
Fred nudged him gently with his foot because he had spoken her name aloud.
The music had stopped. The King led the applause and, under cover of it, George threw a glance at the young maid of honour which made her lower her eyes and smile. It was enough for the ardent Prince. His invitation was accepted. They must meet. Where?
‘You are watched,’ whispered Frederick.
‘Always, brother,’ sighed the Prince.
He turned to his equerry and friend, Lord Maiden, heir to the Earl of Essex.
‘I wish you to take a message to a lady,’ he murmured.
‘At Your Highness’s service.’
‘Come to my apartments,’ said the Prince. ‘I will give you all instructions there.’
Frederick listened with admiration. This time George was about to involve himself in a real love affair.
‘And how?’ asked Frederick, ‘can you possibly meet Harriot Vernon? You would be noticed. And you know we are forbidden even to speak to the maids of honour.’
George laughed.
‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘I already have an assignation with the lady.’
‘Can that be true, George?’
‘Indeed yes. Maiden has taken a message for her from me and brought one back from her. We are going to meet in the gardens tonight.’
‘Where?’
‘Why do you wish to know, brother?’
‘Because I fear you will be seen.’
‘Not us. We shall meet in the most secluded spot … not far from the river. You know where I mean. We were saying only the other day few ever go there and you remember I remarked it would be a good spot for a lovers’ meeting.’
‘You think she will come?’
George drew himself up to his full height and looked most princely. ‘I know she will come, Frederick. I have her promise.’
‘And when she does …?’
George threw a kiss to his reflection in the mirror.
‘She can no more wait with patience for the encounter than I can.’
‘So tonight … at sunset …’
‘Tonight at sunset,’ echoed the Prince of Wales.
Mr Papendiek was playing the flute in the Queen’s drawing room at the request of the King. Not all the family were present. The Prince of Wales for one was absent. Frederick, seated next to his brother William, was thinking of George sneaking out to that remote spot in the gardens not far from the river. He was going to wear a greatcoat of Maiden’s to disguise himself and there he would await the coming of Harriot Vernon and then … Frederick’s eyes glistened. He hoped that all would go well and George would not be discovered. He wondered what would happen if he were. He looked at his father caught up in the music, and the Queen sitting placidly by. The child’s entry into the world could not long be delayed. It has been going on like this for years, thought Frederick; the family assembled here listening to the King’s favourite pieces of music; the only difference being that there was a new addition to the family. A new child to sit on the footstool at the Queen’s feet while the child who had just vacated it would sit upright on a chair and try not to fidget. So dull! thought Frederick. No change at all.
But a change was coming. He and his brother were growing up. William would soon be sent to sea. And because of this William was half excited, half apprehensive. ‘At least,’ William had said, ‘it’ll be an escape from Kew and Buckingham House.’ Lucky William, thought Frederick.
The King was in fact giving only half an ear to the music. He was thinking that soon he would have to leave Kew for London. He could not enjoy the sequestered life for long at a time. The dark, clever, rather gross face of Charles James Fox came into his mind. Always plaguing him. The Foxes always had. As though they bore him a grudge for not marrying Sarah. Charles James Fox was her nephew and if ever there was a troublemaker it was that man.
And the American affair … and the French and the Spaniards … and the Government …
I’ll put them from my mind, he told himself. I’ll feel all the better for a little respite from affairs. Work all the better when I do get back to business, eh, what? Ought to be on better terms with young George. Can’t have trouble in the family. He didn’t want to talk to George. George was too smart with words. Had an answer for everything. A pleasant game of chess, that was what he would like. Even so, George invariably beat him nowadays. Nevertheless they could get a good game.
Where was George? George ought to be present on a family occasion like this.
Mr Papendiek’s solo was over; the King led the applause and when that came to an end and the musicians waited for his further instructions he declared: ‘I should like a game of chess. Tell the Prince of Wales that I wish him to join me in a game of chess.’
Frederick was dismayed. They were going to search for the Prince of Wales and would be unable to find him, unless they went to that remote spot in the gardens and then … what would they discover? He had feared something like this. He had wanted George to make some provision for such an emergency but George had merely shrugged aside the possibility of discovery. And now … it seemed inevitable.
‘Where is the Prince, eh, what?’ the King was already demanding as the chess board had been set out and he himself was putting the ivory pieces in their places.