‘Alas for the dignity of the Prince of Wales!’
‘You’ve heard what happened, eh?’ asked the Duke, and when Mr Fox and the Duchess declared they had not he proceeded to tell them.
‘The Prince’s affaire with the lady was proceeding according to the usual pattern. The lady was living on amicable terms with her husband who – unlike some husbands – had no notion of the honour His Royal Highness was doing him by way of his wife. Indeed, he was that kind of a fool of a man who might have resented the honour, so the Prince and his lady refrained from informing him. One day the husband told his wife that he would be away for the night on Palace business, which made an excellent opportunity for the lovers. Alas, the inconsiderate man completed his business that evening and returned at midnight. He was heard knocking at the locked door of his apartments by the Prince who by chance happened to be sharing the connubial bed with the lady.’
The Duchess burst out laughing and cried in delight: ‘In flagrante delicto, I’ll be bound. Our future king is such a lusty young dog.’
‘Exactly,’ went on the Duke. ‘But what could he do? Escape was impossible even if he could have scrambled into his breeches in time. Fortunately for the Prince he has loyal attendants, and being of an open nature is apt to confide in them during the various stages of his love affairs. Consequently, one of his gentlemen was aware of the husband locked out and the lover locked in, and knowing precisely what the husband would find if he burst in, took upon himself the duty of releasing his young master from a very embarrassing situation.’
‘A good servant,’ said the Duchess. ‘What was his name?’
‘Cholmondeley. You know Cholmondeley.’ The Duchess nodded and the Duke went on: ‘Cholmondeley went to the husband, told him that the Prince was in some difficulty and he had been asked to summon him to the Prince’s apartments immediately on his return that he might be made aware of the Prince’s dilemma. Having conducted the fellow to the Prince’s apartments Cholmondeley then went to the lady’s apartment and released the Prince who hurried off; then Cholmondeley returned to the husband, told him the Prince had retired and that the matter must rest until the morning. And in the morning he told the husband that the matter had been settled and his help would not be required.’
‘That is the sort of servant required by all young men who stray into other men’s beds while they are away from home,’ cried the Duchess. ‘Fortunate George. It would be interesting to know what would have happened if Cholmondeley had not been in his confidence and on the spot.’
‘Scandal, scandal, scandal and the King would have stormed at his son and suffered more sleepless nights on his account.’
‘So all was for the best,’ sighed the Duchess. ‘The Prince remains blissful in his enjoyment of the lady and the husband in his ignorance.’
Charles James Fox who had been listening without much interest to the story said: ‘This brings me to the point of my visit to Your Highnesses. The King cannot long delay giving the Prince an establishment of his own. And when he does the young man will have his friends … not only ladies. He is witty, possessed of intellect and a contrast to his royal father. We will not find our George growing wheat and making butter and buttons. Young George is of a different calibre. When the day comes we should be ready.’
‘We?’ said the Duchess, her startling black-fringed green eyes wide open.
‘Yes,’ said Fox. He waved his hand. ‘Here should be the centre of the Prince’s party.’
‘You think he’ll be a Whig?’
‘Certainly, Highness. Is not old George a Tory?’
The Duchess clasped her hands. ‘Of course. It is inevitable.’
‘His uncle should show an interest in his welfare.’
‘And what will HM say to that?’
‘It will not be the first time Your Highness has acted without the approbation of His Majesty.’
‘We’ll do it,’ cried the Duchess. ‘We’ll cultivate the acquaintance of our nephew.’
‘It will be necessary to go warily.’
‘Very,’ agreed the Duchess. ‘The King won’t have us at Court, you know.’
‘I know it full well, Your Highness. But the Prince will choose his own friends. He will, I believe, find more to interest him in his uncle’s residence than in his father’s royal palaces.’
‘We should be heading for a real family quarrel.’
‘History,’ said Mr Fox cynically, ‘has a rather endearing way of repeating itself.’
‘A Prince’s party to set itself against the King’s party,’ cried the Duchess. ‘We’ll do it.’
‘I thought Your Highness would wish to,’ said Mr Fox demurely.
George was in love once more. He had found the new paragon in the apartments of his sisters when he had gone to visit Charlotte, Augusta and Elizabeth. He had scarcely been able to talk to them so overcome was he by the charms of Miss Mary Hamilton.
Mary was wonderful. Of all the women he had so far loved there was not one to compare with this new charmer. She had all the virtues, and being six years older than he was seemed to him ideal. Nor was she a foolish, simpering girl – as he now thought of Harriot; nor was she a blasé married woman cynically breaking her marriage vows. Mary Hamilton was a pure woman and his love for her was pure.
He confided to his brother Frederick, to Cholmondeley, to Maiden. This was different from anything that had ever happened before. This was a pure affection.
‘Do you imagine,’ he demanded of Frederick, ‘that I wish to seduce this lady?’
Did he not? asked Frederick in surprise.
‘Oh, no, you must understand, Fred, this is a pure love. But for my station in life I should immediately offer her marriage.’
Was this not a little rash?
In the circumstances, no. This was quite different from any of those other adventures of his.
‘Yet at the time …’ Frederick tentatively pointed out.
‘Oh, be silent, Fred. What do you know of love? I have written to her.’
‘George, you remember Uncle Cumberland’s letters. They cost our father thirteen thousand pounds.’
‘Don’t mention my Mary in connection with my Uncle Cumberland, I beg of you.’
‘But there were letters.’
‘Do you think that Mary would ever use my letters against me. Not that I could write as our uncle did. My love for Mary is pure. It will remain so.’
‘But will that be very satisfactory?’ asked Frederick, who had come to expect a certain line of action from his brother.
George sighed and went on: ‘I have written to her telling her that I am in love with a lady of the Court. I have mentioned no names. I have begged her not to be offended by my confidences.’
‘Why should she be?’
The Prince of Wales was too blissfully happy to be angry with his brother’s obtuseness. If Fred could not see that this was different from anything that had gone before, it was because he was too young to appreciate this strange and wonderful thing that had happened to him.
‘I have written to her. You shall read the letter Fred. I fancy I have a way with a letter.’
Frederick took the paper and read:
I now declare that my fair incognito is your dear dear self. Your manners, your sentiments, the tender feelings of your heart so totally coincide with my ideas, not to mention the many advantages you have in person over many other ladies, that I not only highly esteem you but love you more than words or ideas can express …
Frederick said: ‘But how do you know about her sentiments and the tender feelings of her heart?’
‘I spoke with her when I was in our sisters’ apartments.’