"But that will not prevent my looking after you, Maria. The lease of the house in Park Street is not part of the family inheritance. That shall be yours, with all the furniture in it, also my horses and carriages, and in addition there will be an income of two thousand pounds a year—so, my dear, although you will not be as rich as I should like to make you, you will be well provided for."
"Oh, Thomas, do not speak of these things."
"Nor will I again. This is settled. I can now have the consolation of knowing that if I should die, you will be comfortably placed."
"Nonsense," she said sharply. "You are not going to die. When the spring comes..."
But the spring came and there was no change in Thomas's condition. His cough grew worse and when she saw the blood on his pillow she knew.
That May he died. He was only thirty-seven; she was twenty-five years old—and once more a widow.
An Evening at the Opera
She was no longer young; she had been twice widowed; and now she was completely free to live the life of her choice. Deeply she missed Thomas; she thought affectionately now and then of Edward her first husband; but she discovered that freedom was pleasant. She was no longer beholden to anyone and she had enough money to live in the utmost comfort.
She did not return to England when Thomas died, but stayed on in Nice, and when she had a desire to be once more in Paris she decided she would stay there for a while. What joy to be back in Paris, the city of gaiety which she had once loved so much. To ride through the streets in her carriage, to mingle with the fashionable people in the Bois, to visit the dressmakers, to meet friends on the fringe of the Court, all this was interesting. But Maria wished to do something practical and since Thomas had died for his Faith (for his work during the riots, she insisted, had been the beginning of his illness) she would found a house where Roman Catholic ladies could find refuge in Paris if life was not tolerable for them in England.
She grew a little saddened during her study in Paris, for she soon discovered that it was not the same as it had been a few years back. There was an air of brooding tension in the streets which she was quick to sense. The people hated the Queen and this was made obvious by the unpleasant cartoons in which she was depicted. In spite of the fact that a little Dauphin had been born the murmurings continued and Maria began to think of returning to England. Moreover, her family were writing to her and asking her to come home where, they pointed out, she could live in the utmost comfort; and Maria, growing more and more sensitive to the atmosphere in her beloved Paris, and feeling a little homesick, crossed the Channel and decided to look for a house near London.
Marble Hill was not for sale, but Maria had no wish to buy it since it could be let to her, and as soon as she saw it she was eager to begin the tenancy.
Ideally situated in Richmond, it had been built by the Countess of Suffolk, mistress of George II, and been called Marble Hill because it stood on the top of an incline and was of dazzling whiteness; on either side it looked down on lawns and chestnut trees and from the windows a very fine view of Richmond Hill could be seen.
Here, Maria thought, she could indeed settle and be content. She had no desire to entertain lavishly; she assured herself, her friends and her family that she preferred to live quietly.
She was too beautiful and accomplished to shut herself away from the world was the general opinion, and Lady Sefton, a distant relation on Maria's mother's side, was soon calling at Marble Hill. She wished, she said, to launch her charming kinsman into London society. Maria protested, but so did Lady Sefton.
"Why, my dear cousin," she said, "you are far too young to live the life of a recluse. I was talking to the Duchess of Devonshire about you and she is eager to make your acquaintance."
"My dear Lady Sefton ..."
"Oh, come, Christian names between cousins. Isabella if you please."
"Well, Isabella, I have no great desire to go into society as yet. I am happy here in Marble Hill and my friends and family are frequently with me."
"When Georgiana Cavendish asks to meet people they are expected to be delighted. Moreover, you will be so interested in her. She has the most exciting salon in Court circles. Everyone ... simply everyone of interest is there. Fox, Sheridan ... even the Prince of Wales."
"But my dear Isabella, I am a simple country woman."
"What nonsense! I never knew anyone more poised. You are not going to waste your talents on the desert air of Richmond, cousin, I do assure you. I shall not allow it. You shall come with me to the opera, I insist. Why you have a place in Park Street. What could be more convenient. It was clearly meant."
Maria wavered. She did like society. It might be that she would soon tire of the quiet life at Marble Hill, and enjoy meeting the famous people of whom she had heard.
"So it is settled," said Lady Sefton. "You will come to Park Street; and I shall show you off in my box at the Opera. I think society is going to be very impressed, for, my dear Maria, you are not only a beauty, you are such an original one. No one at Court or in society looks quite like Maria Fitzherbert."
Maria prepared for her visit to London. She would miss the fresh air of Richmond, she reminded herself. Well, she was not far away and it would be simple enough to come back whenever she wished; moreover, she would enjoy a stay in London; and it was as well to make sure that all was well in the Park Street House. She would need clothes, but would arrange that in London. Yes, she was looking forward to a little town life.
But the country was charming; she loved to stroll along by the river towards Kew on these lovely spring days when the trees were budding and the birds in full song.
One day when the sun was shining she slipped a cloak about her shoulders and not bothering to put a hat on her glorious hair, worn loose and unpowdered, she strolled out into the sunshine.
There were very few craft on the river; she supposed that it would be be busier between Kew and Westminster, with so many people going back and forth between the royal palaces. That was another reason why Richmond was so restful.
She paused suddenly; she heard the sound of laughing voices; a small party of men and women came into sight. She would have turned back, but they had seen her and she did not want to have given the impression of avoiding them. She noticed at once that these people were most elegantly dressed, their hair powdered, their coats of velvet and satin. A party she guessed from the Court, strolling out from Kew Palace.
One young man of the party stopped suddenly a little ahead and made a gesture as though bidding the others not to walk beside him; the rest of the party slackened their pace and as he approached Maria she saw the diamond star on his coat and a suspicion came to her that he must be a very distinguished personage indeed.
He was young, fresh complexioned, blue-eyed, inclined to be a little plump, rather tall and undoubtedly handsome.
As she approached he gave her the most elaborate bow she had ever seen. She bowed and quickening her step, hastily walked on and took a path winding away from the river. She did not look back; her heart was beating faster; she wondered briefly whether she was being followed. But no. She could hear the voices of the party she had just passed; they were still on the towpath. By a round-about way she came back to the river. She was relieved that there was no sign of the elegant party. She had guessed of course who the young man was who had bowed so elegantly. It was none other than the Prince of Wales.
Now she was pleased that she was going to London for she had a notion that if she strolled out along the towpath at precisely the same time the next day she would encounter the same party.
She did not wish for that. The Prince of Wales had already acquired a rather dangerous reputation where women were concerned; he took a delight in romantic adventures. She was sure that he would have thought a chance meeting on a tow-path a most amusing meeting place. But Maria Fitzherbert was no Mrs. Robinson. Yes, it was time she appeared in society as a reputable matron of irreproachable character.