Well, of course every well-known figure was a target for the cartoonists and lampoonists and Maria dismissed the insults with a shrug.
They left London for Brighton—the Prince to inhabit this Marine Pavilion, and she to the house with the green shutters which was almost in the Pavilion gardens; and there society was gayer than Brighton had ever known it. London was deserted. The centre of the fashionable world was Brighton. The inhabitants of that town, delighted with the prosperity which the Prince's preference had brought to them, cheered him and Mrs. Fitherbert whenever they appeared. The Prince could be seen strolling along by the sea in the company of Maria and a group of friends, riding through the town, taking his morning dip under the surveillance of Smoker, walking in his gardens, dancing there in one of the houses of his noble friends—almost always in the company of that lady known by some as "Princess Fitz' or by the name Smoker had given her—'Mrs. Prince'.
Humble houses were hastily transformed into mansions. Not only were the builders of Brighton making fortunes but so were the lodging houses and shop-keepers. Everywhere the Prince of Wales's feathers were displayed; and the theme was God Bless the Prince of Wales'.
The Prince constantly reiterated that he had never been so happy in his life and Maria echoed those sentiments. The Prince was full of high spirits yet Maria was having a decided influence on him. Her dignity was undeniable. She might not have been the most beautiful woman in Brighton but her grace and regality were unique. No one could doubt which of the ladies bore the title of Princess Fitz; Maria, said the people of Brighton, looked like a queen. Seated on a garden chair in the Pavilion grounds she was indeed like a Queen on the throne. There she would watch the Prince play cricket in his flannel jacket, trimmed with blue ribbon, and very tightly fitting white trousers, his face under the white beaver hat beaming with pleasure in the game while his eyes were constantly going in Maria's direction to make sure she was not missing any part of his performance. He was proud of the costume which he had designed himself, proud of his game, proud of Maria, proud of the way he had arranged skilfully his life so that he could keep his place as the prospective King and at the same time his hold on Maria and the people's affections.
That was doubtless a glorious summer.
Throughout troubled France there was sweeping a wave of admiration for the old enemy England, and the aristocracy from across the Channel must come to see Brighton. So not only was Brighton visited by the fashionable world of London but that of Versailles was also in evidence.
The people of Brighton were amazed by the French fashions. The English had been startling enough; but now came the exaggerated headdresses, the enormous hooped skirts; and the latest "simplicity styles' set by Marie Antoinette in her artificially created "natural' village known as the Hameau. Ladies in muslin dressed as shepherdesses, even carrying crooks, appeared in the Brighton streets; but the men were the most extraordinary; they appeared to mince in a manner new to Brighton; they threw their hands and arms about and chattered wildly; and jewels scintillated on their persons, so that they glittered even more than the Prince of Wales himself.
There were no dull moments in Brighton that summer.
And the French nobility, no less than the English, did honour to Maria; she could be seen riding in her carriage, with the Princesse de Lamballe, kinswoman of the King of France and reputed to be one of the greatest friends of Marie Antoinette.
The Prince had quickly replenished his stables and now racing was one of his greatest pleasures; he loved his horses; in fact it was said of him that the two things which delighted him most in the world were women and horses. He was constantly going to the Lewes races—though it was said not as often as he would have gone if Mrs. Fitzherbert had really enjoyed it.
During the hot summer days along the seafront and away to the downs was one moving panorama of glitter and colour; and in the centre of it was the man who was known as the First Gentleman of Europe, hardly ever seen without Maria Fitzherbert at his side.
In the Marine Pavilion one night at the beginning of August the Prince was supping with a few friends. On one side of him sat Maria and on the other the Princesse de Lamballe. The Princesse was chatting in her somewhat inconsequential manner of Versailles and her dear friend the Queen when one of the footmen came in to announce that a message had arrived for the Prince from Windsor. Would His Highness receive it now or wait until after supper?
"Windsor!" cried the Prince; and he thought of the last lime he had seen his father. "I will have it now."
He turned to the Princesse and craved her indulgence. Then to Maria, and did the same.
He read the message and exclaimed with joy. "This is wonderful news. My brother Frederick has come home from Germany. I haven't seen him for seven years. I cannot tell you how this news pleases me." He smiled at Maria. "I thought that I had all I desired. Now I know that I wanted just this to make my contentment complete."
"This is your brother?" said the Princesse de Lamballe.
"My brother Frederick. One year younger than I. We were brought up together ... never apart. We are the best friends in the world and it is seven years ... think of that, Madame, seven years since I have seen him. I remember the day he left for Germany."
"For Germany ..." echoed the Princesse.
"You may well look surprised. He was to have Army training. Why not in England? To answer that question, Madame, you must not turn to me, but to my father."
The Prince's eyes narrowed; but one did not of course discuss the King derogatorily with members of another nation. The Prince shrugged his shoulders and was content to talk of the friendship between himself and his brother.
As soon as supper was over—and Maria noticed that the Prince, who set the pace, had hurried it somewhat—he told his guests that he was all impatience to see his brother and that he was going to lose no time in leaving for Windsor.
It was a hint. They left, Maria only remaining.
"You will go to Windsor in the morning?" she asked him.
"In the morning! A fine way that would be to greet Frederick. No ... no. I am leaving at once, my love. I shall drive to Windsor tonight."
"What ...in the dark?"
He laughed aloud. "My dearest you cannot surely think that I'm afraid of the dark."
She knew that it was no use trying to dissuade this self-willed boy, although she thought it would have been more dignified for him to leave next morning in befitting style.
He called for his phaeton and at once set out, driving himself at great speed through the night from Brighton to Windsor.
They embraced. They wept.
"My dear Frederick, is it indeed you?"
"It is, George. And is this the Prince of Wales whose adventures have been startling all Europe?"
They began to laugh suddenly. "Frederick, this is a happy day. You must tell me of your affairs."
"Oh, you admit I have some. Then you do not think the Prince of Wales is the only one to have ... affairs?"
They were laughing again, embracing, weeping, examining each other.
"George, you've grown fatter."
"So have you."
"The curse of the family."
"Never mind. It shows contentment."
"You are contented George?"
"Never more in my life. You must come to Brighton. Wait till you see Brighton ... and Maria."