‘Leopold! But Mercer loves him.’
‘So recently an enemy.’
‘But that’s all over.’
‘We have fought cruel battles against this man and his followers who sought to dominate Europe. I cannot receive Flahault. If you wish to …’
‘Oh, Leopold. It would grieve you very much if I did?’
He nodded sadly.
‘I would never grieve you, Leopold. Never. Never.’
And she thought: Not even to please Mercer.
Leopold was very tender. He had been warned: ‘You should start as you intend to go on. She is one who will try for her own way.’
She was, and he understood his Charlotte well; but he would control her through gentleness, through love.
He was not now seriously concerned about the friendship with Mercer. It should gradually fade away.
Louisa controlled the sewing women who were working as long as the daylight lasted. Charlotte stood in the room while the dresses were fitted – a tiring necessity, but she scarcely noticed it. Her wedding dress would be made of silver lamé over silver tissue. She would look beautiful. Her trousseau was the most magnificent collection she had ever seen. There was gold lamé over white satin richly embroidered, a glorious white figured tissue, an embroidered gold muslin and many, many more. Her father had presented her with the priceless jewellery which was the property of the queens of England; she tried them on and gloated over them and thought all the time of Leopold. Her most precious piece of jewellery was the diamond bracelet which he himself had given her. She kissed it a hundred times a day, and told Leopold that it meant more to her than all the rest of the jewels put together.
He nodded gravely, well pleased. ‘Dearest Doucement!’ she called him.
The government was quibbling over what her allowance should be and where she should live. They decided on Camelford House as a temporary residence, and the Duke and Duchess of York had offered the couple Oatlands for the honeymoon.
Charlotte listened as though in a dream. Nothing mattered; even the fact that she had not seen Mercer did not matter.
It was April; the grass had never been so green in the parks; the birds had never sung so joyously; it was as though the whole world knew that the Princess Charlotte was in love and during this glorious month of April was to marry the husband of her choice.
Married bliss
IT WAS THE second of May – the great day itself. Crowds had been assembling in the Mall all through the day. Charlotte was at Buckingham House with the Queen; Leopold was at Clarence House; they would meet at Carlton House where the ceremony was to take place.
Charlotte studied her reflection while her women fussed round her.
That radiant image was herself – Princess Charlotte on her wedding day! She looked taller than usual – in fact she scarcely recognized herself; the very faint flush in her usually pale cheeks was very becoming and she was beautiful.
It’s my dress, said Charlotte to herself; and indeed she had never possessed such a dress. The silver lamé shimmered over the silver tissue slip trimmed with the finest Brussels point lace. Her mantua was held at her throat with a large diamond brooch and on her head she wore an arrangement of roses and diamonds.
Louisa stood beside her, starry-eyed. ‘How I wish dear Mrs Gagarin could have lived to see this day!’ Then she wished she had not spoken for she wanted no sad thought to mar the perfection of Charlotte’s happiness.
The Queen was to drive with Charlotte to Carlton House and Louisa whispered that it was almost time for them to leave, and how strange it was to see the old Begum looking almost handsome in her magnificent gown of gold tissue with its flounces of silver net and gold lamé.
Stepping into the carriage Charlotte felt almost fond of her grandmother. The two eldest Old Girls Augusta and Elizabeth rode with them in the carriage – four scintillating figures of silver and gold.
As soon as their carriage came into sight a great shout went up from thousands of spectators.
‘Bless me!’ cried Charlotte and the Queen had to put out a hand to restrain her. ‘What a multitude! The Park is crowded.’
Charlotte bowed and waved to the people who cheered all the more. Every single cheer was for her although the Queen acknowledged them graciously.
At Carlton House the Regent greeted them; and immediately Charlotte felt less grand for although this was her wedding he must be the most striking figure on the stage. He was wearing the Order of the Garter over the uniform of a Field Marshal – scarlet coat embroidered with gold.
Charlotte was moved as she looked at him and thought how wonderful he was because although he did not in his heart wish for this marriage he gave no sign of it. He was the beneficent god; he was going to give his daughter to Leopold, and he would do so she knew with perfect grace.
‘Oh, dearest Papa!’ she murmured; and although the Queen might frown at such a departure from etiquette, he did not. He responded immediately, with tears in his eyes: ‘My precious child, God bless you.’
In the crimson saloon the altar had been set up; the setting was magnificent but Charlotte only saw Leopold, for there he was beside her in the uniform of a British General (her father had recently bestowed this rank on him). His belt glittered with diamonds and on his chest shone the orders which he had won on the field of battle.
The Archbishop of Canterbury performed the ceremony and Charlotte’s high young voice as she made her marriage vows was firm and resonant.
‘I will!’ she cried fervently.
The ceremony was over. She was Leopold’s wife.
The Regent held out his arms and embraced her. Their tears mingled.
The Queen was waiting. Charlotte kissed her hand; then she kissed all the Princesses and went among the company receiving their congratulations.
This, she told herself, is the happiest day of my life.
And when they were on their way to Oatlands for the honeymoon she told Leopold so.
It was just before midnight when the newly married pair reached Oatlands. Charlotte was so excited that she was chattering all the time. She told him about the eccentric Duchess and that he must not be surprised if he found a troupe of monkeys invading the nuptial chamber. At this she laughed heartily and Leopold permitted himself an indulgent smile.
‘Doucement, ma chérie, doucement,’ he murmured.
‘Of course I will be douce if you wish it, dearest Doucement,’ she cried; and she lay against him, silent as they drove up to the house.
It was pleasant to wander through the park at Oatlands, to visit the little graves in the animal cemetery, to romp with the dogs, although Leopold pointed out that romping was scarcely correct now that she was a married woman.
‘Who cares about being correct. I’m happy, dearest Leo.’
‘I’m delighted, my darling,’ replied Leopold, ‘but in your position, alas, you must be correct as well as happy. And, dearest, do you think you should call me Leo in front of the servants?’
‘What should I call you? My dearest one? My darling Doucement?’
‘You are incorrigible.’
‘Who would not be, married to the most handsome man in the world.’
He was delighted with her. Her exuberance was so spontaneous; but it must be curbed of course, for it was so unsuitable.
‘My love,’ he said, ‘in spite of being the most delightful princess in the world, you are also one of the greatest heiresses. Should you not remember this?’
‘I want to remember nothing but that I am my darling Leo’s wife. Leo, Leo, Leo!’ she laughed at him mockingly. ‘But not in front of the servants. What, my dearest, do you wish me to call you in front of the servants?’