With great delight he took a copy of the letter to show Maria. And what joy it gave him to witness her pleasure. ‘My dearest love, what is £10,000? I would give the whole world for your happiness and that of our dear Minney.’
But Lord Henry was not to be lured by money. He wanted justice. Mary belonged to the Seymours and the Seymours would take over the care for her. Mary, he pointed out, would have enough money of her own; she did not need His Highness’s generous gift.
Maria was now in despair. She had never liked Lady Waldegrave, for the woman was one of those who had refused to accept her as the Prince’s wife; she knew what would happen if Minney went to her; it would be final separation.
Seeing her unhappiness, the Prince declared that he would not allow this to happen. Minney was Maria’s child; Maria had looked after her since her birth; to take her away now would be a tragedy, not only for Maria but for Minney. He would not stand by and see this done.
‘But what can we do?’ asked Maria. ‘It is true they are her legal guardians. Oh, why did I not foresee this? If Hugh and Horatia had known what would happen they would have taken steps to make Minney my child.’
The Prince disliked being frustrated and such an issue as this was one which strongly appealed to him. Now he would show Maria how she could rely on him. He was going to win Minney for her; he was going to show her his devotion to his little family.
He consulted Samuel Romilly, a brilliant young lawyer who suggested that there could be a way out of the difficulty since the will was made before Mary was born, but shortly afterwards the obstinate Lord Henry had employed a lawyer to work for him and the tiresome case of Fitzherbert against Seymour had begun.
Maria could think of nothing else, as with the custom of such affairs the case dragged on.
One point which had been brought out was the fact that Maria was a Catholic and the Seymours were Protestants. Was their child, given into the care of an undoubted Catholic, to be brought up in that religion? Maria had retorted that she firmly believed that a child should be brought up in the religion of its parents. Mary Seymour had had no instruction in the Catholic faith from her and the child should be brought up in the Church of England until she was able to decide for herself.
This matter of religion was undoubtedly one of the main reasons why the Master in Chancery came to the decision that the rightful guardians of Mary Seymour were her own family and although Maria Fitzherbert had brought her up from babyhood, since the child’s own family were demanding her, justice insisted that to them she should go.
When this news was brought to Maria she was desolate. The Prince arrived at the house in Tilney Street to find Minney in tears, clutching Maria and sobbing, declaring that she was never going to leave her.
This was more than he could endure.
‘I tell you they have not won yet. Do you think I am going to allow them to? Henry Seymour is an arrogant dog. He wants to show me that he can flout me. By God, he knows my feelings on this matter. I’ve already seen Romilly. We’re going to take this to the House of Lords.’
Maria lifted her grateful eyes to his. She was fearful because there was justice in the verdict though it ignored human feelings, but she loved Minney as a daughter and Minney loved her as a mother; it was cruel – though perhaps just – to tear them apart. But could the Prince of Wales divert justice?
He believed he could. He was astonished that the Seymours should have gone against his wishes. He would not forget that.
And now while she sipped tea on the balcony of her house on the Steyne and Minney sat with her, she was asking herself what hope there was that the case would go her way and that her dearest wish would be granted.
If I lost Minney, she thought, I should never be happy again. Even the Prince’s love and devotion – and when she thought of that she was a little uneasy although he had shown himself assiduous in his care for her since the case started – could not make up for that.
I want them both, she thought, with me for ever.
And at that moment he appeared on the balcony. He must have stood there for some seconds before they had been aware of him.
She turned and gave a cry of joy. The sight of him never failed to delight her. He was indeed a sparkling figure exquisitely dressed, glittering and scented. He bowed to Maria, his eyes twinkling with love and pleasure. It was the bow for which he was noted and which never failed to impress all who beheld it. It was the essence of grace and charm and it always implied that the pleasure he found in the company of the person to whom he was making it was the reason for its grace.
‘My dearest love …’ His voice was soft and musical.
‘Such a great pleasure, my dearest.’
Minney cried: ‘Prinney!’ And there was no ceremony then. She flew at him and gave a little jump at which he lifted her and she put her arms about his neck. ‘You smell so lovely this morning, Prinney. And this is a beautiful new neckcloth.’
‘I designed it with help from Brummell.’
‘Oh, it is soft!’ She buried her face in it. Maria watched them affectionately. If only Minney were their own child; if only there did not have to be this fearful battle, this tragic uncertainty.
He put Minney down and she brought his chair forward and when he sat, placed herself between him and Maria. She took his hand and examined the rings.
‘Such lovely things he always has, does he not, Mamma? I could look at him for ever even if he were not my dear Prinney.’
He sat back in his chair, eyes glazed with sentiment. ‘Dearest Minney, so you are a little fond of your old Prinney then?’
‘Old?’ said Minney. ‘I had never thought that you could be old … or young … or anything.’
‘So you see, Maria, Minney has placed me among the immortals. I cannot grow old although it seems I have never been young.’
‘Are you going to sing for us?’ asked Minney.
‘Here on your Mamma’s balcony? Do you want to collect a crowd?’
‘Yes, I do. No, I don’t, because then you will have to be on duty and bowing and smiling to them, instead of talking to me. We’ll sing when we are in the drawing room.’
‘Minney has spoken,’ said the Prince.
Why, Maria asked herself, could he not be on those easy terms with his own daughter? Poor Charlotte! She was sorry for the child; and she was a charming creature, too. Perhaps in the presence of the Prince she was gauche and uncertain. Who could wonder at that, considering the state of affairs between their parents?
What ironic problems life presented! Charlotte – an heiress to the throne – separated from her mother and with a father who could not love her because she reminded him of her mother. And her own sad problem – dear Minney who was her child and not her child.
Minney left them after a while as she always did, knowing that the Prince had come to see Maria and would no doubt wish to talk to her.
‘Minney grows more enchanting every day,’ he said when the child had gone.
‘Which makes it all the harder if …’
‘We are going to win, never fear,’ he replied lightheartedly.
‘Oh, if only I could believe that.’
‘My dearest, I have sworn we shall have Minney. Do you think that I would not keep my word?’
She smiled at him fondly, but his words scarcely comforted her. How many times had he betrayed her trust in him. She thought of the infidelities; it was not marriage with Charlotte’s mother which had brought about their painful separation but his infatuation for Lady Jersey. He had once been completely under the spell of that woman whom he now could not bear, sufficiently involved with her to desert Maria. True, he had come back to her, but after such a shock, how could one help wondering when the next would come? So she could only smile at him when he asked her if she could not trust his word.