He laughed. ‘What do you think of this cloth? Brummell brought my notice to it.’
‘You are constantly in the company of that fellow, I hear.’
‘He’s a wizard, I tell you. Have you heard of the new cravat he has invented?’
‘I am glad you find such pleasure in these things.’
‘Which sounds a little censorious, sister.’
‘Not in the least. If there are things in life which give pleasure without harming others it is foolish to turn one’s back on them. Besides, think of what pleasure I get from wondering what you will appear in next and having little games with myself to guess. There is one thing I can always be sure of. You will look elegant, and more than that – magnificent … all that a Prince of Wales should. Pray turn that I may have a better view.’
He did so. The epitome of elegance. The cloth of his coat fine and of pleasant moss green, his neckcloth snowy white to match his buckskin breeches, moulded to a fine though plump thigh; the diamond star flashing on his breast and few diamonds adorning his white and shapely hands.
‘Oh, George,’ cried Amelia. ‘I’m so proud of you.’
He embraced her, the tears in his eyes. This was a scene such as he loved. From his parents he had nothing but criticism and when he rode into the streets the crowds were either silent or hostile; Maria in the last year had thrown plenty of home-truths at his head. But here he was with his favourite sister who adored him.
‘The pelisses are lovely. I shall think of you every time I wear them. Not that I need a’pelisse to remind me of you. Oh, George, sit down, and let us be alone to talk. There is so much I want to say to you.’
He sat down and looked at her. She was growing very frail. He wanted to weep for Amelia, his little sister who had never had a chance to live and was now not far from death. What could he do for her?
‘Dearest Amelia, if there is anything on this earth that I can do for you …’
‘There is something, George. Let us face the truth. I am not going to live much longer.’
‘I won’t allow you to talk in such a way.’
‘Then I shall do so without your permission. The time is passing and I have certain affairs to settle. George, help me.’
He brought a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. ‘Anything,’ he declared brokenly. ‘Anything.’
‘I want everything I have to go to Charles …’
George nodded. He knew of her hopeless love for Charles Fitzroy. He was genuinely sorry for his sisters and definitely intended to do something for them when it was in his power. He often thought – when he was not concerned with his own affairs – how sad their position was. They had no allowances they could call their own, no freedom; they were the complete slaves of their parents. His brothers were fortunate; they had escaped that thraldom; but George would never cease to be sorry for his sisters and he swore that when he was in control the first thing he would do was to see what could be done for them.
‘I borrowed five thousand pounds from Charles and have only paid back one. He must be paid back.’
The Prince nodded. He was not very fond of Charles Fitzroy, but since Amelia was enamoured of him he would do his duty.
‘You should have another executor,’ he told his sister. ‘What about Adolphus? I’ll tell him that he will act with me. Now let us have done with this painful subject.’
‘Oh, George,’ she said, ‘how I love you! How grateful I am to have such a brother.’
There were the tears again, the flurry of the beautiful handkerchief, the emotion which did not mar his fresh complexion or dull the brilliance of his eyes.
It was pleasant to bask in his sister’s adoration. If only some people were as appreciative of him he would be less troubled. Maria for instance who was being so difficult and determined to quarrel and had refused his invitations. Even Lady Hertford was as cold as ever, determined not to be the mistress of the Prince of Wales until he became a Tory – he, who had been a Whig from the earliest days when he had had his tuition from the famous Fox – and who insisted on Maria’s acting as a chaperon whenever she visited him, a task which Maria refused point blank to accept. However, for the time he would enjoy the undemanding homage of his favourite sister.
‘Then,’ he said, ‘let us talk no more of this doleful subject. I will tell you of the new alterations I am planning at my Pavilion, and I am going to insist on your coming to Brighton.’
‘I should enjoy that … if I were well enough. But I should hate to be ill at Brighton. Brighton is such a gay place. And how is darling Charlotte?’
‘As full of whims and fancies as ever. She is a troublesome girl. I fear she takes after her mother.’
‘When I last saw her I thought you must have looked exactly like her when you were her age.’
‘I’m not complaining of her looks. It’s her spirits. She has too many and they are too high.’
‘Well, she is her father’s daughter. Would you expect a meek little creature without an original thought in her head?’
‘Certainly not, but I wish she would not be troublesome. There’s trouble enough in the family.’
‘Oh, George, what news of Ernest?’
‘He’s getting on. You know he is recuperating at the Pavilion.’ The Prince frowned slightly. Brighton was his town. There at least the people were loyal to him; he feared that Ernest was impairing his popularity in Brighton. There were so many rumours about that unfortunate affair of the valet and when scandal touched one member of the family it touched the rest. It was particularly disastrous following so quickly on Fred’s scandal with Mary Anne Clarke.
Still, what could he do? Ernest had had to get away from Town; he had to recover from his very serious accident … if that was the right word for it … and none of the brothers refused to help each other when the need arose.
This unpleasantness would pass.
‘It’s good of you to look after him,’ said Amelia. ‘But you are always good to your poor brothers and sisters.’
‘I wish to God I’d been able to do something for you girls. It’s not much of a life for any of you.’
‘There were too many of us.’ She laughed. ‘How strange are the lives of kings and queens. So many have suffered because they could not get one child; and our parents had fifteen. Thirteen of us growing into adults to cause them trouble.’
‘You have never given any cause for trouble.’
‘Have I not? Papa continually worries about my health and what he would say if he knew that I loved Charles I cannot imagine.’
‘He wants you to love only him.’
‘How was he when you last saw him?’
‘Poor Papa!’
She shook her head and did not speak for a moment; she was aware of that somewhat eager look in her brother’s eyes.
‘Very bad,’ she said. ‘Worse. He can scarcely see now. He is almost blind and the other …’
‘The rambling,’ supplied the Prince.
‘That,’ she said, ‘is worse, far worse. He keeps asking me how I am and embracing me and weeping over me and I keep telling him that I am getting stronger every day, which is a lie, George.’
‘Yet it comforts him. Poor old man, he is in need of comfort. Can it be much longer?’
‘People are noticing. Not only the family … but his ministers. There will be a Regency soon. I am sure of it, though it may be that I shall not be here to see it.’
‘How you harp on that,’ he said almost pettishly, ‘when you know how it grieves me.’
She held out a hand and pleaded forgiveness. ‘When the Regency comes you will be too busy to miss me.’
‘That could never be.’
‘Wherever I may be, my love and hopes for your success will follow you.’