‘Oh,’ demanded Charlotte, ‘you do not think so? You think Papa might find a suitor for me and I should be obliged to accept him.’
‘It is often the way with royal princesses.’
‘I am heir to the throne.’
‘You should not forget that you are not the heir apparent.’
‘W … what?’
‘But the heir presumptive.’
‘You mean that if my parents had a son …’
Frederica nodded.
‘But they do not live together. How is it possible for them to have a son if they never see each other?’
Frederica hesitated and shrugged her shoulders. ‘If the Regent married again,’ she said … ‘Well, it is a possibility.’
‘How … when he is married to my mother? You mean if she should die.’
‘I did not. But we must not discuss such things.’
‘Aunt Frederica, please don’t you be like the Old Girls.’
After another slight hesitation Aunt Frederica decided that she would not be like the Old Girls and she said: ‘What the Regent hopes for is a divorce that he might marry again. In which case if he had a son, you my dear Charlotte, would no longer be heiress to the throne.’
‘A d … divorce. The Prince of Wales!’
‘Royal people are sometimes divorced. But it is foolish to speculate.’
A divorce! thought Charlotte. The Delicate Investigation. Willie Austin; and the wild strange life her mother led. It was a possibility.
She could not endure it. Always she had believed she would be the Queen. She wanted to be another Elizabeth – a great queen who inspired brave men to go out and conquer the world for her. It was a dream she had always had, a dream which had comforted her more than anything else in those days when she had been so jealous of Minney Seymour and had wished her father to love her. And it could happen. A divorce. A young princess for a stepmother; a child born to them … a brother … who would come before her!
‘But … she is his wife,’ she stammered.
‘Of course. Of course. I talk nonsense. Look at this artful fellow. He is jealous. He wants to have the place on my lap. Oh, you are a crafty old man!’
A divorce, thought Charlotte. It is possible.
‘Soon,’ Aunt Frederica was saying, ‘we shall have to be a little social. We are going to celebrate your stay here, my dear. We are going to have a ball for you here at Oatlands.’
‘A ball! For me. Oh, what fun!’ But she was thinking: He hates her. He wants to be rid of her. He will marry and have a son and he will love him dearly. And that will make him hate me all the more.
‘Yes, a ball, my dear. And who, do you think, will be our guest of honour?’
‘Not … my father.’
‘But of course. Who would think of giving a ball without him?’ The Prince Regent drove down to Oatlands in the company of William Adam, whom he had some years before made his Solicitor General and whose company he found interesting. Another member of his party was Richard Brinsley Sheridan.
The Prince was in a sombre mood. A party at Oatlands for his daughter Charlotte was not a very enlivening prospect. He was always ill at ease with the girl, although he was determined to feel an affection for her. That such a child should have been his daughter seemed incongruous; the only characteristic she had inherited from him was her daring on a horse. If it were not for the fact that she looked so much like him he would say she was not his daughter. The great desire of his life was to be rid of her mother; to remarry, to get a son. They would relegate Charlotte to a position he would very much like to see her occupy.
He was now in all but name the King; and it was becoming more and more obvious that his father would never be fit to rule again. The old man was afflicted with incipient blindness to add to his other disabilities. No, he would never rule again. The Prince Regent was the ruler. But what had the supreme power brought him? A break with Maria. Yes, it had been inevitable. It was not only that Isabella Hertford insisted, but there could not be rumours that the King (though he was not being given that title yet) was married to a Catholic; and people would insist that he was married while he continued to live with Maria. So he had broken with Maria – and this could often depress him. He was flirting with the Tories and had allowed them to continue in office. ‘My God,’ his mother had said, ‘if the King recovered and found the Whigs in power it would send him mad again.’ Still, he kept the bust of Fox in his apartments. Isabella was being charming to the ruler yet still keeping the lover at arm’s length. He was uncertain of the future, but one thing he had done was make sure that his sisters had separate allowances so that they were no longer dependent on the Queen. It was something he had always promised himself, for he had long been very sorry for them and they would bless him for it; for the first time in their lives they had a measure of independence, and, he promised himself, there should be more, because at this late stage if it was possible for any of them to find a suitor, he would not stand in their way of marriage.
At least he could do this for his family.
And now to Oatlands, to a sort of children’s ball. Charlotte was growing up, no doubt to be a plague to him. Maria had warned him that if he did not show some affection towards her she would turn to her mother and as soon as she was free to do so might ally herself openly with that woman. Who knew what consequences that would entail!
Maria, his good angel … with a devilish temper. He had provoked her, of course. But she had never really understood that however he strayed – and how could he help his own nature? – it was Maria to whom he always wanted to return. He wanted to return to her now – to Minney and old Pig. But how could he? If he tried to get back now what a stream of complications would ensue. But he still kept her picture and he looked at it often.
Here they were at Oatlands. A monstrosity of a place. A pity they had not asked his advice after the old place had been burned down. He’d scold Fred about that. What was it now though, but a home for animals? Frederica was an odd creature; but he did not dislike her as much now as he had at one time.
A flutter of excitement ran through the house because the Regent had arrived. He was aware of it and expected it but it always pleased him. Even Frederica would have to stand on a little ceremony today. There she was waiting to greet him and Charlotte was beside her, a demure Charlotte, he was glad to see.
Frederica swept a deep curtsey.
‘Oh, come,’ he said, ‘this is a family affair.’ He kissed her hastily. She did not attract him with her pockmarks and smell of dog. And Charlotte. He embraced her. The poor girl clung awkwardly for a moment.
‘Your looks assure me that you are well, Charlotte,’ he said.
And then into the house with Adam and Sherry – a changed house, thought Charlotte, with its atmosphere of awe because it was offering hospitality to the Prince Regent.
‘Oh,’ sighed Charlotte to Louisa Lewis, ‘How I love gaiety!’
‘And the gentlemen,’ added Louisa quietly.
‘And the gentlemen,’ conceded Charlotte. ‘I confess to a fondness for Mr Adam.’
‘As he would to Your Highness.’
‘Come, Louisa, you must not let your mind run on. Mr Adam is a very proper gentleman and some forty years older than I … more perhaps. So a little flirtation with such a gentleman cannot come amiss, surely? It will put me in practice for the younger ones.’
‘Such as Master Fitzclarence and Captain Hesse, I daresay.’
Charlotte lowered her eyes at the mention of Captain Charles Hesse. There was indeed a charming young man and she confessed inwardly that she was a little taken with him. He looked splendid in his uniform of the Light Dragoons and he was very sure of himself because he claimed to be a son of the Duke of York. It was almost certain that he was and therefore half royal like George Fitzclarence and like George, her cousin. Oh, these wicked uncles, what lives they led! She was not sure that her father behaved more scandalously than his brothers; it was merely that he was a more prominent target for gossip.