Willie came, dressed in spangles, and her ladies looked at him in horror.
‘Madam,’ cried Lady Charlotte, ‘you cannot take the boy with you. You would lose all sympathy with the people if you did. It would seem as if …’
Caroline looked at Willie; her ladies thought him a stupid child, for he always had his mouth open, but to her he was beautiful. She frowned. They were right. How she would love to take Willie, to flaunt him in the face of the Regent, to make people say: Is he her child or isn’t he? But Campbell was right. It would not be wise.
‘Come and kiss Mamma before she goes, my love,’ she said. ‘She’ll soon be back with her boy.’
And the ladies were relieved. At least she was not going to commit the fatal error of taking him with her. Her presence there would be bad enough.
When they had got her safely into her carriage – quite a feat considering her bulk and the plumes, she settled down in her seat and thought with pleasant mischief of what was to come.
It was going to be a successful evening. She was aware of that from the beginning, for as soon as she entered the opera house the people rose to cheer her. She stood back in the box because immediately facing her was the Prince Regent with his guests.
‘The people are cheering you, Madam,’ whispered Lady Charlotte.
But she stood back. ‘Punch’s wife must take a back seat when Punch is there,’ she said with a grin.
This was astonishing, for her ladies had been under the impression that her sole purpose in coming was to make him feel uncomfortable.
And then of course the Regent gave his display of impeccable good manners. Although he loathed the thought of her, although he had not seen her for a very long time, he could not ignore the fact that she was in the opera house. He rose from his seat and gave her that most elegant of bows which, however much they reviled him, never failed to fascinate his people.
There were cheers then for them both; he ground his teeth in chagrin. It was ironical that the only way he could win their approval was by being polite to her.
The evening was a great success, she decided, because the Tsar of Russia could not keep his eyes from her box; he actually put up his quizzing glass and quite openly stared.
‘What a handsome man!’ cooed Caroline. ‘Ha, ha, I don’t see why he should not visit Punch’s wife although Punch has done all in his power to keep him away.’
What an evening. The opera over, the people cheered her in the theatre. She bowed to them several times and hoped the Regent was watching – which of course he was while pretending not to.
And then out to her carriage and the people surrounding it. ‘Long live the Princess of Wales. May your daughter be restored to you. Shame on them for parting you. Long life to Caroline and Charlotte and down with their persecutors.’
Oh, very pleasant. ‘You good people,’ she cried. ‘You good, good people.’
‘Shall we go and burn down Carlton House?’ called a voice in the crowd.
It would serve him right. And that they should do that for her!
‘No,’ she cried. ‘Don’t do that, good people. Go home to your beds and sleep well. As I shall do. Your goodness to me has made me so happy.’
So back to Connaught House to throw off her plumes and her tiara and step out of the black velvet which was too tight … as all her clothes seemed to be.
‘A successful evening,’ she said to Lady Charlotte. ‘And did you see how taken the Tsar was with me? Tomorrow I shall invite him to be my guest.’
She was dressed in one of her most flamboyant gowns; the paint and the white lead had been ‘slapped on’; she lay back in her chair, her short legs swinging for they did not reach the floor.
‘This will be one of the greatest triumphs of my life,’ she told Lady Charlotte. ‘The Tsar is coming to see me. He will be my guest from now. Do you know, I saw a twinkle in his eyes for me? He liked what he saw … and he saw plenty of me. You look shocked, Lady Charlotte. You are easily, my dear. It does not do when you are in the service of the Princess of Wales. Yes, he liked me. I saw it. He will be constantly here. You will see.’
But it seemed that she had miscalculated, for the hour she had fixed for the Tsar’s arrival in her invitation to him came and passed and he did not come.
‘Delayed on the road,’ said Caroline, and asked that a looking-glass be brought that she might see that her toilette was as good as it had been an hour before.
Time passed and still he did not come; it was two hours before she would face the fact that he would not come at all.
Then her fury broke loose. ‘You know why! He has stopped this. He won’t have the Tsar visiting me. He’s always been afraid of my popularity with the people. Now he’s afraid of it with the Tsar. He has told wicked tales of me. He has hinted at his displeasure if my visitor comes. Oh, it is too bad.’
She was like a child who has been denied a promised treat. She tore off her feathers and threw them aside.
‘He won’t come now. He’ll never come. I shall never have any visitors. Even my daughter is kept from me. I won’t endure it.’
She kicked her chair as though it were her husband she were kicking; then she shrugged her shoulders and lay back in it, her eyes closed.
They could only guess at the bitterness of her disappointment.
‘I saw a gipsy last week. She told my fortune. She insisted. She said great events were hovering about me. She told me that I should lose my husband and go abroad and find another.’
Lady Charlotte shivered. One did not talk of the reigning Sovereign’s death. It might be treason. But Caroline cared nothing for treason. She was ready to commit it ten times a day if it could add to the Regent’s discomfort.
‘To go abroad,’ she said. ‘To travel. It is something I have always longed for. To have adventures in strange countries … to meet people … people who will be my friends. Why should I not travel? What is there for me here? To tell the truth, Lady Charlotte, I am heartily sick of this country. I have never known any happiness in it … except when Charlotte was born. And they soon took her away from me. I never see her. I might as well have no daughter. I reckon I should be happier abroad.’
She talked of foreign countries and Lady Charlotte encouraged her to do so. At least it took her mind off the Tsar’s discourtesy.
The Prince of Orange had arrived in England. Compared with F with whom Charlotte was now deeply involved by correspondence he looked more unattractive than ever.
‘I won’t have him,’ Charlotte declared to Cornelia, who merely smiled and said she doubted that Charlotte would. For Cornelia – although sometimes she could not understand herself – was completely committed to further the affair with F and had quite made up her mind that he was to be Charlotte’s bridegroom.
Charlotte was writing long letters to Mercer and they were full of the perfections of F.
‘He is so bold,’ she wrote. ‘I am sure that if my father got to hear of our friendship and tried to stop it, he would find some means of continuing it.’
The Duchess of Oldenburg was amused. She discussed the affair with F, for she was determined that the Orange match should not take place.
‘Dearest F,’ she said to him one day, ‘how would you like to be consort of the Queen of England?’
To her amazement F was not enthusiastic.
‘The point is, dear Duchess, that I am scarcely a marrying man.’
‘Oh, I know you have had love affairs with every pretty girl in Germany but surely you will settle down one day and where could you find a more gilded settlement?’
‘Nowhere. I’m sure of that.’
‘And yet you hesitate?’
‘Do you think I would be acceptable to your plump friend?’