‘At least,’ went on the Duchess, ‘she married the man she loved. Oh, it was good to see them together. She was happy … at the end. Perhaps it is the way to die … at the peak of happiness. My dear, dear Charlotte! It grieves me that she will no longer come bounding across the lawns in the way she did. What a mother she would have made! I always used to think of her with many many children, though not as many as your mother had …’
‘God forbid,’ interrupted the Duke, remembering the necessity to curb Frederica’s flow which if allowed to would go on for an hour. It was one of the traits which had made it impossible to live with her. ‘But, Frederica, what I have come to talk to you about is my brothers.’
‘Ah yes, yes. They will have to marry now. They will understand this. They will not need to be told. It is obvious. Our darling Charlotte gone … No hope of the direct line. It is the duty of one of your brothers. If the King died and the Regent became King George IV and he died, you, Frederick, would be King.’
‘God forbid,’ said the Duke again, for his conversation was inclined to be repetitive and he relied to a great extent on overworked expletives.
‘It would break your heart, poor Frederick, because you could only be King if George died and you have always loved him dearly. I have heard him say often that you are his favourite brother. No, you would not be happy as King. And what of me? I should have to leave Oatlands and all my darling, darling children. What would they do without me?’ She patted the head of one of the darling children – a soulful-eyed spaniel which had leaped on to her lap when she sat down. ‘Oh no, no, it must never be. You, because of George … me because of my children here.’
He let her talk; it was less exhausting to listen than to attempt to break in. She had always been animated and that had been part of her charm in her youth and at first of course one did not realize that a virtue could so soon be seen as a vice. She laughed frequently – on happier occasions than this – and that too had begun to grate.
But that was in the past. Now he knew her for a good woman and as long as he was not expected to live with her he could be fond of her. A pity she had been unable to bear a child. If they had had a son that son would now have been third in the succession and it would have been almost certain that he would have been a King. But it was not to be and fortunately Frederica was too old now to bear children so their existence need not be disrupted.
He broke in on her talk then: ‘You know what this means. It’s what I came to talk to you about. The Queen is hinting that my brothers should prepare themselves … my unmarried brothers.’ He smiled grimly. ‘All those who are not married now have to think about getting wives.’
‘Clarence has been trying … unsuccessfully for some time.’
‘Now he will have to succeed.’
‘And Kent and Sussex and Cambridge. Cumberland is the only one who so far has obliged.’
‘Obliged! The Queen would hardly call it that. She still refuses to receive his Duchess.’
‘Poor Frederica, my namesake! How difficult it makes it when so many of us have to share each other’s name! But I do not think she cares … that she is not received, I mean. I believe she and Cumberland are devoted to each other.’
‘It’s strange to think of my brother Ernest being devoted to anyone. But love works strange miracles, they say. It would not surprise me if Charlotte’s death brings them back to England.’
‘I heard she had given birth to a daughter.’
‘Still-born. But that does not mean they won’t have more. Frederica has had children in her adventurous life, and as she is still young enough there is no reason why she should not present Ernest with a son. And now that Charlotte is no more … it might seem very important to them that they should.’
‘Ah yes, but none has become as important as you, my lord Duke.’
‘Every one of us has taken a step nearer to the throne.’
‘It will be interesting to see who reaches it,’ said the Duchess. ‘But I shall not be here to do so.’
‘What makes you say that?’
She lifted her shoulders. ‘My dear Frederick, I am nearly fifty years old.’
‘That is nothing.’
Again she lifted her shoulders. No need to tell him that she believed herself to be very ill. Would he care? Yes, she thought. A little. In any case the subject of marriage was so much more entertaining than that of death.
‘I think,’ said Frederick, ‘that I’ll go and talk this over with my brothers. When George returns from Brighton they’ll be summoned and presented with an ultimatum. They must prepare themselves.’
‘They will know this.’
‘Clarence, yes; and it will not displease him. I am thinking of Kent.’
‘Ah poor Madame de St Laurent! Do you think he will abandon her?’
‘I think it will be impressed on him that he must do his duty.’
‘The Regent is very sentimental where such affairs are concerned.’
‘It’s true, but I believe that it is the Queen who will decide what should be done; and I do not think for one moment that she will allow sentiment to cloud her judgement.’
‘If she did it would be for the first time in her life.’
Frederick nodded. He was next to George but the thought of a world without George who had been his idol since they shared the royal nursery at Kew was distressing. He was, he reflected, the only one of the brothers to be unaffected. He was already married to a barren woman so they could not think of marrying him to anyone else; he could not long for the crown when to receive it would mean losing his best friend and beloved brother.
Charlotte’s death had made less difference to Frederick, Duke of York, than to any member of the family – in spite of the fact that it had brought him nearer to the throne than any of them.
Clarence
THE DUKE OF Clarence was driving down to Brighton to propose to the lady whom he had decided to make his wife and he was certain of the outcome this time. He had to admit that he had been very unlucky so far. No Prince could ever have been so constantly refused. He could not understand it. Sometimes he thought it was the ghost of Dorothy Jordan mocking him from her obscure grave across the Channel.
‘Nonsense,’ he said to himself. She would be the first to wish for my happiness. Had it not always been so? She had always thought of him. Why, when she drew her salary at the theatre she would write to him and say: ‘Do you want it? Please let me know before I spend it.’
Dorothy had invariably understood as soon as he had explained his motives to her.
‘Dear Miss Wykeham.’ He rehearsed the speech he would make to his prospective bride. He enjoyed making speeches and the proposal of a Prince who was third in the line of succession was surely the occasion to make one. ‘Dear Miss Wykeham, I have something of the greatest importance to say to you. I have not a farthing to my name. I owe sixty thousand pounds. But if you would like to be a Duchess, and perhaps a Queen, I should have great pleasure in arranging it.’
There! A rough sailor’s wooing. That was after all what he was.
He was fifty-two – not an ideal age to become a bridegroom but still able to beget children, he would explain to her, as she would discover. She was young; and if they could get a son that boy would most certainly be a King of England. Unless, of course, the Regent realized his ambition to divorce Queen Caroline, remarry and have a son of his own, which was very unlikely. George was three years older than he was, and hadn’t worn so well. In spite of his gout and asthma he was in better shape than George. The life at sea had been a healthy one; it had hardened William and he had lived quietly and respectably for twenty years at Bushy Park with Dorothy Jordan and their ten children, whereas George had indulged himself far more.