Hervey went white with rage.

‘Does His Highness know that it is Lord Hervey who waits on him?’

His Royal Highness did know, but it made no difference.

He saw the Prince come out of his apartment in the company of Miss Vane and a vulgar person of immense bulk, dressed—or rather overdressed—in brocade and embroidery, with jewels, someone whose name he did not know and, except for the fact that he was in the company of the Prince of Wales, would not have wished to know.

‘Who is the tradesman with the Prince?’ he asked. ‘A merchant in rich materials obviously.’

‘No, my lord,’ was the answer. ‘It is the Prince’s friend, Mr George Bubb Dodington.’

‘Bubb Dodington!’ cried Hervey, looking as though he were going to faint. ‘I never heard of the creature.’

Then he walked soberly away. What had happened during his absence? He knew that he had been a fool to stay away so long.


* * *

The situation became clearer to him every day. He was no more than an acquaintance to the Prince, who greeted him civilly when they met but showed no desire to be alone with him.

It was intolerable. That he, the elegant wit, could be replaced by that ... buffoon! It was unendurable. He knew who was behind this. He had seen the malice in her eyes. She had arranged this out of pique. Because he had ceased to become her lover, because he had shown no resentment that Frederick was, she had sought to take her petty revenge.

Well, she should see what happened to those who dared behave so to Lord Hervey.

The Prince’s Mistress


IN the Queen’s apartment the company were playing quadrille. Caroline had no wish to join. She was a little tired, though determined that none should guess it. Mrs Clayton was hovering, but the Queen could not bring herself to look at her attendant—and friend.