The relationship between them had changed subtly since Charlotte Clayton’s discovery of what ailed the Queen. Charlotte never referred to this as she knew well that it was the Queen’s wish that she should not; but it was there between them. Charlotte had a great many humble relatives and it was one of her hobbies to find places for them.

The Queen sighed. It seemed that since the discovery Charlotte had brought forward a greater number of indigent relatives. ‘Your Majesty, my niece ... my nephew ... my cousin ... would like this or that....’

There was no threat. How could there have been? How could Charlotte blackmail the Queen? Besides, there was great devotion between them. But Caroline always saw that Charlotte’s wishes were gratified; and Charlotte enjoyed playing the benefactress in her impecunious family, for that must have been very pleasant to a woman who craved for power. Craved for power? Did she? As any would. She was regarded, through her place at Court, as the head of her family; and clearly she enjoyed it.

And in her heart Caroline knew that what Charlotte asked—in reason—would be hers because of the secret they shared.

Henrietta Howard was restive. She was always restive nowadays. She had no longer any desire to stay at Court. It was true her position was growing more and more humiliating. The King still called at her apartments precisely at the hour he always had. But he spent the time in abusing her, telling her of his dissatisfaction with her. Poor Henrietta! She was longing to escape. Where to? That scoundrel of a husband of hers who was being paid by the King to allow his wife to stay in the Queen’s employ? A very uneasy position for everyone. And the King was casting covetous eyes on silly little Lady Deloraine who was governess to Mary and Louisa. She was an extremely pretty woman and had a connection with royalty because her husband’s father had been Charles II’s illegitimate son, the Duke of Monmouth. A sad position for Henrietta, who was no longer even the King’s mistress; and who should have left Court long ago and would have done so if the King had been helped to break a habit of years standing.

And how can I help him, sighed Caroline, when in Henrietta’s place there might be some charming, scheming, clever woman.

Life it seemed would never run smoothly. Frederick was a constant anxiety. Charming and affectionate towards his parents as he was in public, in private he showed his dissatisfaction with what they did for him. He wanted more money; he wanted more prestige; he wanted to marry.

He must have none of these ... yet. She and Walpole could not afford to have such a rival, and rival he would quickly become with those wolves of the Opposition ready to pounce on him and make him the centre of a Party which, with Frederick at its head, might well win public support. She remembered the old days of strife between the previous King and his son. History had a way of repeating itself.

Young William was looking handsome and bright tonight; but as soon as he set eyes on his brother he would appear sullen, for he refused to hide his feelings and he deeply resented Frederick. The girls were present. Amelia looked by far the handsomest of the three, but how she favoured masculine styles and she was far too fond of outdoor sports and, Caroline knew, excelled at them. She was bold, perhaps a little brazen. One might think so now to see her openly flirting with Grafton. What a bold and handsome fellow Grafton was. Another result of the promiscuous life of that indefatigable lover Charles II. Grafton was the son of Barbara Castlemaine’s son and claimed to be the grandson of Charles Stuart. These people gave themselves airs and secretly, Caroline guessed, believed themselves to be more royal than the present German branch of the family. Grafton doubtless thought he had a chance with Amelia and Amelia would be nothing loth.

Where are we going to find husbands for the girls? sighed Caroline. It was so difficult being firmly Protestant, which they must be since it was the reason why the English had accepted them, when almost every eligible Prince in Europe was Catholic. It restricted choice so; and now that Sophia Dorothea’s double marriage scheme had come to nothing, what of a husband for Amelia, what of a wife for Frederick?

She and Walpole were not anxious to provide a wife for the Prince of course, for marriage would add to his importance. But it was certainly time Anne was married. And she was getting bitter too.

And there was Grafton trying to compromise Amelia so that marriage might benecessary.

Life was full of difficulties.

And Caroline was stooping a little, which was worrying because she was so delicate, learning to dislike her elder brother because all the others did, particularly William who would have been the Prince of Wales but for Frederick—and how she wished he had been.

She disliked her eldest son. She might as well face it, for to say anything else would have been hypocrisy. If only he had never been born there would be much less strife in the family because it was only since his coming that the trouble had been so pronounced. If she could only find suitable husbands for the girls, if William could be Prince of Wales, and being so young he would not be of age for many years which would give her and Walpole—and of course the King—years of freedom to rule as they thought fit, without interference from an Opposition which each day was seeking to draw Frederick into its net.

Troubles swirling around, conflict within the family circle! It seemed what they must always expect.

Frederick had come in and had created the usual stir. They were bowing and curtseying which was only right of course as he was the Prince of Wales. He came to her and she tried to see him dispassionately—a little man, like his father, neat as George was, and elegant too; he paid attention to the minutest detail of dress, as George did. He was so like his father that this should have endeared them to each other. It had the reverse effect. Frederick lacked his father’s quick temper. One could never imagine Frederick’s taking off his wig and kicking it round the room—a trick of George’s in the old days. Frederick was too careless; all he wanted was to enjoy life in the company of his chosen friends. And his chosen friend now was that impossibly vulgar Mr Dodington.

Frederick kissed his mother’s hand charmingly—always so charming in public. In private he would be sullen, always ready to talk of his debts, wondering why he could not have more money.

She complimented him on his healthy looks and after a short conversation he left her to wander among the guests and say a few words to each.

She watched him and saw that he had joined Anne Vane, one of her attendants, and that he stayed at her side. She knew the girl was his mistress. That was of no great Importance, except of course that the girl had not the best of reputations. She would have preferred him to have chosen a mistress as discreet and as modest as Henrietta.

She noticed that her daughter Caroline had suddenly become animated, almost pretty, a faint flush in her cheeks, her eyes brightening.

The reason was clear. Lord Hervey was presenting himself to the Queen.

Caroline’s own spirits lifted. Lord Hervey was always so amusing. She enjoyed his company more than anyone else’s —more than Walpole’s although, of course, she and the great statesman had so much of importance to discuss together.

‘My lord, it is a pleasure....’

‘Your Majesty is gracious.’

He was very handsome and most magnificently dressed. His cheeks were only faintly touched with rouge. Poor man, thought the Queen, he suffers and must disguise his pallor for he doesn’t want everyone asking after his health.

She shuddered at the thought of such a distasteful subject.

‘Pray be seated beside me,’ she said. ‘Now amuse me with the latest gossip.’

Hervey did this so effectively that now and then the Queen’s laughter rang out. The Princess Caroline came to sit on the other side of Hervey and joined in the merriment, although not in the conversation, preferring to sit quietly listening.

‘Lord Hervey,’ chided the Queen, ‘I fear you have a wicked tongue.’

‘Alas so much more entertaining than a discreet one. Is it not sad that the discreet and the virtuous are invariably bores?’

‘One could never call you that, Lord Hervey.’

‘I have always thought that I would be wicked while I was young giving myself time in which to repent and spend my last years ... no, months ... in being virtuous, a plague to myself and a bore to my friends.’

‘I should not listen to such talk.’

‘You see, I even tempt Your Majesty to forget your habitual virtue.’

‘Are you suggesting that I am a bore since I am virtuous?’

‘It is the privilege of royalty, Madam, never to bore.’

‘What do you think of this man, Caroline?’ the Queen asked her daughter. ‘Do you not think that we should dismiss him from the Court?’

The Princess Caroline blushed and murmured that the Court would be a dull place if Lord Hervey were banished from it.

‘There’s a nice piece of flattery for you,’ laughed the Queen.

Hervey looked intently at the Princess and said: ‘I hope with all my heart that it is not flattery.’

The Princess looked uncomfortable and turned her gaze on the company. Hervey was completely assured. Why was he fretting about lost favour with the Prince when he had the undisguised approval of the Princess and—what was more important—the Queen.

But this very approval made him more angry with the Prince who had treated him so churlishly as to thrust him aside for the sake of that vulgar Bubb. And Anne Vane too! How dared they!