‘He will grow tired.’

Dorothy had seated herself in an arm-chair and Hester had taken the stool at her feet. It was a position they had occupied in those long ago days in Leeds when the whole family had looked to Dorothy’s skill – as they still did. But in those days it had had to be proved; now it was.

‘You will be sorry when he does.’ Dorothy hesitated and Hester added quickly: ‘You are growing fond of him.’

‘He is charming and he never shows anger because I continually flout him. He always tries to please me… far more than Richard ever did.’

‘Has Richard said anything?’

‘About marriage?’ Dorothy’s lips curled. ‘He has not changed his mind if that is what you mean.’

‘The Duke could not marry you.’

Dorothy laughed aloud. ‘Here I am between the two of them. One who swears he would if he could and one who could if he would. A fine state of affairs, Hester. And I think of the girls. What will happen when it is time for them to marry? Oh, Richard is cruel. After all, they are his children.’

‘All but Fan.’

‘And Fan… what will become of her? I worry about them, Hester. I know how Mamma felt about us. She longed for marriage and it was denied her. How odd that my position should be so like hers. She wanted marriage for me so much; and in the same way I want it for the girls. It will be a great hindrance to them if they cannot have their father’s name. Look at me: Mrs Jordan. A name given to me by Wilkinson! A name to which I have no legal right! I don’t want that for the girls. Surely Richard must understand this.’

‘He does and I am sure he would marry you if…’

‘If he were not afraid of his father! What sort of a man is he?’

‘What does he say about the Duke’s attention?’

‘Nothing. Precisely nothing.’

‘Perhaps it will force him to some action.’

‘I find the situation quite humiliating. I might…’

Hester was alert, but Dorothy did not go on.

Hester could not help visualizing what changes might be in store for the household.

Dorothy’s brother, George, called at Somerset Street with Maria Romanzini. George was doing fairly well and had had one or two minor parts; he was now a qualified actor but without pretensions to greatness, while Maria Romanzini’s fine singing voice was her great asset and made up for her somewhat squat figure and unfashionable swarthiness.

Dorothy guessed what they had come to say as soon as she saw them and she could not suppress a pang of envy although she was pleased for George’s sake.

‘Dorothy,’ said George solemnly, ‘we have come to tell you something.’

Hester laughed and said, ‘I don’t think you need to, George.’

‘So you’ve guessed,’ cried Maria, opening her great dark eyes which with her plentiful rippling black hair was her only beauty.

‘It’s written all over your faces,’ Dorothy told them. ‘So you decided to marry at last.’

‘At last!’ cried George. ‘It hasn’t been so very long.’

Dorothy kissed the bride and groom and told them that she wished them every happiness, and Hester brought out a bottle of wine so that they could drink the health of the newly married pair.

‘Neither of us is doing so badly now,’ said Maria almost apologetically, ‘so we thought that there was no sense in waiting.’

‘We want a family,’ added George.

‘Of course,’ agreed Dorothy. ‘It’s all very natural and God bless you both.’

They drank and talked excitedly of the future. George would not be playing small parts for ever; and Maria might go into opera. There was a growing popularity for opera, she believed. They would manage in any case.

They talked about parts and the theatre and how Drury Lane was doing better business than it had for years.

‘It’s your Pickle that brings them in, Dorothy,’ said George. ‘It must be wonderful to get on that stage and see that big audience and know that it has come to see you.’

Dorothy smiled. Yes, she thought, but there are more wonderful things. If Richard would marry her as George had married Maria that would give her more pleasure than all the full houses in the world.

Yet she was not in love with Richard any more. He had disappointed her. In the beginning she had felt as Maria and George so obviously did, but he had failed her. Solemnly he had promised. It was absurd to say that his father would object. He was not a boy any longer. They would do without his father’s money and approval.

Maria was looking at her with envy. Maria, who was a good actress, a fine singer, but who knew she would never rival the talents – some called it genius – of Dorothy Jordan. Dorothy was at the top of her profession; a royal Duke was in love with her; she was the mother of three children. And the one thing she wanted – respectable marriage, security for the girls – was denied her, and by the man who was supposed to love her and could so easily have given her what she wanted.

Her brother’s marriage had affected her deeply. It had made her consider the hopelessness of trusting Richard Ford.

The Duke was in her dressing room, humble, adoring as usual.

‘You are too kind,’ she said.

‘I want you to know that the only thing I ask in life is to be kind to you.’

‘I am grateful. How I wish that I could give what you ask.’

‘You do wish it?’ He was eager.

‘I could not help but be moved by such devotion.’

‘I shall go on waiting… and hoping. But I fear I weary you.’

He fancied he saw a faint alarm spring into her eyes. Did she think he was hinting that he was growing tired? Then although she would not give in she did not want him to give up trying. There was hope in that.

‘When I leave every night I think of you going home to your children. How I should love to be there! I am so fond of children. They are little girls, I know. Little girls are particularly charming, although I confess I should like a son.’

She told him of the children, of her anxieties over Frances, who was inclined to be wayward; she was less alarmed for Dodee and Lucy.

‘Dodee is named for you?’

She laughed. ‘We could not have two Dorothys in the family.’

‘I shall call you Dora,’ he said. ‘It shall be my name. You are Dorothy for the multitude of your admirers – you shall be Dora for this one.’

He told her about Petersham Lodge where he was now living. He should like to show it to her.

‘The gardens are splendid. Are you fond of gardens? I should like your advice about the flower-beds I am having planted. It’s large but not too large… and an ideal place for children to play in.’

What was he suggesting? That he would take her and the children?

‘One day,’ he said, ‘I hope to meet them. I hope to make them fond of me.’

‘So you really are fond of children?’

‘I adore them. I should like to have a large family and give them the happiness which I missed as a boy. We had a very strict upbringing, you know. Our father was a martinet. He believed in discipline and many were the canings we had to endure – particularly George, my eldest brother. He was so proud and so determined to have his own way. You will love him as I do – he’s the best fellow in the world.’

‘I doubt,’ she said, ‘that the Prince of Wales would be eager to… to… accept me.’

‘My dearest Dora, you are wrong. Absolutely wrong. I have talked to him of you. He thinks you are delightful. He longs to meet you. He bids me say that you would be very welcome in the family. He is interested too in your children. He says I should set your mind at rest concerning them…’

‘The Prince of Wales said that?’

‘Certainly he did. Did I not tell you he is the best brother in the world? Oh, my dear Dora, you have been reading these wicked scandals about him. Don’t believe them.’

‘I don’t need to be warned against the scandalmongers. I have suffered enough from them myself. But you say that the Prince of Wales…’

‘We discuss everything together and I have naturally spoken to him of what is the most important matter in my life. He says I should refuse to give in; that I should make you see that your children would lose nothing. He says that as you are a good woman this would be a matter of concern with you. He is right, is he not, my dear love?’

She was moved. He thought: George is right. Trust George. This is the way.

‘I am deeply moved by the Prince’s concern. I did not think… I did not know…’

He embraced her and for the first time she did not repulse him.

Oh, blessed George, who understood the ways of women as well as he did the cut of a coat and the arranging of a neck cloth!

She withdrew herself and said: ‘But I must go home now.’

He did not seek to detain her. The first battle was won – thanks to George, Prince of Wales.

‘George has married Maria Romanzini,’ said Dorothy sitting at her dressing table and combing her long beautiful hair.

‘I guessed he would,’ said Richard, yawning from his pillows.

‘He was determined that there should be no gossip about their relationship.’

‘Who would gossip about them?’

‘Certainly it would not be the same as it is about me.’

‘I’m tired,’ said Richard. ‘Come to bed.’

She stood up and threw the hairbrush on to the dressing table.

‘I’m tired too,’ she said, ‘tired of waiting for you to fulfil your promises.’

‘Oh, Dorothy, not tonight.’

‘Why not? Tonight is as good as any time. I want a plain answer. Are we to be married or not?’

‘Of course we are.’