‘It couldn’t happen here.’

‘It happened there.’

‘But our King is so… so… He’s such a good man.’

‘Farmer George the Button Maker! There’s a certain tolerant contempt for him, it’s true. And Charlotte. They never liked her, though she has done no harm – except provide them with thirteen mouths to feed. I’m sorry, Dorothy. You’re one of the family now. William behaves with decorum since you’ve set up house with him. But George…’

‘The Prince of Wales, you mean.’

‘I’m sorry. I spoke disrespectfully. His unpopularity is a little… alarming at this time. Mobs are inclined to follow an example without knowing why. Debts! Building! Balls! Banquets! These were the grievances that were brought against the Queen of France. But I am depressing you, Dorothy; and you looked so charming when I arrived. So much the happy young matron. Don’t give what I’m saying another thought. I’ll just say there’s one thing which could make everyone happier… everyone except George himself, perhaps. And that’s if he married.’

‘Married… but isn’t he…?’

‘Maria! Well, he is and he isn’t. In the eyes of the Church but not those of the State. It’s the State that counts, Dorothy. If he takes a wife the people will be pleased. They prefer wedding celebrations to riots, I do believe. Then there will be children. And the people love children. They loved George when he was a child. Besides, he should marry. He’s no longer so young. He has to get an heir.’

‘I’m sorry for Mrs Fitzherbert.’

‘She’s been sorry for herself for a long time. You should be pleased if he married. Has it occurred to you that if he didn’t and if Fred doesn’t get children – and he’s not living with his Duchess, you know – your William might become a very important member of his illustrious family.’

She looked alarmed and he was quick to soothe her.

‘Don’t worry. It won’t happen. I’ll whisper a secret. Marriage is in the air… for George.’

‘But what if he refuses?’

‘He won’t. He’ll be caught in the net. It’s closing round him. Debts, Dorothy. They can govern a man’s life as certainly as any king ever did. I speak from experience… of the most bitter nature. George will be pressed into marriage by a gang of creditors. You see. Only not a word to William. It would distress him. I talk too much.’

‘You’re letting your imagination run on, Sherry.’

‘A habit of mine. It used to be a profitable one. Which brings me back to the theatre. It’s going to be sad at the Drury Lane without its comic genius. But you’ll come back to us.’

‘You’re very prophetic today, Sherry.’

‘In my profession it’s a useful gift,’ he told her.

She thought of what he had said after he had left. William… third in succession to the throne. The thought alarmed her. The Prince of Wales would be expected to marry; the people expected it. And if he refused and Frederick had no children…

William. No! No one ever thought that William could one day be King of England. And she refused to.

It was so much more comfortable to forget.

She called for her carriage to be brought to the door. It was a plain yellow one and no one would guess when they saw it who rode inside. She had made an appointment to call on her milliner, Miss Tuting, in St James’s Street. She would take little George with her. The airing would be good for him and the girls in the shop would enjoy seeing him.

It was a lovely day. Sunshine brightened the buildings and the trees seemed greener than they did during other years. It was foolish to be depressed by Sheridan’s gossip. William was the third son. If he were the second, there might be cause for alarm; but George and Frederick made a comfortable barrier between William and the State.

The carriage stopped before the milliner’s shop and Miss Tuting herself came out to welcome the important customer.

‘Mrs Jordan, this is a great pleasure. The girls have been excited all the morning. Your new hat is ready. It looks wonderful. And you have the baby. The girls will be beside themselves…’

And so into the shop where everyone was twittering with excitement. The news was carried to the work rooms. ‘Mrs Jordan is here. She has brought the baby!’

Miss Tuting went to the foot of the stairs which led down into the basement. ‘Girls, you may come up two by two to see Master George. I rejoice to say he is quite the bonniest child I ever saw.’

So Dorothy sat holding the imperious George who expressed lively interest in those who came to look and worship.

Miss Tuting’s right-hand, a middle-aged woman, was allowed to hold him while Dorothy tried on the hats which were being made for her and everyone turned their attention from young George to her.

‘I think the blue ribbon more becoming than the pink,’ twittered Miss Tuting. ‘And the roses… and the veiling. What does Mrs Jordan think? The young rascal is getting impatient for his Mamma. Oh, but how pretty she will look in her new hat, Master George. You will like that, eh? And the velvet… this silver colour gauze is most fetching.’

It was a pleasant morning. She was completely at home.

In an awe-inspiring silence she changed Master George’s linen in the shop and he, more comfortable, chuckled with glee as he was carried back to his yellow carriage by one of her grooms and carefully handed to his Mamma.

Riding home Dorothy felt that her life was pleasantly domesticated. She refused to consider Sheridan’s suggestions. Poor Sherry, he was perhaps a little envious. He had made such a failure of his life; while she had at last come to real success, which was not to be found in the applause of an audience, the glitter of jewels, the luxury of riches, but in a home – the shared love of a husband and wife and the family which between them they would raise.

A royal marriage

THE PRINCE OF Wales came to Petersham Lodge to talk over the disaster which was about to overtake him.

He sat in his chair, elegant even when he sprawled, one highly polished boot crossing another; his buckskin breeches moulded to his well-shaped though fleshy thighs; his green cloth coat of the most fashionable cut; his neck cloth a masterpiece of ingenuity to hide the swelling in his neck, the symptom of a distressing complaint which must always be hidden by the neck cloth which he had specially designed for the purpose.

He liked to talk to them and lately had become a frequent visitor to Petersham Lodge, where William and Dorothy were living in retirement because Dorothy was pregnant again.

The Prince was saying: ‘They have caught me. I have to marry. It is the condition they demand if my creditors are to be satisfied.’

‘How much do you owe?’ asked William.

The Prince waved his hand. ‘My dear William, I never keep account of figures. They bore me. Suffice it to say that I owe such a sum that these tiresome people will wait no longer for the settlement of their accounts and refuse to supply me and moreover will take action against me. What can I do? I have an intimation from our father of what is expected of me.’

‘Marriage?’ asked William.

‘You say it complacently. Oh, I am not surprised. You have made a very comfortable home for yourself with our dearest Dora. How fortunate you are!’

‘I always thought that you and Maria…’

‘Yes, yes. I was happy for a while. But Maria has the most devilish temper, you know. I did not want to leave her. It was she who made the decision. I have always regretted it. But I could not be… commanded. You understand?’

William understood perfectly.

‘My dear Dora,’ said the Prince, ‘I am going to ask you to sing for me presently. In the meantime you must forgive me if I weary you with the repetition of my so tiresome affairs.’

‘I am only sorry that Your Highness is grieved.’

‘Pray come and sit near me. It comforts me to see you. Oh, William, how fortunate you are! There is nothing like a happy home. And you have young George. How is the rascal? And why is he not here to see his uncle?’

‘I will send for him,’ said Dorothy.

‘Not just yet, my dear. I want to talk of this disaster which is about to overtake me.’

‘Perhaps it will prove a blessing,’ said Dorothy.

‘What a comforter you are! Is this how she comforts you, William?’

‘She is a great comfort to me,’ said William solemnly.

‘I have a choice of two – Germans both. The King’s niece or the Queen’s.’

‘And which are you choosing?’ asked William.

‘You don’t think I would give our mother the gratification of choosing hers?’

‘So it is to be the Princess Caroline of Brunswick,’ said Dorothy.

The Prince lightly touched her hand. ‘How delightful of you to concern yourself with my wretched affairs. Yes, the Brunswick one. What does it matter? One German hausfrau is very like another.’

‘I am sure Your Highness will be agreeably surprised.’

‘It would be churlish of me not to be comforted when you make such efforts to please me. What about our little song now. And I will join with you.’

Dorothy said it would delight her to sing for and with His Royal Highness.

She was sorry for him – Prince of Wales though he was. She was sorry for anyone who did not enjoy the domestic bliss she had discovered.

What should she sing? There was one song which would certainly not do. No Sweet Lass today. She was sure the ballad would reduce the poor Prince to regretful tears.

On a bleak March day Dorothy’s second son was born. Like his brother George he was young and lusty. He was named Henry; he was exactly a year and two months younger than his brother George, and his parents were delighted with him.