Jean Plaidy - Goddess of the Green Room

‘But not… living together. We have to separate. I have to marry. My mother, Her Majesty the Queen… has made my duty clear to me.’ He started to speak very quickly. ‘There is only Charlotte. The Regent has refused to live with his wife. Fred’s wife is barren… They tell me that it is my duty…’

‘To marry…’

‘Before it is too late.’

‘And that means…’

‘That we must part.’

She thought: I am going to faint. But I must not. I must be strong. I must try to understand. I must be brave.

‘The children…’

‘They will all be taken care of. You will be taken care of.’ Again that almost pathetic eagerness to assure her that all would be well.

‘But now… after all these years…’

‘Dora, believe me, I shall always love you. But I have my duty to the State… to my family. This has been gradually borne home to me. I have to do my duty.’

She was silently groping her way to a chair that she might sit.

‘So you will marry.’

‘I must, Dora.’

‘And you wish to marry?’

‘It is no wish of mine. I am in debt. I cannot go on like this. My creditors will not allow it. And I must do my duty to the State and my family.’

It was like a theme. Duty to State and family; and if that were not enough: Money.

‘I see,’ she said slowly.

He came swiftly to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘I knew you would. You have always been a wonderful woman. Dora will understand, I told myself.’

Understand? she thought wildly. That this is the end of my life? I cannot lose him, for to lose him is to lose everything… everything that I care for. She had always known that it was not fame she wanted. It was her home, her husband, her family.

‘The children,’ she said faintly.

‘All taken care of. You must not worry. It will all be drawn up legally. There is nothing to worry about.’

‘Nothing to worry about! I am to lose you… and there is nothing to worry about?’

‘I shall not separate the children from you,’ he said. ‘You shall see them whenever you wish. You will have an income. I shall see to this. I shall have it all drawn up… You are all right? You are feeling ill?’

‘I am feeling,’ she said, ‘as though my life is ended.’

THERE HAD, SHE reflected, never been a time in her life for happiness; now there was no time for grief. How often during those happy hours she had spent at Bushy had she been reminded of the transience of the peace she was enjoying? Always there had been the contracts to fulfil, the money to earn. Now sick and weary, wanting to do nothing but to shut herself away from the world, she dared not give way to the momentary comfort of mourning; she must think of the children’s future.

The elder boys were away from home, but the younger ones were there. She had their future to think of. William had said it would be secure, but how far could she trust William? All the time when she had believed him to be the faithful husband – in every way but one – he had been planning to leave her.

Bushy – with its lovely lawns, its gracious rooms, the home that she had loved as she would love no other, was where the happiest days of her life had been spent. It had changed – with her life. The servants were different. They looked at her covertly. They knew. Did they always know… before one knew oneself?

The little ones shrieked their joy to see her.

‘Mamma is home,’ cried nine-year-old Molpuss. He hugged her. How long, she wondered, shall I be able to keep him? How long before he is taken away to train for the Navy?

Elizabeth, Augustus, Augusta and Amelia. She kissed them all in turn.

‘And where is Sophie?’ she wanted to know.

‘She went away with Papa,’ she was told, and her heart sank.

Was he planning to take the children away from her, too?

Her lips set firmly. She would never allow that. Oh, yes, there was no time for grief. She had to fight.

That day the girls and their husbands came over. Fanny with Alsop, her eyes alert with speculation. She distrusted him and had always known he had married Fanny for what he could get. Poor Fanny! Then Dodee and Edward March. She liked Edward best of all her sons-in-law although she thought that perhaps Colonel Hawker would be a better friend to her. He was after all most knowledgeable of affairs; he had moved in the circle which she had frequented with William. It would be different now, she supposed.

Lucy kissed her fondly – always the most affectionate of the girls.

‘Oh, Mamma, we have heard the news. I couldn’t believe it. That’s why Samuel said we must come over and see you at once.’

Fanny said spitefully: ‘He’s like all men. He’s not to be trusted. I never liked him. He couldn’t forget he was the King’s son. He pretended he forgot it but it was all a sham. When you think of the money he’s had…’

‘Hush,’ said Dorothy sharply. ‘I do not want to hear a word against the Duke. He has always behaved with courtesy and kindness. This has ended… for State reasons.’

Fanny looked at her mother in amazement.

‘You believe that? Why, he’s been chasing this heiress all through the summer.’

‘Fanny, I said be silent.’

Colonel Hawker laid his hand over Dorothy’s.

‘What is done is done,’ he said. ‘Now we have to make sure that everything is taken care of.’

Yes, thought Dorothy, she had reason to be grateful to Samuel Hawker.

William could not wait to continue his courtship. He had made with all speed to Ramsgate, taking his fifteen-year-old daughter Sophie with him to show that there was nothing clandestine in his courtship.

William had always been seen in the lampoons and cartoons as the rough sailor and although it was long since he had been to sea he was known as the ‘royal tar’, and was reputed to be without finesse and the courtly graces of his brothers.

He now started to prove this picture of him to be true. His courtship of the heiress was clumsy in the extreme; so was his gesture in taking Dorothy Jordan’s daughter with him to Ramsgate to witness it.

Sophie was bewildered and therefore sullen. She had been brought up in the homely atmosphere of Bushy where she had believed harmony reigned between her parents. Now she was suddenly exposed to the antics of an ageing father paying court to a young girl.

She was bewildered, bad-tempered and uncertain whose side to be on. She wanted to be with her mother to ask what this was all about; and on the other hand she liked the gaiety of all the festivities at Ramsgate that were to celebrate the naval fête which was in progress and was the reason why fashionable society was there.

Catherine was amused by the Duke’s pursuit. She thought him old and scarcely attractive, but he was a royal duke, and her mother had pointed out the glorious possibilities which marriage with him could bring.

Lady Tylney-Long, widow of Sir James, had had two sons and three daughters – the two sons having died and Catherine being the eldest of the girls, as one of the wealthiest heiresses in the country, was certain to have a host of suitors. Lady Tylney-Long hoped her daughter would choose wisely; but Catherine was a girl who would have her own way.

William could not help being a little piqued. He had expected that his title would have bemused Catherine to such an extent that she would have accepted him immediately.

Her mother was aware of what marriage with him could mean; but she was also aware of the difficulties of achieving it. The consent of the Prince Regent was essential; the Queen would have to approve, she supposed, and it was the custom of the family to marry German princesses.

She talked this over with Catherine.

‘It would be absolutely necessary to know that a marriage could take place before you accepted him,’ she said.

‘My dear Mamma. I am by no means certain that I am going to accept him – so we need not concern ourselves at this stage.’

‘He is devoted and impatient.’

‘And you must admit a little ridiculous. A man with a left-handed wife living – an actress who has borne him ten children! Oh, Mamma, it is an extraordinary situation in which to find oneself.’

‘You are very frivolous and thoughtless, Catherine.’

‘On the contrary, Mamma, I am both serious and thoughtful. That is why I shall keep my Lord Duke dangling for some time yet.’

And she did.

She was fascinated by William Wellesley-Pole, who was young, handsome and much more suitable than that other William of Clarence.

But a duke! her mother continued to remind her. Did she realize that there was a possibility – a remote one admittedly – of her becoming the Queen of England? The Duke of Clarence was fourth in the succession to the throne. She did think Catherine should consider that.

Catherine retorted that there was only one thing she would consider and that was her own inclinations.

Her aunt, Lady de Crespigny, who was on very friendly terms with the Duke and to whom he wrote of his passion for Catherine wrote to Catherine and to her mother to tell them that the Duke’s intentions were of a very serious nature; and she thought Catherine would be foolish not to give them the utmost consideration.

But Catherine was perverse.

‘Marriage,’ she said, ‘is a serious undertaking. I should be no more impressed by the possibility of his having a crown than he should be about my fortune. But I admit,’ she added judiciously, ‘that these considerations will not be ignored on either side.’