Frederick had considered this unfair, for he himself had always shown the greatest respect towards Maria— but the rift between the brothers widened; and it was an indication of the depth of the Prince’s feelings for Mrs. Fitzherbert that on her account the lifelong friendship with his brother could be impaired.

But now, Frederick no longer lived with his wife— and no one blamed him— and the friendship between the brothers was resumed, although it was clear to them both that it would never be quite the same again.

‘Cheer up, George,’ said the Duke. ‘Lady Jersey will comfort you.’

‘That’s true,’ replied the Prince dubiously. His affairs were indeed in a tangle.

Lady Jersey— that dainty, gadfly of a woman who while she fascinated him at the same time repelled him— was his consolation for this marriage with the German woman— and the loss of Maria.

Ah, Maria. He could never quite succeed in banishing her from his thoughts.

Sometimes he wondered whether he ever would.

He thought now that if instead of marriage with this stranger he was going back to Maria how delighted he would have been. But that could not be; and another horrible thought had struck him: What was Maria, who considered herself married to him, going to say when she heard he contemplated marrying another woman?

He sat down on a gilded couch and, covering his face with his hands, wept.

Frederick was not unduly disturbed; like all the Prince’s associates he was accustomed to his tears. The Prince had always wept most effectively— and in fact, thought Frederick cynically, it was quite a family accomplishment. We Guelphs are a weeping family, he mused— but none of us can perform so artistically as the Prince of Wales. The Prince applied the scented kerchief to his eyes which like his complexion had not suffered from the display of emotion.

‘Fred,’ he said, ‘the truth is I shall never love another woman as I love Fitzherbert.’

‘Still, George?’

‘Still and forever,’ cried the Prince vehemently. ‘And yet—’

‘It’s money, Fred. How am I going to pay these damned debts without it? And the price— marriage with a German Frau.’

Frederick nodded grimly. ‘The price of royalty, George.’

‘Why do we accept it? What would I not give for my freedom.’

Well, considered Frederick, suppose he had resigned his rights . Suppose he had made a public announcement of his marriage to Fitzherbert instead of allowing Fox to make a public denial of it in the House of Commons? Could it have been different? He would not have been wearing that magnificent diamond star, the insignia of his rank of course; he would not have been living in this splendid residence— this grand Carlton House with its scintillating chandeliers, its gilt furniture, its exquisite porcelain, its priceless pictures.

George should consider all that, for there was nothing he enjoyed as much as taking a derelict house and transforming it into a palace. Look what he had done at his Pavilion in Brighton. And here in Carlton House the state apartments were far more grand than anything in gloomy old St. James’s, tumbledown Windsor and homely Kew. Even Buckingham House suffered in comparison. Trust George to see to that.

Consider the Chinese parlour, the blue velvet closet and crimson drawing room, the silver dining room and most magnificent of all, the throne room with its gilded columns displaying the Prince of Wales’s feathers. Even what he called his own intimate apartments— these facing the park— were fit for a king as well as a Prince of Wales. No, George was too fond of his royalty to give it up even for Fitzherbert.

George was above all self-indulgent; his emotions were superficial and even the affection he bore for the incomparable Fitzherbert had not prevented his deserting her for the momentarily more alluring Lady Jersey. He was not the man to resign his hopes of the crown for the sake of a woman. Imagine George, wandering about the Continent in exile an impecunious prince whose debts would never then be settled by an understanding if somewhat tutorial Parliament; and how could George live but in the most extravagant manner? He was born to elegance; he was a natural spend-thrift; he could never understand the value of money. He was only aware that he wished to surround himself with beautiful things and that as Prince of Wales and future King of England he had a natural right to them.

And who was Frederick to criticize his brother? Had he not been forced into marriage for the very same reason?

So now he sought to comfort George by embellishing his picture of Caroline.

She was really quite charming, and bright and intelligent, he thought. To tell the truth he might have decided to marry her himself, but she wouldn’t have him.

Of course he was not the Prince of Wales. He remembered particularly her beautiful hair. It was very light and abundant. The Prince was very fond of beautiful hair, was he not?

The Prince nodded and thought of Maria’s abundant honey-coloured curls.

She had never powdered it although it was the fashion to do so; but had worn it naturally. But then of course few women had hair to compare with Maria’s.

The fact was in all ways no woman could compare with Maria.

He would always think of her as his wife.

Oh, damn these debts. Damn cruel necessity which snatched Maria from him and gave him in her place a German Frau. Yet it was Lady Jersey who had driven him from Maria.

But it was not serious, he told himself. I never meant it seriously. It was Maria who had taken it so. But the Duke of York had comforted him considerably.

His betrothed was not a monster, it seemed; she was not hideous like poor Fred’s wife; she was not marked by the pox like that arrogant creature; and she would not bring an army of animals to perform their disgusting functions on the gilded couches of Carlton House.

Frederick, seeing that his mission had been accomplished and that he had succeeded in bringing some relief to his brother, took his departure.

The Prince sought further comfort from Lady Jersey, but he did not find it.

How different, he was thinking, it would have been with Maria.

Frances was beautiful, there was no doubt of that. She was small, slim almost to girlishness and he was fond of fleshy women; but she was widely experienced for she was nine years older than he was and in that respect she resembled the type he favoured. Maria was six years older; he always found women older than himself so comforting. Not that there was much comfort in Frances, though she was exciting; and he was just a little afraid of her. The softness of Maria was lacking; so was the deep affection Maria had always had for him. But he had said goodbye to Maria and was now devoting himself to Frances.

Frances was a sensual woman; physically she excited him; she always made him feel uncertain; that was her forte. He always believed that she could provide greater satisfaction than any woman ever had before; and her strength was that while she did not, the promise of future eroticism remained.

That was what had attracted him and lured him from comfortable, deeply loving almost motherly Maria. And even as his heart called out for Maria he could not go and beg her to return to him because Frances Jersey stood there between them mocking, sensually alluring and, he feared, irresistible.

She did not try to placate him as so many women did. Now she said to him: ‘I cannot understand why you are so glum. You have nothing to lose by the marriage— and everything to gain.’

‘You are forgetting what marriage may entail.’

Frances laughed aloud. ‘Dearest Highness, I have a husband, as you know. A very complacent husband at this time who is always eager to serve his Prince so we need not concern ourselves with him. I have had two sons and seven daughters. I am even a grandmother. I confess I am a very young grandmother.

But you cannot say that a life so worthily spent in replenishing the earth could possibly be without experience of what marriage entails.’

‘But I am to marry a German woman— I confess I don’t like the Germans.’

‘I obviously cannot share your Highness’s aversion, for someone for whom I entertain the most tender passions has descended from that race.’

‘Germans!’ went on the Prince. ‘My father married one. And consider her.’

‘I have always found Her Majesty most gracious.’

Frances chuckled inwardly. How amusing Prim and proper Charlotte actually approved of her son’s relationship with his mistress.

In fact Frances had received instructions from Lady Harcourt. She was to lure the Prince from Fitzherbert, for only then would he consider marriage— and was high time he was married, he had to provide that heir to the throne, for his brothers were proving themselves strangely backward in doing so.

The Duke of York, estranged from his Duchess, was clearly not going to be of any use. William, Duke of Clarence, the next son, had set up house most respectably— at least as respectably as such arrangements could be— with that enchanting actress Dorothy Jordan but naturally there was nothing to hope from there. Another brother Augustus Frederick, Duke of Sussex, had just emerged from a big scandal, for he had married secretly in defiance of the Marriage Act which decreed that no member of the royal family could marry without the consent of the King until he reached the age of twenty-five (Augustus Frederick had been twenty), and the marriage had been null and void even though the lady in his adventures was about to give birth and was of noble lineage, being the daughter of the Earl of Dunmore and claiming royal blood from her ancestors.