Виктория Холт - Indiscretions of the Queen

And now he must go and meet his wife.

Yet all the way to St. James’s he could not get Maria Fitzherbert out of his mind.

In the reception room of the palace Caroline was waiting. Malmesbury would present her to the Prince, and protocol demanded that no one but the three of them should be present for it was the ambassador’s duty to deliver Caroline of Brunswick to George, Prince of Wales.

Caroline had begun to feel nervous.

Malmesbury was whispering last minute instructions. ‘When the Prince approaches, you must kneel— immediately. You understand?’

Caroline nodded— for once too overawed for speech.

‘Listen. He is coming.’

The door was thrown open. Caroline caught a glimpse of a large glittering figure. She knelt. The Prince was standing before her and as he raised her, a shudder he could not repress ran through him.

This— this— thing they have dared bring to me! This over-rouged, repulsive, ill-smelling object! Caroline looked at him. He was flushed, not nearly as handsome as the portrait she had received, and fat— So very fat. She smelt the perfume that dung to him; she saw his short nose wrinkle in disgust.

Her hands were damp and hot. He could not bear the touch of them. He dropped them quickly and turning to Malmesbury said: ‘Harris, get me a glass of brandy quickly. I feel ill.’

Caroline stared at her future husband in dismay. Malmesbury replied: ‘Your Highness, would you not rather ; have a glass of water?’

‘No, by God,’ cried the Prince. ‘But— no matter. I must— go to— the Queen.’

With that he turned and walked from the room.

Caroline looked at Malmesbury who, for once, was overcome by confusion.

Poor child, he thought, how gauche, how unattractive in that dreadful white satin gown! And she had not changed her linen. The Prince’s delicate nostrils would have detected this at once. It was the reason he had flown. He was always inclined to turn his back on what he considered unpleasant and that was clearly what he was doing now.

Caroline was recovering herself. She had visualized this moment many times since the proxy marriage but never had she imagined anything like this. She was angry. He did not like her. Well, she did not like him either.

She said in her shrillest voice: ‘My God, is the Prince always like this? I found him very fat and not nearly so handsome as his portrait.’

Malmesbury had recovered himself. ‘His Royal Highness is a great deal affected at this first interview. His feelings were too much for him so— he retired.’

‘It seems very strange behaviour. I thought I had to be so careful of mine. He does not seem to be of his.’

‘You will find him very different at dinner.’

‘I should hope so,’ cried Caroline.

‘I will see that you are conducted to your apartments now. I expect the King and Queen will wish you to visit them.’

‘Then I trust, cried Caroline, ‘that they have better manners than their son, for I do not much like his.’

Malmesbury flinched.

I would to God, he thought, that I had never taken part in this unfortunate affair.

HE hates me, she thought. He could not have expressed it more clearly than if he had stated it in words. If they had let us meet before this and he had treated me so I would never have married him. She felt so alone. Her only friend was the Earl of Malmesbury and she knew that, in a way, while he deplored the Prince’s behaviour, he understood it.

Why should this fat Prince find her so repulsive when Major Ivon Töbingen had loved her so much?

Life was cruel to princesses, but one thing she had learned and that was that self-pity was of no use to anyone. She had to face them all at dinner— the dinner to celebrate her arrival— when the Prince would entertain all those who had brought her to England.

There was only one course open to a woman of her nature, and that was to show them that she did not care for their opinion, not even her husband’s.

She might have known what to expect. Had he not insulted her before he had met her by appointing his mistress a lady of her bedchamber?

She was not quite sure afterwards what happened at that dinner. All she was aware of were the disgusted looks of the Prince, the shocked ones of Lord Malmesbury and the delight of Lady Jersey which she scarcely took the trouble to hide. At least they should discover that she was not a meek nonentity. If they were going to be unpleasant to her, she would treat them in the same way.

She accused Lady Jersey— in a mischievous way— of being the Prince’s mistress.

She laughed loudly and continuously; she chattered in her own brand of French which was very different from the elegant manner in which the Prince expressed himself in that language. And as she drank and ate without restraint, her laughter grew louder, her comments more risqué. The company was half amused, half horrified. The Prince alone felt no amusement, only dread.

And in the midst of her banter she had suddenly felt so lonely. She had wanted this man who was to be her husband to be interested in her and at least to give her a chance to please him. She thought of the children she had always dreamed of having. And this man would be their father. Why should he prefer that old woman— the mother of all those children— to the young woman who was his wife? She had youth‚ she was not as unattractive as he believed her to be. Her hair was quite lovely and she had heard that he greatly admired beautiful hair. It was, someone had said, Mrs Fitzherbert’s cascades of bright curls and waves which had first attracted him to her.

And that woman sitting there now saying little but unable to hide her smirks of satisfaction, had tried to make her wear a turban which would have hidden her beautiful hair . On impulse she removed the combs from her hair and it fell about her shoulders.

There was silence at the table. The Prince looked at her in astonishment Is the woman mad? he was thinking. My God, what have I done to be burdened with such a creature?

Lord Malmesbury was looking embarrassed. He was upset which meant of course that she had done the wrong thing again. She laughed louder than ever, she made some crude jest. They were talking together, ignoring her. She did not need the sad looks of Lord Malmesbury, the furtive pleasure of Lady Jersey, the scarcely veiled horror of the Prince to tell her that she was a dismal failure.

When her maids helped her to disrobe that night, she continued her wild chatter, but when she was alone, she lay quietly thinking of the future What will become of me? she wondered. There was no point in pretending to be defiant in the darkness of her room. She was afraid; she had to remind herself that she was a Brunswick lion and they never showed fear.

‘He hates me,’ she whispered. ‘Why, I did not expect him to love me— so soon. But he hates me. I disgusted him— So much that he could not hide it.

Suppose he refuses to marry me? Nothing would please me more!’

Then she pictured her return to Brunswick— defeated, the Princess who was sent on approval and found unacceptable!

She imagined her mother’s diatribes which would go on and on for the rest of her life, for no other Prince would want to marry a Princess who had been rejected by the Prince of Wales. There was her dearest Töbingen. Oh lucky people who were not royal and free to marry where they loved!

But whatever the next few days held for her, she must face it. And there was only one way she knew how to act. It was how she had acted tonight. She had been coarse, vulgar, ribald, mocking, indifferent to their scorn. It made dear Lord Malmesbury sad.

But what can I do? she asked herself. What other way is there? She knew of none The Queen received Lady Jersey in private.

It was a difficult position, mused the Queen, for she had no wish to encourage immorality in the court; and the Prince’s love affairs were most public. But Lady Jersey, reasoned the Queen, was doing the country a service. She had separated the Prince from Mrs Fitzherbert and so made a marriage possible for him, for while he continued with that woman he would never have married because she convinced him that she was his wife. Sometimes, the Queen reminded herself it was necessary to waive one’s principles for the good of the country.

Lady Jersey’s manners were impeccable. She swept a deep respectful curtsey and the Queen signed for her to rise.

‘Pray be seated, Lady Jersey’

Lady Jersey humbly thanked Her Majesty and waited for the questions.

‘You have recently come from the Princess Caroline. Tell me, how is she?’

‘Your Majesty, I greatly fear ‘ Lady Jersey stopped herself.

The Queen said graciously: ‘You may proceed.’

‘Your Majesty will think me presumptuous but because Your Majesty asks for truth—’ .

‘Yes, yes. I want the truth.’

‘I fear Her Highness has not been bred for the high honour for which she has been brought to England.’

‘Tell me what happened.’

Lady Jersey told, stressing the gaucherie, the uncouth manners, the effect her appearance had on the Prince, his horror.

‘Do you think he may refuse to go on with the marriage?’

‘Oh, but he must go on with it now, Your Majesty. Or perhaps I am wrong, but—’

‘If he refused to go through the ceremony, he could do so.’

Lady Jersey was secretly alarmed. She knew how the Queen’s mind was working. It was not too late for him to give up Caroline of Brunswick and take Louise of Mecklenburg-Strelitz.