While he was being dressed in his splendidly embroidered blue velvet coat and his elegant knee breeches he called for a glass of brandy. He drank it quickly and felt a little better. But by the time he had put on his high heeled buckled shoes and was ready to leave for the Chapel Royal at St. James’s, he needed more brandy to sustain him in his ordeal.

Lord Moira, who was to accompany him, asked the Prince very cautiously if it were wise to take so much brandy before this important event.

‘I need it, Moira,’ he declared with tears in his eyes, ‘for I do not think I can go through this ceremony without it.’

Lord Moira was sympathetic, but he could not agree that more brandy was what was needed.

‘My dear friend,’ said the Prince, ‘you see before you the most reluctant bridegroom in the world.’

‘Your Highness takes this too hardly.’

‘How otherwise can one take a bad business?’

The carriage was at the door and the resplendent bridegroom took his place in it. Lord Moira beside him.

As they rode from Carlton House to St. James’s, he said mournfully: ‘It is no use, Moira. I shall never love any woman but Fitzherbert.’

Caroline was being dressed in St. James’s whither she had come after the family dinner at Buckingham House. What an ordeal with those sly looking Princesses watching her all the time, and the Queen showing her disdain.

If I had known what it would be like I would never have come, she told herself. My father would never have forced me. Oh, how I wish I was home in Brunswick. And the Prince hates me. He shows that clearly. More and more every day he hates me. There was only one member of the family who was kind to her and that was the King. His hands shook as he embraced her and he kissed her as though he enjoyed doing so. She almost wished that she had come as his bride instead of his son’s. At least he would have been kind.

When she had left Buckingham House he had taken her into his arms and kissed her fondly.

‘This is a happy day, my dear,’ he had said rather mournfully, and the rest of the family showed quite clearly that they considered it a calamity. The Prince and the Queen hated her— and those silly parrot-like Princesses followed their mother.

She looked at her white satin dress with the pearl embroidery. It was beautiful; and she, who liked flamboyant clothes, should have been pleased with it and the big cloak of crimson velvet which covered it. But she was very apprehensive as she left the apartment for the Chapel Royal.

The Prince swayed as he walked into the Chapel Royal. The two unmarried Dukes on either side of him moved closer for they thought he would totter. A fine thing it would be if the Prince had to be carried to the altar because he was too drunk to walk there.

Caroline, who had entered the chapel on the arm of the King had decided that she would hide her true feelings from all those who had come to watch her married and consequently appeared to be unbecomingly gay. Walking down the aisle with the King she smiled and nodded to people as he passed. The King did not appear to notice her odd behaviour but everyone else did.

There was a hushed silence throughout the chapel and all attention was focused on those two brilliant figures. The Prince swayed a little, magnificent in his blue velvet and Collar of the Garter but, as many noticed, looking confused and uneasy; and Caroline, shimmering in her be-jewelled white satin with the diamond coronet on her head, looked a true Princess.

But the Prince could not bear to look at her and kept his face turned from her.

He was thinking of that other ceremony which had taken place in Mrs.

Fitzherbert’s house in Park Street. That was a real marriage; this was a farce and he yearned for Maria, whom he knew he should never have left— and he had done so for the sake of Frances Jersey! If he had left her for marriage to this woman, it would have been a different matter, for this could be blamed on the exigencies of State. But he had deserted her for Lady Jersey whom he was discovering to be worthless in spite of her fascination. He was a traitor to Maria.

He despised himself and he longed for an opportunity to tell her so.

And here he was at the altar about to be married to a woman he hated. Yes, he did hate her; he hated her fiercely. He could see no virtue in her. To him she was utterly repulsive and even the fumes of brandy which dulled his brain and his senses could not free him from the horror he visualized in the marriage bed.

How different that ceremony in Park Street and the ecstasy which had followed!

Oh Maria, Maria, you have deserted me! But that was wrong. He had to admit it. It was he who had deserted Maria.

Is it too late? But of course it was too late. Here he was at the altar and Dr.

Moore, the Archbishop of Canterbury, was about to conduct the ceremony.

He knelt while the Archbishop began to say those words which had been said before in a house in Park Street, when he had made his responses with a joy as great as the revulsion he now felt.

The Prince was feeling dizzy; the brandy was having its effect though it relieved his feelings very little. He heard the Archbishop asking if anyone knew of an impediment why they might not be lawfully joined together in Holy Matrimony; and in that moment he saw Maria’s reproachful eyes begging him to remember.

He stumbled to his feet. He must get away. He could not go on with this.

There was a sudden silence in the chapel. All eyes were on the Prince of Wales; all wondered what drama they were about to witness.

Then the King rose from his seat and stepped up to stand beside the Prince.

‘For Heaven’s sake,’ whispered the King, ‘remember what this means.’

‘I—’ began the Prince, his face creased in his misery, the ever-ready tears springing to his eyes.

‘It’s too late— too late—’ whispered the King. Wretchedly the Prince nodded and once more knelt beside the Princess.

Dr. Moore was aware of the cause of the Prince’s distress. Who in the chapel was not? Everyone had heard of the marriage with Mrs. Fitzherbert.

The Archbishop proceeded with the ceremony and when he came to the injunction to the bridegroom to forsake all others but his wife, he repeated it.

There was a tense expectancy throughout the chapel. Until the ring was on the Princess’s finger, many believed that the Prince would stop the ceremony.

But at last it was over, and the Prince of Wales had been married to Caroline of Brunswick.

Organ music filled the chapel and the choir began to sing: For blessed are they that fear the Lord. O well is thee! O well is thee! and happy shalt thou be.’ And the chorus: Happy, happy, happy shalt thou be.’

The Wedding Night

THE bells were ringing all over London; from the Park and the Tower, the guns were booming; people stood in little knots in the streets and talked of the marriage of their Prince of Wales. Many had seen the huge wedding cake which had been driven to Buckingham House and which was so enormous that it filled a whole coach.

The Prince, whose antics never failed to cause comment— although lately it had been adverse comment— was married at last to a German Princess who would one day be his Queen. Now the heirs would come along and if he were anything like his father and the Princess of Wales like the Queen, there would be plenty— and to stare jokes were made— coarse but friendly. The Prince was pleasing them more today than he had for a long time.

And what, asked some, of Mrs. Fitzherbert, the lady who had caused such a stir when the great question in everyone’s minds had been: Is she or is she not married to the Prince?

The Queen held a drawing room and it was seen that she was noticeably cool to the bride. Caroline was going to get no help from her. It was also noted that she received Lady Jersey graciously, which was strange on such an occasion.

That lady was pleased with the way everything had happened, although there had been that horrible moment in the chapel when everyone thought that the Prince would refuse to go on with the ceremony. Now he was safely married to a wife whom he loathed. What could be better? This would give her complete ascendancy— particularly as the fact that he had been publicly married was a death blow to his liaison with Mrs Fitzherbert— the rival whom Lady Jersey most feared.

But Caroline had looked rather splendid in her glittering wedding dress; and the Prince must spend the night with her.

Alarming thought! For who could say what might happen in the privacy of the bedchamber? The Prince’s revulsion might turn to acceptance— which it must of course— and suppose he came to like the woman a little!

Lady Jersey was determined to make the Prince’s revulsion complete on that wedding night; she was reminded of something which one of the ladies of Charles Il’s seraglio had done when she feared a rival. Was it Nell Gwyn? She believed it was. That was a more ribald age of course but for that very reason the Prince of Wales might be less amused than King. Charles had been. She gave orders that the pastry which was to be given to the Princess of Wales should be impregnated with a very strong close of Epsom Salts, explaining to the cooks that there was an old maxim that if the bride were a virgin this ensured conception.

And so the family supper party took place. The Princess plied with too much spirits— as arranged by Lady Jersey’s spies and servants— was brash and over excited‚ the Prince looked on sombrely and drank steadily throughout the banquet.