But they soon forgot and he was old George again, parsimonious, prim, father of a large and troublesome family— poor old George who had once been mad and was likely to be so again.

Pitt resigned and Pitt had been the King’s anchor ever since he had shown himself to be the ablest minister of his day and had headed a ministry at the age of twenty-five.

The King’s constant anxieties about the state of Europe, that new menace, Bonaparte, and the complicated matrimonial affairs of the Prince of Wales, had their effect.

He became ill— of a fever his doctors called it. But it was well known what the King’s fevers entailed. The Queen was in despair, while the eyes of the Prince of Wales were hopefully turned towards the Regency which had once almost been his and which if it had come to him would have brought him great power.

But the King recovered— although he still acted strangely.

Caroline was awakened one morning by her servants who announced that His Majesty was below and had called to see her.

Fearing something was wrong, Caroline did not wait to dress, but in her unconventional manner ran down in her nightgown to greet her father-in-law.

The King embraced her with fervour— in fact in such a manner as to alarm her faintly. She had long felt that he was somewhat attracted to her.

His eyes were a little wild as he declared: ‘You have been constantly in my mind. Constantly. Constantly, you understand, eh, what?’

Caroline replied that she understood and she was gratified and honoured to have been in the kindly thoughts of her dear father-in-law and uncle.

‘My poor, poor Caroline, the way in which you are treated— I think of you. I think of you. I have been ill— very you understand, eh, what? and I have thought of you. I have decided to give you the Rangership of Greenwich Park. You understand, eh, what?’

Caroline sank to her knees and kissed his hand.

He surveyed her with tears in his eyes.

‘All wrong,’ said the King. ‘All wrong. Treated like this. While he goes off with— Always been a trouble to me. Such a beautiful baby he was, beautiful child— always fed in the proper manner— always disciplined— and then he gives me sleepless nights. I’ve had ten in a row. The Rangership of Greenwich Park, you understand, eh, what?’

Caroline did understand. She was triumphant. This was going to upset the old Begum. But the King, the dear crazy King, was her friend and so she had something to be thankful for.

Life was not unpleasant at Montague House for Caroline since so many interesting people were delighted to be her guests. Where George Canning was there was always brilliant conversation. Mrs. Canning often accompanied him; and there was Lady Hester Stanhope, the eccentric young woman to whom Caroline was very much attracted; that able politician Spencer Perceval came; others followed these; Mr. Pitt himself called on her with other distinguished Tories, for after all the Prince of Wales was notoriously Whig which meant that the Tories would support the Princess of Wales.

So Caroline delighted herself by giving lavish parties in which she dispensed with all ceremony. She would dance with her guests, laugh with them and play romping games.

No one could have behaved less like a Princess of Wales; but thier guests were well aware that there had never before been a Princess of Wales like Caroline of Brunswick.

But what she most enjoyed were the times she spent with those whom she called ‘her children’. She had her school which she herself superintended and where the children received a good education; not as she was determined to make sure, an education which would give them airs and graces and good manners. Oh no, theirs was to be a practical education. She wanted to equip her children, who would have no fortune, to take their places in the world with a trade behind them.

She wanted her girls to learn how to manage a house so that if they married they would be good wives; and the boys should not leave school without a good trade in their hands. She, who was so wildly impractical in most things, was entirely the opposite where her children were concerned.

Each day they were brought to her and took a meal with her. They called her Mamma and had no shyness where she was concerned. They would come to her if they hurt themselves and she was the one who must bandage them or kiss and make better.

‘There is only one thing I regret about my children,’ she told Mrs. Fitzgerald, her lady-in-waiting, ‘and that is that they are not my own.’

She spoke wistfully, for in every child she saw her own daughter Charlotte and lived for the hours she could spend with the little girl.

‘All my life,’ she told Miss Hayman and Mrs. Fitzgerald, ‘I longed for a child, and when I had one it was to discover she belonged to the State and not to me.

What a tragedy! But I must not complain, must I? I have my little family and I think of them all as my own— all the little children I should have had if I had been allowed to marry where my heart lay. That was with my dear Töbingen. Ah, I could tell you of my beloved Major. He was worth a hundred princes. But he was not good enough for poor little Caroline. Does that not make you laugh?’

They were accustomed now to the wild conversation of their mistress and saw nothing remarkable in it.

She was busy in Montague House; her children saw to that. She turned one of her fields into potato land so that the produce could be sold to add to the income she spent on her children.

She enjoyed walking round the field while the potatoes were being dug.

‘You see,’ she would say to her ladies, ‘I should never have been a princess. I should have been a country woman to marry where I wished and raise children— my own— a large family all my own.’

But the happiest days were when she saw Charlotte. She would devise games to amuse the child; she showered affection on her and it was returned and meanwhile she knew that the Prince was making all sorts of plans to keep them apart and that but for the intervention of the King he would have done so.

She discovered a gift for modelling in clay and her first effort was to make a head of her daughter.

‘To remind me of you, my angel,’ she said, ‘when you are not with me.’

Charlotte was intrigued and sat as still as she could while her mother worked; then when the sitting was over they would play rough games— for Charlotte was a tomboy— until it was time for the little Princess to go back to Carlton House.

So, thought Caroline, deprived of my own child for long periods, I must have my adopted family to keep me from grieving. Because she thought that the sea would provide her boys with a career she made the acquaintance of Admiral Samuel Hood who was the Governor of Greenwich, Hospital; and through him she met a man who was to have an important effect on her life. This was the dashing sailor, Sir William Sydney Smith, always known as Sir Sydney, a man who immediately attracted Caroline because he had the manner of an adventurer and was indeed one. He had fought many a sea battle and could tell a stirring story, so he was cordially welcomed to Montague House.

Caroline was entranced and made no secret of her interest in the sailor. He must come again to Montague House, she told him, when he was in the neighbourhood.

‘That, Your Highness,’ he replied, ‘could be any time you invite me, because I am staying for a while in the house of my friend Sir John Douglas.’

‘And that is nearby?’ Caroline wanted to know.

‘Very close to Montague House. Your Highness has doubtless seen the house on your trips around. In fact, it is the nearest to Montague House. You should meet the Douglases; they are an amusing pair. John Douglas was with me at Saint Jean d’Acre. That was when I was taking care of the defences. Those were stirring days. I could tell you some tales. It was just before I took over command of Alexandria. I remember the news coming in that Bonaparte had stormed Jaffa.’

The Princess’s eyes shone with excitement. If she could not have a large family of children to care for she would like to travel about the world, see strange places, enjoy the company of exotic men and women.

‘Well, my friend Douglas was with me. And now I’m ashore for awhile, I’m staying with them. Lady Douglas is an enchanting creature. She has recently had the most delightful child.’

‘A child.’

‘A baby daughter. A pretty and engaging creature I do assure you. Your Highness would enjoy meeting the mother and child.’

‘That I should,’ said Caroline, ‘and doubtless I will as they are such near neighbours.’

Such a cold day, thought Caroline. How she wished that she was in one of those hot and sunny spots which dear Sir Sydney talked about with such enthusiasm. Still, her destiny lay here. She had come to England to be a Princess of Wales, one day a queen— though she trusted that would be a long time hence, since it could only be on the death of the King.

She felt restless so she sent for Miss Hayman and told her she was going to walk.

‘Alone, Your Highness?’

‘Yes, dear Hayman, alone.’

It amused her to see the shocked look in dear Hayman’s eyes. They should be used to her by now. She was not treated like a Princess; she was not allowed to live in Carlton House; therefore she would behave like a country lady and go walking alone if she wished.

In her mauve satin cloak and yellow half boots she looked very colourful.

Would Maria Fitzherbert say she looked a little too flamboyant? Well, Maria my love, I am the Princess not you! ‘Now, my love, bring my sable cap and I’ll be off.’ When the cap was brought she set it jauntily on her head. ‘There, my dear, the Princess of Wales takes the air — unescorted— but not desolate. Because it is as she wishes and as she commands.’