While the Delicate Investigation had been in progress, Maria had been concerned in a court case of her own. A few years previously she had taken a little girl to live with her while her parents, Lord Hugh and Lady Horatia Seymour, had gone to Maderia because Lady Horatia was suffering from galloping consumption.

Maria, one of whose greatest griefs was that she had no children of her own, doted on the little girl and wished to adopt her legally; but, on the death of the child’s parents, her aunt, Lady Waldegrave, also wanted to adopt her. Maria, who had cared for the child for a few years, was determined to keep her. The Prince of Wales had been fond of little Mary Seymour, ‘Minney’ as she called herself; and seemed much more interested in her than in his own daughter Charlotte. She would clamber all over him and christened him ‘Prinney’ to rhyme with Minney which amused him greatly; and he fit when the three of them were together they were indeed happy family.

He had been very sorry when Lady Waldegrave claimed her; and declared that they must have a legal ruling on the matter, and was so upset to see his dear Maria heartbroken at the prospect of losing Minney that he offered to settle £10,000 if the child if she were left in Maria’s care.

This case had been going on for some months and during it, the Prince became very friendly with the Hertfords because the Marquess of Hertford as head of the Seymour family agreed that he would put an end to the proceedings by declaring that he would adopt the child himself. Since he was the head of the family no one could dispute this; the case was settled and then the Marquess appointed Maria Minney’s guardian.

This was very satisfactory, but during the proceedings the Prince had become infatuated by the Marchioness of Hertford.

It was not that he no longer loved Maria, he was careful to assure himself. He did love her; but Lady Hertford seemed sylphlike in comparison. He could not take his eyes from her when they were in company together; and people were beginning to notice. Miss Pigot tried to comfort Maria. The household had changed since the Prince had come back. They were, according to Miss Pigot, living happily-ever-after. And now they had the adorable Minney.

Maria had not noticed at first the way things were going so immersed had she been in the battle for Minney. Now she was elated because Minney was hers.

But one day she said to Miss Pigot: ‘The Prince is giving a dinner party for the Marchioness of Hertford. It’s not the first time.’

‘Well, I expect he’s grateful to them for giving you darling Minney.’

‘I don’t think it’s that,’ said Maria slowly. ‘And he wants me there— to make it seem— respectable. Isn’t that just like him?’

‘Nonsense!’ said Miss Pigot. ‘Of course he wants you there. Doesn’t he always want you there?’

But Miss Pigot was beginning to be worried. It would tragic if anything went wrong now that they had gain little Minney.

Caroline was settling into her new life. She gave wild parties at Montague House to which were invited all kind of people from politicians to poets. Lord Byron was constant visitor and a great favourite with the Princess.

‘A strange moody man,’ she confided in Lady Charlotte Campbell who had come to serve her. ‘Yet he can be the gayest I ever met. And so amusing. Such fun. He is two men. He is one for the people he loathes and another for those he loves— and I think I am one of those he loves. He is so good at my parties. I sometimes declare he shall come to all of them.’

Lady Charlotte listened attentively. She had been a great beauty when she was young and she had married Colonel John Campbell by whom she had had nine children. The Princess of Wales had taken to her at once, for anyone who had had nine children excited her admiration and envy. When Lady Charlotte’s husband died Caroline had asked her to join her household and they had become great friends, What the Princess did not know was that Lady Charlotte kept a diary and recorded every little incident. Lady Charlotte fancied herself as a writer and had decided that when she had time she would devote herself to the art.

In the meantime she could enjoy her diary which would remind her of the Princess if ever she should cease to serve her.

Caroline had found her the perfect confidante because she listened so intently to everything that was told her and remembered too. More and more she began to confide in her while Lady Charlotte diligently wrote of the Princess’s penchant for people whose conduct was somewhat scandalous, like Lord Byron. She was so unconventional. When she was at Kensington she would walk in the gardens and talk to strangers as though she were an ordinary member of the public. Nor was she content to stay in the gardens but would wander out into the streets and enjoy what she called the ‘dear people’, forgetting that at any moment she might be recognized. She liked to wander about incognito; and if she saw a poor child she must immediately stop and give it money. Once she looked over a house in Bayswater which was to let and pretended that she was considering renting it. She did the maddest things.

She had taken a great interest in a family of Italian musicians, the Sapios— father, mother and son— all excellent in their profession; but Caroline became so enraptured by their talents and their company that she treated them as friends and had them to dine and walk with her and call upon her at any hour of the day.

And in addition to this eccentric behaviour there was Willikin, growing into a most objectionable boy. He was hideously spoilt, refused to learn his lessons and wanted the Princess’s perpetual attention.

He was generally disliked in the household; the only one who could see no wrong in him was the Princess Caroline.

There were letters from Brunswick. The Duchess, now that she had no husband, was thinking of returning to her native land. Moreover, Napoleon had overrun practically the whole of Europe and exile was necessary. The Duchess felt that she should be in England, for there she could be near her daughter and see something of her little granddaughter, the Princess Charlotte.

Caroline was not very pleased at the thought of having her mother living in England but she saw that she must receive her graciously. Her brother also was in exile since he had been driven from his country by the invader, so he too just come to England.

It was a dreary prospect, but there was nothing to be done but bow to it. The royal family made no effort to welcome their relations so Caroline put Montague House at her mother’s disposal while she herself remained in Kensington Palace.

This was a hardship because the unconventional life she could lead in Blackheath was more to her taste than that in Kensington.

The King, though, was a family man, and he was sorry rot, his sister who chattered incessantly and talked of the changes in England since she had left and all that she had suffered in Brunswick. And eventually he took pity on Caroline and gave the Duchess a house in Spring Gardens.

It was by no means grand but the Duchess contrived to make it so; and she would sit in the dingy rooms as though in a palace and receive, for now she had returned to England she was very conscious of her royalty and wished everyone else to be so too.

Caroline ran through Montague House declaring how good it was to be back.

‘Poor Mamma!’ she said to that diligent recorder Lady Charlotte. ‘I believe she is so happy to be here. It reminds her of the old days when she was Princess Royal. And her little Court there in Spring Gardens— it is sad, don’t you think Lady Charlotte? Court! I call it a Dullification. I have rarely been so bored as at dear Mamma’s Spring Garden Court. Ah, you are thinking how sad it is that she has been driven from her home but perhaps it is not so sad as you think. She always had to take second place, you know, when my father was alive. Madame de Hertzfeldt, his mistress, was the power in the land. Dear Lady Charlotte, you always tempt me to shock you because you are so easily shocked. Never mind. I like you. You are my dear friend, my angel, and we shall entertain now. I confess I am eager to fill this place with people who make me laugh.’

So she planned parties with amusing people and ran shrieking among her guests playing Blind Man’s Buff, a game which had always been a favourite of hers.

One day the King called. As soon as she saw him, Caroline thought he looked strange. He kept telling her how pleased he was to see her, that she was a beautiful woman and constantly in his thoughts.

It was pleasant to be back on the old terms of affection which had been interrupted by the Delicate Investigation; and she told him how happy she was.

‘Ah,’ he said almost roguishly. ‘I believe you love your old uncle.’

But indeed I do. No one has been kinder to me. Why I do not know what I should have done without your friendship, for I have had little from the rest of the family.’

‘Let us sit down,’ he said and drew her on to a sofa.

She was alarmed, for his manner had become stranger and he called her Elizabeth. Then he talked incoherently of his love for her and what he would do for her and how she was in fact his Queen.

Caroline realized that his mind was wandering and when he fell on her she rolled off the sofa and ran out of the room. She stood at the door listening and peeping in she saw him sitting on the sofa, his head in his hands.

Poor Uncle George! she thought. He mistook me for someone else. He is truly going mad. She went back into the room and when he looked up she realized that he had no remembrance of what had happened. ‘It is good of Your Majesty to call on me,’ she said.