The Prince laughed. ‘I’d like you and my uncle Cumberland to know that I admire you for what you did.’

‘I must thank Your Highness for those kind words. But you won’t attempt to follow our example will you?’

The Prince was on the verge of confiding his devotion to Mrs Robinson but decided against it. In any case his uncle probably knew about it. Most people did; the only ears it had not reached were those of the King and the Queen.

‘If I did,’ joked the Prince, ‘I would first come to you to ask your advice as to how to set about it.’

Both uncles were so easy to get on with. He enjoyed chatting with them. He asked after the Duchess, for he was not going to follow his father’s stupid example. And his uncle was very pleased to speak of her, for there was no doubt that his marriage had been a success.

When the half hour was over, and the Prince took leave of his uncle, he said: ‘I cannot see you now without the King’s leave, but in three years I shall be of age, and then I may act for myself. I declare I will visit you.’


* * *

The King sent for his son. As the rumours and gossip concerning Perdita Robinson and the Prince had so far been kept from him and the Queen, he believed that young George had been behaving during the last months with unusual propriety and had told the Queen that he believed that he was settling down at last. Charlotte was only too happy to agree.

Therefore when the Prince arrived the King greeted him without the usual irritation. The Prince’s manner seemed subdued. He was in fact wondering whether the King had sent for him because he had discovered about Perdita; and when he found that this was not the case he was distinctly relieved.

‘Your eighteenth birthday will soon be with us,’ said the King. ‘A milestone, eh, what?’

‘A milestone,’ repeated the Prince, his hopes soaring. Now he was going to hear of the allowance he would get, the house which would be his. The gates of freedom were slowly opening.

‘No longer a boy! Responsibilities, eh? Well, it is fitting that you should have an apartment of your own.’

Apartment, thought the Prince; and visualized the fine house which would be his. If he did not like it he would have it altered to his design. He had a distinct flair for architecture and had told Perdita that when his father gave him some noble house it should be a love nest for them both.

‘You are not yet fully of age. Another three years before that.

But eighteen … yes, an apartment certainly. I have decided that part of Buckingham House shall be assigned to you and your staff.’

Part of Buckingham House! How could he and Perdita make their love nest in his father’s palace! The Prince was aghast.

The King went on: ‘You’ll have an allowance that’ll be adequate and you shall have your own horses. You’ll not be under the same restraint …’

The Prince was not listening. A red haze seemed to swim before his eyes. Was this what he had been waiting for?

Rooms … rooms in Buckingham House!

He could not speak what was in his mind. He dared not. He was a minor still. Three long weary years stretched out before him. He had expected to gain so much and had gained so little.

One prison door had been opened, but he was not to be allowed his full freedom.


* * *

‘Rooms in Buckingham House!’ he told Frederick. ‘Think of it! Under Papa’s constant eye. I thought I was going to have my own establishment. I thought I was going to invite my friends.’

‘You’ll choose your friends now,’ Frederick pointed out. ‘For instance, you won’t have to scale walls when you go and meet them. You won’t have to hire rooms in inns surely. You have gained something.’

‘By God,’ cried the Prince. ‘I mean to show them. His and Her Sainted Majesties! I will make them wish they had never tried to put their fetters on me. I shall live as I like … do as I like … even though it is only in a part of Buckingham House.’


* * *

He determined to show the Court that he would not tolerate restraint. Even the apartments in Buckingham House were not to be occupied until January. But at least he had more freedom and he intended to exploit it to the full. No longer was it necessary to disguise himself as a night watchman and go clandestinely to Eel Pie Island. The Countess of Derby wanted to sell her house in Cork Street and it seemed to him ideal for Perdita. The money to buy it? Who would deny credit to the Prince of Wales?

So the house in Cork Street was his and he met Perdita there and together they went over it planning how it should be decorated. Perdita was all for discreet pastel shades; but the Prince wanted scarlet and gold. It was to be a royal residence; he himself intended to spend much of his time here. He would furnish it as a surprise for her.

And so he did … sparing no expense. On the command of the Prince of Wales, was enough to make any tradesman rush to execute the order. Most expensive materials must be used, everything of the finest – and no questions asked about the price.

The Prince, inhaling the air of freedom, was happier than ever before, he told Frederick; and his ecstasy was reflected in the lovers knots which appeared on the furnishing, the entwined initials G and P, the gilded mirrors, the velvet curtains of the bed.

The Prince’s orders were that the work must be completed at express speed. He could not wait to have his Perdita installed in Cork Street.

There came the day when he was waiting there to greet her. There he stood in the hall to embrace her and like an excited child to conduct her from room to room to show her how an ordinary house could be made into a royal residence.

Perdita was delighted with the entwined initials. A kingly custom. She did not recall, if she ever knew, that so had Henry VIII entwined his initials with those of Anne Boleyn in Hampton Court, but that poor Anne had lost her head before the work was completed.

Why should such thoughts occur to her? The Prince was as devoted as ever. He had bought this charming house for her and it was their home; and if it was the grandest she had ever lived in, well then, by his devotion he had lifted her to an eminence which some years before she would not have dreamed of attaining. She had come a long way from the rooms in Hatton Garden which she had shared with Mr Robinson when they were first married. But she would not think of Mr Robinson who was an uneasy subject at the best of times.

To the bedroom – with its velvet bed curtains caught up in a coronet under which they could make love.

‘Different from that inn room, eh?’ laughed the Prince.

‘So different. How can I ever thank you, my Prince.’

‘If you go on loving me, it is enough,’ he answered.

She must be painted, he said. Of course he must have a portrait of her. He would arrange for one of the great painters of the day to come to Cork Street. His very own picture of his very own Perdita.

And so he sent the artist Stroehling to her; and she was painted reclining on a velvet-covered couch – a flimsy gown cut low to give a glimpse of a charming bosom, sloping shoulders and rounded arms. About her lower limbs was wrapped a cloak lined with ermine; and the artist had painted a fountain in the background.

The Prince came to watch the work in progress and was delighted with it.

‘I shall keep it for ever,’ he declared. ‘It will remind me of the day I first saw you, when you came on to the stage and changed my whole life. I remember how jealous I was when Florizel came on and you took his hand. How I longed to play Florizel!

“So turtles pair,

Who never mean to part …”’

he quoted.

Then he had an inspiration. The artist should paint two turtle doves into the picture.

This was done and when it was completed he was delighted.

As soon as he had his own apartments he would have it hung in his cabinet – a constant symbol of two lovers who were never meant to part.

Cumberland House

ELIZABETH SHERIDAN WAS apprehensive. She rarely saw her husband now. The East Burnham days seemed so far off that they might never have existed. She feared the future.

The School for Scandal alone could have made Richard a rich man; the theatre brought in a good income; but what happened? The gaming tables claimed a large share of it; and women? She often wondered about women.

How different it was from those days when they had run away together. Richard was not the same man. She had known he had great talent, and had rejoiced in it; but to what had it brought him?

If only he would have allowed her to earn money by her singing, her name could have brought audiences to rival those of Perdita Robinson. But he was too proud, he said. Vanity perhaps would be a more apt term.

But she never showed her fears. She knew that that would have alienated him more quickly than ever. In his way he had an affection for her which went deep and none of his light amours could shake. She must accept him as he was. She must never attempt to change him, for to do so would be to lose him altogether.

Sometimes she thought longingly of the old days in Bath – the happy home, the musical family … the carefree days. She had visualized life going on in the same serene way when she had married Richard. She wanted to help him succeed as a playwright and she had thought that would have been the most important thing in the world to them both.

But it was not. He would start a play and tire of it. He did not want to work; he wanted to live in gay society; he was famous for his wit which came to him spontaneously; she had heard him scatter conversational gems to the right and left – to the delight of his listeners – they came and carelessly were lost when they should have been stored for posterity’s delight.