He took her hand; he kissed it; and she lifted her eyes brimming over with love for him to his face.

‘This,’ he whispered, ‘is the most wonderful moment of our lives.’

It meant that they were at last together in public, that his uncle Cumberland accepted Perdita. Never again need they meet in secret.

This was indeed independence!

What an evening that was! For the first time since Frederick had gone he ceased to miss him.

He was astonished at the company – the free and easy manners, the talk which could be bawdy and at the same time witty and brilliant. Politics were discussed; so was art and literature. Everyone listened respectfully when he spoke but he had no need to feel ashamed of ignorance, for if he were not as yet fully versed in politics he could compete successfully in discussions on art and literature. There was dancing and gambling. The stakes were high but that seemed to him right in such distinguished company. He played at Faro and watched Loo and Macao; the men who most fascinated him were Fox and the playwright Sheridan. They were the sort of men he would have liked to have had for his tutors. Well, now he might have them for his friends. Might have them? He would if he wished. This night had taught him that what he asked would be readily given, and he was intoxicated with the joy of being the Prince of Wales.

He would come again and again to Cumberland House. There would, said the fascinating Duchess, always be a welcome for her handsome nephew at any hour of the day or night – and for Perdita.

She fluttered her lashes at Perdita who was perhaps a little jealous. She need not have been. He was her faithful lover; but he had to admit that his aunt was a damned attractive woman.

He would, he declared, come again and often.

Cumberland House, he was told, was his home whenever he cared to make it so.

And when he left with Perdita the Duke and Duchess savoured their victory; because it was now quite clear that it was the Cumberlands who were going to launch the Prince of Wales.

The Prince and Perdita went back to Cork Street. He was flushed not only with triumph for he had drunk more than usual.

Perdita had drunk very little and was sober in both senses.

‘What an evening! By God, what a house! I declare ours looks like a cottage in comparison.’

He looked round it disparagingly.

‘I would rather be happy in a cottage than unhappy in the finest mansion.’

The Prince laughed: ‘Well, so would everyone else.’

She stood there, arms folded across her breasts, very pretty but too dramatic, and the Prince was in no mood for histrionics. He had caught the mood of the people he had been with and they would have been very quick to ridicule sentiment – particularly if it were false.

‘Come here and stop acting, Perdita. You are not on the stage now. Come and be my turtle dove.’

She came and sat beside him – all grace and willowy draperies.

He kissed her with passion, but his thoughts were still with the company.

‘Fox is one of the best talkers I ever heard,’ he said. ‘And Sheridan’s another. By God, they are men I would be happy to call my friends.’

She shivered. ‘You promised me once that you would not use bad language.’

‘Did I, by God.’ He laughed aloud. ‘What did you think of Fox?’

‘I thought his linen was … unclean.’

The Prince laughed again. ‘You met the most brilliant man in London and the first thing you have to say about him is that his linen is unclean.’

‘I cannot see why his brilliance should prevent his putting on a clean shirt.’

‘How severe you are. And Sheridan?’

‘You forget I know him well.’

‘A damned fine fellow. Words! He has a way with them.’

‘They’re his trade.’

‘Perdita, one would think you did not greatly like the company tonight. I trust you did because I found it most diverting.’

‘There were some ill reputations among that company,’ she said, pursing her lips.

‘Ill reputations are often the most interesting.’

She drew away from him. ‘I do not like to hear you talk like that.’

He was startled. After all the approval he had had tonight this sounded like criticism. Perdita seemed to have forgotten that although he loved her he was still the Prince of Wales.

‘That,’ he said coolly, ‘will not prevent my saying what I mean.’

She was alarmed; she saw the angry lights in his eyes. They were a warning. He had of course drunk more than was good for him. She must be careful, but she would do her utmost to prevent visits to Cumberland House. She did not trust the Duchess – nor the Duke for that matter. Ah, the Duke! How did he feel about her now? Did he remember the time when he had done all in his power to seduce her?

If she told the Prince that, perhaps he would not think so much of his uncle. But not now. This was not the moment, when he was a little peevish.

‘No one could prevent the Prince of Wales doing what he wished,’ she told him soothingly. ‘And as he is a man of great good sense, none but fools would wish to.’

She was on her feet, making a sweeping bow which was somehow reminiscent of a plump lady who had been at Cumberland House that evening. The Prince laughed – his good humour restored. Perdita laughed with him. She was so pretty when she laughed.

‘Come,’ he cried. ‘Let us have a song.’

She sat at the harpsichord and he leaned over her. He had an excellent voice of which he was very proud; she sang well, for when she had decided to go on the stage Elizabeth Sheridan had given her lessons. Their voices mingled perfectly. She wanted to sing a sentimental song of love; but the Prince was not in the mood for sentimentality.

With Sheridan in mind he began to sing the song from The School for Scandal:

‘Here’s to the maiden of bashful fifteen;

Here’s to the widow of fifty;

Here’s the flaunting extravagant quean,

And here’s to the housewife that’s thrifty.

Let the toast pass

Drink to the lass

I’ll warrant she’ll prove an excuse for the glass.’

A little primness had returned to Perdita’s mouth; she did not want to be reminded of drink, for she had always known that the Prince was too fond of it.

However, the Prince was in good spirits; and when he had enough of singing, he declared that there was no better way to end a perfect evening than by spending the night with Perdita.


* * *

In the Duchess of Cumberland’s bedchamber she discussed the evening with the Duke.

She curved her little white hands to make them look like claws and murmured: ‘We have him. He is ours.’

The Duke nodded with satisfaction. ‘Wait!’ he cried. ‘Just wait until this gets to old George’s ears!’

‘He may forbid it to continue. Then I suppose we should have to obey?’

‘For a time.’

‘For three years. God knows what will happen to our little Prince in that time.’

‘You fascinated him. By God, he could scarcely take his eyes off you.’

‘Don’t play the jealous husband. It’s too difficult a role for you.’

‘I’ll tell you this if you’d like to hear it. I’ve never seen a woman to come near you for looks.’

‘What about Propriety Prue?’

‘Who in God’s name is she?’

‘She goes under the name of Mrs Perdita Robinson and I can tell you that she was not as pleased with our little entertainment as His Highness was.’

‘What! That little play actress.’

The Duchess regarded him sardonically; she knew all about those visits to the theatre which had not been crowned with success as far as the Duke was concerned.

‘You will I know agree that she is a beautiful one.’

‘I don’t doubt she’s pretty enough.’

‘Pretty enough for a prince … if not for a duke?’

‘That was long ago. I thought she looked well in breeches.’

‘So did many others. But this is beside the point. P P does not like us, I fear; and she undoubtedly will have influence with H H.’

‘Propriety Prue! And openly living in sin!’

‘With a prince. You must admit that makes it a very venial sin.’

‘Don’t mock, Anne.’

‘I’m deadly serious. In fact so serious that I am reminding you of something you may have forgotten.’

‘What’s that?’

‘That women can beg and plead very prettily; they can also very slowly poison a man’s mind against those who would be his friends. All these little tricks performed at dead of night in a velvet curtained bed … and the curtains, so I have heard, are held together overhead by a coronet, if you please … these tricks can be very effective. And I repeat, you should know.’

‘Since it was in such circumstances that you forced me to marry you …’

‘Not forced. I never use force. Only persuasion.’

He laughed. She never bored him in spite of his infidelities. He had given her what she wanted – marriage into the royal family, and she was content with that. He was a conceited little man – by no means the most attractive of the King’s brothers, but he had married her and she must be thankful for that. She was not of course of lowly birth like her sister-in-law the Duchess of Gloucester, whose origins were very questionable. They did not meet often; they had so little in common, except that they were married to brothers and had both made marriages which were unacceptable to the King. The Duchess of Gloucester, Lady Waldegrave that was, was dignified, and in spite of her birth played the part of Duchess to perfection. The daughter of a milliner some said and of Sir Edward Walpole – the elder brother of that gossip and writer Horace – her father had supervised her education and in due course married her to Lord Waldegrave; and when Lord Waldegrave had died, Maria, the pretty creature, had taken a fancy to the Duke of Gloucester, and he to her it seemed, for he had impetuously, without consulting his family, rushed into marriage with her.