Grace’s character was not exactly suited to convent life and very soon she left this refuge and, living on the fringe of the Court of France, met Lord Cholmondeley who was on a visit from England.

Lord Cholmondeley was gallant, and Grace was homesick, so they comforted each other and Cholmondeley brought her back to England … and to Cumberland House.

Grace was gay and unscathed by her adventures. She knew herself well enough to realize that though men were necessary to her full enjoyment of life, she would never remain faithful to one for any length of time. She would flit from one to another, enjoying each encounter to the full because she knew that when it was over there would be no regrets, no looking back and sighing over the past; Grace could only live life in the present; it was this quality which many found so attractive and Golden Daily the Tall was welcomed into society such as that at Cumberland House.

She had seen the Prince of course and could imagine nothing more desirable than to be his mistress for a while. She was growing a little tired of Cholmondeley in any case.

So she listened to the Duchess’s plans and agreed at once that if she did not win His Royal Highness from Perdita it would not be her fault.


* * *

Cumberland House looked gayer than usual after the scene with Perdita.

There was dancing and gaming as usual, as well as good talk. The Duchess had a word in private with the Prince when he arrived, asking if all was well. ‘Your fond aunt fancies you look less contented than usual and she is concerned for you.’

‘I’m not discontented.’

‘But it is not enough that you should merely be not discontented. I must see you basking in complete contentment.’

‘My dearest aunt!’

‘So tell me what I must do for your delight.’

‘What more could you do?’

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘Anything in the world you asked of me, dear nephew. And I will tell you this: I certainly feel very angry towards any who disturb you.’

It was a reference to Perdita, he knew, for she suspected that Perdita was playing the injured woman who had given her ‘all’. She had told him an amusing story about a woman who had left her husband for a lover and who comically dramatized the situation. He had laughed with the rest of the company and it was not until later that he had realized how those timeworn clichés she had put into the woman’s mouth were the very ones Perdita would have chosen.

She was frowning, which was rare with her. ‘I am a little disturbed, dear nephew. So disturbed because I know it is my duty to speak and wondering whether it will make you angry with me.’ Again one of those coquettish looks. ‘Could you imagine circumstances in which you would be angry with me?’

‘Impossible because none exist.’

‘Not only the most elegant, the most handsome, but the most gallant of princes!’ She was laughing again. ‘I have found my courage and I will speak. You should take care. I believe your father has set a spy very close to you.’

‘To report on my actions! The newspapers do that very well.’

‘More than that. He wants to guide your actions. He is trying to stop your visits here.’

‘He’ll never do that.’

‘Poison works slowly sometimes but it can kill in the end. I know that your father deplores the fact that you come here. He hates Cumberland because he married me. He’s never forgiven him. And that you should choose to visit us infuriates him. He wants to stop it.’

‘He has not commanded me to stay away.’

‘No, because he realizes he could not do that. If you refused, the people would be on your side. There is Fox or Sheridan to mention it in Parliament. It is not the wish of the people, dearest nephew, that you should be treated like an infant in arms.’

‘That I will resist at all costs.’

‘The King wishes you to live as he does. Early to bed, early to rise. Lemonade your drink; a little backgammon your sole dissipation. Lucky nephew, to have two Holy fathers – one in Heaven and one on Earth.’

‘He knows it’s hopeless to force me to live the kind of life he does.’

‘Does Propriety … Does Perdita ever mention your coming here?’

The Prince hesitated.

‘Oh, you are too honourable to tell, but of course she does. This is why it is so difficult. She wishes you to stay away because the King wants it. He would be even ready to accept the fact that you keep a mistress if he could stop your coming here and break up your friendship with your uncle and myself and Fox and Sheridan.’

‘Nothing would induce me to break up the friendships I most treasure. You cannot mean that the King has approached Perdita …’

‘I do not mean that His Majesty has been visiting Cork Street nor that your mistress has been summoned to St James’s or Kew. But there are ways of communicating messages, and I know for certain that the Queen believes that although it is deplorable that you keep a mistress it is not the first time an heir to the throne has done so. The King is more concerned with your politics and the fact that you have made a friend of the brother he refuses to receive than your association with a mistress.’

‘Is this so?’

She laid a hand appealingly on his arm. ‘Do not believe me until you have proved this for yourself.’

‘I will prove this. I will ask her if she is doing the King’s work for him.’

‘She would deny it. Imagine her. “Do you think I would allow myself to be the King’s spy!”’ The Duchess had put her hand to her throat and was staring before her in a perfect imitation of Perdita. ‘“Do you think I would work in the dark against the man for whom I gave up husband, home and child?”’ It was cruelly similar and he felt ashamed and yet not as angry as he should have done. There was almost a feeling of relief. Once again he felt that the door of a cage in which he was locked – and this time he himself had turned the key – was slowly opening for him to escape if he wanted to.

The Duchess was quick to sense his mood. ‘Don’t blame her too much. She would naturally wish to please the King, and if it meant that her liaison was not frowned on in those circles, imagine how relieved that would make her.’

‘It is certainly a disturbing thought,’ he said. ‘But I believe your zeal for my comfort has perhaps led you to the wrong conclusion.’

She was smiling happily. ‘Oh, I do hope so, for your happiness is the most important thing to me. I do want all to be well. The King may banish us from Court if he wishes. Who wants to visit the Palace of Piety? But if you should withdraw your presence … well, then Cumberland House would hang out the mourning.’

He laughed. ‘You’d look very well in purple and black.’

‘But better wrapped in smiles.’

‘Dear aunt!’

‘And I have not offended? I have not been too outspoken?’

‘As if you could ever offend.’

‘Then I am happy. But, Prince of Princes, you will be watchful.’

He promised that he would.

He was thoughtful when Grace Elliott was presented to him. He could not help assessing her charms though. She was exciting. But he kept thinking of Perdita, perhaps receiving a message from the Court. Could it be Maiden? No, Malden had been a good friend. Yet if the King commanded Maiden to tell Perdita his pleasure, who could blame Malden?

An uneasy thought. Spies in the very house which was to have been his refuge!

He danced with Grace. He complimented her on her dancing and her beauty.

She conveyed as she could so well that she had other attributes which she would be pleased to put at the Prince’s service. He was aware of this but his attitude was vague; and Grace knew that she was not going to step into his bed immediately.


* * *

The next day the Prince called at Cork Street, his mind full of the accusations he had heard on the previous night.

Perdita had had a sleepless night; when he had left her she had gone over everything that had been said and she remembered those early days when he had contrived to be with her every possible moment and had never left her side until he was forced to. Nowadays he merely announced that he was going to Cumberland House or Devonshire House, to neither of which households was she invited.

She had thought the Duchess of Devonshire might be her friend since, when Perdita had been in the debtors’ prison, the Duchess had helped her. But while the Duchess was ready to help a poor woman of talent, she was not prepared to receive a play actress in to her house. Perdita had been very angry and instead of making it tactfully known to the Prince that she longed to go to Devonshire House – for had he asked that she should go his request would have been immediately granted – she had tried to outshine the Duchess in public at such places as the Rotunda, the Pantheon and Ranelagh. She had dressed herself in magnificent gowns, colourful and dazzling, certain to attract the eye and wherever the Duchess was there was Perdita – always calling attention to herself, determined to oust the Duchess from her position as the leader of fashion.

And when she had, coming face to face with the Duchess, bowed, the Duchess had looked through her as though she did not exist and the crowds had seen the snub.

That had sent her home in tears, railing against her position and all she had given up for the Prince; and she continued with the theme when the Prince called to see her.

So, after that near quarrel Perdita was uneasy. She lay in bed thinking not so much of her child as of the changing attitude of the Prince. There was one other subject of which she refused to think. Every time it came into her mind she pushed it away. This was Debts. She did not know how much she owed but she knew the amount must be considerable. The cost of entertaining at Cork Street was enormous; her dresses cost a fortune; her wine bill she dared not think of – the Prince and his friends were heavy drinkers. No, she dared not think of money. And while she had the Prince’s affection it was unimportant.