It was wrong of him to criticize her for doing her duty. He should be grateful. Cumberland might have a beautiful wife but he did not possess thirteen children and a fourteenth on the way.

‘I am constantly hearing of the Prince of Wales,’ said Cumberland.

Startled lights appeared in the Queen’s eyes. What had George been doing now? What new scandal?

Cumberland saw their alarm and delighted in it.

‘The people dote on him. He is so handsome. That is what I hear.’

The Queen breathed more easily. ‘He is a very good-looking boy.’

‘And a scholar too.’

‘He was always good with his books. He speaks several languages fluently.’

‘German is one, I hear. Our ancestors all spoke that fluently, but George is fluent in French, Italian and English too. And a classical scholar.’ Cumberland raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘How did we produce such a genius, George?’

The Queen looked pleased. A discussion of the Prince’s perfections always delighted her.

‘He’s apt to be wild,’ murmured the King.

‘In that he does not take after his father … nor his mother. But it’s youth, George, only youth.’

‘Then the sooner he grows up the better, eh, what?’

‘I am so looking forward to being presented to him.’

The King’s lips were set in stubborn lines.

‘You cannot see the children,’ he said.

‘Oh, but …’

‘I make it clear, eh, what? You cannot see the children.’

Cumberland looked downcast and bewildered. But the King repeated: ‘I said you cannot see the children. You heard, eh, what? You cannot see the children.’

Cumberland remembered what a stubborn old mule George had always been. Let him get an idea and there was no moving him. There was something adamant about the way he spoke. So he could do nothing but take his leave and report to Mr Fox that in spite of being received he had made little headway.


* * *

The Prince was developing a great fondness for his sisters and could not let a day pass without visiting them.

‘It is pleasant,’ said the Queen, ‘to know that there is such affection between them.’

Even the King grunted when she told him and said he was glad George was at last realizing his responsibilities.

If they could have seen the Prince’s absorption in his sister’s attendant they would have felt less satisfaction; but Mary Hamilton was no Harriot Vernon.

She had told the Prince as much.

‘No matter what my feelings I should never do anything which I considered detrimental to my honour, Your Highness.’

The Prince had seized her hand and cried passionately: ‘Do you think I should ask it? Your honour is more important to me than my own life.’

Chivalry was now the rule of his life and those adventures which had gone before seemed crude and coarse. Pure love was the only true love; it was much better to dally on the road of romance than to reach the climax, for when one did romance very often fled.

Mary was beautiful and so wise, being twenty-three years old, six years his senior. She had enormous eyes, a slightly tip-tilted nose and plump cheeks. She laughed often and infectiously. She was perfect. She admitted to a fondness for the Prince. Was it love? he asked eagerly. Yes, it was love. But not gross love. She would not allow him to demean himself nor her.

Several of the ladies in the Princesses’ apartments reminded her of Harriot Vernon.

‘The Queen sent for her one afternoon. Within an hour her bags had been packed and she was gone. Be careful, Mary.’

Mary needed no warning. She was going to be careful.

‘All that I have to offer you,’ she told the Prince, ‘is pure, sacred and completely disinterested.’

‘I know,’ he answered. ‘If it were possible I would ask you to marry me.’

‘We know full well that is impossible,’ replied the practical Mary. ‘Perhaps you will not be content with what I have to offer.’

The Prince was on his knees. He was fond of extravagant gestures. He asked nothing … nothing … but to be able to serve her for the rest of his life. ‘You will forget me in time,’ Mary told him sadly.

‘Never, never.’

She shook her head wisely. ‘If you did forget me I should regret that we ever formed a friendship, but I should not complain.’

‘I shall never allow you to leave me,’ he declared. ‘How could I endure to be parted from one whom I not only love with enthusiastic fondness but dote on and adore beyond everything that is human.’

‘It delights me to hear Your Highness express such sentiments, but I must tell you that I could never be your mistress. My honour is dearer to me than my life … even than you are to me and …’

The Prince interrupted her.

‘You need say no more. I would sooner go to immediate perdition than attempt to do anything that would be detrimental either to your reputation or your honour and virtue.’

Mary sighed with happiness.

‘Then you truly love me.’

‘You could not doubt it. But I must have something. A lock of your hair in a plain setting and on this shall be engraved the date of that most important event … your birth. You shall have engraved a message to me and I shall have one engraved to you. Shall I tell you what mine shall be, “Toujours aimée”.’

‘I think this would be unwise.’ Mary was imagining the lock of hair falling into the hands of Madam von Schwellenburg and being carried to Queen Charlotte. The thought of Harriot Vernon had become an obsession with her. People were dismissed from Court within an hour if they became a nuisance; and the Queen had shown clearly what she thought of those unwise women who allowed the Prince of Wales to become enamoured of them.

The Prince was going on rapturously: ‘And you must allow me to present you with a bracelet. Please … just a plain one and on it I shall inscribe a message for you. I have decided on it “Gravé à jamais dans mon coeur”.’

‘This could be dangerous.’

‘Dangerous.’ His eyes sparkled at the thought. ‘I would face the whole world for your sake.’

Maybe, she thought, but he would not be called upon to do so. Possibly only the King, who would reprimand him and tell him to mend his ways. Whereas for Mary Hamilton it would be banishment and disgrace. She did not remind him of this, for she had no wish to spoil the idyll by mentioning such practical matters; but she must never be carried away by the charm of the Prince unless she wanted to rush headlong to ruin.

A passionate but platonic friendship would be delightful, but there it must end.

‘You must not be too impetuous,’ she warned him.

‘Impetuosity. Ardour. No word is too strong to express my feelings. I see beauty, accomplishments … in fact everything in you that could make your Palamon happy.’

In his romantic way he had called himself her Palamon and she was his Miranda. And when she thought of the passionate letters – and he loved to write letters, for no sooner did he find a pen in his hand than he must use it, and he enjoyed the flowery sentences which he wrote with ease – she was terrified.

‘You must write to me as your sister,’ she told him. ‘Only then can I receive your letters.’

‘No matter what your Palamon calls you, my Miranda, you are the love of his life.’

So fervently did he speak that Mary was deeply touched and a little afraid of her own feelings.

She knew that it was going to be difficult to keep her friendship with the ardent young man on the only possible plane which could ensure her remaining at Court.


* * *

The King’s mood had lightened a little. He had been at odds with his government for some time and the friction between them was all due to the disastrous affair of the American colonists.

‘I would accept any ministry,’ he had said, ‘that would keep the Empire intact, prosecute the war and treat me with the respect due to the King.’

North was continually pointing out that times had changed. North was a weakling. Always in the background of the King’s mind was that blackguard Charles James Fox. Up to no good, thought the King. He likes to plague me. There was a distant kinship between them because, through his mother, Fox was connected with the royal family, on the wrong side of the blanket it was true, for Fox’s mother, Lady Caroline Lennox, was the great-granddaughter of Charles II by his Mistress Louise de Quérouaille; and sometimes Fox reminded him of pictures of his royal ancestor.

It was all very disturbing, but he had received news that Admiral Rodney had defeated the Spanish fleet at Gibraltar and that Sir Henry Clinton had had some success in the southern colonies. Fox and his supporters might declare that these were no major victories and it was true that there was nothing decisive about them, but the King was pleased to have news of them and it set his mind at rest a little.

He could go to Kew with a good conscience and give his mind to domestic matters.

What a joy to visit his model farm, to stroll in the country lanes and receive the curtsies of the country women while the men touched their forelocks as they would to any country squire; to visit the nurseries and see the little ones and make sure that Lady Charlotte Finch was obeying his orders with regard to their eating habits; to take the babies on his knee and caress them. Mary and Sophia were adorable and the elder girls were charming. There at Kew he could be at peace. He could rise early in the morning and light the fire which had been laid for him the night before and then get back into bed and wait until it warmed the room. His servants might laugh at his simple habits but he did not care.