‘Do not talk. You tire yourself.’

‘I must talk, George. There is little time left. Promise me that there shall be no autopsy on my body. When I am gone let it rest in peace.’

‘I promise,’ said George.

‘Our mother may wish it… but I have your promise and you will not allow it.’

‘I swear it, dearest Elizabeth.’

‘Now give me your hand, George. Know this: I die happy. There is only one thing I regret, brother, which is that I shall not live to see you King. One more promise. Promise to be happy. Promise to put the past behind you. Marry, George. Raise a family. Have no secrets from the nation. Oh, George, if only I could be with you…’

He sat by the bed. Why should this happen? Why should she, who was only eighteen years old, be chosen to die? Why had he lost Hannah?

Why… why? There seemed no justice in life. The young to die so early . . the aged to go on and on wishing for death which eluded them like a mischievous child they were trying to catch.

The tears silently fell from his eyes and when Lord Bute came into the room he found him sitting thus beside the body of his dead sister.


* * *

‘An autopsy?’ said the Princess Dowager. ‘Of course there must be an autopsy. Elizabeth died so suddenly. Three days ago she was well… as well as she normally was, that is. There must be an autopsy.’

‘It was her wish that there should not be,’ said George.

‘Nonsense,’ retorted his mother. ‘She was too ill to be reasonable. It is expected.’

The Prince glanced at Lord Bute. ‘I promised my sister,’ he said. ‘I shall keep my promise. She did not wish it.’

‘And the King?’ asked his mother. ‘Is he going to allow this… this… lapse?’

Lord Bute said: ‘The King is getting too old to concern himself with such matters.’ He smiled at George. ‘It is the Prince’s wish that he should keep his word to his sister and I am sure, Madam, that when you escape a little from your grief you will agree with His Highness that the Princess Elizabeth’s wishes should be respected in this matter.’

How wonderful he was! thought George. So good, so kind. Did a man ever have such a friend! His mother shrugged her shoulders.

‘I suppose you are right…’

How easily she accepted Lord Bute’s decisions, although she still treated him, the Prince of Wales, as a child.

When I am King it will be different, thought George. And everything will be all right if Lord Bute is beside me when I ascend the throne.

Later he thanked his friend for his assistance.

‘I had promised her. I was determined to see that her wishes were carried out, no matter what the objection.’

‘I could see it. And I was determined to do all I could to see that your wishes – and those of the Princess – were respected.’

A stubborn streak in our George, Bute was thinking. I must warn Augusta.

‘Our mother bears our common loss surprisingly well,’ said George.

A reproach. Augusta would have to be a little more careful. George was a man of twenty-one and surely he had shown them how he could act on his own initiative in that disastrous affair of the Quakeress. Pray God they have heard the last of it. But Bute was not altogether certain of that.

What they had learned was that they must keep a closer watch on the Prince of Wales – and without appearing to do so. Yes, he must warn Augusta to remember constantly that they were no longer dealing with a child. And when they had a King to consider, the dangers would be greater.

‘Thank you… thank you once again,’ George was saying. ‘I know you understand. I cannot stop thinking of her. I have been trying to read this morning and find it impossible. She meant a great deal to me and we always planned we should be together for the rest of our lives. You see, she always said no one would wish to marry her and she counted that a blessing because it meant she would stay at home with me. And now she is gone.’

Bute nodded.

‘I understand your sorrow, but I tell you now as I did on that other recent and so sad occasion, it is your preoccupation with your destiny which will place you above these earthly sorrows.’

‘You will always be beside me… to help me?’

‘As long as you need me… so help me God.’

George smiled. He had lost Hannah; he had lost Elizabeth; but he still had his dear friend, Lord Bute.

George, the King

ONE COULD NOT mourn for ever, particularly if one were a Prince, continually in the public eye. Elizabeth had not been a well-known figure at Court because her physical disability had kept her to her own apartments; therefore her passing was scarcely noticed. The Princess agreed that there should be no autopsy and as the King was scarcely aware of the death in the family, George had no difficulty in seeing that his sister’s wishes were respected.

The Prince must attend levees and banquets which, Lord Bute was the first to point out to him, were actually given in his honour and if he failed to attend, those who had gone to such trouble to prepare such entertainments would consider their efforts wasted. So sighing George allowed himself to be dressed in his rich garments and he appeared at these functions where everyone was ready to pay him homage; for not only was he Prince of Wales, but he was young, and the people adored him and believed it would be a great day for England when he ascended the throne. He was not ill-tempered like his grandfather; he spoke English like a native; he was gracious, even modest, and with his fair skin and blue eyes was almost handsome, for when he smiled the heavy sullen Hanoverian jaw was scarcely visible and as his expression was invariably pleasant he was voted a veritable Prince Charming.

Life was becoming tolerable. Occasionally he visited the children, but those visits were becoming more rare. As Bute pointed out it was not wise to venture into Surrey too often because he was under continual surveillance. It might be discovered where he went and he must realize that the affair of the Quakeress had come to an end. It was a true marriage and he would never love anyone as he loved Hannah – that was understood – but as a man of the world he would understand that it was best to behave as though it never happened.

But he would never forget, George reiterated.

In time! Bute promised him. And Bute – that oracle of wisdom – was always right.

George knew that his mother and Lord Bute were concerned to find a bride for him. Perhaps that would be as well. He would marry and have children… it would be pleasant to have a family which he did not have to hide away.

His friend Elizabeth Chudleigh was giving lavish parties and she always declared that, for her at least, they were spoilt unless he attended. She would throw him languishing glances and he would find her invitations irresistible. The rather solemn old Duke of Kingston was her very good friend and they were always seen together. Many said that she was his mistress, but there were always people to whisper unkind things about Elizabeth. He knew her for a kind and sympathetic friend. And she was so beautiful. He was discovering how much he liked beautiful women.

When he thought of women now he no longer saw Hannah’s lovely but rather melancholy face. He saw brilliant Elizabeth Chudleigh’s or that other Elizabeth who was the Countess of Pembroke. Her husband, the tenth Earl, was his groom of the Bedchamber and had been for some years, which meant that George was able to see a great deal of the Countess. There was a woman he could have been very fond of. She was older than he was, but so had Hannah been and he liked older women. The Countess had recently given birth to a son and he had been congratulating them warmly. But sometimes the Countess was a little sad. He hoped the Earl was kind to her; he was not sure that he was. There were rumours that he was unfaithful. Poor Elizabeth Pembroke! He would be ready to comfort her if she needed his comfort. In fact, he often thought of himself comforting lovely Elizabeth Pembroke. It was a pleasant reverie.

And then something very startling happened, something which a few months before he would not have believed possible.

At one of his levees he was confronted by the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He gasped. She was so enchanting; her skin was so fine, her dark hair abundant; her eyes perfectly shaped and her teeth showed white and even, when she smiled. It was difficult to know why she could be so lovely; it was not so much a beauty of feature but of expression, animation… colouring… he did not know what; he only knew that he was looking at the loveliest girl in the world and that the prospect excited him.

‘Who is that beautiful creature?’ he demanded of the man who stood next to him.

‘Lady Sarah Lennox, Your Highness,’ was the answer.

‘Who… who is she?’

‘The Duke of Richmond’s sister, Sir. Just returned to London from Ireland where she has been living for some time.’

‘Why did she live in Ireland?’

‘I believe she is an orphan.’

‘And she is no longer living in Ireland? Where now does she live?’

‘At Holland House, Sir. Her eldest sister married Henry Fox and she lives with them.’

‘I see. That is very interesting.’

‘Your Highness wishes her to be presented to you?’

‘No… no,’ said the Prince uneasily.

It was enough to look.


* * *

He went on looking for her on every occasion. She seemed to become more beautiful every time he saw her. Looking at her, thinking of her, he forgot all his grief over Hannah. Hannah could never have compared with this gay vital girl who danced and chattered and now and then would glance in the direction of the Prince of Wales, rather invitingly and just a little piqued because he made no attempt to speak to her.