‘You mean yourself…’

‘Myself and Her Highness, your mother.’

‘No one would ever do that.’

‘I am sure Your Majesty would not allow it, but they would attempt it. In the interests of the country, Your Majesty should accept the Princess Charlotte Sophia… and…’

‘And Sarah?’ whispered George.

‘If she truly loved you she would consent to become your mistress. Other women have had to take a similar decision. It would be a test of her love.’

‘I should not ask her to. I should not care for such an association. When I marry I intend to be a faithful husband. I intend to set an example to my people.’

‘Noble sentiments, and they do Your Majesty credit. You can set the pattern of your Court and I know you will do it. Profligacy, so rife in the last reign, will disappear and it will be due to our King. That is magnificent. But you must have a woman who will help you in this. There must be no uncertainty after marriage. No wandering out by night to confer with other men… nothing of that sort.’

‘It was only mischief.’

‘There must be no mischief. Your Majesty, I beg of you listen to Her Highness, your mother. You never had, and never will have, a better friend in the world.’

‘Yes, listen to me and listen to my Lord Bute. When have we ever failed you?’

‘Never, but…’

‘Then heed our words now,’ pleaded Bute. ‘The country needs this marriage with the Princess Charlotte, and you must give the country what it needs.’

‘No,’ said the King. ‘I have heard enough. I am going to marry Sarah.’

He bowed abruptly and left them.

The Princess was in despair, but Bute was not so despondent.

‘Our words have had some effect,’ he said.

‘What if he goes to Holland House and actually asks for her hand?’

‘I do not think he will act so rashly. I shall stay close with him during the next days. I shall bring him to see where his duty lies.’

Augusta felt faintly relieved. Her confidence in Lord Bute never wavered.


* * *

When the King rode out from Kensington Palace he passed Holland House in the grounds of which Sarah, looking delightful as a country girl in a sunbonnet, was helping to make the hay.

He stopped and spoke to her. How enchanting she was! How wonderful it would have been if he had been a country squire and she the daughter of a neighbour! He could fancy that, on a morning like this.

She looked expectant. Was she hoping he would ask her to marry him?

‘I shall,’ he told himself a little too defiantly.

He rode on past Holland House. A King had his duties to his people. Hannah had said that. No one had realized that more than she had. She had wanted to keep in the background so that she did not embarrass him.

Hannah had been different – a Quakeress and niece of a linen-draper. Sarah had royal blood in her veins and they could say what they liked, it was royal blood by whatever means it had got there.

I shall not listen to them, George insisted. I am going to marry Sarah.

Not listen to Lord Bute, his best friend, whose advice he constantly sought? Lord Bute was so certain that it would be wrong to marry Sarah.

This was one instance where Lord Bute was wrong.

But Lord Bute had never been wrong… until now.

It was noticed that the King looked very melancholy as he rode along.


* * *

Bute came to the King’s apartment, his manner grave.

‘Your Majesty, I have just heard news which disturbs me.’

‘What. Is it Sarah?’

Bute shook his head. ‘A man named Green was arrested at Westminster for making disloyal comments about Your Majesty.’

‘I’ll dareswear he is not the only one. There were disloyal comments enough about my grandfather. Why should I escape?’

‘These, Your Majesty, were directed against your relationships with… a Quakeress.’

‘What?’ cried the King turning pale.

‘I heard that this man had talked of your enticing the Quakeress from her home and setting her up in a house where you visited her.’

‘Is that… so?’

‘Your Majesty will see how unhealthy it is that such rumours should be allowed to grow.’

‘But… will they grow?’

‘Yes, Your Majesty, unless you marry and show the people that you live respectably with your Queen.’

‘It is what I intend to do.’

‘There would be a scandal if you did not marry the bride who has been selected for you. Colonel Graeme is already negotiating. If you married the Lady Sarah all this scandal about the Quakeress would be revived.’

‘I do not see why.’

‘This man,’ Bute went on, ‘was fined and allowed to go free with a warning. But there will be others to chatter. We must stop this gossip without fail. And the only way is to marry the Princess who has been chosen for you.’

‘No,’ said George. ‘I will marry Lady Sarah.’

But Lord Bute was sure that the King’s resolution was weakening.


* * *

George could not sleep. All night he had been thinking, Hannah! Sarah! They were together in his thoughts. He could hear their voices in his imagination quite clearly. ‘If you really love me,’ said Sarah’s, ‘you will marry me. You are the King. You have but to say the word and none can stop you.’ Hannah’s said: ‘Think, George. Thou thought thou lovest me once. Remember thy vows. Thou wanted to make me Princess of Wales, Queen to be. And now… thou hast forgotten. Thou wouldst have risked thy crown for the sake of a love that was so ephemeral. See how mistaken thou wert.’

It was true. He had believed he would love Hannah for ever and now he scarcely remembered her – only to shiver with horror to contemplate the folly he might have committed. Yet Hannah had borne his children… he had married Hannah. The thought made him go cold with fear.

Hannah, he thought, you are dead and buried but you will live with me for ever.

And her voice seemed to come out of the darkness: ‘Art thou sure that I am dead and buried, George?’

He faced the truth, the dreadful uncertainty. No. He was not sure. The new gravestone rose up clear in his mind as he had seen it on that day. Rebecca Powell. Who was Rebecca Powell? He had never found out. Why, because even then he had preferred not to know what it was better not to know.

Lord Bute had advised him then. His dearest friend was right. When had he not been right? He was beside him to guide him through all the difficulties which lay ahead. He should trust his friend, and his friend said: ‘You cannot marry Sarah.’

Of course they were right. Kings married the women who were chosen for them. They did not marry the nieces of linen-drapers; they did not even marry the daughters of noblemen. But they did. Henry VIII had done it. Anne Boleyn, Katherine Howard. Two heads without bodies laughed at him in the darkness. Yes, and look what became of us. Edward IV had married Elizabeth Woodville for love. He could hear the voices of her little boys crying in the Tower as they were done to death.

It was folly to think of these events in connection with himself. He was a man of gentle nature, he only wanted to live an upright life, to live in harmony with the woman he loved and the family they would raise; he wanted to set a good example to his people, to be happy and make them happy.

That was the crux of the matter, as Lord Bute would say. A King must not think of his own desires but of the nation he governed.

‘I made a great sacrifice for thee,’ a voice seemed to say. ‘George, thou must make this sacrifice for thy country.’

‘What sacrifice?’ he whispered. ‘What sacrifice did you make?’

But he knew. He had suspected and had not wished to know. But in his heart he knew.

She was haunting him. Perhaps she did not want to see him happy with Sarah. Oh no, that could not be said of one who had made such a sacrifice as Hannah had made. But he was imagining this. What was he thinking of? Even now he did not know and he would not seek the truth because he did not want to face it.

All through that night he wrestled with his problem, and Hannah was constantly in his thoughts.

By the morning she had convinced him. He must sacrifice his own desires for the sake of the country.

When he went riding he passed Holland House and there was Sarah in her sunbonnet making hay. He stopped to talk to her and she was very gay and inviting; but when he had talked for a while he rode on.

He believed his heart was broken.


* * *

The Dowager Princess was as ever delighted by my Lord Bute’s brilliance and devotion.

‘You have turned failure into success,’ she cried. ‘I must confess that I was in great fear. And you did it through gentleness and reason.’

‘It is the only way to manage George. We must, though, have the public announcement made as soon as possible. I confess I shall not feel easy in my mind until it is made.’

‘The Privy Councillors should be summoned at once and George himself must make the announcement. I agree with you and shall tremble until he has done so.’

‘He will do it,’ Bute assured her. ‘George’s goodness is our salvation. He is a young man who is determined to do his duty. Would there were more in the world like him. It would be a different place then.’

‘Ah yes, a good boy,’ sighed his mother. ‘What a pity that he should have to be stupid as well.’


* * *

George summoned the Privy Council to hear a matter of urgent and important business. The notifications were marked ‘absolute secret’, and the councillors arrived expecting that the King had decided to make peace or had come to some such momentous decision.