Horatia had already borne seven children, two of whom were girls, and Maria had often envied her her large family; so when it was discovered that the new baby was not strong, it was decided that she must certainly not undertake the journey which was essential to her mother’s health, but must be left behind with someone who would care for her.

The first person Horatia had thought of was her friend Maria Fitzherbert; she wrote to her telling her of her dilemma and Maria’s response had been immediate. Her dear Horatia must not think of postponing her trip; Maria would take any of the children into her house and they should be cared for until Horatia’s return.

Maria had been in Bath at the time but had set out at once for Portsmouth where the Seymours were staying. There she saw the frail little Mary and took her tenderly into her arms.

‘This is my child until your return, Horatia,’ she had said.

‘I know you, Maria. You will worry yourself to death over her. Perhaps it would be better for her to go with some of my relations who have several children. They won’t be alarmed at any little ailment – and I believe she will have many.’

‘Horatia, you are not going to take her from me now.’

Horatia smiled. ‘You know there is no one with whom I would rather leave my child. I am thinking of you.’

‘Then the matter is settled. Little Mary is my baby until your return.’

Of course Horatia was relieved; and so was Hugh.

‘God bless you, Maria,’ he said. ‘I know we shall sleep more peacefully now we know that the baby is in your hands.’

So Maria took little Mary and in a very short time loved her as tenderly as though she were her own child.

For two years Horatia remained in Madeira and her health improved a little so that she made up her mind that she would return to England, as she was eager to have all her children with her. Maria, glad as she was to see her friend, was desolate at the thought of parting with Mary who had now christened herself Minney; but before Horatia could put her plan into action she died; and a few weeks later Lord Hugh, who had remained in Madeira, also died, leaving little Minney an orphan.

When Lord Hugh’s will was read, it was found that provision had been made for the guardianship of all the children except Minney who had been born after he had made the will. It was however ruled that Lord Hugh had intended the same arrangement to apply to his youngest child and Lady Waldegrave, Horatia’s sister, immediately offered to take Minney.

Maria, horrified at losing the child, begged to be allowed to keep her a little longer. She pointed out that Minney was too young to be taken from one whom she had come to regard as her mother, and the executors, headed by Lord Henry Seymour, agreed that Minney should stay with Maria for a further year before she was passed on to Lady Waldegrave.

Maria’s great hope during that year’s respite was to win the consent of Minney’s family to keep the child. The Prince of Wales, who, since Maria regarded Minney as her daughter, sentimentally wished to share in the parentage, petted the child, played games with her and in every way possible took on the role of affectionate father.

‘If,’ Maria used to say to Miss Pigot, ‘I could only be assured that I was not going to lose Minney, I should be perfectly happy.’

If this and if that! thought Miss Pigot. Why did there always have to be an If?

But she put her faith in the Prince of Wales. He clearly wished the child to remain with Maria, so surely her family would not go against him.

But Lord Henry Seymour was a very determined man. Lady Waldegrave wanted the child and she was her aunt. Maria for all her dignity and respectability was after all in the eyes of the State the mistress of the Prince of Wales. Lord Henry was going to insist on justice being done. The year was drawing to a close; little Mary should go to her aunt.

Minney, realizing the controversy which was raging about her and having some inkling that it was to separate her from Maria, was frightened. She followed Maria wherever she went and could not bear her to be out of her sight: This seemed particularly pathetic to Maria and she was determined to fight.

When she told the Prince of her fear he went into battle on her behalf like the chivalrous knight he liked to believe himself to be.

‘You shall not lose Minney, my dearest love. I shall see to that.’

His chamberlain wrote to Lord Henry that His Royal Highness had decided to settle £10,000 on Miss Mary Seymour provided she was left in the care of Mrs Fitzherbert.

With great delight he took a copy of the letter to show Maria. And what joy it gave him to witness her pleasure. ‘My dearest love, what is £10,000? I would give the whole world for your happiness and that of our dear Minney.’

But Lord Henry was not to be lured by money. He wanted justice. Mary belonged to the Seymours and the Seymours would take over the care for her. Mary, he pointed out, would have enough money of her own; she did not need His Highness’s generous gift.

Maria was now in despair. She had never liked Lady Waldegrave, for the woman was one of those who had refused to accept her as the Prince’s wife; she knew what would happen if Minney went to her; it would be final separation.

Seeing her unhappiness, the Prince declared that he would not allow this to happen. Minney was Maria’s child; Maria had looked after her since her birth; to take her away now would be a tragedy, not only for Maria but for Minney. He would not stand by and see this done.

‘But what can we do?’ asked Maria. ‘It is true they are her legal guardians. Oh, why did I not foresee this? If Hugh and Horatia had known what would happen they would have taken steps to make Minney my child.’

The Prince disliked being frustrated and such an issue as this was one which strongly appealed to him. Now he would show Maria how she could rely on him. He was going to win Minney for her; he was going to show her his devotion to his little family.

He consulted Samuel Romilly, a brilliant young lawyer who suggested that there could be a way out of the difficulty since the will was made before Mary was born, but shortly afterwards the obstinate Lord Henry had employed a lawyer to work for him and the tiresome case of Fitzherbert against Seymour had begun.

Maria could think of nothing else, as with the custom of such affairs the case dragged on.

One point which had been brought out was the fact that Maria was a Catholic and the Seymours were Protestants. Was their child, given into the care of an undoubted Catholic, to be brought up in that religion? Maria had retorted that she firmly believed that a child should be brought up in the religion of its parents. Mary Seymour had had no instruction in the Catholic faith from her and the child should be brought up in the Church of England until she was able to decide for herself.

This matter of religion was undoubtedly one of the main reasons why the Master in Chancery came to the decision that the rightful guardians of Mary Seymour were her own family and although Maria Fitzherbert had brought her up from babyhood, since the child’s own family were demanding her, justice insisted that to them she should go.

When this news was brought to Maria she was desolate. The Prince arrived at the house in Tilney Street to find Minney in tears, clutching Maria and sobbing, declaring that she was never going to leave her.

This was more than he could endure.

‘I tell you they have not won yet. Do you think I am going to allow them to? Henry Seymour is an arrogant dog. He wants to show me that he can flout me. By God, he knows my feelings on this matter. I’ve already seen Romilly. We’re going to take this to the House of Lords.’

Maria lifted her grateful eyes to his. She was fearful because there was justice in the verdict though it ignored human feelings, but she loved Minney as a daughter and Minney loved her as a mother; it was cruel – though perhaps just – to tear them apart. But could the Prince of Wales divert justice?

He believed he could. He was astonished that the Seymours should have gone against his wishes. He would not forget that.

And now while she sipped tea on the balcony of her house on the Steyne and Minney sat with her, she was asking herself what hope there was that the case would go her way and that her dearest wish would be granted.

If I lost Minney, she thought, I should never be happy again. Even the Prince’s love and devotion – and when she thought of that she was a little uneasy although he had shown himself assiduous in his care for her since the case started – could not make up for that.

I want them both, she thought, with me for ever.

And at that moment he appeared on the balcony. He must have stood there for some seconds before they had been aware of him.

She turned and gave a cry of joy. The sight of him never failed to delight her. He was indeed a sparkling figure exquisitely dressed, glittering and scented. He bowed to Maria, his eyes twinkling with love and pleasure. It was the bow for which he was noted and which never failed to impress all who beheld it. It was the essence of grace and charm and it always implied that the pleasure he found in the company of the person to whom he was making it was the reason for its grace.

‘My dearest love …’ His voice was soft and musical.

‘Such a great pleasure, my dearest.’

Minney cried: ‘Prinney!’ And there was no ceremony then. She flew at him and gave a little jump at which he lifted her and she put her arms about his neck. ‘You smell so lovely this morning, Prinney. And this is a beautiful new neckcloth.’