Jean Plaidy - The Regent’s Daughter

How she would like to see him happy with Maria, bringing her tales of little Minney Seymour whom he had looked upon as a daughter. She would have liked to see Maria’s good sense made of use to Princess Charlotte. But how could she, a poor invalid, who had not been able to suppress her hopeless love for Charles Fitzroy, hope to guide the lives of others?

She thought of the trials of the family, the scandals that beset the brothers. Was there to be no end to them and were they not of their own making? But the young Princess Charlotte needed guidance. She was torn between her parents – her father who could not take to her because she reminded him of her mother, and her mother who smothered her with affection and saw nothing wrong in luring the girl into that scandalous household which she had built up at Montague House.

It was better to talk of lighter matters: of the objets d’art he had acquired; of the Chinese decorations he was having done in the Pavilion.

But her thoughts ran on the sorrows of her family; and there was one whom she could not banish from her mind: the poor ailing King, who loved her more dearly than he loved any other.

When I die, she wondered, what will become of him?

That October Amelia was afflicted with erysipelas – the doctors called it St Anthony’s Fire – and it became clear that she was approaching her end. The Princess Mary was broken-hearted; she had nursed Amelia since she had become so ill and although she had known what the end must be – and that it could not be long delayed – nevertheless the shock was great.

There was mourning throughout the royal family. Amelia had been the best loved of them all, but none mourned her as deeply as the King. She alone, in the last year, had been able to soothe his troubled mind; only his beloved youngest daughter had been able to bring a smile to his lips. That she had been thinking of him at the end, that she had had made for him a ring containing a lock of her own hair under crystal and set with diamonds, could only accentuate his loss.

He took her ring; he slipped it on his finger and shut himself in his apartments. The Queen could hear him talking and talking all through the night.

He was moving fast into twilight. The anxieties of the world were too much for him; and the loss of his dearly beloved Amelia was beyond bearing.

One day his equerries came to him to find him smiling happily. ‘My darling Amelia is not dead,’ he told them. ‘She has gone to Hanover with her little brother Octavius.’

As Octavius was the son who had died when he was four years old some twenty-six years before, it was known that the King’s mind was wandering.

That was the beginning. His situation worsened. His troubles had been too much for him and he could no longer keep up the pretence of sanity.

The time had come for him to retire from the scene. The need for the Regency had once more arisen and this time it was brought into effect.

The Prince of Wales became the Prince Regent.

IT WAS INEVITABLE that life should change for Charlotte with the Regency. Instead of being the frivolous Prince of Wales, her father was now, in all but name, the ruler of the kingdom, which implied that she herself had, in a way, taken a step nearer to the throne.

She was now seen in public more often than before and the people took a lively interest in everything she did. She was very popular and although she was constantly reproved by poor old Lady de Clifford for her inelegance, her impetuousness, her boisterous manners, at least the people did not mind these failings.

They liked her a great deal more than they liked her father, for all his perfect manners. They were in fact annoyed with him; they did not like Lady Hertford, his new inamorata, and would have preferred him to have stayed with Maria Fitzherbert, which in Charlotte’s opinion showed their good sense, for she herself would have much preferred it. She never saw Maria now and she often thought enviously of Minney Seymour to whom that lady devoted herself. So instead of visiting Maria as he used to, the Regent was constantly in the company of Lady Hertford who, although she might be exquisitely dressed, and look like a china figure, had little charm for the people, and did not help the Regent to regain their esteem one little bit.

The lampoons which were circulating about them were very malicious and Charlotte couldn’t help chuckling over them when Mrs Udney brought them to her notice. She liked particularly the references to Lord Yarmouth, Lady Hertford’s son, as ‘The Yarmouth Bloater’.

She would have liked to ask her father why he did not go to see Maria Fitzherbert now; she wanted to say to him: ‘But can’t you see she is so much more pleasant to be with.’ Imagine her daring to do that! It was only when she was not in his company that she imagined all sorts of daring conversations with him; when he was present she seemed to become petrified, unable even to walk with grace, and these were the occasions when the stutter was apt to return.

Oh, what is the use? she asked herself. He’ll never like me. It’s all pretence that he does. He can’t forgive me for being my mother’s daughter.

She was regretful, but there was so much in life to make it enjoyable, especially now she was growing up. Mercer kept her informed on politics and many a joyful discussion they had together. She was a staunch Whig and her father was beginning – under the influence of Lady Hertford – to forget his loyalty to that party.

It was fun to ride out in the park at Windsor and to flirt with George Fitzclarence who was really quite taken with her. Not that she was with him. It was his background which fascinated her. He was her cousin – though he was only half royal – his mother being the beautiful Dorothy Jordan. How interesting to have an actress for a mother! She made him tell her all about her. How she studied her parts and acted them at odd moments when her family were around her and how Uncle William used to love to hear her and would tell her whether she was good or bad. How exciting some people’s lives were – and how dull others! Compare Maria Fitzherbert and Dorothy Jordan with the Old Girls. And yet they were supposed to be virtuous and Maria and Dorothy not really so – although no one could call Maria anything but a good woman. It was very interesting and she liked to tease George and flutter her eyes at him and gallop off in a way which made him spur his horse and come after her. They gave the grooms the slip sometimes and went off by themselves, which would of course be forbidden if it were known. But they both enjoyed it – chiefly because it was forbidden.

‘You’re a flirt, Charlotte,’ George told her.

Was she? She certainly liked attention … masculine attention. And it amused her to tease George a little and perhaps make him think that he might marry her one day not because They would say he might for They never would, but because the Princess Charlotte herself insisted.

Poor Lady de Clifford would have a fit if she knew the conversations which went on in the Park between the Princess Charlotte and George Fitzclarence.

She was thinking of this as Louisa and Mrs Gagarin were dressing her for the visit to the New Drury Lane theatre where she was going with her father, the Queen and the Princesses. This was one of those public occasions which she so much enjoyed. Lots of people would be there and her father would ceremoniously view the theatre before it was opened to the public. The day before there had been a ceremony in Whitehall Chapel at which she had played a prominent part.

‘There now,’ the fond Louisa was saying, ‘they’ll have eyes for no one but you.’

‘Well, they’ll spare a glance for Papa, I shouldn’t wonder, for he will look most splendid.’

‘They’ll like you better.’

‘I should hope so, for they don’t like him one little bit.’

‘Hush!’

‘Really, Louisa, I am not a child now, remember. I am really growing up, and you will have to treat me with just a little more respect. I shall have to insist on it, you know.’

They looked so alarmed that she laughed at them and threw herself into a chair, her legs stretched out before her.

To reassure them she began to tell them about yesterday’s ceremony in the chapel and was in the midst of this when Lady de Clifford entered and seeing her stretched out in such an inelegant pose cried out in horror: ‘Princess Charlotte, you are showing your drawers.’

‘I never do but when I can put myself at ease,’ retorted Charlotte.

‘You are showing them now.’

‘But I am at ease.’

‘And when you get in and out of a carriage you show them.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘Your drawers are too long.’

Charlotte lifted her skirts and surveyed the lace edging of the offending garments. ‘I don’t agree,’ she said, ‘and I’ve seen longer drawers. The Duchess of Bedford’s for one. She wears them long because she wants to show off the Brussels lace with which they are bordered. I like to show mine too.’ She stood up and drawing herself to her full height and lifting her skirts to her knees, declared: ‘If I wish to show my drawers I shall … and there is an end of the matter.’

Lady de Clifford looked as though she were about to burst into tears; she shook her head in desperation.

She really could not continue to cope with the waywardness of the Princess Charlotte.

It was pleasant travelling down to Oatlands, inevitably accompanied by Lady de Clifford. Charlotte was amused watching her guardian who appeared to have an unpleasant smell under her nose. Anticipation perhaps, Charlotte laughed to herself. The house did smell like a zoo, but she for one would forget the smells because in spite of Aunt Frederica’s odd ways there was a warmth of affection in her which was rare.