The Duke and Duchess came hurrying over.

‘I’ve done my foot some damage,’ cried the Prince. ‘Stab me, Fred, the pain is intense.’

The Duchess called to her servants and in a moment the atmosphere of the ballroom had changed. Charlotte stood by helplessly watching, longing to be the one who looked after him and amazed them all by her calm competence. But clearly her services were not needed; and the Prince was carried to the best of the bedrooms where he lay groaning until the doctors came and gave the verdict that he had injured his ankle and must rest for a few days.

Uncle Fred said that he must stay at Oatlands where it would be his privilege – and that of the Duchess – to look after him.

Since it was necessary to care for the Regent, the Duchess had no time to devote to Charlotte, so she and her retinue returned to Warwick House.

Warwick House, as the Princess said, was not her favourite residence. She had always hated it and was constantly planning to get away from it. For some years now she had spent a certain amount of time there and it was recognized as her particular residence. It was an old house and in fact part of the outbuildings of Carlton House; and it had been allotted to her because it was so close to her father’s mansion. Charlotte had said that her father had put her there so that he could, when he thought of her, keep an eye on her; and at the same time not be bothered with her. She never went back to Warwick House without a sense of grievance.

The house was in a cul-de-sac at the end of a narrow lane, and the buildings which surrounded it made it gloomy. The two sentries stationed at the entrance of the lane, Charlotte said, made her feel like a prisoner. It was not pleasant to come back to Warwick House after the jollities of Oatlands.

‘I think I prefer the smell of animals to that of damp,’ she complained to Lady de Clifford.

Lady de Clifford was also disappointed. Warwick House did her rheumatics no good; in fact, as she said often to her daughter, the Countess of Albermarle, she could not go on much longer and was only waiting for the right opportunity to relinquish her post. If it were not for the fact that dear Princess Charlotte needed her she would have done so long ago.

‘I’d almost rather be at Windsor,’ Charlotte told Mrs Udney.

‘I’m not surprised at that,’ replied that lady with a wink. ‘Your Highness does so enjoy her rides in the Park and finds the company so congenial.’

‘Company?’ said Charlotte, flushing.

‘Delightful company, I believe,’ went on the incorrigible Mrs Udney. ‘And in particular the gallant Captain Hesse.’

‘You have seen us riding together?’

Mrs Udney laughed. ‘Your Highness should not be alarmed. I should not dream of mentioning the matter to Lady de Clifford, and if I did … she would not know what to do about it. It strikes me that her ladyship becomes more and more flustered every day.’

It was true, thought Charlotte. And a good thing too. One must have the opportunity to exercise a little freedom.

‘How I wish I could go to Windsor,’ she sighed, at which Mrs Udney laughed conspiratorially.

Later that day she produced a note which she said the gallant Captain had asked her to give to the Princess.

Charlotte read it through with pleasure. It was very daring of him. He missed their rides. He longed to talk to her. She was not only the most beautiful of Princesses but the most witty.

Oh, how daring of him! And what Lady de Clifford would say if she knew. Or her father for that matter.

But I’m growing up and I must live, she told herself. I do not want to become like one of the Old Girls.

She rode to Oatlands to see her father. He lay on a couch, looking large and unusually pale. Mr Adam was with him. She kissed his hand and inquired anxiously after his health.

‘Not good,’ he said languidly. ‘Not good.’

‘Oh, Papa … if there is anything I can do …’

He looked at her in amazement. Anything she could do? What was she talking about? She blushed and stammered: ‘I … j … just thought …’ She did not know how to continue and he, who was so articulate, despised incoherence.

The Duchess who was present came to her rescue. ‘Charlotte is naturally disturbed by Your Highness’s indisposition. But don’t fret, Charlotte my dear. His Highness is improving every day.’

‘I’m not sure that I am,’ said the Regent crossly. He frowned at the Duchess. He had never really liked her since she had refused to receive Maria. All those animals she kept about the place were disgusting; she was not pretty and her dignity reminded him of Maria and made him wish that he were in Tilney Street or at the house on the Steyne, going to it through the secret passage from the Pavilion. How well Maria would have nursed him!

He closed his eyes, indicating that he wished to speak to no one; he felt languid and bored and sorry for himself.

Charlotte, dismissed, wandered out of the room and sat alone in a window seat. When one of the dogs came and thrust his damp nose into her hand, she caressed him absently, feeling depressed. How different it would have been if they were all together – herself, her mother and her father. She imagined herself making a posset for him and taking it to him and when he drank it he declared he felt so much better because she had made it.

‘The Princess unattended!’ It was Mr Adam smiling, bowing, very much the courtier.

‘I don’t think my presence is really required in the sick-room.’

‘Good. We can be much more at ease here.’

‘You are at ease in any place.’

‘It’s a state that comes with age.’

‘Then I shall not regret growing old.’

‘I am sure you will be far too wise to do that, for with age comes experience – which is perhaps a more valuable asset even than youth.’

‘Yes,’ said Charlotte quickly. ‘I believe it is. I’d much rather be sixteen than ten.’

‘Then you have begun to make the discovery too.’

It was very pleasant talking to Mr Adam, whose eyes so admired her. She told him about the dreariness of life at Warwick House and the odd quirks of the members of her household. Her laughter rose immediately and she found she was really enjoying herself.

But when she went back to Warwick House she was sad again thinking of the conflict between her mother and father, which now she was growing older she was beginning to realize was too great ever to change.

The rumours were rife. The Regent was ill. What was the matter with him? He had been dancing the Highland Fling and had hurt his ankle!

Hurt his ankle! said the lampoonists. That was just a tale. More likely the Yarmouth Bloater had lost his temper and attacked his benefactor. And the reason? Because His Highness was far too interested in the Bloater’s wife.

That was a great joke. The son of the Prince’s latest flame to attack him for casting eyes on his wife! What lives Royalty led! It was too good a story not to exploit. After all, was the comment, it was a mild echo of the Sellis affair when it was widely believed Cumberland had come close to being murdered because he had been found in bed with his valet’s wife.

Charlotte heard of these rumours and was deeply disturbed by them. At the same time stories were still circulating about her mother and her supposed lovers. There were many who believed that Willie Austin was the son of the Princess of Wales.

Hurt and bewildered she longed to know the truth and yet dreaded it.

‘My word,’ said the informative Mrs Udney one day, ‘there are rumours about the Regent. Not that I believe them. They’ll say the maddest things.’

‘What things?’ asked Charlotte.

‘Not that I’d repeat …’ began Mrs Udney, but Charlotte was not deluded; she knew that those words were the preliminary to a confidence. ‘You must not mention that I told. You must never repeat …’ Charlotte gave the promise which she knew she would wish afterwards that she had not allowed to be extracted because when she heard these vile slanders she would want to trace them to their sources; she would want to demand that the lies be retracted. Lies! How she wished she could believe they were lies!

It came out after a certain amount of wheedling.

‘They are saying that the Regent has inherited his father’s illness and that he is mad.’

Charlotte stared at Mrs Udney for a few seconds in silence, then she cried: ‘Don’t dare say that again!’

Mrs Udney was alarmed. ‘Of course not. I only told you because you got it out of me.’

‘Who … who dared say it?’

‘Well, don’t tell a soul, but they are saying the rumour started with Cumberland.’

His own brother, her Uncle Cumberland whom she had never liked! In fact she had found him a little sinister with his one glittering eye (he had lost the other before she was born, at the battle of Tournay) and she had always felt that he resented her.

But what a wicked thing to say about her father!

She turned on Mrs Udney and would have struck her if the woman had not hastily retreated.

‘I’m only telling you what you asked,’ began Mrs Udney.

‘Don’t ever say that again,’ cried Charlotte. ‘Don’t ever say it. I … I’ll kill anyone who says it.’

She ran to her bedroom and threw herself on to her bed.

She kept thinking of her mother and her father and how they hated each other and how so many people seemed to hate them.

In her apartments at Kensington Palace the Princess of Wales embraced her daughter.

‘If you only knew how I long for these hours, my little Charlotte. Oh, if you only knew,’ she cooed. ‘But I am allowed so little. It’s a scandal. Of all the scandals in this family this is the greatest. To be allowed to see my own daughter for an hour now and then. I tell you I will not endure it. I will make such a big noise one day that they’ll be sorry. Oh, yes, they will.’