Jean Plaidy - The Regent’s Daughter

This brought him back to the great problem of his life – if only he could rid himself of Caroline. If only he could re-marry while he was still young enough to get a male heir! A new wife … a male heir … and neither Caroline nor Charlotte would be of importance in his life.

The Queen was saying: ‘It is disgraceful to publish such a letter. It means of course that she has supporters, otherwise she would not dare and if they are going to discuss the matter fully in Parliament … oh dear.’ She reached for her snuffbox, her greatest solace in trouble.

The Regent suddenly made up his mind. ‘I shall insist on another examination of those documents concerned in the Delicate Investigation. I am sure there is something there which will give me the information I need. If I can only find proof that William Austin is her son I’d have my evidence.’

‘And meanwhile,’ put in the Queen, ‘she will be poisoning Charlotte’s mind against us all. Charlotte has to be considered now. Next year she will be eighteen and that will be her coming of age. I do believe that prompt action should be taken.’

‘Charlotte shall not see her mother while the investigation is in progress. I will go to her myself and tell her that they are not to meet for a while.’

‘Charlotte,’ said the Queen decisively, ‘needs a very firm hand.’

THEY FACED EACH other in Charlotte’s drawing room in Warwick House – he seated in a chair, elegant as ever, she standing before him, awkward as always in his presence. He appeared to avoid looking at her as he spoke.

‘You will have heard of the distressing turn of affairs,’ he was saying. ‘Your mother has seen fit to publish a letter setting out her imagined wrongs. It cannot be ignored and in selfdefence there must be an investigation of her conduct.’

‘But … there … was …’

‘A further investigation,’ went on the Prince. ‘We cannot go on in this unsatisfactory state and while the investigation is progressing it is not suitable for you and your mother to meet.’

Rebellion rose in Charlotte. Why was it that when one parent attacked another she always wanted to defend the attacked? Why was it she had to show her affection for her mother and her antagonism for her father when it was his approval that she craved? She could not understand herself. She only knew that when she was in his company she longed for some show of affection from him and when she could not get it she wanted to oppose him and stir up a hatred.

‘But I love my mother. Why should I be kept from her?’

She could not have said anything to anger him more.

‘You wish to see her? How can you wish to see such a vulgar person?’

‘She is my mother.’

‘Alas!’

‘And she is your wife. You must have had some regard for her since I was born to you.’

He shuddered. Charlotte could be really vulgar.

‘I shall speak to the Duchess and Miss Knight,’ he said. ‘I cannot imagine why you are not taught restraint. Such manners I would not have believed possible in a daughter of mine.’

‘Not with such a mother?’

She was on the point of tears. Why was it that she was always in this state of emotion when they were together? Why could she not be elegantly calm – the sort of daughter he wanted? She had come near to being that under Mrs Fitzherbert’s guidance. But Mrs Fitzherbert had left him now and was living, so she had heard, peacefully, her only concern for her darling Minney’s future. Mrs Fitzherbert had escaped from the storm which beset those in royal circles. Charlotte felt a twinge of envy for Minney.

‘It is clear to me that you have inherited too many of her characteristics and that makes me feel how justified I am in imposing this ban.’

‘Ban? What ban?’

‘Pray restrain yourself. In the interests of all concerned it has been decided that you and your mother shall not meet for a while.’

‘Why, it’s that old Investigation all over again.’ The urge to shock was irresistible. He thought her crude. Well, she would be crude; and because he hated her to show affection for her mother she would show it.

‘It is a further investigation and we do not know what shocking details will be brought to light. I do hope that you understand what is expected of you. Obedience. This shall be impressed on your governess …’ (she winced at the word) ‘… and those who serve you. You will not suffer,’ he added with an attempt at kindness. ‘You shall have the balls and entertainments which have been planned for you. And I shall see you frequently, and all that is expected of you is that you should not see your mother during the investigation and if any shocking details should be revealed …’

‘For which you ardently hope,’ she could not resist putting in, but he pretended not to have heard her.

‘… you will cease to see her altogether.’

‘I shall soon be eighteen,’ she reminded him, ‘and then I cannot be forbidden to see my own mother.’

‘I must remind you that your eighteenth birthday is still a year away and even when you reach it it will still be necessary for you to obey your father.’

He could see no reason for prolonging the interview. He embraced her, repeated that she should be seen in public more frequently – and in his company. He would visit her and she should visit him.

He left her disturbed but secretly pleased at the prospect of more meetings.

But of course, she told herself scornfully, it is only what his ministers advise him is wise. If he wants to regain a little of the popularity he has lost he must be seen with his daughter. It must appear that, in the Great Quarrel, she is on his side.

And I won’t do it, she told herself fiercely. I won’t let him use me. He doesn’t want to see me at all. It’s only to placate his ministers and the people that he does so.

If only he had cared for her …

But what was the use of dreaming. She must face facts.

She remained in bed. She was not going out. If she could not see her mother she would see no one.

A whole week went by and Cornelia at length spoke to her. ‘There is a lot of gossip,’ she said, ‘and comments in the papers.’

Oh, those papers! thought Charlotte. Now that Mrs Udney had gone and she was not visiting her mother she never saw them.

‘There are really shocking hints,’ went on Cornelia.

‘About my mother and the Prince, I suppose.’

‘About you!’ retorted Cornelia.

‘What about me?’

‘You have been rather indiscreet with certain gentlemen.’

Charlotte looked startled.

‘Captain Hesse, Captain Fitzclarence and the Duke of Devonshire.’

Charlotte started to laugh.

‘It’s no laughing matter,’ said Cornelia severely. ‘Such rumours can be dangerous.’

‘Are they saying I am like my mother? Are they preparing a Delicate Investigation?’

‘What they are saying is too indelicate for me to repeat. I suggest we go out this very day for a drive in the Park that you may show yourself. That will be the best way to prove these rumours false.’

That morning the Princess Charlotte was seen with Miss Knight, riding in the Park.

Charlotte sat back in her carriage. It was pleasant when she was recognized and the people cheered her. They were satisfied that the rumours about her were false. What had they imagined? wondered Charlotte. That she was about to bear an illegitimate child? She giggled at the thought. Well, she had been a little indiscreet. She thought of the letters she had written to Hesse and which her mother had passed on to him. It had been exciting at the time but now that she was growing up she was beginning to wonder.

She was now passing along Piccadilly on the way to Hyde Park when she was aware of a carriage coming along Constitution Hill at a rattling speed, heading, Charlotte realized, straight in her direction. Before the carriage reached her she recognized it as her mother’s; so had many others, and as the carriage of the Princess of Wales drew level with that of the Princess Charlotte, a crowd had gathered.

The Princess Caroline put her head out of the window of her carriage with some difficulty, adorned as it was by a large hat trailing highly-coloured feathers.

Charlotte put her head out of her window and her mother’s arms were round her. Charlotte’s usually pale face was faintly pink and the colour gave beauty to her fresh young face.

Caroline was shrieking with pleasure. ‘My darling. My own little girl!’

They embraced, kissing again and again with passionate fervour, while the crowd roared its approval. God bless them both. Why should they be kept apart? It was wicked to separate a mother from her child.

Caroline was laughing exultantly and mischievously. ‘My darling, how can I bear this separation!’

‘Shame!’ echoed the crowd like a chorus in a play. ‘To keep a mother from her child.’

‘Shame indeed, good folks,’ cried Caroline, tears of emotion threatening havoc to rouge and white lead.

‘I shall come and see you as soon as I’m able,’ said Charlotte.

‘Of course my angel will. I shall live for that day.’

The crowd had grown larger. ‘God bless you both,’ the people cried. ‘And love your mother, Charlotte.’ Charlotte, always conscious of the applause of the people, played her part with a verve worthy of her father.

‘I will, I will,’ she cried. ‘Nothing will prevent me.’

Then she embraced her mother again to the accompaniment of cheers. Caroline clung to her daughter’s hand and gradually released it.

‘Au revoir, Mamma,’ said Charlotte. ‘This separation shall not last.’