Orange had gone and the Regent was behaving towards her with more affection than he had ever shown before.

One hot July day when Louisa went in to wake Mrs Gagarin she found her dead. That was a great sadness. The Princess and Louisa wept together and kept reminding each other of the past when they had all been together.

Charlotte missed her old dresser more than she had realized possible and it was only the fact that Mercer and Cornelia were getting on so well together and that her father was showing her some affection that could comfort her.

The Prince, hearing of the death of Mrs Gagarin from Charlotte expressed suitable grief and even shed a tear for her.

‘She was a good creature,’ he said. ‘I know she served you well.’

And when Charlotte broke down and wept he put an arm about her and said that if it was any comfort to her he shared her sorrow. And although he did not feel one hundredth part of it she was charmed that he should say so.

The next day he sent her a sapphire which he said she could have made into any ornament she pleased. She was delighted – not with the stone which was very valuable but because he had sent it.

‘And because I know how fond you are of your pets,’ he said, ‘I am sending you a white greyhound. I think you will find it a graceful and beautiful creature.’

She was delighted with the greyhound and loved it from the moment she saw it. She would allow no one to feed it but herself. The dog must know he was entirely hers and occupied a very special place in her affections – because he was so beautiful. But it was more than that, she told herself; it was because her father had given the dog to her.

She felt well again. The summer was gloriously warm and now that Mrs Gagarin was dead she found it a relief not to have to notice every day how wan she was becoming.

In June the whole country had rejoiced over the victory at Vittoria. Napoleon’s end was in sight and everyone but himself seemed to see it. The combined forces under the command of Wellington had put the French – under Joseph Bonaparte – to flight and they had been driven across the river Bidassoa into France.

The Regent was delighted and behaved as though it was he instead of Wellington who was the victor. He wanted to know every detail of the battle and would talk of it, sketching maps as he did so. ‘We were here.’ ‘We advanced there …’ his eyes alight with excitement, much to the amusement of some of his cynical courtiers.

There was to be a public festival in Vauxhall Gardens to celebrate the victory but the Regent decided that he himself would give an open-air fête at which Princess Charlotte should preside. This would be held at Carlton House and was to celebrate the victory.

Charlotte arrived in great spirits in a gown sparkling with jewels. The people who had gathered to see her step from her carriage cheered her wildly and as she lifted her skirts to get down from her carriage, displaying an expanse of frilly drawers, there was a laugh and a cheer and she smiled and waved and thought of poor Lady de Clifford who would have deplored such conduct which nevertheless pleased the dear people.

The Prince was waiting to embrace her – looking magnificent as ever. One always felt awkward in face of his elegance she thought, but she was pleased; and the people did not seem to hate him so much when he showed affection for her.

And glory! There was the Duke of Devonshire looking more fascinating than ever and clearly deeply moved at the sight of her.

She was going to dance with him. After all, she was the principal guest so why should she not dance with whom she pleased?

What a happy occasion – herself looking beautiful, for she knew she did in that glorious gown (and now she was grownup she would have many such gowns) and she was flushed – and that always helped because it was her pallor which spoilt her looks – and she danced with Devonshire, charming Devonshire who looked at her so tenderly and hopelessly. But how exciting a hopeless love could be! If only Orange could love her hopelessly she would view him so much more favourably. But why think of Orange on such an occasion?

Her father was glowering at Devonshire. Oh dear, she hoped he was not going to make the dear Duke aware of his displeasure. That might mean the sweet creature would be banned from appearing where the Regent was – and that could be disastrous, for Charlotte knew that she would in the future be very often in her father’s company.

‘Come, Papa,’ she said, ‘let us have a Highland Fling on the lawn and as it is my fête I command you to dance with me.’

The Prince hesitated, remembering that other occasion when he had hurt his ankle and been laid up for a time at Oatlands, which had given rise to the usual distressing rumours.

Then he decided to dance with Charlotte and she found herself laughing with him, and everyone who looked on declared that the relationship between the Prince and his daughter was taking a more satisfactory turn.

Driving back to Warwick House with Cornelia and the Duchess, Charlotte chattered about all that happened. It had been a ball of balls. Had not her father looked elegant when he was dancing with her? And did they notice how attentive the Duke of Devonshire was? Did they not think he was a most attractive man?

The Duchess listened fearfully; she was constantly apprehensive of trouble. Cornelia was uneasy, too, remembering the Hesse affair.

The letters had not arrived from Hesse and Mercer was beginning to be uneasy. She had heard from the Captain that he had letters and presents from the Princess and that he kept them in a strong box. He had given instructions that if he should die these were to be returned to the Princess Charlotte or if that were not possible dropped into the sea. He did not believe he could entrust such a precious box in the hands of a messenger.

‘What do you think?’ asked Mercer.

Cornelia replied that she thought the young man might be something of an adventurer.

‘I don’t like it at all,’ went on Mercer. ‘I remember so well when she was attracted by him. Her letters to me contained accounts of his charm. In fact, she scarcely mentioned anything else at the time. I persuaded her eventually that it was a dangerous flirtation and gradually persuaded her to drop it. How I wish I had managed that earlier.’

‘It may be that he is afraid to entrust the box to anyone,’ put in Cornelia. ‘Imagine what could happen if it did fall into the hands of some wicked person.’

‘Letters!’ groaned Mercer. ‘They have been the curse of the family – her father’s to Perdita Robinson were costly … and think of the Duke of York’s to Mary Anne Clarke.’

‘This is different,’ said Cornelia. ‘This is nothing but innocent flirtation.’

‘We know it, but who else would accept it? We must get those letters. They’re important.’

When Charlotte heard that Captain Hesse had not returned the letters she was uneasy. She had visions of terrible scenes with her father just as he was beginning to like her a little. The pain in her knee was so bad that it was necessary to call in Dr Halford again and he recommended rest.

Mercer visited her and told her about the breakfast party Devonshire was giving at his Chiswick Mansion and Charlotte sighed and wished that she might go, knowing of course that the reason why she had not been invited was because for Devonshire to have asked her to be his guest would have brought a reprimand from the Regent – and she would most certainly have been forbidden to go.

She was depressed. How boring to be royal!

She was looking so listless that Cornelia suggested a drive and she agreed with alacrity. And when they were in the carriage Charlotte directed the driver to make his way towards Chiswick.

‘Chiswick!’ cried Cornelia aghast.

‘I want to see the ton all in their carriages and what the ladies are wearing for Devonshire’s breakfast.’

So they went rattling along the Chiswick road and were soon in that stream which was making its way to Devonshire House. No one could be unaware of the royal carriage and even though when it came to the Devonshire mansion it did not stop but went straight on to turn and come back shortly afterwards, everyone knew that the Princess Charlotte had been on the road.

The Regent called at Warwick House. He would see Miss Knight, he said.

Cornelia found him, large, imposing, glittering and coldly displeased.

‘I want an explanation, Miss Knight,’ he said, ‘of this driving to and from Chiswick.’

‘The Princess and I did drive that way. Let me see, it was on the …’

‘It was on the day of Devonshire’s breakfast.’

‘Oh, yes, sir. I remember the carriages on the road.’

‘I am sure you do. And I want to know why this drive was taken.’

‘The Princess was feeling low, sir, and I thought a drive would do her good.’

‘And she suggested that you go to Chiswick.’

‘It was my idea that we should go for a drive, sir. I had suggested that she might like to see the carriages …’ Cornelia floundered. He looked at her witheringly. Clearly he did not believe her.

Turning angrily he went from the room.

The Queen was pleased that he came to her.

‘Devonshire,’ he said. ‘It’s Devonshire! Do you think the fellow can have ideas? Who would have believed it of him? I shall have to speak to him. It seems she has a fancy for him. A fancy for Devonshire!’

‘It would seem to me,’ said the Queen, ‘that she is ready to have a fancy for anyone whom you do not favour. Why could she not have had such a fancy for Orange? Is Devonshire so much more handsome?’