And even when I have, I wonder what he will think of me? she asked herself.

So she was here, thought Clarence.

He had heard that she had arrived in Deal with her mother and that was two days ago. She had spent a night in Canterbury and was now at Grillon’s Hotel.

There was no turning back.

It was strange that he who had been trying to get married ever since he had said goodbye to Dorothy Jordan was now on the verge of undertaking that adventure – and had no great desire for it.

He was not anxious to see her for some reason. He kept thinking of Dorothy and that night when he had first seen her as Little Pickle on the stage of Drury Lane. What a delightful creature she had been! Many believed her to have been the most charming woman in England. She had grown fat and they had quarrelled – and all about money. That was the only real disagreement between them. How happy they had been in the early days of their association! Here at Bushy all the children had been born and grown up. His children, on whom he doted.

His new wife would have to understand that he had no intention of giving up his children. They were Dorothy’s legacy to him; he loved them; he was proud of them; and they had been brought up to know that he was their father.

He hoped it had all been explained to her that when she married him she would have to accept his ten illegitimate children.

He believed she would; he had received one or two letters from her when they had been betrothed and he was impressed by the good sense with which she wrote.

He had said to George FitzClarence, his eldest son: ‘I think we shall get along well with your stepmother. She seems a sensible woman. I don’t think she’ll be over-dazzled by the prospect of becoming the Duchess of Clarence.’

No, she would accept the family; she, who came from a tiny dukedom must be overawed at the prospect of marrying a son of the King of England. He often thought of himself as a future King of England, for neither George’s health nor that of Frederick was very good – and if they died … without heirs … he would be King William, and Adelaide would not be unaware of that.

She was in her twenty-sixth year. It was quite young – at least when compared with a man over fifty. He should be looking forward eagerly to the nuptials. But was he? He was not sure. He had set his heart on Miss Wykeham. But of course that would have been unsuitable; but what a jolly, bouncing, healthy female Miss Wykeham was! He believed she would have presented him with a son at the earliest possible moment.

But he must forget her; he must do his duty. It was what he had said to Dorothy at their parting; and he would not forget that in a hurry either. In any case there was the family to remind him.

They would live at Bushy, dear Bushy, which was more like a gentleman’s country house than a palace, but none the worse for that. Bushy would be their home then and the ten FitzClarences her stepsons and daughters.

We must start as we intend to go on, he told himself and going to the window and seeing his son George in the park with his brother, Frederick, bawled in the voice he had used at sea: ‘George! Hi, George! Come here. I want to speak to you.’

If the servants heard they would shudder. That was not the manner in which the Prince Regent – that arbiter of good manners – summoned people to his presence. But William was a rough sailor and had no intention of changing his manners. People must get used to them. They should be by now.

George came and stood before him. William’s eyes grew sentimental as he looked at his eldest son. He was very handsome in his military uniform. He had a look of Dorothy about him, and William flattered himself – for George was very attractive – he was not without a resemblance to his father.

‘George,’ he said, ‘your new stepmother is at Grillon’s. Go and welcome her.’

‘You mean I’m to go?’

‘Why not? You’re her stepson.’

‘Won’t she expect to see you?’ The FitzClarence children never stood on ceremony with their father although, regarding themselves as royal, they could be arrogant enough with others.

‘It may be she will; but she will see her stepson instead.’

‘What about her mother and the statesmen they’ve brought with them? Will they be pleased?’

‘It’s a gesture, you see. It’s like saying to her: See, this is your new family. I want her to understand that she’s to be a stepmother as well as a wife.’

George thought it a good idea that she should be made aware of the importance of the FitzClarence children in their father’s life and said he would set out at once.

William watched him leave.

In due course, he said to himself, I shall put in an appearance. Poor girl, she must be overwrought. An ordeal to come to marry a stranger. She must be terrified of the impression she may make on me.

It did not occur to William to wonder what impression he might make on her. He was, after all, third son of the King, with a fair chance of wearing the crown.

George FitzClarence arrived at Grillon’s and was conducted to a room where he was received by Adelaide and the Duchess Eleanor.

He announced himself: ‘George FitzClarence, son of the Duke. He suggested I should come to welcome you.’

The Duchess Eleanor’s face was a mask of disapproval, but Adelaide smilingly held out her hand.

‘You are the eldest son.’

‘Yes – and there are ten of us – five boys and five girls – even numbers, you see.’

‘Yes,’ said Adelaide. ‘Even numbers will be easy to remember.’

‘My father wants to present us all to you.’

‘And I shall be eager to meet you all.’

‘We’re not all at Bushy at the moment. The girls are most anxious to meet you.’

‘All five of them?’ asked Adelaide.

The Duchess Eleanor could not understand her daughter. This was an affront. Was the Duke of Clarence deliberately trying to insult Adelaide? The idea of sending the son of his mistress to greet his future wife!

And Adelaide did not seem to see this. She was talking to this FitzClarence man – who could only be a year or so younger than she was herself – as though she found his conversation entertaining and there was nothing disgraceful in his being here.

‘Tell me about your brothers and sisters,’ Adelaide was saying.

‘There’s Henry, a year younger than I. He’s in the Army now although he did join the Navy at first. Following in Father’s footsteps, you might say. But he didn’t care for it and transferred to the Army. There’s Frederick – also a soldier and the handsome one of the family. Adolphus is in the Navy, and then there is Augustus. He’s the youngest boy and is only thirteen, although Amelia is the youngest of us all, aged eleven.’

‘And the girls?’

‘Sophia, Mary, Elizabeth, Augusta and Amelia.’

‘I feel I know something of the family already.’

‘My father will be pleased. He said he wanted you to like us.’

‘Did he say that?’

The Duchess Eleanor said: ‘I believe someone is arriving. I should hope it is the Duke of Clarence.’

‘I hardly think so … yet,’ said George FitzClarence and strode to the window.

The manners of these people! thought the Duchess Eleanor. Is this what my daughter is expected to endure in England?

‘Oh, it’s Uncle George,’ announced FitzClarence. ‘My namesake.’

‘Uncle George …’ stammered Adelaide.

‘The Prince Regent,’ announced George.

Now the Duchess Eleanor could not complain of the lack of good manners.

He had entered the room – a glittering personage, his diamond star blazing on his mulberry velvet coat, his white buckskin breeches gleaming, his chins carefully hidden by the swathed silk of his cravat; his nut-brown wig was an elegant mass of curls; the most delicate of perfumes came from him; and his bow was a masterpiece of perfection.

He held out both hands – delicately white, discreetly flashing with diamonds – in a gesture of informal friendliness.

‘My dear dear sister. So you have come to us at last.’

The little nose was humorous, the eyes shrewd. He – that connoisseur of feminine beauty was thinking: Poor William, she’s a plain little thing and her complexion is very bad.

Maria Fitzherbert’s complexion had been the most dazzling in the world – completely naturally so. He had noticed it the first time he had seen her on the towpath near Richmond, years and years ago. And her hair was golden like the corn in August. This young woman reminded him of Maria by what she lacked.

Poor William!

But he said: ‘Enchanting! Enchanting! And I trust you are well looked after here?’

‘Your Highness is gracious,’ said the Duchess Eleanor. ‘The Duke of Clarence has not yet called but he sent his … this gentleman … to welcome us.’

The Regent gave a surprised look in the direction of George FitzClarence. What a tactless fool William was! If there was a wrong thing to do William could be relied upon to do it.

Well, he would save the situation as he was well able to do; he was delighted to see that even the mother was in awe of him. So charmingly he set them at their ease and chatted light-heartedly about the family, what they must see in England, how delighted he was that they had come.

And while they were chatting easily another arrival was announced.

The Duke of Clarence had at last arrived to greet his bride.

They regarded each other cautiously.

He was an ageing man; it was true his head was the shape of a pineapple; he had the Hanoverian eyes, blue, protuberant, and there was a hint of wildness in them; he was not nearly as tall nor as glorious as his dazzling brother; but somehow the thought of that ready-made family to whom she had been introduced by the eldest member of it – if only by hearsay – made her feel less alarmed than she might have done. There was something about him that was young, in spite of his age. She supposed it would be called naïve, and oddly enough this was comforting.