She had been brought up to believe that one day she would have to marry and very likely a strange Prince in a foreign land. Well, having seen him she was not as afraid as she had thought she might be.

He looked at her and felt a twinge of disappointment. She was no beauty. But he liked her gentle manner. And when she told him that she had already made the acquaintance of his son George and that George had talked to her of the rest of the family, he felt his spirits uplifted.

If she would come to Bushy and live there with them all, if she was ready to be a stepmother to the children, and if she could give him the child who would be the heir to the throne, he would be content.

They talked of her journey and he told her of the improvements he had made to the house at Bushy which was quite his favourite residence. He was looking forward to showing it to her.

It was almost a prosaic meeting. They had come nowhere near falling in love at first sight.

But she had decided that she might have had worse than her ageing Duke; and he perceived that although she did not possess the attractions of that brash young beauty Miss Wykeham, nor the exquisite features of Miss Tylney-Long, nor the handsome looks of Miss Mercer Elphinstone – all of whom he had tried to persuade to marry him – it might well be that she had qualities which those more flamboyant ladies lacked.

When they parted, although they could scarcely be said to be elated, they were not unduly dismayed.

When they were alone the fury of the Duchess Eleanor broke forth.

‘I never imagined that you would be treated like this! I am going to suggest that we return to Saxe-Meiningen tomorrow. Or … or …’ She faltered, but Adelaide smiled.

‘Dearest Mamma, you know that it is the last thing you wish.’

‘We should be objects of ridicule. It would be said that he had seen you and refused to marry you.’

‘And I should never have another chance to marry. Think of that, Mamma.’

‘But not to greet us! To let us come to an hotel. And then … insult on injury to send that, that … bastard of his to be so insolent to you.’

‘I liked him, Mamma; and after all, he will be my stepson.’

‘I should not use that word to describe your future husband’s bastard.’

‘But that’s what he is, Mamma. They will all be my stepchildren … all ten of them.’

‘You must refuse to see them.’

‘I could not do that.’

‘Why not? Why not? Von Konitz shall speak to the Regent immediately. We will make it a condition.’

‘It is not what I wish.’

The Duchess Eleanor looked in surprise at her daughter. There had been one or two occasions in Adelaide’s life when she had taken a stand and like all usually malleable people when she did stand firmly there was no shaking her.

‘You can’t mean …’

‘I mean this,’ said Adelaide, ‘that my future husband already has a large family of whom he is obviously fond. What chance of happiness should I have as his wife if I refused to acknowledge them?’

‘Your husband’s family. The children of an actress … who by all accounts must have been a loose woman, for these ten children are not the only ones she has had.’

‘They are nevertheless the Duke’s children. You always knew, Mamma, that I wanted to be a member of a big family. I regretted that I had not more sisters and brothers. Well, when I marry the Duke I shall become a member of one. That is one of the things that please me most in this marriage.’

The Duchess Eleanor stared at her daughter.

‘I shall speak to both Konitz and Effa in the morning.’

‘Mamma, I am sorry to say this, but this is my marriage. I think that I should be the one who decides how it shall be conducted.’

What had happened to Adelaide? She had become an autocrat already. Perhaps though, decided the Duchess Eleanor, one should rejoice because she had not given way to melancholy at the sight of her ageing bridegroom.

A very unbecoming welcome; and I tremble to think of leaving my daughter behind in such company.

Adelaide, oddly enough, seemed quite composed. It was strange to think that it was due to her future husband’s family of bastards.

The Duke of Kent had brought his Duchess to England that the ceremony might be repeated there in the presence of the Prince Regent and the Queen. They considered themselves in fact, already married.

The Queen received the Duchess graciously; she liked what she saw of her; but as she said afterwards to Augustus and Sophia she was so disgusted by Cumberland’s wife that any of her son’s consorts seemed admirable in comparison.

But undoubtedly the Duchess of Kent was a discreet and worthy woman. She had left her son and daughter in Leiningen, whither she and the Duke would return for a while after their three weeks honeymoon in England.

Apartments at Kensington Palace were offered to the Duke and these he gratefully accepted. They rode out to Claremont to see Victoria’s brother Leopold, who wept with joy and declared that nothing now could please him more than to see this match brought to fruition, for theirs was a union very near to his heart.

‘I have not been so happy since my dearest Charlotte died,’ he said.

Victoria, who was practical, asked him if he were wise to remain at Claremont, the scene of his last months with Charlotte.

‘Wise?’ he asked. ‘I am nearer to Charlotte here than anywhere else.’

‘Dearest Leopold,’ said Victoria, ‘you prolong your grief. You should get away.’

‘You don’t understand,’ groaned Leopold.

‘I too have lost a husband.’

Leopold looked at her in astonishment. How could she compare that old husband of hers with his young and vital Charlotte. But he merely covered his eyes with his hands and Victoria said no more.

He took them over Claremont. ‘This was the room where she died. I have left it just as it was on that dreadful day. This is her cloak. After the last walk she took in the grounds, she hung it there. I won’t have it moved.’

Victoria said: ‘Dearest brother, it is time you took a holiday away from England.’

‘It is what I propose to do. And when you are married you may borrow Claremont for your honeymoon.’

‘That is excellent news, is it not, Edward?’ asked Victoria.

Edward was forming the habit of agreeing with everything Victoria said and did, and he immediately concurred.

So it was decided that after the wedding the honeymoon should be spent here.

‘And the first thing I shall do,’ the practical Victoria told her husband, ‘is take down Charlotte’s cloak and rearrange that bedroom in which she died.’

The Duchess Eleanor was received by the Queen, who was feeling a little better on this day. She explained to Duchess Eleanor the nature of her complaint and how it varied with the days.

‘Anxiety does not improve it,’ she explained. ‘And I have had plenty of that and to spare.’

Duchess Eleanor inclined her head sympathetically.

‘I trust Adelaide will be happy here,’ said the Queen.

‘I shall feel that she has found a mother in Your Majesty.’

The Queen graciously inclined her head.

‘William is not the most level-headed of the Princes, so I am particularly relieved that Adelaide seems to be a sensible young woman.’

‘Your Majesty will find her so. She has a good heart. In fact there is a matter on which I would ask Your Majesty’s advice.’

‘Pray proceed.’

‘On our arrival the Duke sent a young man, a George Fitz-Clarence, to greet my daughter. He was in fact the first one to do so.’

‘Surely this could not be!’

‘Alas, Your Majesty, I assure you it was so.’

‘Monstrous!’ said the Queen; and Duchess Eleanor nodded in relief. ‘Something must be done about it,’ went on Charlotte, and added, ‘Something shall be done about it.’

‘How grateful I am to Your Majesty; but I knew of course that you would deal with this matter … as it should be dealt with. The Duke plans that the honeymoon should be spent at Bushy. He proposes to take Adelaide there … in the midst of this family.’

‘It is not possible. I will see the Regent immediately. We could never allow such a thing to be. I fear that William has little sense of the rightness of things – although I am sure Adelaide will find him an indulgent husband. But pray leave this matter to me.’

When the Duchess had retired the Queen went to her bedroom and lay down for a short while. These internal controversies upset her now far more than they used to. She was afraid of having another turn like the last she had had. One of these days, she thought, and that soon, I shall not recover.

There was so much to be done.

She wanted to live to see the heir born, to know that all these marriages had not been in vain; and the affairs of Adelaide and William were most important for they could produce the King or Queen of England.

If only William were not such a fool!

She sighed, roused herself and sent for him.

‘William,’ she said sternly, ‘you really must behave with more decorum.’

He raised his eyes, looking hurt. ‘What have I done now?’ he asked reproachfully. ‘I have accepted this marriage you have arranged for me. I have made no fuss about it … even though the Parliament has not met my demands. I …’

The Queen held up a hand for silence. ‘I beg of you cease, William. I am not feeling well and my strength threatens to give out. So pray let us get quickly to the point. You have that actress’s family at Bushy.’

‘I have my family there, Mamma.’

‘Your bastards, William.’