William flushed hotly; sailors’ oaths rose to his lips. He thought of his darling daughters, the pride of his life; he adored them. Gay and pretty Sophia just twenty-one; he liked to have her here with him, showing her off. Mary of twenty down to eleven-years-old Amelia. Nothing on earth would induce him to part with them. And if his new wife was asking that this should be done he would refuse to marry her even now.

The Queen saw the stubborn set of his jaw and sighed.

‘You propose to spend your honeymoon at Bushy?’

‘Where else? Leopold has offered Edward and his wife Claremont. I have had no such offers. In any case, I don’t want them. I prefer Bushy.’

‘The honeymoon should not be spent at Bushy, although you will wish to take Adelaide there in due course. There should be just you and Adelaide there … with your servants, of course.’

William looked surprised. ‘My daughters live there. It is their home. And that of the boys when they are home.’

‘So you propose to take your bride into the heart of this … this family of yours, all of whom are the illegitimate children of an actress.’

‘I must remind you again, Mamma, that they are mine as well,’ said William with dignity.

‘You have no sense, William. This cannot be. It would be a scandal. You must move your children from Bushy. The Regent has in any case decided that you leave for Hanover three weeks after the wedding. What happens later could be a matter for you and Adelaide to work out between you; but you cannot take your bride to Bushy while those children are there; and as it has been arranged that you should spend three weeks in England before going to Hanover you should spend them at St James’s. The FitzClarence family must leave Bushy.’

‘They will not like it.’

‘And I should not like it if they stayed. Nor would your brother, the Regent, nor the people, nor any decent thinking person.’

‘Adelaide has raised no objection.’

‘Her mother has raised it on her behalf.’

‘I thought she was an interfering old woman.’

‘William!’

‘I’m sorry, Mamma, but this is my private affair.’

‘It is an affair of the State when an insult is offered to visitors to our country even if they are shortly to become a member of the family. I have spoken to the Regent about this and he agrees with me. While he sympathizes with your affection for this … this … family … he thinks the FitzClarence children should not make Bushy their home. You may leave me now, William, for I am very tired. But I shall expect you to consider my wishes.’

The Regent was sympathetic as the Queen had said, but he did urge on William the need to remove the FitzClarences from Bushy.

‘It’s what people would say, William. God knows how we always have to consider that. I’ve spent my life doing it.’

‘What is so infuriating is that Adelaide has raised no objection.’

‘She seems a pleasant creature … docile, amenable. I think she will make a good wife. Edward seems to have been put into leading strings. Victoria is not unprepossessing in her way but she has her fixed opinions and she won’t rest until those about her share them. An attractive woman, but not as comfortable as your Adelaide.’

‘Yes, I think Adelaide will make a good obedient wife – and all things considered I prefer her to Victoria. But why should I disrupt the Bushy household when Adelaide doesn’t object?’

‘Because, William, the people would object.’ The Regent was a little weary of the subject, so he yawned gracefully to show that the subject was closed as far as he was concerned and he expected William to comply with his wishes.

‘Who was that woman you thought of engaging as a governess?’

‘Her name is Miss Cooper. She is a very intelligent and capable woman.’

‘There is your answer, William. Now I must ask you to leave. I have a long session with my tailor.’

William realized there was no help for it. He acquired a house in South Audley Street and amid the protests of his daughters moved them there and put the efficient Miss Cooper in control.

Then he prepared for his wedding. He must devote himself to his wife and the object of the marriage, which was to make it fruitful as soon as possible.

It was the day of the double wedding, which was to take place in the Queen’s drawing-room at Kew. The Regent was due to arrive just before four o’clock in order to preside benignly over the proceedings and give both brides to their husbands.

The Duke and Duchess of Kent were less nervous than Adelaide and William. They had in fact already been married in Germany two months before and were quite satisfied with each other.

Victoria was attractive and domineering; and Edward in spite of a somewhat pompous exterior was a good subject for her domination. He had been able to salve his conscience concerning Julie by doing everything possible for her comfort and he was sure that she had found peace in her convent. He had to admit that he was such a man of habit that Julie had to some extent become a habit; and it was more exciting to have a young – or comparatively young – wife, who was gay, affectionate and charming – as long as it was accepted that she was always right. And she invariably was – a fact which might have been a little irritating to some, but not to Edward. He liked precision and efficiency; he liked Victoria.

As for Victoria she was enjoying her new life. Edward was dignified it was true; strictly religious, unimaginative; but she was satisfied with him. When she compared him with her first husband, the old Duke of Leiningen, she considered herself lucky. She had come satisfactorily through that first marriage because of her own sound good sense; but everyone had agreed that the old Duke was a trial. From him, though, she had her dearest Charles and Feodore, and for them she was grateful; and she looked forward to the time when she would have her children with her in one nursery with that all-important child who was to be the ruler of England.

She was sure she was going to be the one to produce the heir – and wasn’t she always right? Only Adelaide and Clarence stood between the throne and the child she would have; and there was a certain ineffectuality about Clarence which she recognized – and as for Adelaide she did not believe she was a strong woman. She lacked the radiant health of Victoria.

Soon, soon, she prayed every night. I shall have my child – and that child is to be the one.

Edward had told her of the gipsy’s prophecy, which she would have dismissed as rubbish if it had concerned anything else. But this prophecy was right – only she did not accept that it would be a Queen. She believed it would be a King.

But a Queen would do very well as the English did not regard sex as a bar to sovereignty.

So it was a very satisfied Victoria who stood before her mirror surveying her plump but seductive form. The dress of gold tissue was so becoming to a widow. Adelaide would be dressed in white no doubt. But the fact that she was in gold was a symbol that she was not a newcomer to marriage and she had already proved her ability to bear children. Her darling Charles and Feodore were living evidence.

It was a very complacent Victoria who made her way to the Queen’s drawing-room.

Adelaide was less composed. The dress was charming. The insignia of a bride – silver tissue and Brussels lace. And the effect was enchanting.

As the diamond clasp was fastened about her waist she thought: Even I look beautiful today.

Duchess Eleanor clasped her hands with delight.

‘You look lovely, my dear. No bride ever looked more beautiful.’

‘It’s the dress that’s beautiful, Mamma.’

‘Oh, why must you always denigrate yourself!’ exclaimed the Duchess impatiently.

‘I don’t want to shut my eyes to the truth, Mamma.’

The Duchess clicked her tongue; but she was not displeased. That unfortunate matter had been comfortably settled and the FitzClarences moved to South Audley Street. A victory, she decided; and it showed that the Queen was ready to treat Adelaide with due respect even if William were not.

‘It is time to go,’ said the Duchess, studying her daughter intently to make sure that all was well.

‘I am ready,’ said Adelaide.

In the drawing-room members of the royal family were assembling. The Cambridges were already there – Augusta looking very beautiful – and Mary with ‘Slice’. The Duke of York arrived, without the Duchess, who was ill and unable to attend. Though they had not lived together for years they were good friends and the Duke was melancholy on his wife’s account. None of the other brothers and sisters were present and the Duchess Eleanor, noting this, thought how strange it was. There seemed to be so many rifts in this family. She knew that the Cumberlands had been dismissed from the country and the Duchess was not received at Court. The rumours she had heard over the years of the quarrels of the family were certainly based on fact.

But that did not matter. Her daughter’s wedding was about to take place.

Adelaide looked composed and quite lovely; the Duchess of Kent, Eleanor decided, was too flamboyant in her gold tissue. How buxom she was, how healthy! Adelaide looked frail beside her. But Adelaide had more grace. She might not be beautiful but she managed to look elegant – far more so than Victoria. But Victoria did look as though she were bursting with vitality and very fit to bear children – which was, after all, what this ceremony was about.

But Eleanor refused to think of that, for the Regent was leading in the Queen, who looked very old and very ill, and the Archbishop of Canterbury was ready to preside with the Bishop of London, the Prime Minister and the Hanoverian ambassador as witnesses.