‘Well, the King is getting worse they tell me, and the last time I saw your brother George he looked as if he would not last long.’

‘Death strikes in strange places,’ said the Duke in a hollow voice.

‘But they both look to me as if they are not long for this world.’

‘I do agree. It’s such a glittering possibility my dear. It dazzles me.’

‘There would have to be three deaths before you were on the throne,’ the Duchess reminded him.

‘And then it would be Alexandrina’s turn.’

‘The darling!’ murmured the Duchess.

‘I know. But not yet. It would be disastrous if she came to the throne too early. I must take more care of my health. I must make sure that I live until she is eighteen … at least. She would be too young before that.’

The Duchess nodded complacently. She intended to guard her Alexandrina. And she was certain that she was as capable of doing so as the child’s father was.

‘Yes,’ Edward was saying, ‘I must take care of myself. You know my tendency to catch cold.’

‘I know it well,’ said his Duchess. ‘And you must take care. Our baby will need you.’

‘We shall have to live more simply. I must discharge my debts. It is somewhat expensive here, and the tradesmen are too close. The sea always agreed with me and the breezes would be excellent for the baby.’

‘They would,’ agreed the Duchess.

‘Where do you suggest? Not Brighton. I am sure he would object if we went there.’

‘No … not Brighton. That would be far too expensive. We must think of some little place … far away from the high fashion … and creditors.’

They discussed the matter for some days; and finally decided on Sidmouth.

The Duke’s barber applied the dye to his hair and his whiskers.

It was their secret.

I look like a young man, thought the Duke, and while I look like a young man I shall remain one.

He was thankful that he had not lived the kind of life that some of his brothers had lived. He had been abstemious in his habits; he had never become involved with women but had been faithful to Julie and now to his Duchess. He had been in control of his emotions so that now he had been forced to part with Julie he rarely gave her a thought, but had become devoted to his wife and daughter; he was fond of his stepchildren. He intended to live to a ripe old age and when he departed to hand over the throne – which by that time would be his – to a daughter who would have been taught that her destiny was to be a great queen.

Before Christmas they would set out for Devon; he had already made the plans in his precise way and decided where they would stop for the night during the journey. The Duchess would carry Alexandrina herself; she was too precious to be left to nurses.

Fresh air! he thought. What could be better? Alexandrina must be taught to appreciate it.

They left Claremont with as little ceremony as possible because he did not wish his creditors to know where he had gone. Not that he had any intention of not paying them; but they must learn to be patient.

The journey was long and tedious and the weather continued to be bitterly cold. The Duke, though, had set himself certain sightseeing tours on the way and no matter how bleak the conditions he would not alter his plans. As a result of one of these jaunts he caught a cold; the Duchess was angry with him, demanding to know what he would say if Alexandrina should take it from him?

‘What is a cold?’ he asked with a shrug.

‘I don’t want my child to catch it,’ retorted the Duchess grimly; and she would not allow him to come near the precious infant.

He laughed at her and said it would not be for long. He was the strongest member of his family; he always had been. Fresh air would soon cure his cold. He was a great believer in fresh air, and sea breezes were the best in the world. Oh, they had been wise to come to Sidmouth.

But as the days passed and it grew clear that the Duke could not shake off his cold, the Duchess grew alarmed.

She discussed the Duke’s health with his equerry, John Conroy, a man in whom she had great confidence. He had been an army captain but had decided that he could make a more exciting and profitable career in the Duke’s household; and in this he seemed to be right for he was a favourite with the Duchess, which was essential to keeping the Duke’s favour. Although Conroy did not look in the least like the Duke, they were of a type and many people noticed this similarity between them.

Conroy thought that the Duke should give up pretending that he merely had a bad cold which could be cured by doses of fresh air, take to his bed and see his doctors.

‘I will persuade him to it,’ said the Duchess firmly; but before she could do so Edward was so exhausted and unable to control his breathing that of his own accord he took to his bed. Before the day was out he was in a fever; and the doctors arrived to diagnose a congestion of the lungs.

The Duchess, alarmed, did what she always did in moments of stress – she sent an urgent message to Leopold who arrived shortly afterwards with his own doctor, Stockmar, in whom he had great confidence and who was his friend as well as his physician.

It was too late to do anything for Edward who was clearly dying. He should make his will without delay, said Leopold, and Dr Stockmar agreed with him.

The Duke feebly gave his assent and the will was drawn up and signed by him.

He lay back breathless on his pillows, a hint of whiteness showing at the roots of his hair and beard for he had been too exhausted to endure his barber’s ministrations; he had become an old man in a few weeks and as the Duchess stood at his bedside, herself weary and exhausted for she had been up nursing him for five days and nights, she was asking herself what effect this was going to have on Alexandrina.

She had left the child with her nurses – fearful that she might carry some contamination from the sickroom. Fräulein Lehzen was a treasure. No English nurse could have received the Duchess’s absolute trust, and little Alexandrina was safe with Lehzen until her mother could return to her and give her her full attention.

And as she sat by her husband’s bedside she thought of her relations presided over by the wicked Regent, who did not like her and was not impressed by the charm of Alexandrina. What would become of them if they were left to battle alone? But there was one thing they could not take from her. If Adelaide and William could not produce a child, then her precious daughter must be Queen of England.

Nothing can alter that! It was her triumphant thought as she looked at the man in the bed who, such a short time before, had been strong and healthy.

He was dying. She knew it. He knew it too.

‘Victoria,’ he whispered and she bent over him.

‘You will be alone.’

‘I have friends. Leopold … my dear brother Leopold.’

‘Listen to his advice. He will be a father to the child.’

She nodded.

‘The prophecy … Who would have thought I was one of them? It should have been …’

She shook her head. ‘Please don’t talk. You distress yourself. You are going to get better. I know it,’ she lied.

But he knew he was not going to be better. The prophecy had said that two members of the royal family would die and he was destined to be one of them. But there was that other prophecy. A great queen. Their daughter. It was something the Duchess must never forget now that he would no longer be there to remind her.

‘I will never forget it,’ she told him. ‘Her welfare shall be my main concern. She has been brought up by myself … I will trust no other with her.’

‘Oh, that I could have been there!’

‘You may trust me.’

‘There is no one else to whom I could trust our daughter.’

She nodded and pressed his hand firmly.

‘Rest now,’ she said.

He closed his eyes.

She thought of the day he had come to Leiningen, her indecision, their brief life together and the result of that union: her own adorable chubby precious child.

Everything had been worth while and soon once again she was to be a widow. She would never marry again. She now had her mission in life which was to prepare Alexandrina to be the Queen of England.

The Duke of Kent was dead and lay in a small house in Sidmouth.

John Conroy said: ‘We must take the Duke to Windsor for burial.’

But how? the Duchess wanted to know. The journey would be expensive. She had no money, and it would be a costly matter to take her family and their attendants and the furnishings they had brought with them back to Kensington and the funeral cortège to Windsor.

‘We must appeal to the Regent,’ said Conroy. ‘He will surely make himself responsible for the Duke’s funeral expenses.’

Dear Conroy! She wondered what she would do without him.

The Regent’s secretary wrote a cold note implying that his brother’s funeral expenses were no affair of his, but fortunately Leopold was at hand.

‘Leopold, what am I going to do?’ she asked him in distraction. ‘It’s clear that the Regent dislikes me, that he is not going to help and that he refuses to give little Drina the place she should have. He is a hateful, jealous man. He was just the same with his own daughter Charlotte. He cannot bear anyone else to be popular and of course the people adore my child.’

‘Let us be calm,’ said Leopold. ‘There is nothing anyone – even the Regent – can do to displace Alexandrina in the succession, except of course William and Adelaide, if they can produce a child. And that is a hazard we must face. However, it has not yet happened. The fact is that at the moment your daughter stands an excellent chance of ascending the throne being the first of the younger generation. The point, though, is getting the Duke buried, and you with your family and servants out of Sidmouth. But that is merely a beginning. How are you going to live? I believe you have very little money. The Duke left many debts which you will be asked to settle. Yours is not a very rosy prospect, sister.’