Mary agreed that they did not. ‘It was because Mamma was an actress and her friends could not mix with royalty – which Papa is of course; and Papa’s friends did not want to mix with stage folk. Not all of them, of course, but some. Uncle George was always kind to Mamma. He was fond of her because she was so gay and attractive. He liked actresses.’

‘His Majesty would be kind to all women.’

‘They say he’s not very kind to Lady Hertford at the moment,’ said Mary with a giggle. ‘Nor was he to Maria Fitzherbert, nor to Perdita Robinson and a whole crowd of them.’

There was no reticence in the FitzClarence family. William had never stood on ceremony and it was unlikely that their mother would.

Adelaide did not wish the subject to turn to the disastrous matter of the King and Queen so she hastily changed the subject to Ida and discussed plans for inviting her to Bushy.

But the most important topic in the household was of course Elizabeth’s marriage. Adelaide studied her stepdaughter. She was not exactly beautiful but dazzlingly attractive. So must her mother have been. They had with their usual frankness told her that Elizabeth was more like Dorothy Jordan than any of them.

Elizabeth described her wedding dress which had been presented by Aunts Sophia and Augusta, her father’s two unmarried sisters, the royal Princesses.

‘Such a dress!’ cried Elizabeth. ‘A royal dress. Well, we are royal through Papa and no one can deny that. But it was good of the old aunts to present me with the dress. It was a very ceremonious occasion, I can tell you. They sent for me to go to St James’s, and there I must wait until their Highnesses were ready to receive me.’ Elizabeth began to mime the reception of herself by the royal Princesses and then gave a little sketch of their imparting the news that they were presenting her with a wedding dress.

‘A young lady’s wedding day is the most important day in her life,’ mimicked Elizabeth.

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ retorted her sister Sophia. ‘It’s what comes after that is important. Don’t you agree, Adelaide?’

‘I am sure you are right.’

How gay they were! How unconscious of the fact that their father had never married their mother. What did they care that she was an actress? They were as proud of her as they were of their royal connections.

I am happy, thought Adelaide. This is the happiest time I have known. And when the child comes, that will be the very height of contentment. I ask nothing more than to have my child … and to live here in this pleasant spot comfortably, at peace, for the rest of my life.

The sound of carriage wheels intruded on the scene.

Augustus jumped up and ran to see who had come. They heard him shouting: ‘It’s George!’

And there was George FitzClarence coming across the lawn surrounded by his sisters who had rushed to meet him, and young Augustus was leaping in front of him like a jester.

George greeted Adelaide affectionately. They shared a special friendship. Hadn’t she spent her honeymoon nursing him!

Like all the FitzClarences he did not stand on ceremony. He sat beside her, asked after her health not in the most delicate manner. He was very knowledgeable about the birth of babies for his first child – a daughter – had just been born.

He had come to talk of the christening. They had chosen the baby’s name.

‘What is it?’ cried Amelia.

George turned to his stepmother. ‘Adelaide,’ he said. ‘With your permission.’

Yes, she thought. I am happy. I’ve never been so happy. They have accepted me.

Her eyes had filled with tears. George leaned forward and kissed her.

‘Permission granted?’ he asked.

And everyone cheered.

She looked across to the flower gardens which they had told her their mother had planned during her brief sojourns between theatrical engagements. She could almost fancy the ghost of Dorothy Jordan looked on, benignly content with the one who had taken her place.

Elizabeth FitzClarence was a handsome bride.

‘The image of her mother,’ it was whispered. ‘The last time I saw her was as Lady Teazel in The School for Scandal. She was magnificent, but they say it was not one of her best parts.’

‘Oh no, you should have seen her when she was young. Miss Hoyden in The Relapse was one of her best. I’ll never forget her. And the new Lady Erroll is the image of what she was at her age.’

‘The Duchess must be near her time. Fancy her coming to the wedding!’

‘No doubt she did so to please the Duke. They say he insists on her receiving his bastards.’

‘Poor creature. She looks meek.’

Adelaide was aware of their whisperings but they did not disturb her. She was happy. She felt well. In two months her baby should be with her; she was longing for the day, and it was pleasant to be at her stepdaughter’s wedding and to see how the bride was aware of her and now and then gave her an understanding look, as though, thought Adelaide, I am indeed her mother.

The Duke was delighted. He made one of his long, rambling speeches which set everyone trying to stifle their yawns; and the Princess Sophia had graced the wedding with her presence.

It was the Princesses’ way of letting the world know that they accepted the FitzClarences as their relations. No one was surprised to see her there. There were whispers about Sophia and always had been. The fact that she had remained unmarried did not mean that she had retained her virginity. The scandals of the family were not made entirely by the boys. No one could be absolutely sure that some twenty years before the Princess Sophia had secretly given birth to a child, but many believed this to be so. So there was no reason why she should not accept the results of her brothers’ indiscretions. However, her presence at the wedding delighted her brother William.

People were beginning to look with new interest at William. He had improved since his marriage. He no longer used the crude oaths he once had; his manners were changing; and instead of making himself ridiculous by offering his hand to impertinent young commoners who refused it, he had a dignified royal wife, who was very properly pregnant and who had undoubtedly brought some dignity into his somewhat disorderly life. But the main point of interest was his nearness to the throne. There were constant rumours of the Regent’s illnesses and the Duke of York did not enjoy good health. If they died, and they were becoming elderly, then this bluff sailor with the pineapple-shaped head and the habit of making endless and entirely boring speeches, would become the King of England, and the insignificant Adelaide the Queen.

There would be a king with ten illegitimate children all of whom were acknowledged by his family – and there would soon be another, legitimate this time and heir to the throne! For there was no doubt that the child the Duchess so proudly and delightedly carried would be the new King or Queen of England.

The Princess Sophia bade Adelaide sit beside her.

‘For you look a little tired, my dear,’ she said.

‘I have been so careful lately,’ replied Adelaide, ‘that I am unused to functions.’

‘You mustn’t overtire yourself, my dear,’ said Sophia. ‘Remember those other two occasions. Women get accustomed to having miscarriages.’

Sophia looked doleful with prophecy but Adelaide refused to be dismayed.

Her child would soon arrive. Only two more months and it would be here.

Sophia was saying: ‘I wonder if it will be a little girl or a little boy?’

Adelaide smiled. What did she care? It would be a child – her own child. That was all that mattered.

‘I believe the Duchess of Kent is taking it badly,’ said Sophia not without a trace of pleasure. ‘I for one am delighted. She was beginning to give herself airs and one heard of nothing but the perfections of her little Drina.’

‘I hope she will not be too put out,’ said Adelaide.

‘My dear Adelaide,’ laughed Sophia, ‘nothing in the world could put her out more. She has already taken on the role of Mother to the Queen, and the child not two years old yet!’

‘It is a pity that what brings so much joy to one should bring pain to others.’

Sophia looked at her shrewdly. ‘Is that not the way of the world, Adelaide?’ she asked.

Adelaide was not sure of this. She tried to dismiss the Duchess of Kent from her mind. This was such a happy occasion; she did not want it spoiled.

A week after Elizabeth’s wedding Adelaide’s pains started.

She was frightened because they had come six weeks too soon. Terrified, she called to her women who quickly sent for the doctors.

The labour had undoubtedly begun and was long and arduous. Adelaide was in agony; but through it all she reminded herself that anything was worth while if the child was alive and well.

The apartments in Stable Yard were scarcely adequate. How much better it would have been if the child could have been born at Bushy where she had arranged it should be; but how could she have known it would arrive six weeks before it was due?

At length the ordeal was over leaving an exhausted Adelaide more dead than alive, but when she heard the cry of a child and knew it was hers her joy was overwhelming.

‘A little girl,’ said the Duke, at her bedside.

‘My own child … at last,’ she murmured.

For some days it was believed that Adelaide could not survive, but so great was her joy in her child that by her very will to live for it she slowly began to recover, and a week after the birth she was out of danger and able to sit up and hold her child in her arms. A little girl – a perfect little girl!