‘I sometimes think she cares for you more than she does her own mother.’

‘That’s not true. But Ida is so gay and full of life. Perhaps her mother makes her realize more fully what she has missed than I do.’

William was thoughtful and later that day he went to Ida’s room and asked if he could have a word with her.

‘You’ll be leaving soon,’ he said. ‘Adelaide is going to miss you very much.’

‘As I shall miss her.’

‘You will go back to the gay life of Ghent. You have your husband and your children …’

‘Oh dear, how I wish Adelaide’s child had lived.’

‘And how I wish there was something I could do to make her see this is not quite so important as she thinks. If we cannot have a child there is no use brooding on it. We should forget it and enjoy life. A trip on the Continent, I always say – and go on hoping. But one thing did strike me. You have to go but why shouldn’t Loulou and the baby remain?’

‘My children!’ cried Ida.

‘It would comfort her. Let them stay on. She’ll have little Louise to care for and that will comfort her for the loss of her own. Ask Louise if she will stay and if she wishes to, let her. And the baby too. That is what Adelaide needs at this time – a baby to care for.’

Ida looked in astonishment at William. How he had changed since his marriage! He was developing a little imagination and had grown thoughtful. He did indeed love Adelaide.

Of course, this was Adelaide’s influence on him. She was thought to be quiet and perhaps insignificant. It had always been so; but this was not true. It was people like Adelaide who had a stronger influence than frivolous people like herself.

And Louise? She had to admit that there were times when she was impatient with Louise, when she could not suppress her irritation with the child, when the sight of a crippled daughter depressed her; and she saw now that Louise, perhaps made more sensitive by her affliction, was aware of this.

But Adelaide would feel only love for Louise and the love would be greater because of the child’s disability. Adelaide would never flare into sudden temper; she would be equable, able to bring Louise out of her fits of depression; she would make her believe that there were compensations in not being able to dance and play games that other children could.

‘You see what I mean,’ persisted William. ‘Think about it, Ida. And if you agree, tell Adelaide.’

Thus it was that when Ida left for Ghent she left behind her baby and the crippled Louise. The latter, when questioned by her mother, had admitted that she would prefer to stay in England with Aunt Adelaide than return with her mother to Ghent.

That was enough for Ida who told Adelaide that Louise wished to stay.

Adelaide could not disguise her pleasure in the fact that although her sister must go she was not going to lose her little niece and nephew.

Could Ida bear to part with them?

Ida said she could and since the baby had been born Adelaide had done far more for him than his mother had.

‘He would be lost without you,’ said Ida. ‘Let them stay on until I have settled in; and then I will come again and take them home.’

So Ida left and the parting was not so desolate as it might have been: for Adelaide had the children to look after and if they were not her own – well, they were the next best thing.

William was in excellent spirits for he had chosen a site for his new House which was to be built in St James’s.

‘I shall call it Clarence House,’ he said, and Adelaide agreed that it was as good a name as anyone could wish.

With the approach of Christmas came an invitation to join the King at Brighton.

Adelaide was a little uneasy as the death of the Queen and the Duchess of York had put her in the position of first lady, which meant at Brighton where the Court was she would be constantly called upon to do her duty in that role, for where the King was there must be a certain amount of ceremony and she would be often at the King’s side.

She was aware that she lacked the handsome looks of many of the women with whom the King surrounded himself. Lady Conyngham who was always very prominent at all functions might be considerably older than Adelaide, but she knew how to be beautiful by candlelight at least, and she rarely appeared in the bright light of morning. Nor did the King, who was growing more and more conscious of his ageing looks; and all the glittering ornaments and decorations he could put on to his beautifully cut garments could not hide the fact that his body was becoming a grotesque travesty of what it had been in his youth. The swelling in his neck necessitated a neckcloth so vast that it almost suffocated him; there were times when his gout was so painful that he could not put his foot to the ground. But for Christmas he needed to charm his guests, so he was bled – not too profusely this time – and lived very quietly for a few weeks in readiness for the festivities.

Adelaide was a little overwhelmed by the Pavilion – as indeed everyone was who entered it. It changed continuously for the King could not conquer his passion for beautiful objets d’art, nor for building, so there was always something new to be admired and the King took an almost childish delight in his treasures.

The newest acquisition was the wonderful bathroom the pipes of which were connected with the sea. This enabled him to enjoy the sea-water baths which had so delighted him in the days of his prime. When he had first discovered the spot and transformed little Brighthelmstone, the tiny fishing village, into royal and fashionable Brighton, he had taken his dips in. the sea attended by old Smoker – the dipper who respected no person, not even the Prince of Wales, and who had been christened by the Prince himself, the King of Brighton.

Those days were over. The Prince of Wales had become Regent and then King and as he passed from one glorious role to the other he had shed his youth and handsome looks. He had been too fond of indulging his tastes – too much rich food, too much good wine. And women? No, not to excess. He had had many mistresses but he had always deceived himself that he was in love with them. And one thing he had never lost throughout his life was the power to deceive himself.

Adelaide found the ordeal less trying than she had feared, for the King exerted all his magic to make her feel at ease; and since she was at his side so often he had the opportunity of charming her.

Lady Conyngham was very sure of her position, flashing the new sapphire which the King had given her and which was reputed to be part of the State jewels. She was a little arrogant because while she enjoyed occasions like this and, without doubt, the gifts and honours she received as the King’s mistress were well worth having, the King’s growing desire to live in retirement was very tiresome, and there had been times when she wondered whether the disadvantages did not outweigh the advantages.

The fact that the King needed her more than she needed him gave her a sense of such self-importance that being a rather foolish woman she could not help showing it.

She was extremely unpopular among the King’s enemies who looked upon her as a royal extravagance and by his friends who regarded her as a harpy.

Adelaide did not like her, although Lady Conyngham considered Adelaide too insignificant for her notice.

As the days passed Adelaide thought longingly of the simple life at Bushy with the children she had staying with her. Louise must be missing her, though the baby was too young to do so. Perhaps the noisy FitzClarences discussing their always interesting affairs missed her too.

The Pavilion was almost unbearably hot, being overheated because the King felt the cold. In the evenings there was usually a concert in the Music Room, and there the King liked to lie on a couch and listen; consequently the guests were expected to do the same.

The Music Room during a concert, thought Adelaide, with its oriental decor, its almost suffocating heat, its occupants stretched out on sofas, was like a room in a Sultan’s palace. And there, benign, enormous, in complete harmony with the surroundings he had created, lay the Sultan himself – King George IV.

Yes, it would be a great relief to go back to family life at Bushy.

One Step Nearer

IT WAS NOT to be expected that the ambitious Duke and Duchess of Cumberland had cut themselves off from affairs in England. Though it was true that since Queen Charlotte had ordered them to leave the country, they had done so, they had watched what was happening with the greatest interest.

‘Soon,’ Ernest told Frederica, ‘it will be necessary for me to go back.’

‘We have lost the throne for our George,’ replied Frederica sadly. ‘That fat child at Kensington Palace seems as healthy as a child could possibly be.’

‘She may not always remain so.’

‘That’s true. And Adelaide is not going to produce – that much is evident.’

‘I hear that George is very ill. In fact no one would be surprised if he went at any moment. And Frederick is not much better. They are both puffed up with dropsy.’

‘There’s still Clarence.’

‘Curse Clarence! He’s the stumbling block.’

‘No. It’s that fat child, Victoria they are calling her now. And I believe her dear Mamma is giving herself such airs that the family is a little put out with her.’

‘One thing,’ put in Ernest, ‘I shall be a king before I die. King of Hanover. Little Victoria cannot have Hanover. Thanks to the Salic law they’ll not have a woman ruler – not even darling little Victoria.’