Jean Plaidy - Victoria in the Wings

He was leaning towards her.

‘I believe you are enjoying the music.’

‘I am, thank you, Uncle King.’

‘It’s a custom in our family. Even my father loved music.’

Even? thought Victoria. Why even? His father was her grandfather but she heard very little about him. He had been the King when she was born so it was not so very long ago. She must remember to ask Fräulein Lehzen why she did not hear more of King George III. At least now she knew he liked music.

‘But he would listen to nothing but Handel. Handel has always been a great favourite in the family.’

She was aware of that for she too had been taught to like Handel – only they called it appreciating it.

‘Now tell me,’ he said, ‘what would you like the band to play? They shall play whatever you wish.’

She smiled at him, loving him dearly because he was so comforting to be with.

‘I should like to hear it play God Save the King.’

The King was a shade more pink. She had made the right choice, she knew; and she was very happy.

‘The Princess Victoria will ask the band to play what she most wants to hear,’ said the King; and everyone waited for her to speak.

‘God Save the King,’ she said in a very clear voice.

The King leaned towards her and pressed her hand.

‘That, my dear,’ he said, ‘was a very charming thought of yours.’

There was amusement throughout the conservatory.

‘The Princess Victoria is a diplomat already,’ it was whispered.

The wonderful visit had to come to an end.

There was the final leave-taking which was rather like the opening ceremony. There was the King seated in his chair with Lady Conyngham beside him. There was Victoria making her curtsy.

‘Now tell me,’ said the King, ‘have you enjoyed your visit?’

‘It was the most exciting visit of my life,’ replied Victoria truthfully.

‘Tell me which part you enjoyed most?’

She did not have to think long. ‘The best part,’ she said, ‘was when I was walking with Mamma and you came along in your splendid carriage and you said “Pop her in”.’

‘Did I indeed say that?’

‘Yes indeed you did. “Pop her in”, you said, and I was popped in.’ She laughed and he laughed with her. ‘And we went riding off to Virginia Water and we drove faster than I have ever ridden and the harness jingled and it was such a splendid carriage and we talked and laughed – and that made it the best part of the visit.’

There was no doubt that Victoria knew how to charm the King as readily as he knew how to charm her.

WILLIAM HAD BEEN acting oddly since the death of Frederick; he was making the most indiscreet comments and it was quite clear that the fact that he was the heir apparent to the throne had gone to his head. He talked freely of what he would do when he was King; he was continually inspecting the house which was being built for him; and would drive back and forth from Bushy every other day to see how it was progressing. He was enchanted with it; it was going to be a novel building with its Ionic and Doric columns and its three impressive storeys.

He dreamed of a house even more grand than Carlton House, but he would have no oriental touches in his house. It should be a fine house; a magnificent house; but a sailor’s house.

The only subject which could lure his thoughts from the royal grandeur which he was sure would soon be his was the affairs of his children. Augustus had just taken Holy Orders and he was a little disturbed about this.

He discussed the matter with Adelaide who was only too pleased to be able to talk of something other than his accession to the throne.

‘Augustus has not the temperament for a priest,’ he said.

‘I am sure he will make a very good one,’ insisted Adelaide. ‘After all, one does not need to be melancholy to be a man of the church. And if Augustus’s approach is a little light-hearted, that is better than being sorrowful.’

‘My dear Adelaide always sees the brightest side,’ said William.

‘I am sure you are not blaming me for that.’

‘Only admiring you, my dear, as ever. But one must visualize all possibilities. When you consider the state of the government now and what would happen if the King were to die …’

Adelaide said quickly: ‘I am a little worried about Amelia.’

‘Amelia. What’s wrong with Amelia?’ The very thought of something being wrong with one of the children could drive everything else from his mind.

‘I fancy she has been a little preoccupied recently.’

‘Preoccupied. What do you think. You think she has a lover?’

‘It is not the only possibility.’

‘I’ll speak to her.’

‘Perhaps it would be better if I did?’

It seemed strange that Amelia might be able to talk more easily to Adelaide the stepmother than to her own father, but William was fully aware that this was so.

‘Yes, speak to her,’ he said.

If there was anything wrong he wanted to know.

Amelia was tearful when Adelaide questioned her.

She was in love; she wanted to marry; and she was sure that her choice would not be approved of.

‘But why ever not?’ Adelaide wanted to know.

‘He is a widower. He has children. He is years older than I am.’

‘None of these are insurmountable difficulties. Your father is years older than I am.’ She might have added: And if he was not a widower when I married him, it might have been more respectable if he had been.

‘But, you see, Horace is poor.’

‘Horace?’

‘Horace Seymour.’

‘He is one of the Hertford family?’

‘Yes, he is.’

‘Well, then I am sure that there will be no objection to your marrying into such a family.’

‘But he has no money. He has settled everything he had on his children. I am sure there will be objections.’

‘We might first discover if there will be before we assert so strongly that there are.’

‘Adelaide … will you speak to Papa?’

‘But of course I will.’

There was nothing that pleased William so much as to be called in to deal with family affairs.

So Amelia was in love, and she was afraid to tell her father. She had had to get her stepmother to approach him. It both pleased him that Adelaide should have his daughter’s confidence while it hurt him that she could not have come to him.

But, as Adelaide said, as long as she came to one of them what did it matter?

The facts were that Amelia was in love with a penniless widower, and a daughter of the Duke of Clarence could not marry into poverty. All her brothers and sisters had done well for themselves; Amelia must do the same. And if she were so much in love with this man that she wanted to marry him – money or not – some means of providing money must be found.

William believed the solution lay with Lord Hertford, the head of the Seymour family. He would, therefore, write to Hertford explaining that his daughter Lady Amelia FitzClarence wished to marry Horace Seymour and that he would give his consent to the marriage providing Lord Hertford made an allowance to Horace which would enable him to marry the Duke’s daughter. He confidently expected Lord Hertford to express his immediate willingness. After all, Horace would be marrying into the royal family – albeit from the wrong side of the blanket.

Lord Hertford was one of the proudest peers in the country. He had become friendly with the King – then Prince of Wales – at the time of the Mary Seymour case when he had, as head of his family, taken charge of the little girl, who was after all his niece, and placed her in the hands of Mrs Fitzherbert, which had been done entirely to please the Prince of Wales. As a result Lord Hertford’s wife had become very friendly with the Prince and had remained on intimate terms with him during his Regency until she had been replaced by Lady Conyngham. That intelligent, fastidious Lady Hertford should have been replaced by stupid Lady Conyngham was not likely to endear the Hertfords to the royal family.

Moreover, Lord Hertford did not consider an illegitimate daughter, even of a royal Duke, worthy to marry with a Seymour and he replied bluntly that he intended to do nothing to further the match.

William was astounded. When he received Hertford’s letter he read it to Adelaide and then began to rave against Hertford.

‘How dare he slight the connection? Does he realize that Amelia is my daughter. Does he despise a link with the King.’

Adelaide said: ‘Perhaps he does not wish to put up the money.’

‘Not wish to put up the money. Why, he is one of the richest men in the country. No, this is an insult to my daughter. Let him wait. I’ll not forget this. Let him wait … it will only be a few months now …’ Adelaide listened in horror as his voice rose. He was back on the old subject. ‘I shall soon be King now.’

She sought to soothe him and she did to some extent, but he still went on talking of what he would do when his brother was dead and he was the King.

There was poor Amelia to be soothed. Poor, pretty, melancholy Amelia! Adelaide did her best; she told Amelia that she was young; perhaps her happiness with a man so much older than herself might not have been of long duration. Let her wait a while and if in, say, a year she was still in love with Horace Seymour … well, there were still means.

So it was Adelaide who comforted Amelia, but as she did so she was thinking of William.

Change was fast approaching. The peaceful days at Bushy were coming to an end. The simple country entertainments could not continue. There was little time to spend with their neighbours who had called during Dorothy Jordan’s reign and William’s nautical friends with whom he had kept in touch. How different they were from the fashionable crowd that circulated in Court circles. They were more simple in their tastes; they were more genuinely friendly. They talked of crops, the weather, their gardens and family affairs. Then there had been frequent visits of the married FitzClarences with their children; and in the evenings perhaps a small dinner party or no visitors at all and a simple game of Pope Joan.