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He is here.’

Maria came running into her drawing room crying: ‘What are you saying?’

‘He rode past just now. I saw him clearly.’

‘He rode by,’ said Maria sadly.

‘He will come back. He has ridden by in the hope of seeing you.’

Maria took her stand at the window— to the side so that she could see and not

be seen.

‘Are you sure?’

Miss Pigot nodded. ‘Poor, poor darling. He is so unhappy. All he needs is a

sign from you.’

Maria shook her head. ‘It is I who need the sign.’

‘This is it. He is coming back to you. He has come to tell you so.’

‘Then why ride by?’

‘Because he wants that sign from you. He wants you to bid him come in, to

make him welcome.’

‘He was never so coy, before, my dear.’

‘He is begging you to take him back.’

‘I have not noticed it. A strange way to beg. To become betrothed when he

already has a wife.’

‘Oh, Maria, don’t turn your back on happiness.’

‘I tell you it is for him to say. Have not the decisions always been his? As for

myself, I must just wait.’

‘He is coming again. He is coming back. I can hear the horses.’

‘Stand away from the window.’

‘It is for you to stand there. To beckon him as he passes.’

Maria stood very still, hidden from sight. She did not move. The phaeton

drove past but she was aware that the pace of the horses slackened as they

approached.

Was he in truth waiting for that sign?

I cannot give it,
she thought.
How can I? I am his wife. What does he want?

For me to go back to him, to acknowledge myself his mistress?

‘He has gone,’ said Miss Pigot. ‘But perhaps he will come again.’

He did— twice past the house; and on each occasion Maria stood at the

window, waiting, hoping, but not showing herself.

She gave no sign and he rode back to Carlton House.

But she kept thinking of him, riding out to Richmond. Surely it must have

been because he hoped she would welcome him to her house. She thought of the

vows of eternal fidelity he had made to her. She believed herself to be his wife.

Did he believe her to be?

She would know the answer to that question in a few days’ time. If he refused

to marry the Princess Caroline she would know that he considered he had a wife

already, and since he had come to Richmond could that mean that he wished the

world to know it?

————————

The Prince had had a sleepless night, but when he awoke on that Wednesday

morning of the 8th of April, he knew he must go on with the marriage.

While he was being dressed in his splendidly embroidered blue velvet coat

and his elegant knee breeches he called for a glass of brandy. He drank it quickly and felt a little better. But by the time he had put on his high heeled buckled shoes and was ready to leave for the Chapel Royal at St. James’s, he needed more

brandy to sustain him in his ordeal.

Lord Moira, who was to accompany him, asked the Prince very cautiously if it

were wise to take so much brandy before this important event.

‘I need it, Moira,’ he declared with tears in his eyes, ‘for I do not think I can go through this ceremony without it.’

Lord Moira was sympathetic, but he could not agree that more brandy was

what was needed.

‘My dear friend,’ said the Prince, ‘you see before you the most reluctant

bridegroom in the world.’

‘Your Highness takes this too hardly.’

‘How otherwise can one take a bad business?’

The carriage was at the door and the resplendent bridegroom took his place in

it. Lord Moira beside him.

As they rode from Carlton House to St. James’s, he said mournfully: ‘It is no

use, Moira. I shall never love any woman but Fitzherbert.’

————————

Caroline was being dressed in St. James’s whither she had come after the

family dinner at Buckingham House. What an ordeal with those sly looking

Princesses watching her all the time, and the Queen showing her disdain.

If I had known what it would be like I would never have come,
she told

herself.
My father would never have forced me. Oh, how I wish I was home in

Brunswick. And the Prince hates me. He shows that clearly. More and more every
day he hates me.

There was only one member of the family who was kind to her and that was

the King. His hands shook as he embraced her and he kissed her as though he

enjoyed doing so. She almost wished that she had come as his bride instead of his son’s. At least he would have been kind.

When she had left Buckingham House he had taken her into his arms and

kissed her fondly.

‘This is a happy day, my dear,’ he had said rather mournfully, and the rest of

the family showed quite clearly that they considered it a calamity. The Prince and the Queen hated her— and those silly parrot-like Princesses followed their

mother.

She looked at her white satin dress with the pearl embroidery. It was

beautiful; and she, who liked flamboyant clothes, should have been pleased with

it and the big cloak of crimson velvet which covered it. But she was very

apprehensive as she left the apartment for the Chapel Royal.

————————

The Prince swayed as he walked into the Chapel Royal. The two unmarried

Dukes on either side of him moved closer for they thought he would totter. A fine thing it would be if the Prince had to be carried to the altar because he was too drunk to walk there.

Caroline, who had entered the chapel on the arm of the King had decided that

she would hide her true feelings from all those who had come to watch her

married and consequently appeared to be unbecomingly gay. Walking down the

aisle with the King she smiled and nodded to people as he passed. The King did

not appear to notice her odd behaviour but everyone else did.

There was a hushed silence throughout the chapel and all attention was

focused on those two brilliant figures. The Prince swayed a little, magnificent in his blue velvet and Collar of the Garter but, as many noticed, looking confused

and uneasy; and Caroline, shimmering in her be-jewelled white satin with the

diamond coronet on her head, looked a true Princess.

But the Prince could not bear to look at her and kept his face turned from her.

He was thinking of that other ceremony which had taken place in Mrs.

Fitzherbert’s house in Park Street. That was a real marriage; this was a farce and he yearned for Maria, whom he knew he should never have left— and he had

done so for the sake of Frances Jersey! If he had left her for marriage to this

woman, it would have been a different matter, for this could be blamed on the

exigencies of State. But he had deserted her for Lady Jersey whom he was

discovering to be worthless in spite of her fascination. He was a traitor to Maria.

He despised himself and he longed for an opportunity to tell her so.

And here he was at the altar about to be married to a woman he hated. Yes, he

did hate her; he hated her fiercely. He could see no virtue in her. To him she was utterly repulsive and even the fumes of brandy which dulled his brain and his

senses could not free him from the horror he visualized in the marriage bed.

How different that ceremony in Park Street and the ecstasy which had

followed!

Oh Maria, Maria, you have deserted me!

But that was wrong. He had to admit it. It was he who had deserted Maria.

Is it too late? But of course it was too late. Here he was at the altar and Dr.

Moore, the Archbishop of Canterbury, was about to conduct the ceremony.

He knelt while the Archbishop began to say those words which had been said

before in a house in Park Street, when he had made his responses with a joy as

great as the revulsion he now felt.

The Prince was feeling dizzy; the brandy was having its effect though it

relieved his feelings very little. He heard the Archbishop asking if anyone knew

of an impediment why they might not be lawfully joined together in Holy

Matrimony; and in that moment he saw Maria’s reproachful eyes begging him to

remember.

He stumbled to his feet. He must get away. He could not go on with this.

There was a sudden silence in the chapel. All eyes were on the Prince of Wales;

all wondered what drama they were about to witness.

Then the King rose from his seat and stepped up to stand beside the Prince.

‘For Heaven’s sake,’ whispered the King, ‘remember what this means.’

‘I—’ began the Prince, his face creased in his misery, the ever-ready tears

springing to his eyes.

‘It’s too late— too late—’ whispered the King. Wretchedly the Prince nodded

and once more knelt beside the Princess.

Dr. Moore was aware of the cause of the Prince’s distress. Who in the chapel

was not? Everyone had heard of the marriage with Mrs. Fitzherbert.

The Archbishop proceeded with the ceremony and when he came to the

injunction to the bridegroom to forsake all others but his wife, he repeated it.

There was a tense expectancy throughout the chapel. Until the ring was on the

Princess’s finger, many believed that the Prince would stop the ceremony.

But at last it was over, and the Prince of Wales had been married to Caroline

of Brunswick.

Organ music filled the chapel and the choir began to sing:

For blessed are they that fear the Lord.

O well is thee! O well is thee! and happy shalt thou be.’

And the chorus:

Happy, happy, happy shalt thou be.’

THE bells were ringing all over London; from the Park and the Tower, the

guns were booming; people stood in little knots in the streets and talked of the

marriage of their Prince of Wales. Many had seen the huge wedding cake which

had been driven to Buckingham House and which was so enormous that it filled a

whole coach.

The Prince, whose antics never failed to cause comment— although lately it

had been adverse comment— was married at last to a German Princess who

would one day be his Queen. Now the heirs would come along and if he were

anything like his father and the Princess of Wales like the Queen, there would be plenty— and to stare jokes were made— coarse but friendly. The Prince was

pleasing them more today than he had for a long time.

And what, asked some, of Mrs. Fitzherbert, the lady who had caused such a

stir when the great question in everyone’s minds had been: Is she or is she not

married to the Prince?

The Queen held a drawing room and it was seen that she was noticeably cool

to the bride. Caroline was going to get no help from her. It was also noted that she received Lady Jersey graciously, which was strange on such an occasion.

That lady was pleased with the way everything had happened, although there

had been that horrible moment in the chapel when everyone thought that the

Prince would refuse to go on with the ceremony. Now he was safely married to a

wife whom he loathed. What could be better? This would give her complete

ascendancy— particularly as the fact that he had been publicly married was a

death blow to his liaison with Mrs Fitzherbert— the rival whom Lady Jersey most

feared.

But Caroline had looked rather splendid in her glittering wedding dress; and

the Prince must spend the night with her.

Alarming thought! For who could say what might happen in the privacy of the

bedchamber? The Prince’s revulsion might turn to acceptance— which it must of

course— and suppose he came to like the woman a little!

Lady Jersey was determined to make the Prince’s revulsion complete on that

wedding night; she was reminded of something which one of the ladies of Charles

Il’s seraglio had done when she feared a rival. Was it Nell Gwyn? She believed it was. That was a more ribald age of course but for that very reason the Prince of

Wales might be less amused than King. Charles had been. She gave orders that

the pastry which was to be given to the Princess of Wales should be impregnated

with a very strong close of Epsom Salts, explaining to the cooks that there was an old maxim that if the bride were a virgin this ensured conception.

And so the family supper party took place. The Princess plied with too much

spirits— as arranged by Lady Jersey’s spies and servants— was brash and over

excited‚ the Prince looked on sombrely and drank steadily throughout the

banquet.

He had eyed his bride mournfully and declared to his neighbour that the only