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manner in which he could face the ordeal before him was through a haze of

intoxication.

The ceremony over, it was time for the bride and groom to leave for Carlton

House.

The King, with tears in his eyes, embraced his new daughter-in-law, with

deep feeling he wished her well. The Queen kissed her cheek coldly and muttered

her wishes perfunctorily, but her eyes, Caroline noted, were as cold as a snake’s.

She was glad to be rid of them all at Buckingham House and in the coach with

her highly intoxicated husband.

————————

Mrs. Fitzherbert sat in her drawing room at Marble Hill where she had

remained all during the morning. Miss Pigot looked in every few minutes, her

eyes anxious.

This was his wedding day.

Miss Pigot knew that in her heart Maria believed that the wedding would

never take place. How could it when he already had a wife?

Miss Pigot was not so sure. She kept thinking of that occasion only a day or

so ago when he had ridden by the house several times, hoping for a sign from

Maria. If she had given that sign, Miss Pigot knew that everything would have

been so different. He had wanted Maria’s support then and she had not given it.

Miss Pigot shook her head. She regarded these two— the Prince and Maria—

as her very dear wayward children who could have been so happy together and

yet were constantly hurting each other.

‘Come and sit with me,’ said Maria. ‘You fidget me— wandering about like

that.’

Miss Pigot sat down.

‘He’ll never do it,’ said Maria. ‘I’m sure he never will.’

Miss Pigot shook her head. She thought of all the arrangements, the

ceremonies in the streets. Was it possible to bring over a foreign princess, after she had undergone a proxy marriage and then refuse to go on with the ceremony?

Yet he would have done that, she was sure, if Maria had just given that one

sign.

‘He can’t,’ went on Maria. ‘It would be a bigamous marriage.’

Not in the eyes of the State,
Miss Pigot wanted to say sadly
. Dearest Maria,
you are not married to the Prince in the eyes of the State.

But Maria believed she was married to the Prince no matter in whose eyes.

Miss Pigot knew that Maria was hoping that a messenger would come to her

here at Marble Hill with the news that the ceremony had been stopped. That was

what she was waiting for.

‘Had you lifted the curtain, had you shown him yourself standing at the

window ready to welcome him—’ began Miss Pigot.

‘I could not. The first move had to come from him.’

‘But it did. Didn’t he show that he had come out to Richmond to see you?’

‘How could we be sure that he had come to see me?’

Miss Pigot laughed. ‘Why else should he come riding out here like a

madman?’

‘Oh, Piggy, this could be the end!’

‘It won’t be, my dear. Whatever happens it won’t be.’

‘She will be the Princess of Wales— the Queen of England. Well, I could

never have been that, could I?’

They were silent; ears strained for the sound of horses’ hoofs.

‘They would be at St. James’s now,’ said Maria. ‘The ceremony would be

beginning— Do you think—’

‘We shall hear,’ soothed Miss Pigot.

————————

They sat listening. Miss Pigot was aware of an intense melancholy. How

could it be otherwise? How could he refuse to go through with this ceremony?

She knew him, for she loved him even as she loved Maria. He was her splendid

boy— spoilt, selfish and lovable. And now he was unhappy, she was sure of that.

Oh, why had he been so foolish as to leave Maria for that wicked Lady Jersey!

But then he had always been foolish, always impulsive, always acting in a way

which would bring sadness to himself and those who loved him.

No two people could have been as happy as he and Maria had been— in the

beginning. She had shared in that idyll; she had wanted to preserve it for the two people she loved best in the world. And they had smashed it between them like

two petulant children, for Maria was not entirely blameless with her dignity, her determination not to give way and finally those outbursts of temper. Such a

melancholy spectacle it had been to see that union disintegrate; and there was that dainty monster, that wicked Jezebel, Grandmamma Jersey waiting to step in.

And now— this.

They would hear soon. They must.

Yes, those were horses’ hoofs. Maria was sitting tense, her face alight with

hope. She really did believe that he had refused to marry this Princess, and that he was coming back to her.

Miss Pigot was at the window. She saw the horses pulling up; the carriage

was stopping at Marble Hill.

‘It is my Lord Bradford,’ she said to Maria, who still remained seated, a rapt

expression on her face. Lord Bradford, who had been Orlando Bridgement when

as a young man he had taken part in that ceremony at Park Street! The Prince had

commanded him to stand outside the door and warn them if anyone approached

because Prime Minister Pitt would have had the power to stop the ceremony if he

had heard it was taking place.

It was appropriate that Bradford should come now.

The footman was at the door. ‘My lord Bradford—’

Maria rose and held out her hands. Miss Pigot took one look at Bradford’s

face and knew.

‘The Prince of Wales has been married to Caroline of Brunswick,’ said

Bradford.

Maria swayed a little. Miss Pigot ran forward and caught her.

‘She has fainted,’ she said to Lord Bradford.

————————

Caroline surveyed the bridal chamber in Carlton House. ‘It’s grand enough,’

she said.

The bridegroom looked at her disdainfully.

‘Well,’ she cried, ‘you’ll have to like me a little bit tonight, won’t you?’

She recoiled before the look of loathing in his eyes. ‘You’re drunk,’ she said.

‘And I’m not so very much in love with you.’

He swayed about the room. And she thought of how she had dreamed of her

wedding night; it should have been with Major von Töbingen but that was all

over. Instead she had this man of whose attractions she had heard so much— and

he had turned out to be a fat drunken creature who hated her.

‘I doubt many have had a wedding night like this one,’ she said, and she

began to laugh

But duty must be performed. Even he was aware of that.

He turned to her. She was laughing her loud vulgar laughter.

‘Oh, changing your mind?’ she asked.

————————

So the consummation took place.

She is even more repulsive than I believed possible,
he thought.
Oh God, why
was I ever lured into this?

She was sitting up in bed, shaking the hair out of her eyes. ‘It’s all so

romantic,’ she mocked.

He staggered out of the bed. He could not bear her near him.

‘Ah,’ she said, ‘where are you going? To Madame Jersey?’

He did not look at her. His one thought was to get away from her as quickly as

possible. The room was whirling about him. Too much brandy, too much wine.

He felt sick and ill.

He wept, thinking of that day in Park Street; it was winter and they had ridden

off to Richmond together; the roads were icy and they had had to pause at

Hammersmith— a romantic inn, supper by candlelight.

Maria, Maria, why are you not with me? Why have they married me to that

vulgar slut in the bed?

He had reached the fireplace. How his head ached! He felt so dizzy.

He put out a hand to the mantelpiece to support himself, missed it and fell, his

head close to the grate.

He was to intoxicated to get up. He did not care. He preferred the hard floor to

a bed shared with Caroline. She had got out of bed and stood looking at him.

‘All right, you drunken sot,’ she cried. ‘Stay there. Spend your wedding night

under the grate!’

‘So,’ said Caroline, ‘they call this a honeymoon!’

They had travelled down to Windsor from Carlton House and there spent two

weeks. The Prince, having and up his mind that as soon as Caroline was pregnant

his duty towards her and the State ended, had one purpose in mind; and only the

thought of the freedom which would come with success gave him the necessary

enthusiasm to achieve that end

Caroline was deeply wounded. She would, if it had been possible, have

attempted to make their union a happy one but she had no notion how to please

him, and when she tried to do so only succeeded in making herself more repulsive

in his eyes.

He hated her. Every time he looked at her he remembered that he had been a

traitor to the woman he really loved. He tried to forget Maria by becoming more

and more attentive to Lady Jersey who was enjoying the situation and had no idea

how often Maria Fitzherbert was in his thoughts. Her attitude towards Caroline

was haughty as though she were the Princess of Wales and Caroline her lady-in-

waiting.’ Caroline had never been meek and such a situation was scarcely likely

to curb her impulsive eccentricity.

The Prince decided that he would take his bride to Kempshott Park and with

him should go some of those friends. Who would amuse him most and lift him

out of his gloom.

Perhaps Kempshott was not a very good choice with its memories of Maria. It

was here that he had spent many happy times with her and although she had never

actually lived in the house, for with her usual discretion she had occupied a

cottage and the estate, she had chosen the decor for the drawing room and had

planned much of the gardens. He had been very happy with Maria at Kempshott,

and he took a savage delight in remembering those days and comparing the

woman he thought of as his true wife with the one who bore the title of Princess

of Wales.

But he also had at Kempshott one of the best packs of foxhounds in the

country and there he kept his best hunters. He could, at Kempshott, play the

country squire as his father used to enjoy doing at Kew and Windsor— but

whereas the King had dressed and behaved like a country gentleman, the Prince

was never anything but the Prince of Wales.

The country people were less fickle than those of the Capital. They did not

joke so much as his expense. There were no lampoons and cartoons, no bawdy

and disrespectful gossip such as that which went on in coffee and chocolate

houses.

He was married and that seemed a good thing to the country folk. As for the

Princess of Wales she was a pleasant lady, always with a smile for any who

looked her way; and often she would stop and talk to the children in a manner

which showed she loved them.

Caroline thought:
If it had happened differently I should have been happy

here. We might have made a good royal marriage.

If she could have had some of her friends with her she would have felt more at

ease. Why had he been so cruel as to deny her the company and skill with English

of Mademoiselle Rosenzweig? If only she could have had someone just to talk to.

But she was unsure of all these English women who surrounded her, because they

all seemed to be under the influence of Lady Jersey.

She talked a little to Mrs. Harcourt, who was inclined to be sympathetic.

‘The Prince hates me,’ she said. ‘Why does he hate me so much?’

‘Your Highness is mistaken. The Prince needs a little time to grow used to his

marriage. He, er—’

Caroline burst out laughing. ‘The more used to it, he grows the more he hates

it. Though I daresay few people here have ever seen a bridegroom try to turn

away from the altar just at that moment when the Archbishop is about to make

him and his bride man and wife.’

‘Your Highness finds this amusing?’

‘Very amusing,’ cried Caroline, speaking in her racy French. ‘I wonder if it

has ever happened before to a Princess of Wales? If not, I shall be remembered

for it, shall I not?’

‘If it were true, Madam, which I am sure it is not, it would best be forgotten.’

Mrs. Harcourt for all her sternness and her loyalty to Lady Jersey was sorry

for the Princess and somehow conveyed it.

‘You need not be sorry for me,’ cried Caroline. ‘It is the life of princes. My

father used to talk of it. He was forced to marry my mother and was in love with

another woman. He regretted he could not have married her. He always believed

that if he had, his children would have been different.’ Again that shrill laughter.