The Regent's Daughter: (Georgian Series) (7 page)

‘Such things are a constant delight to him. He’s a boy at heart – and always will be, I think.’

‘And what’s wrong with that? I must say when we heard you were to lose that nice little house right in his garden so to speak, I was a bit put out. But this you might say is even closer to the Pavilion even though it’s farther away. It makes it like part of the place and that’s how I reckon it should be. And what amazes me is how all the time it was being made there was no talk about it.’

‘He took Minney to the Pavilion the other day by means of the passage. She was delighted.’

‘How he loves that child!’

‘And she him.’

‘Well, who could help it?’

‘Pig, you’re a besotted old fool.’ Maria looked at Miss Pigot fondly. ‘And so am I,’ she added.

But why worry on a lovely May morning when everything seemed well, and below, the Steyne was gay with the colours of the promenaders’ fashionable clothes and every now and then one of them would look up and bow to the regal figure seated on the balcony. Maria Fitzherbert was ‘Mrs Prince’ to some who took the epithet from old Smoker, the man who dipped the Prince in the sea each morning, and to many others she was the Queen of Brighton, the true Princess of Wales although the Prince had married for reasons of State and the scandalous Princess of Wales was living apart from him at Montague House, and there was young Princess Charlotte to prove that Mrs Fitzherbert was not his legal wife, for how could he have married a foreign princess and produced a child who was heiress to the throne if that were so?

But these were matters which had been the cause of too much controversy and Maria was ready to take Miss Pigot’s advice and forget them.

And here was Minney – pretty dainty Minney come to the balcony, having escaped from the schoolroom for her hour with dear Mamma, as she called Maria; and, she thought fiercely, no one was going to stop her doing so.

‘Minney, my love, Piggy is going to bring us a dish of tea.’

‘That will be lovely, Mamma. What a glorious day, but shouldn’t you have a shawl?’

‘Piggy has just been scolding me for the same reason. Between you you will make an old woman of me.’

Minney ran inside and came back with a grey silk shawl which she placed about Maria’s shoulders.

‘Darling child, what should I do without you?’

There were lights of fear now in Minney’s eyes. ‘But you are not going to do without me.’

‘We shall do everything in our power.’

‘No one will dare go against Prinney’s wish.’

‘This is matter of law, dearest, and your aunt could claim that she is nearer to you than a woman like myself who am no relation.’

‘But my mother
gave
me to you.’

‘Don’t distress yourself, dear. We shall have to await the verdict and abide by it.’

‘If they take me away from you, I shall never abide by it.’

‘We should see each other now and then.’

‘But this is my home. I couldn’t imagine any other. You are my dearest Mamma. I never knew another and I will never accept another.’

‘My darling Minney, you are my great comfort.’

Minney looked alarmed. Oh dear, was Prinney being bad again? She knew a great deal about the wickedness of Prinney. When she sat on his knee and they laughed together he was such a jolly man, and he seemed so happy; he always looked at Maria in a melting way which was very affecting and tears came into his eyes when he talked of how happy they all were together. And yet there were whispers about him and she couldn’t help knowing that he did make dearest Mamma unhappy at times. And then when she played with Charlotte, that very knowledgeable young person would tell her secrets which she
had picked up through keeping her eyes open which, she was always pointing out, was a talent Minney seemed sadly to lack. All was not as well as it often seemed. There were undercurrents which Minney did not understand; and that was why dearest Mamma was often a little sad and Piggy went around clicking her teeth.

But when he came large and glittering, when he laughed and wept and said how happy he was to be home with his dearest ones, how pleasant life was. Minney could always be deluded then into thinking that that was how it was going to be for ever. There he would sit with his elegantly arranged neckcloth which always seemed to be trying to keep his chin from escaping (‘My
chin,
Minney,’ he had said when she told him so. ‘I’ll tell you a secret. I have more than one.’), the beautiful cloth of his coat so smooth to the touch, fitting his large torso so neatly, the great diamond star, which she never failed to find fascinating – he was indeed a fairytale Prince and next to Maria she loved him best in the world with Miss Pigot a very close third. It was their home – the three of them were in a magic circle. And if Maria was Mamma, Prinney was Papa, although it was difficult to think of Prinney in such a role, particularly as he was in fact Charlotte’s father.

Well, thought Minney, he is my Prinney, and our names even rhyme.

Maria, looking at the child, thought: Should I prepare her? It would be a terrible shock to her if she had to go. I am sure her Aunt Waldegrave would do everything to make her happy, but Minney is such a loyal little soul and she has already given her allegiance to me.

Miss Pigot arrived with the tea and Minney poured gracefully and charmingly. How can I ever bear to part with her? thought Maria, and watching her Miss Pigot knew what was in her mind.

I pray God the case goes our way, thought Miss Pigot.

While she sipped her tea Maria was thinking of the first time she had seen Minney. That was at the period of her greatest despair when the Prince of Wales had married Princess Caroline of Brunswick. It had happened more than ten years ago and she would never forget the day when Orlando Bridgeman, Lord
Bradford, had brought her the news that the ceremony had taken place. She had fainted, for that had seemed like the end of everything.

But she had been so sorry for him when she had heard how he loathed the marriage, how his bride was repulsive to him, and how as soon as she was with child and he had done his duty he left her. And when little Princess Charlotte was born he had declared that he would never live with his wife again. She knew that he hated the woman, that he could not bear to hear her spoken of, and that nothing would please him more than to be rid of her. And now that this investigation was going on, who knew what would come out of it?

But it was not the end. He had tired of Lady Jersey, who had influenced him so strongly at the time of his wedding, and he had sought every opportunity of returning to Maria. With his usual abandon he had begged her, implored her, gone to all the lengths which she had experienced before. The most telling of course was his imminent death. So it had been when he had attempted suicide for her sake. Some denied he had really done this and that it was a piece of play-acting on his part, but she liked to believe it was true. She had stood out against him, telling him that in marrying Caroline of Brunswick he had denied his marriage to her and since he denied it she had no wish to remind him of it.

It had all been a mistake, a terrible mistake, he had declared. He had wept; he had knelt. She was his true wife; he demanded she do her duty and return to him; if she did not he would publish the truth. The whole of England should know that she was his true wife and that creature … that coarse vulgar German
hausfrau
… could go back to Brunswick. Maria had been shocked, for she saw the purpose in his eye and she knew him capable of the most impulsive actions.

‘And your little daughter, the Princess Charlotte?’

‘She can take the child with her, for if I am not married to her mother what is her position here?’

Maria was shocked. ‘That innocent child! Your own daughter!’

‘I have no room in my heart for anyone but you.’

‘What a pity you did not remember that before you allowed them to bring the Princess Caroline to England.’

But what was the use? He was determined; and because she
loved him, she knew she would give in in the end. But she had insisted on being treated with the dignity of a wife; and had sent to Rome for the Pope’s verdict on whether or not that ceremony which had taken place in her house at Park Street was valid. The answer had come back from Rome that it was; she had returned to the Prince and for a time they had been idyllically happy.

But knowing it was not in his nature to be faithful to one woman she was always aware that such happiness could not last. He was the lover of all women, as Sheridan had said, so how could he be the lover of one? Maria was however sure that she was supreme in his affections, and however much he might stray, he wanted her there all the time. She was his ‘dear love’, his ‘soul’s wife’, as he was fond of telling her.

Yet she could not rely on him. Was that why she clung to Minney? Did she believe deep in her heart that if ever the Prince left her she would turn to this lovely child whom she looked on as her own? But now they were threatening to take Minney from her. It was one of the greatest sorrows of her life that she had had three husbands and no children.

The Seymours had been Maria’s particular friends and in fact Lord Hugh had expressed his disapproval of the Prince’s public marriage to Caroline of Brunswick so strongly that the Prince had been annoyed by his criticism and had cut him ever since. But the friendship between Maria and Lady Horatia was very deep and it had been a cause of great grief to Maria to see Horatia growing weaker and weaker and to know that her friend was suffering from galloping consumption and had no hope of recovery. Lord Hugh had arranged to take his wife to Madeira for the winter as soon as their child was born.

Little Mary Seymour (Minney) was born on a bleak November day at Brompton. Maria arrived soon afterwards to see her friend and the new baby, and as soon as she took little Mary into her arms she loved her, but like her parents she was alarmed by the child’s frailty.

What a momentous day that was in her life – and although she was so anxious on account of Horatia, how could she be anything but grateful for the turn of fate which brought her Minney.

Horatia had already borne seven children, two of whom were girls, and Maria had often envied her her large family; so when
it was discovered that the new baby was not strong, it was decided that she must certainly not undertake the journey which was essential to her mother’s health, but must be left behind with someone who would care for her.

The first person Horatia had thought of was her friend Maria Fitzherbert; she wrote to her telling her of her dilemma and Maria’s response had been immediate. Her dear Horatia must not think of postponing her trip; Maria would take any of the children into her house and they should be cared for until Horatia’s return.

Maria had been in Bath at the time but had set out at once for Portsmouth where the Seymours were staying. There she saw the frail little Mary and took her tenderly into her arms.

‘This is my child until your return, Horatia,’ she had said.

‘I know you, Maria. You will worry yourself to death over her. Perhaps it would be better for her to go with some of my relations who have several children. They won’t be alarmed at any little ailment – and I believe she will have many.’

‘Horatia, you are not going to take her from me now.’

Horatia smiled. ‘You know there is no one with whom I would rather leave my child. I am thinking of you.’

‘Then the matter is settled. Little Mary is my baby until your return.’

Of course Horatia was relieved; and so was Hugh.

‘God bless you, Maria,’ he said. ‘I know we shall sleep more peacefully now we know that the baby is in your hands.’

So Maria took little Mary and in a very short time loved her as tenderly as though she were her own child.

For two years Horatia remained in Madeira and her health improved a little so that she made up her mind that she would return to England, as she was eager to have all her children with her. Maria, glad as she was to see her friend, was desolate at the thought of parting with Mary who had now christened herself Minney; but before Horatia could put her plan into action she died; and a few weeks later Lord Hugh, who had remained in Madeira, also died, leaving little Minney an orphan.

When Lord Hugh’s will was read, it was found that provision had been made for the guardianship of all the children except Minney who had been born after he had made the will. It was however ruled that Lord Hugh had intended the same arrangement to apply to his youngest child and Lady Waldegrave,
Horatia’s sister, immediately offered to take Minney.

Maria, horrified at losing the child, begged to be allowed to keep her a little longer. She pointed out that Minney was too young to be taken from one whom she had come to regard as her mother, and the executors, headed by Lord Henry Seymour, agreed that Minney should stay with Maria for a further year before she was passed on to Lady Waldegrave.

Maria’s great hope during that year’s respite was to win the consent of Minney’s family to keep the child. The Prince of Wales, who, since Maria regarded Minney as her daughter, sentimentally wished to share in the parentage, petted the child, played games with her and in every way possible took on the role of affectionate father.

‘If,’ Maria used to say to Miss Pigot, ‘I could only be assured that I was not going to lose Minney, I should be perfectly happy.’

If this and if that! thought Miss Pigot. Why did there always have to be an If?

But she put her faith in the Prince of Wales. He clearly wished the child to remain with Maria, so surely her family would not go against him.

But Lord Henry Seymour was a very determined man. Lady Waldegrave wanted the child and she was her aunt. Maria for all her dignity and respectability was after all in the eyes of the State the mistress of the Prince of Wales. Lord Henry was going to insist on justice being done. The year was drawing to a close; little Mary should go to her aunt.

Minney, realizing the controversy which was raging about her and having some inkling that it was to separate her from Maria, was frightened. She followed Maria wherever she went and could not bear her to be out of her sight: This seemed particularly pathetic to Maria and she was determined to fight.