Victoria in the Wings: (Georgian Series) (38 page)

The King was determined that Victoria’s visit to Windsor should be a memorable one. They must, he said, think up amusements for her. What would be most likely to entertain a child? Something gay and colourful; music, dancing.

There should be a party in the conservatory. Troupes of dancers should be engaged. Victoria should sit beside him and he would make sure that she enjoyed the entertainment.

She did. It was wonderful. Now and then she laughed with delight. The King watched her with the utmost pleasure. He had not felt so contented for a long time.

She loved the band. She thought: When I’m Queen I’ll have a band in all my houses; and they shall play all the time. One thing she had learned from the visit was that it was very exciting to be a ruler. Everyone wished to please you, and you could make everyone so happy by giving them rides and parties.

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.

Lord High Admiral of England

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.

But that was in the days before William saw himself as a king.

George Canning called at Windsor Lodge to discuss the Duke of Clarence with the King.

Canning was a man for whom the King had a great respect in spite of the fact that he had at one time been a firm supporter of Caroline. He had come to power very recently when Lord Liverpool had had a stroke, and the King believed that the government was in firm hands.

But Canning had not come to discuss high politics but this purely domestic matter of the post which should be given to the Duke of Clarence.

Canning came straight to the point.

‘There has been an addition to his income, Sir; but he needs a position of some authority. We must not forget that the unfortunate death of the Duke of York has placed him in a very important position.’

‘From what I hear,’ said the King, ‘he is becoming increasingly aware of it.’

‘It is natural that he should,’ replied Canning. ‘He is the heir apparent and although we hope that he will retain that title for many many years, it is one nevertheless to which some dignity should be attached. So far His Highness has not been very much in the public eye. He has lived an astonishingly obscure life. It is my belief – and I know Your Majesty shares this view – that he should be brought into prominence.’

‘I do agree,’ said the King. ‘And you are referring to the post of Lord High Admiral. Now, is it possible to revive this office?’

‘As Your Majesty knows, it was abolished with Prince George, the husband of Queen Anne. I see no reason, and I am sure Your Majesty’s cabinet will not either, why this office could not be reinstated.’

‘In that case let us reinstate it. I will be perfectly frank though,’
went on the King. ‘My brother has had no experience of office of this kind. He is apt to be a little … excitable.’

‘I had thought of that, Sir,’ said Canning. ‘The title of Lord High Admiral is not meant to carry any arduous duties with it. There will be a Board set up at the Admiralty which will undertake such work. In fact such a board has already been assembled under Sir George Cockburn. His Royal Highness will merely be an ornament to the Navy. The title will give him the standing he needs; it will bring him out of the somewhat provincial life he has been leading for so many years which, admirable as it may be, is not the way of life expected of the Heir Apparent.’

The King nodded. It was not one of his good days. At such times death seemed very close; and when he felt thus a great sense of responsibility came to him. He wanted to ensure that the House of Hanover continued to rule – and rule well. But when he thought of all the pitfalls which loomed under a monarch’s feet he shuddered for William. Still, he had nice sensible Adelaide at his side. A good wife was so helpful and the people like a cosy domesticity – as he had learned to his cost.

And Canning was there. He looked at the man – brilliant statesman, one of the great men of the day – but by God, he thought, how ill he looks! A fine pair to be discussing the affairs of England – a couple of death’s heads.

He told Canning that he would leave the appointment to him for he knew it would be in the most capable hands.