Goddess of the Green Room: (Georgian Series) (25 page)

Her brother’s marriage had affected her deeply. It had made her consider the hopelessness of trusting Richard Ford.

The Duke was in her dressing room, humble, adoring as usual.

‘You are too kind,’ she said.

‘I want you to know that the only thing I ask in life is to be kind to you.’

‘I am grateful. How I wish that I could give what you ask.’

‘You do wish it?’ He was eager.

‘I could not help but be moved by such devotion.’

‘I shall go on waiting… and hoping. But I fear I weary you.’

He fancied he saw a faint alarm spring into her eyes. Did she think he was hinting that
he
was growing tired? Then although she would not give in she did not want him to give up trying. There was hope in that.

‘When I leave every night I think of you going home to your children. How I should love to be there! I am so fond of children. They are little girls, I know. Little girls are particularly charming, although I confess I should like a son.’

She told him of the children, of her anxieties over Frances, who was inclined to be wayward; she was less alarmed for Dodee and Lucy.

‘Dodee is named for you?’

She laughed. ‘We could not have two Dorothys in the family.’

‘I shall call you Dora,’ he said. ‘It shall be my name. You are Dorothy for the multitude of your admirers – you shall be Dora for this one.’

He told her about Petersham Lodge where he was now living. He should like to show it to her.

‘The gardens are splendid. Are you fond of gardens? I should like your advice about the flower-beds I am having planted. It’s large but not too large… and an ideal place for children to play in.’

What was he suggesting? That he would take her
and
the children?

‘One day,’ he said, ‘I hope to meet them. I hope to make them fond of me.’

‘So you really are fond of children?’

‘I adore them. I should like to have a large family and give them the happiness which I missed as a boy. We had a very strict upbringing, you know. Our father was a martinet. He believed in discipline and many were the canings we had to endure – particularly George, my eldest brother. He was so proud and so determined to have his own way. You will love him as I do – he’s the best fellow in the world.’

‘I doubt,’ she said, ‘that the Prince of Wales would be eager to… to… accept me.’

‘My dearest Dora, you are wrong. Absolutely wrong. I have talked to him of you. He thinks you are delightful. He longs to meet you. He bids me say that you would be very welcome in the family. He is interested too in your children. He says I should set your mind at rest concerning them…’

‘The Prince of Wales said that?’

‘Certainly he did. Did I not tell you he is the best brother in the world? Oh, my dear Dora, you have been reading these wicked scandals about him. Don’t believe them.’

‘I don’t need to be warned against the scandalmongers. I have suffered enough from them myself. But you say that the Prince of Wales…’

‘We discuss everything together and I have naturally spoken to him of what is the most important matter in my life. He says I
should refuse to give in; that I should make you see that your children would lose nothing. He says that as you are a good woman this would be a matter of concern with you. He is right, is he not, my dear love?’

She was moved. He thought: George is right. Trust George. This is the way.

‘I am deeply moved by the Prince’s concern. I did not think… I did not know…’

He embraced her and for the first time she did not repulse him.

Oh, blessed George, who understood the ways of women as well as he did the cut of a coat and the arranging of a neck cloth!

She withdrew herself and said: ‘But I must go home now.’

He did not seek to detain her. The first battle was won – thanks to George, Prince of Wales.

‘George has married Maria Romanzini,’ said Dorothy sitting at her dressing table and combing her long beautiful hair.

‘I guessed he would,’ said Richard, yawning from his pillows.

‘He was determined that there should be no gossip about their relationship.’

‘Who would gossip about them?’

‘Certainly it would not be the same as it is about me.’

‘I’m tired,’ said Richard. ‘Come to bed.’

She stood up and threw the hairbrush on to the dressing table.

‘I’m tired too,’ she said, ‘tired of waiting for you to fulfil your promises.’

‘Oh, Dorothy, not tonight.’

‘Why not? Tonight is as good as any time. I want a plain answer. Are we to be married or not?’

‘Of course we are.’

‘When – on Judgement Day?’

‘In due course.’

‘The same thing,’ she said. ‘Listen, Richard, I have had enough. I want a plain answer to my question: Are you going to marry me or not?’

‘I will marry you as soon as I can conveniently do so.’

‘And what of the children – two of them illegitimate and all because you have failed to keep your promises.’

‘They will be all right. I’ll see that they’re all right.’

‘That is a promise. As reliable, I daresay, as that you gave me when you said we’d be married.’

‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘it is His High and Mightiness who has put this notion into your head? You’ve been ten times more difficult to live with since you started your friendship with royalty.’

‘The Duke of Clarence is in love with me.’

‘And promised to marry you?’

‘Don’t be absurd. You know that’s impossible.’

‘And you accept that?’

‘I have accepted nothing from him because I consider myself married to you in every way except by signing my name on marriage lines.’

‘Well, of what importance is that? You and I are together for the rest of our lives. In spite of your wearying insistence on that ceremony and your rages because of it, I still want to go on as we have been.’

‘Well, I don’t. I want that ceremony – for the sake of my children. And if you won’t give it…’

‘You will go to His Highness?’

‘I have not said that. I am uncertain what I shall do. But I will not go on in this way. I want a definite answer. Will you marry me. Richard Ford? Will you marry the mother of your two little girls or not?’

‘I’m tired,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk of it later.’

She lay at one end of the bed, he at the other. He was soon asleep, but she was not.

She knew that the moment of decision was at hand; and she thought of the advantages of living with a royal Duke. If he gave security to the children, if there need not be this continual preoccupation with money… how restful that would be. She would not be married, of course, but then she was not married to Richard – and she was beginning to wonder whether she ever would be.

William felt more hopeful than he had since Dorothy had refused to have supper with him. The Prince of Wales was right. Persistence was what was needed. He had to show her that he was determined, that he loved her completely, that he would do anything in the world for her except marry her and even that he would do if it were in his power. The Prince of Wales was on his
side; and the Prince of Wales would one day be King. If she came to him she need have no more anxieties; she wanted a peaceful happy life with the knowledge that her children were secure.

He would give her that. He could give her so much more than Richard Ford could; and when he looked at that insignificant fellow he felt angry that he should have been accepted while he, Royal William, was not.

He met him one night back-stage and gave him a look of contempt. Ford did not seem to mind. Of course he did not. Dorothy shared his home – or he shared hers, for it was her money that paid for it – and she regarded him as her husband.

The Duke was jealous of the insignificant barrister.

He went to find Sheridan.

‘I say, Sherry,’ he said, ‘I don’t like that fellow prowling about back-stage.’

‘What fellow has dared offend Your Highness?’ Sheridan wanted to know.

‘That fellow Ford.’

Sheridan nodded. ‘He’s always had the run of the theatre. His father once had a very large holding of the shares.’

‘His father?’

‘Yes, rich old devil. Very careful with his money. Retired on a fortune and living in the country.’

‘And one day this fellow will inherit, I daresay.’

‘I daresay, if he behaves himself and keeps in Papa’s good books.’

‘Well, stop him going back-stage, will you, Sherry?’

‘I humbly crave Your Highness’s pardon, but I have no power to stop him.’

‘You’re the manager of this theatre.’

‘There are rules in the theatre, Sir, which have to be regarded. Tradition, they call it. Mr Ford has as much right to go back-stage as Your Royal Highness has. You see, he is… attached to one of our leading actresses. I can tell you,’ added Sheridan slyly, ‘that he comes to see Mrs Jordan. Perhaps if the lady liked him not to…’

William turned away, roused from his usual good humour.

Well, it would not go on indefinitely. He was not going to be kept from his desire by a second-rate barrister.

Dorothy was well aware that her affairs were moving towards a climax. So much depended on Richard. He had only to offer to marry her and she would accept… even at this stage. He had humiliated her by his constant refusals, but her main concern was the children. She wanted above everything else to legitimize them; and if she could not do that she wanted to make their futures secure.

She talked it over with Hester continually; and she knew that Hester believed in her heart that she should abandon Richard and accept the Duke. Richard had proved beyond doubt that he was a weakling. It was true that love-affairs with royal princes were of notoriously short duration. And yet there was something innocent about William. There was no doubt that he was sincere at this time. He believed his love would endure and because he did so whole-heartedly he had begun to make her think so too.

She was not in love with him. Sometimes she wondered whether she was capable of being in love again. Daly had disgusted her, had made her shrink from men until she met Richard, and Richard had disillusioned her. Between the brute strength of Daly and the weak indecision of Ford, she had lost the power to love passionately and exclusively.

They had between them turned her into a calculating woman; but at least she was not calculating for herself. Always her concern was for the children.

Then came the news that she was to play at Richmond.

She would stay in the little Richmond house with Hester and the children; Richard would stay in London. This, she believed, would give her the opportunity she needed to come to her decision.

William was delighted that she was to play at the Richmond Theatre. He immediately went down to Petersham Lodge, a delightful villa which he had recently bought from Lord Camel-ford. His father had helped him to do this, having had twelve thousand guineas assigned to him to be used for this purpose. ‘Must have a proper residence,’ said the King. ‘Eh? What? Good air. Pleasant. Not far from Kew.’

Residence at Petersham Lodge enabled him to be in attendance at the theatre on Richmond Green every night Dorothy played.
The theatre was full but not so much to see the play as to watch Mrs Jordan and the Duke of Clarence, for his pursuit of her was now common knowledge.

Every day there was a piece in one of the papers about the progress of the Duke’s courtship. Has she submitted or has she not? It was the great question of the hour; and all were certain that it could only be a matter of time.

‘Little Pickle has been besieged at Richmond by a certain exalted youth whom at present she has managed to keep at bay.’

ran one paragraph.

‘The Duke of Clarence is in Richmond. He comes to compliment Mrs Jordan. His Highness has for some time been enamoured of Little Pickle’s playful frolics.’

‘We hear from Richmond [said one of the London papers that an illustrious youth has at length passed the Ford, yet is not likely to be pickled by a legal process.’

Dorothy read the papers and discussed them with Hester.

‘At least,’ consoled Hester, ‘it is bringing matters to a head between you and Richard.’

‘I don’t think he cares, Hester. He is too lazy to care. I’m sure if I went off with the Duke tomorrow he would let me go without a regret.’

‘He is so… timid,’ agreed Hester.

Meanwhile William was growing bold, being certain of eventual success. The Prince of Wales had suggested that he give a fête for the fashionable world of Richmond to which he should ask Mrs Jordan and show her quite clearly that she was the guest of honour.

‘Capital idea,’ cried William, and set about making preparations.

Soon there was another announcement in the paper.

‘The Duke of Clarence is to give a fête to all the Fashion. Little Pickle is to be of the party.’

Dorothy was alarmed. To attend a fête openly was to some extent to commit herself. She was growing more and more fond of the persuasive young man; and yet more than anything she
wanted marriage with Richard, and the girls when they grew up to have a father, their own father.

A way out of her dilemma came to her in the form of an invitation to play in two benefits at the Haymarket.

Sheridan had long decided that Drury Lane was an antiquated building and not suited to modern theatrical requirements. He had planned to have it rebuilt and operations were started that summer; he had taken a temporary lease of the Haymarket Theatre while his new Drury Lane was being constructed; and it was in the Haymarket that Dorothy was to play.

When the Duke called at the theatre and told her of his plans for the fête, she said: ‘I am sure it will be a great success.’

‘If you are there it will be for me,’ he replied ardently.

She opened her eyes wide and acted surprised, for he had not formally invited her but had simply taken it for granted that she would be present.

‘I did not understand that I was to be a guest.’

‘My dearest Dora, there could be no other reason for having it.’