Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill: (Georgian Series) (20 page)

But this reminded Maria poignantly of home and as she had been away for almost a year she was longing to be back.

The Prince had once again discovered her whereabouts. What a good espionage service he had! she thought indulgently. She should come back to him. There should be an honourable marriage. All that she was holding out against could be dispensed with. If he were no longer the heir to the crown he could marry the woman of his choice.

But what of the Royal Marriage Act which stated categorically that a member of the royal family under twenty-five could not marry without the Sovereign’s consent? And this was not just an ordinary member of the family. This was the Prince of Wales.

The Dukes of Gloucester and Cumberland had married without the King’s consent, and their Duchesses were not received at Court – but they were recognized as Duchesses. Yes, but they had married before the Bill was made law.

He could marry her (just as she wished, with a priest, he had
said) but the State would not consider it a marriage. It was not the State that she was thinking of. It was the Church. If she and the Prince made their vows before a priest in the eyes of the Church they would be married.

It was, in fact, the laws of the Church that concerned her, not those of the State.

The Prince believed, he wrote, that his father would not frown on the arrangement. He had always hated him and Frederick was his favourite son – doubtless because he had not seen him for a long time; but the fact remained that the King would rather see Frederick the heir. Frederick had always been his brother’s great friend and would make any sacrifice for his sake. He would marry the woman chosen for him, produce children and even live amicably with the King and Queen, which could be the greatest trial of all.

What was Maria waiting for? She only had to return and the life of bliss would begin.

She was thinking of it perpetually. For a whole year she had lived in exile; and all that time he had never wavered. Surely that was proof enough of his devotion?

And if marriage could be arranged that would not offend the laws of the Holy Church …

But it would, of course it would.

Two voices argued within her. She knew that one was prompted by her head, one by her heart; and it was the first to which she should listen.

But she was lonely; she was homesick; and this year away from him had taught her one thing: she loved the Prince of Wales.

It was winter in Paris and the slushy mud of the streets had turned to snow. The air of tension in the streets was growing; there were rumours about the trial of the Cardinal de Rohan and his accomplices which would take place next spring.

Maria wanted to go home. She wanted the comfort of her house in Park Street, the rural beauties of Richmond Hill. She wanted the excitement of Carlton House.

Then she read in a Court Circular that the Marquis de Bellois was in Paris.

She wrote to the Prince of Wales. She was coming home. She
could no longer live in exile and … without him.

The jubilant reply to this sent her into such ecstasies that she could no longer listen to the voice of reason.

She was going home; she was going to her lover – the man who was known throughout the country as the irresistible Prince Charming.

How could she – the woman who loved him more deeply than anyone else – refuse him?

Fox’s Warning

CHARLES JAMES FOX
was very anxious. He discussed the new turn of affairs with Lizzie Armistead in their home at St Anne’s Hill, Chertsey; and she had rarely seen him so disturbed.

‘It can only mean one thing, Liz,’ he said. ‘The lady would not have come home without a definite offer of marriage.’

‘That’s impossible. How can he marry her?’

‘Knowing His Royal Highness I’ll swear he has put up a good case to the lady. There is no one who can fit the case to suit his own personal needs like H.R.H.’

‘Mrs Fitz is no fool. He would have to offer a real marriage. No ring slipped on the finger at the point of death would suffice. He has tried that once and she wouldn’t have it.’

‘That’s true; and it is what worries me. And there is something else, Liz. He did not tell me that she was coming home. He has kept the matter secret, it is true; but previously I have shared his secrets. He is planning marriage and he knows I can only dissuade him from it … so, characteristically, he doesn’t tell me.’

‘Perhaps it is not a real marriage he is offering her.’

‘It cannot be a real marriage, but it is something she – and no doubt he – are deceiving themselves is. I see the most fearful disaster ahead, Liz. If he goes far enough he could lose the Crown.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I cannot let this pass. I cannot pretend I don’t know what is going on. He is keeping his plans secret from me, which is very significant, but I must let him know how he stands. Damn it, Liz, I have always advised him in the past. I have guided him in his political life. Where would he have been without me? And in those most important steps of all …’

‘But he is only not consulting you because he fears that you will persuade him of the folly of what he proposes to do.’

‘Princes like those who agree with them and applaud all their actions, however foolish. But I never did that. I have advised him honestly and he has had the good sense to appreciate this. I must let him know what danger he is in.’

‘What do you propose?’

‘To write to him. I will do it at once. He must be made aware of the consequences of such an act as he proposes.’

Lizzie nodded and brought out pen and paper.

‘The Right Hon. C. J. Fox, M.P., to

H.R.H. the Prince of Wales.

December 10th, 1785

‘Sir,

‘I hope that Your Royal Highness does me the justice to believe that it is with the utmost reluctance that I trouble you with my opinion unasked at any time, much more so upon a subject where it may not be agreeable to your wishes. I am sure that nothing could ever make me take this liberty but the condescension which you have honoured me with on so many occasions and the zealous and grateful attachment that I feel for Your Royal Highness and which makes me run the risk even of displeasing you for the sake of doing you a real service.’

Fox paused. It was indeed a delicate subject; and was he presuming too much on the friendship he believed the Prince had for him? Here was a spoilt boy just ready to grasp a long awaited treat. How would he feel about the friend who was attempting to spoil his enjoyment by explaining in detail how bad it would be for him? But I must, thought Fox. It could be ruin for him and the party.

He took up his pen resolutely:

‘I was told just before I left Town yesterday that Mrs Fitzherbert was arrived; and if I had heard only this I should have felt most unfeigned joy at an event which I knew could contribute so much to Your Royal Highness’s satisfaction; but I was told at the same time, that from a variety of circumstances which had been observed and put together, there was reason to suppose that you were going to take the very desperate step …’

Again Fox paused. Could he refer to the Prince’s cherished dream as a ‘desperate step’. But what else could he call it? And indeed a desperate step was a mild way of expressing it. It was disaster.

‘ … (pardon the expression) of marrying her at this moment. If such an idea be really in your mind and it be not now too late, for God’s sake let me call your attention to some considerations, which my attachment to Your Royal Highness, and the real concern I take in whatever relates to your interest, have suggested to me, and which may possibly have the more weight with you when you perceive that Mrs Fitzherbert is equally interested in most of them with you.

‘In the first place you are aware that a marriage with a Catholic throws the Prince contracting such a marriage out of the succession of the Crown. Now, what change may have happened in Mrs Fitzherbert’s sentiments upon religious matters I know not, but I do not understand that any public profession of change has been made; and surely, Sir, this is not a matter to be trifled with; and Your Royal Highness must excuse the extreme freedom with which I write. If there should be a doubt about her previous conversion consider the circumstances in which
you
stand; the King not feeling for you as a father ought, the Duke of York professedly his favourite, and likely to be married agreeably to the King’s wishes; the nation full of its old prejudices against Catholics, and justly dreading all disputes about the succession. In these circumstances your enemies might take such advantage as I shudder to think of; and though your generosity might think no sacrifice too great to make to a person whom you love so entirely, consider what
her
reflections must be in such an event, and how impossible it would be for her ever to forgive herself.

‘I have stated this danger on the supposition that the marriage should be a real one, but Your Royal Highness knows as well as I that according to the present laws of this country it
cannot
; and I need not point out to your good sense what uneasiness it must be to you, to her, and above all to the nation, to have it a matter of dispute and discussion, whether the Prince of Wales is, or is not, married. All speculations on the feeling of the public are certain; but I doubt much whether an uncertainty of this kind, by keeping man’s mind in perpetual agitation upon a matter of this moment, might not cause a greater ferment than any other possible situation. If there should be children from the marriage, I need not say how much the uneasiness (as well of yourselves as of the nation) must be aggravated. If anything should add to the weight of these considerations it is the impossibility of remedying the mischiefs I have alluded to; for if Your Royal Highness should think proper, when you are twenty-five years old, to notify to Parliament your intention to marry (by which means alone a
legal
marriage can be contracted) in what manner can it be notified? If the previous marriage is mentioned or owned will it not be said that you have set at defiance the laws of your country; and you now come to Parliament for a sanction for what you have already done in contempt of it? If there are children, will it not be said that we must look for future applications to legitimate them and consequently be liable to disputes for the succession between the eldest son and the eldest son
after
the legal marriage? And will not the entire annulling of the whole marriage be suggested as the most secure way of preventing all such disputes? If the marriage is not mentioned to Parliament, but yet is known to have been solemnized, as it certainly will be known if it takes place, these are the consequences—First, that at all events any child born in the interim is immediately illegitimated; and next, that arguments will be drawn from the circumstances of the concealed marriage against the public one. It will be said that a woman who has lived with you as your wife without being so, is not fit to be Queen of England; and thus the very thing that is done for her reputation will be used against it: and what would make this worse would be, the marriage being known (though not officially communicated to Parliament) it would be impossible to deny the assertion; whereas if there was no marriage, I conclude your intercourse would be carried on as it ought, in so private a way as to make it wholly inconsistent with decency or propriety for anyone in public to hazard such a suggestion. If, in consequence of your notification, steps should be taken in Parliament, and an Act passed (which considering the present state of the power of the King and Ministry is more than probable) to prevent your marriage, you will be reduced to the most difficult of all dilemmas with respect to the footing on which your marriage is to stand for the future; and your children will be born to pretensions which must make their situation unhappy, if not dangerous. Their situations appear to me of all others the most to be pitied; and the more so, because the more indications persons born in such circumstances give of spirit, talents or anything that is good, the more they will be suspected and oppressed, and the more will they regret the being deprived of what they must naturally think themselves entitled to.

‘I could mention many other considerations upon this business, if I did not think those I have stated of so much importance, that smaller ones would divert your attention from them rather than add to their weight. That I have written with a freedom which on every other occasion would be unbecoming, I readily confess; and nothing would have induced me to do it, but a deep sense of my duty to a Prince who has honoured me with so much of his confidence, and who would have but an ill return for all his favour and goodness to me if I were to avoid speaking truth to him, however disagreeable, at such a juncture. The sum of my humble advice, nay, of my most earnest entreaty, is this – that Your Royal Highness should not think of marrying till you can marry legally. When that time comes you may judge for yourself; and no doubt you will take into consideration, both what is due to private honour and your public station. In the meanwhile, a mock marriage (for it can be no other) is neither honourable for any of the parties, nor, with respect to Your Royal Highness, even safe. This appears so clear to me that if I were Mrs Fitzherbert’s father or brother I would advise her not by any means to agree to it, and to prefer any other species of connection with you to one leading to so much misery and mischief.

‘It is high time I should finish this long and perhaps Your Highness will think, ill-timed letter; but such as it is, it is dedicated by pure zeal and attachment to Your Royal Highness. With respect to Mrs Fitzherbert, she is a person with whom I have scarcely the honour of being acquainted, but I hear from everyone that her character is irreproachable and her manners most amiable. Your Royal Highness knows too that I have not in my mind the same objections to inter-marriages of Princes and subjects which many have. But under the circumstances a marriage at present appears to me to be the most desperate measure for all parties concerned that their worst enemies could have suggested.’