The Dukes (44 page)

Some members of the family have embraced military careers, but their intellectual limitations have prevented their rising to positions of eminence or power. One disastrous exception achieved an unenviable place in history - Lord Fitzroy Somerset, youngest son of the 5th Duke of Beaufort, who was ennobled in his own right as Lord Raglan (1788-1855). This was the man who gave the order for one of the most lamentable episodes in our military annals, the Charge of the Light Brigade.

A picture has emerged in the course of these pages of a courteous Tory family of high principles, far removed from the rough and tumble of London life in which their political enemies, the Cavendishes and the Russells, gloried. While Georgiana Duchess of Devonshire presided over a decadent city, giggling headlong into amoral intrigues, the Beaufort family remained aloof and untainted in the pure Gloucestershire air. That at least is the popular impression. But it is by no means the whole truth. The Beauforts were not only Tories of probity, foxhunters of genius, loyal subjects of the realm. Some have been voluptuaries of distinction.

Long before the Devonshire House set established its eccentric code upon London life, there was a Duchess of Beaufort involved in the most unseemly scandal which culminated in unpleasant divorce proceedings. She was the Scudamore heiress, eventually mother (by a later marriage) of the mad Scudamore Duchess of Norfolk who drove the poor amiable nth Duke of Norfolk to distraction. She married the 3rd Duke of Beaufort (1707-1745), about whom we know little save that he made Badminton what it is now, employing the architect William Kent to enlarge and improve the house, and that he died at the age of thirty-seven.

The Duke and Duchess of Beaufort did not have a happy marriage. The Duchess wasted no time before taking a lover, choosing as her paramour another married man, Lord Talbot. The couple were singularly open about their intrigue, and the Duke, at first, unusually taciturn. He said that he pitied Lord Talbot to have met with two such tempers as their two wives." When the Duchess produced a child, which the world would regard as the Duke's, then was he obliged to take action. The divorce was heard in Doctors' Commons, and the details revealed were such as to delight the gossips. Walpole relished the case. "There is everything proved to your heart's content", he wrote, "to the birth of the child, and much delectable reading."
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The Duchess appears to have been totally abandoned. It was stated that she and Lord Talbot "knew each other beside every green hedge, and under every green tree".
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When the verdict was quite clearly edging towards her conviction, she took a bold step. She said that the Duke was impotent.

It would have been easy for the Duke simply to deny the imputation, which would have left the matter unresolved, and presumably would not have affected the fact of his wife's adultery. But he was a brave man. He determined to prove her wrong. With no apparent con­sciousness of the high comedy of the situation, the Duke agreed to demonstrate his potency before a panel of medical men, including a Dr Meade, another physician, three surgeons (though why their presence was required is mysterious), and the Dean of the Arches. The six eminent gentlemen proposed to inspect the Duke's abilities in any place of public resort of his choosing, but at this he demurred. He said he would perform at Dr Meade's house, behind a screen, and that they were to come behind the screen when he would knock to indicate that he was ready. Let the invaluable Walpole take up the story. "He was some time behind the scenes : at last he knocked, and the good old folks saw what amazed them - what they had not seen many a day! Cibber says, 'His Grace's   is in everybody's mouth'.

Now he is upon his mettle, and will sue Lord Talbot for fourscore thousand pounds damages."
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One need hardly say that the divorce was granted. There were no children from the marriage, fortunately for the Beaufort family, as the Duchess's mad daughter probably inherited the excesses of her conduct from her mother. The Duke was succeeded by his brother.

Nearly a hundred years later, the man who was to become 7th Duke of Beaufort (1792-1853) brought the Beaufort name once more to the centre of public attention. While still a very young man, and still as heir to the dukedom known as the Marquess of Worcester, he was "so open and free from every species of conceit, perhaps too humble in his own opinion". Moreover, and more to the point, he was of "such an amiable nature that he is sure of winning the affections of all".
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It was the young man's misfortune to win the affection of a prostitute.

Harriette Wilson (1789-1846) is a shadowy character, euphem­istically described as a "lady of fashion", who had a monopoly in aristocratic clients. She clearly had extraordinary fascination, as her lovers fell over each other's feet in their rush for her favours. "She was far from beautiful, but a smart, saucy girl, with good eyes, hair, and the manners of a wild schoolboy."
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She would have passed easily into oblivion, along with the scores of other ladies of her kind about whom we know nothing, were it not that she had a wonderful gift for recalling dialogue. In 1825 she published her
Memoirs
and caused an immediate sensation. "I hold everything which is not love, to be mere dull intervals in life", she wrote.
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Queues formed outside the publishing house, and barriers had to be set up to control the crowds. Thirty editions appeared in the first year. Harriette Wilson had drawn the veil away from the discreet amours of the aristocracy, for her lovers were all named. Among them were the subjects of two other chapters - the Duke of Argyll and the Duke of Leinster - and a man three years younger than herself and under the age of majority - the besotted Lord Worcester.

Lord Worcester was still an Oxford undergraduate, "a long, thin, pale fellow, with straight hair",
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when he was introduced to Harriette by (such is the irony which infuses human relations) the man whose rival he was to become, the Duke of Leinster. Worcester began to pay her visits on his own initiative, and Harriette found herself having to time entrances and exits so that Leinster and Worcester did not meet; often one would arrive seconds after the other had left. The Duke, of course, found out that his young friend was paying court, and grew jealous. Harriette professed to be exasperated. "I am to condole all the morning with one fool," she said, "and sympathise the blessed long evening with another; neither can I be tender and true to a dozen of you at a time."
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But Worcester could not be deflected by insults. He swore that he would never love another woman for the rest of his life, that he would make Harriette Marchioness of Wor­cester, and eventually Duchess of Beaufort. She had only to say the word. His daily protestations worked and before long he was never out of her company. London began to notice that they were virtu­ally living together. Worcester refused every invitation from any other quarter, declaring that he would be miserable in any society without Harriette. He even found excuses to decline an invitation from the Prince of Wales, feigning lameness. His uncle Lord Charles Somer­set supposed that they had been secretly married, so openly were they living a conjugal life.

Word reached the 6th Duke of Beaufort and his duchess at Badminton. They were furious. They rained letters upon their errant son. In Harriette's admittedly biased account, "the Duke of Beaufort did nothing but write and torment Lord Worcester to leave me, while Worcester's love seemed to increase on the receipt of every scolding letter. He daily swore to make me his wife. ..." The Duchess did not waste time trying to be tactful or persuasive; she came right to the point. "This absurd attachment of yours for this vile profligate woman", she wrote, "does but prove the total subjugation of your understanding." To this Harriette's comment was, "he never posses­sed any"."

Harriette claimed that she kept Worcester out of mischief, pre­vented him from gambling, and steadfastly refused to be his wife, out of consideration for his parents, who would faint at the news. It is difficult to see why else she would refuse his importunate demands, but the Duke and Duchess would allow her no credit whatever. Their opposition naturally strengthened his determination and lent to the love story that element of romanticism which it would otherwise have lacked.

The Duke of Beaufort then sent an emissary to Harriette, one Mr Robinson, asking her to surrender all the letters which Worcester had sent her. She requested time to think about it, time which she used to consult solicitors, who advised her that the promises of marri­age contained in the letters would win her in a court of law some £2000. The Beauforts wanted at all costs to avoid a public airing of their domestic troubles. The Duchess tried another approach, feeling sorry for herself, provoking hysterical scenes with her son, who had deserted her, forsaken her, abandoned her, and so on. She literally begged him to leave Harriette. But he would not budge. Meanwhile, Harriette handed over the letters.

Harriette wrote to the Duke, pointing out that she could not abandon Worcester now, so dependent was he on her affection (and this was demonstrably true), and that it was only his perseverance which had broken down her resistance in the first place. To this the Duke did not deign to reply, from which Harriette concluded that there was a difference between "high-bred" and "well-bred".

As a last resort, the Duke of Beaufort arranged for his son to leave his regiment and join the Duke of Wellington, fighting the Penin­sular War in Spain. Worcester was appointed Wellington's A.D.C. It was to be an enforced separation from the wicked Harriette. Harriette was desperate. She thought it quite likely that Worcester would die in Spain, and the fault would have been hers. She deter­mined to plead with the Duke in person to change his mind, and promise that she herself would go abroad and never again contact the Marquess. The Duke was due in London for one day. She went and knocked on his door in Grosvenor Square, and sent up a note. It was the first time they had met.

The interview passed stiffly. The Duke said she was a fool ever to have supposed that she could marry Worcester. Harriette replied, "I am naturally good, but you will, among you, harden my heart till it becomes cold and vicious. Since nothing generous, and no sacrifice on my part, is understood or felt, even when I would serve others, and while I only think of them you will not, or you cannot under­stand me. Allow me, then, to tell you, the fault is in your own character; I will not say in your heart but in your want of heart." The Duke was shamed into an apology. "I only wanted to observe to you that such unequal marriages are seldom if ever attended with happiness to either party," he said. When Harriette left, she asked, "Will your Grace shake hands with me?" to which the Duke replied, "With great pleasure."
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He obviously thought the matter was at an end.

Worcester wrenched from his father a promise to pay Harriette a quarterly allowance during his absence in Spain, a promise which the Duke did not honour. "In this amiable conduct", wrote Harriette, "I take it for granted he was upheld and encouraged by his most interest­ing duchess."
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Meanwhile, Worcester himself had embarked for Spain, having been dragged in floods of tears from Harriette's doorstep.

The only way in which Harriette could make the Duke pay was to threaten to join his son in Spain. Then the money arrived on time. When, however the Duke discovered that Miss Wilson had written a letter to Worcester, contrary to the terms of the bargain, he asked for the money back. Eventually Harriette Wilson had to take pro­ceedings against the Duke of Beaufort to make him honour his bond. It is unlikely that she would have won the case, as she had indeed broken her side of the agreement by writing one letter, but Beaufort would have been shamed to insist on such treatment. A settlement was made out of court, and Harriette received £1200 as a lump sum. That was the end of the affair.

Harriette Wilson faded from the scene afterwards. She married a Mr Rochfort and settled in Paris, returning to England a pious widow. She died in 1846. The 6th Duke and Duchess of Beaufort buried their shabby behaviour in the decency of oblivion. He died in

1835.

As for Worcester, now 7th Duke of Beaufort, he recovered in due course, and, deprived of Harriette's restraining influence, indulged his passion for spending money. Greville noted that the family was "going to the dogs"
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as fast as its good-natured head could drive it. He founded Pratt's Club, established in the kitchen of his personal steward, Pratt; was a Tory, a hunter, did all the usual Beaufort things. His emotional life, however, continued along lines which were out of the ordinary. His first wife was a niece of the Duke of Well­ington, and his second wife was his first wife's half-sister. This was not a relationship which was regarded as respectable, falling as it did within the prohibited degrees of affinity. He admitted the unwisdom of the match by marrying in quasi-secrecy. The wedding took place at St George's, Hanover Square, with the bridegroom listed as "Henry Somerset, widower".
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The marriage was legal, but was voidable in an ecclesiastical court. The law was changed in due course to oblige the Duke, and render his second marriage respectable. The Deceased Wife's Sister Bill passed in 1835 ratified all such marriages already celebrated, while forbidding any future such alliances. The law remained on the Statute Book until 1907.

Two of Beaufort's daughters inherited his romantic fancies. One of them, Lady Rose Somerset, eloped with one Mr Francis Lovell, an "amazingly good-looking" Life Guard, when she was but seventeen.
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Another, Lady Augusta Somerset, conceived a flirtatious romance with Prince George of Cambridge, which erupted into yet another scandal. A story spread that Lady Augusta was pregnant by the Prince, that the Duke of Beaufort her father wanted him to marry her, which he was naturally prepared to do, but couldn't, owing to the Royal Marriages Act which stood in the way. The monarch was obliged, according to this Act, to give her approval before any member of the Royal Family could marry. (The Act still applies.) Queen Victoria was not disposed to give her consent.