The Prince and the Quakeress: (Georgian Series) (33 page)

There was the young King, looking almost handsome in candle-light. Tall and upstanding, and that open countenance which was appealing. The King was honest enough, there was no denying that. The point was how much had that mother of his and her paramour got him under their thumbs?

The King was thinking: Poor Grandfather! So this is the end to all your posturings and pretence and all your anger. You will never be angry with me again, never hit me as you did in Hampton.

I will do everything you wished. I have heard that
you,
burned
your father’s will and that he burned his wife’s, but I shall carry out
your
wishes to the letter. Lady Yarmouth shall have what you wished her to. I want to be a good King, Grandfather. Perhaps you did too. But you cared too much for Germany, and a King of England’s first care should be England.

Poor Uncle William! How ill he looked. It was sad when one recalled his coming to the nursery in the old days and talking about the’45. That was the highlight of his life, poor Uncle William; that terrible battle of Culloden had been his glory. And then he had lost his power and after that his illness had come, and now – although he was not very old when compared with his father the dead King – he was a very sick man. Yet he stood erect, indifferent to his own disabilities, and if one did not see how distorted his face was, which was possible in this dim candle-light, he looked a fine figure of a man in his long black cloak, the train of which must be all of five yards long.

The Duke of Newcastle was bustling about. Dear Lord Bute was right. That man was a fool and no use to them at all. If only he could be as sure that they should rid themselves of Mr Pitt! There stood Newcastle, crying one moment, looking round to bow to someone the next, shivering with cold and whispering that he would be the next one they were burying, for there was no place more likely for catching one’s death than at a funeral, and the Chapel of Henry VII must be the coldest place on Earth.

George saw Newcastle surreptitiously step on to his uncle’s long cloak in order, the King supposed, to preserve his feet from the chill of the chapel.

Then his uncle was bemused as to what was restricting him and turning found it was the burly Duke standing on his train.

And at last the late King’s coffin was placed where he had wished it to be – beside that of his Queen, that, he had said, they might lie side by side for ever.

George hoped that his grandfather was happy wherever he was. His wishes had been carried out and he was laid to rest beside the wife whom he had bullied during his lifetime, to whom he had been constantly unfaithful, but whom he had loved next best to himself.

‘I shall hope,’ prayed George, ‘to be a better King than my grandfather and when I marry to be truly faithful to my wife for the rest of my life.’

Marriage was a pleasant thought, for even in this sombre chapel he could not think of it without thinking also of the dazzling beauty of Lady Sarah Lennox.

*

George scrupulously carried out the last King’s wishes. It was surprising that George II had left only £30,000 when he had always been so careful. This he had declared was to be shared between his three surviving children – Cumberland and his two sisters. Cumberland agreed to forego his share to the advantage of his sisters for he was a generous man and rich enough, he declared. For Lady Yarmouth there was an envelope in the King’s bureau which was found to contain £6,000 in banknotes.

George made a point of seeing that these fell into her hands and added £2,000 of his own.

The King’s honesty was noted and doubly admired when his grandfather’s lack of it was remembered, for it was recalled how George II had destroyed his father’s will. Everyone applauded it, and none more than Mr Pitt.

If the King would put himself into his minister’s hands there would be nothing to fear. Mr Pitt would like to see the King presiding over social occasions; he would like to hear the people cheering their young Monarch. But he wanted to make sure that the young Sovereign did not interfere with the conduct of the country’s affairs.

How far was Bute influencing him? And what of that other menacing shadow; the King’s mother? The Princess Augusta would consider herself of very great importance now that her son had ascended the throne.

The sooner the position is clarified the better, thought Pitt.

Some light was thrown on it when the Parliament assembled to hear the Speech from the throne. These occasions in the past had gone according to pattern. A speech was prepared and the King delivered it.

It soon became clear that the speech the King was making in that very musical and well-modulated voice of his was
not
the one which had been written for him.

‘Born and educated in this country I glory in the name of Britain…’

Britain! Why not England? It could only be that the King was associating himself with the country across the Border, the
breeding-ground of Jacobites, the land which had rebelled, which had harboured Bonnie Prince Charlie…
and
was the birthplace of Lord Bute!

That was it. They knew who had substituted that word for England. Lord Bute! He was tampering with the speeches which the King’s ministers had written for him. He was telling the King that Scotland was as important as England. And why? Because Bute was a Scottish peer. That was the reason. And had not Pitt pointed out to him before the death of the last King that one of the reasons why he could not be given high office was because he
was
a Scottish peer?

So this was Bute’s answer.

Pitt wondered whether to challenge in debate the origin of those words. Perhaps it was unwise. He did not want to antagonize the King… nor the people. The King was new and new Kings were often popular; more so if they were young and tolerably good-looking. No, he would leave it, but he would have to be very watchful of my Lord Bute.

Perhaps it was time the King was married. If he married the right woman she could help to wean the King from this most unfortunate friendship.

*

The Princess Augusta was of the same idea.

‘The King should marry,’ she told Bute.

Bute agreed but hesitantly. Like Pitt he saw the possible effect of a wife.

‘He must begin producing heirs and cannot start too soon.’

Bute agreed with that.

‘You hesitate, my love.’

‘It is because I feel that if he married a woman who became possessive, she might be jealous of your influence with him and seek to lessen it.’

‘We must choose the right woman.’

‘Ah yes, and be very careful.’

‘She must be German,’ said the Princess. ‘German women are properly brought up. They are taught to respect their husbands, to obey them and to know their place. Take, for instance, my mother-in-law.’

‘Yet one has always heard she ruled the King.’

‘She was an exceptionally clever woman. We must not find a
clever
woman for our George. But even Caroline who was so much cleverer than her husband, never let him know it. And there are not many Carolines.’

‘There is also an Augusta,’ said Lord Bute playfully.

‘When Fred was alive I never meddled. I would have thought it most… improper. It was only after he was dead that I saw the need to care for my children and I deliberately set out to protect them.’

‘You are right as usual. It must be a German Princess for George and one of your choosing.’

She smiled at him tenderly. As usual they were of one mind.

*

The King was also thinking of marriage. Now the funeral was over and he was indeed King he would have to have a coronation. When he was crowned he wanted her to be crowned too.

He dreamed of her beside him. She would look so beautiful in a crown. She would have to be serious for once, he would tell her indulgently, and she would laugh at him and say: ‘Yes, of course. I am really always serious where you are concerned.’ And it would be true. She liked to tease and banter, but underneath that she was serious.

He was the King, so therefore he could choose his own wife. Why not? It was not as though he were asking to marry a linen-draper’s… He flushed hotly and tried not to think of St James’s Market and Hannah’s sitting there in the window. That had been impossible. He saw it all so clearly. Yet then it had seemed so right.

But it was over. Thank God it had worked out as it did.

He would always remember her. He had loved her dearly. I still do, he told himself defiantly. I shall always love Hannah. But a man cannot go on mourning for ever, especially if he is a King. She would understand that. She had always understood.

Of course she would. That was why she was always so anxious, why she was always aware of the enormity of their action. She had been far more aware than he had. That was why he had always had to comfort her.

But it was over… and he must forget it… outwardly, of course. Never in truth, Hannah, he whispered. I shall always remember. But it is over and a King must marry.

He had made his peace with Hannah, now he could think of
Sarah. Sarah laughing, teasing, dancing that absurd dance, the Betty Blue.

He would no longer delay. The first one he must tell would be his dear friend Lord Bute who would advise him how best to deal with this matter of marriage.

He took up his pen and wrote to that very dear friend:

‘What I now lay before you I never intended to communicate to anyone. The truth is this: The Duke of Richmond’s sister arrived from Ireland towards the middle of last November. I was struck with her appearance at St James’s and my passion has been increasing every time I have since beheld her. Her voice is sweet. She seems sensible… In short she is everything I can form to myself as lovely.’

He sat dreaming of her as he wrote; then sealed the letter and had it sent to Lord Bute.

The King’s Courtship

LADY SARAH LENNOX
was amused. She was a very high-spirited girl, not yet seventeen, and it was highly diverting to know that the King was in love with her. Sarah was living at the time at Holland House, the home of her brother-in-law, Henry Fox; and her closest friend Lady Susan Fox-Strangways, a niece of Henry Fox, was staying there. In Sarah’s bedroom the two girls could giggle and chatter together and be as frivolous as they pleased.

Susan was more serious than Sarah. She was the daughter of the Earl of Ilchester and her family were perhaps not quite so prominent as Sarah’s, whose brother was now the third Duke of Richmond and whose great-grandfather had been Charles II and great-grandmother Louise de Keroualle. There was, Susan often thought, something of the Stuart charm in Sarah. She was certainly attractive and yet when one studied her face one wondered why. Her eyes were too small, her mouth too large; but that was of little importance, for when Sarah laughed or chattered or merely entered a room, to the majority she was the most exciting female in that room.

Charm! thought Susan wistfully. And it will doubtless bring her a throne.

Sarah was saying: ‘But he’s so shy. Do you know, Susan, he
stammers.
He is really afraid of offending me. Fancy that. The King goes in awe of Sarah Lennox!’

‘Oh, that is what is called courting. When and if you married him it would be very different.’

‘And why should it be, pray?’

‘Because that is the way of the world.’

‘Don’t look so wise, Susan. You know nothing about it. It is entirely in one’s own hands and it would be in mine. If I married him I would keep him as he is today.’

‘Sarah… think of it! Queen! A coronation! And Mr Pitt bowing to you and waiting on your judgments. And Mr Fox doing the same.’

‘Mr Fox would always remember that I am his sister-in-law. He loves me, I know, but he would never bow to my superior wisdom, I do assure you. He thinks I am a bundle of inconsequent frivolity. I heard him tell my sister Caroline so the other day.’

‘Sisters-in-laws may be that, but Queens would not be.’

‘Oh, you don’t know Henry. He has as high an opinion of himself as Mr Pitt has of himself… or my Lord Bute, of whom, I don’t mind telling you, my dear Susan, they are constantly talking. It’s my belief that they are more afraid of Lord Bute than anyone in this kingdom. I have seen a certain look in brother Henry’s eyes when they rest on me. I think he is weighing me up against Lord Bute. He feels that if I married the King I could then help to break his infatuation for that man – for infatuation it is. He is devoted to him.’ Sarah pouted. ‘I think he is almost as fond of him as he is of me.’

‘Sarah, be serious a moment. Are you in love with George?’

Sarah put her head on one side and appeared to consider. ‘Well, I fancy a crown would look rather well on my head.’

‘Don’t be silly. What about Newbattle? I thought you were in love with him.’

Sarah’s expression softened a little. ‘I was, Susan,’ she admitted.

‘It seems to me, Sarah, that you do fall in and out of love rather easily.’

‘That is wiser than falling in too deeply, don’t you think?’

‘It seemed hardly worth while taking him from Caroline Russell if you are just going to abandon him for the King.’

Sarah laughed. ‘Can you imagine Newbattle… deserted? He will soon find someone ready to give consolation.’

‘Caroline would not have him back.’

‘Caroline would not have been allowed to marry him in any case, I feel sure. Her people want the Duke of Marlborough for her.’

‘But she wanted Newbattle, Sarah… and you deliberately set out to attract him.’

‘Oh, stop preaching, Susan. I wanted him, too, and he is not a parcel of goods to be handed about. He makes his own decisions, you know.’

‘And what does he say now that he knows of the King’s intentions?’

‘If he knows of the King’s intentions he knows more than most of us, Susan. Because the rest of us are not sure.’

‘But he knows that the King is attracted by you.’

Sarah giggled. ‘Poor George does make that a little obvious does he not?’

‘He is rather charming,’ said Susan wistfully. ‘He is innocent and inexperienced.’