"Perhaps not quite," she said. f He has a kind heart but he hates trouble. He'd help anyone out of a difficulty if he could without too much trouble, but he'd go to a great deal of trouble to protect himself."

"He's no fool. He realizes what's at stake. He knows that what has happened was the only way to get him out of a dangerous situation."

"But he has, by all accounts, lost his Maria."

"A temporary loss. She'll come round."

"She's no ordinary woman."

"A paragon of virtue according to Sherry"

"He did very well in the circumstances."

"Poor Sherry. I'm glad it was his job and not mine. Yes, he did well too ... considering the position. How he kept a straight face I can't imagine."

"He was thinking of his own future, that was why. He has to keep the Prince's favour ... for what is he going to do without Mr. Fox there to support him."

"Eh?"

"Well, Mr. Fox will, I prophesy, no longer be the close associate of His Royal Highness. Maria would think it rather strange, would she not, that one who had so displeased the Prince should continue to enjoy his friendship."

"You're too clever, Liz."

"How can one be too clever? I merely state the obvious. If he wants to keep Maria he has to be displeased with Mr. Fox— and you can bet even higher than your usual stakes that Mrs. Fitzherbert, who never did love Mr. Fox, will now regard that gentleman with loathing. And since His Royal Highness must placate Maria ... well, you don't need me to go on, do you?"

He took her hand and smiled at her.

"No need at all," he said. "That is why I propose leaving the country. A change of scene will be very desirable."

She tried to hide her fears and he held out his hand to her.

"Liz," he said, "how would you like to go to Italy? We could study the art treasures of that country. I'll show you the Sistine chapel. We'll sit in the sun and drink their wine."

She was smiling; intensely happy.

"Oh, my God, Liz," he said. "You didn't think I would go without you ... anywhere?"

The Prince in Despair

The King was pacing up and down the Queen's drawing room. How I wish he would stay still! thought the Queen. This excitement is bad for him.

"Although I am receiving him," the King was saying, "I shall expect deference from him. He'll have to drop that arrogance, eh? He may be a little king in Carlton House but I'm the King here at Windsor."

"He'll remember that," said the Queen. "I'm sure he has learned his lesson."

"What's that, eh, what? His lesson? Do you think he'll ever learn? But we'll show him that if he's going to be received back into the family he has to deserve it, eh, what?"

It was not the right attitude perhaps, thought the Queen. Oh dear, she did hope this was going to be an end to these family quarrels.

"Mr. Pitt seems to think that it is a bad thing that there should be enmity in the family."

The King frowned at her. Charlotte should know by now that he never talked State matters with her. She was not supposed to mention the name of Mr. Pitt. But there was gossip, of course. There was chatter. He was talking to her about the return of the Prince of Wales to the heart of the family simply because it was a domestic matter and these were the only matters he discussed with her.

"I think it's a good thing that there should be no enmity in the family. Anyone would agree to that, eh, what?"

"But certainly. Oh, how pleased I am that he did not marry that woman. I am surprised in a way because I have heard that she is a very pleasant creature."

A very pleasant creature, thought the King; and a very beautiful one by all accounts. They had all found beautiful women for themselves, except the King. He had Charlotte. How old she looked! Poor plain little Charlotte. Yet he had been faithful to her, in deed if not in thought, since their marriage.

Well, he was getting old now and he was glad he had been a good husband.

"Have you warned the Princesses?" he asked.

What a way to talk of the return of a brother! thought the Queen. Warned!

"Yes, I have told them that they may expect a visit from their brother."

"Hm, and what did they say to that?"

"They are delighted. Amelia was so excited that she bounced up and down in her chair and shot her milk all over the table."

The King's face creased into a smile. "Oh, she did then, eh, what? I must go and ask her if she is equally excited by a visit from her Papa."

The very mention of Amelia's name soothed the King. He doted on the child; in fact the stern rules which the others had to obey were not in force for Amelia. She could imperiously climb on to her father's knee and ask him ridiculous questions and make him sing songs to her—and he merely obeyed her, the love shining from his eyes. She was doubly precious because they had lost Octavius and Alfred—and Sophia the next youngest was six years her senior. It was small wonder that Amelia was his pet.

He rose, the prospect of seeing his youngest daughter temporarily wiping away the anxieties he felt by the impending reunion with his eldest son.

"She will be in the nursery now," said the Queen.

"Then I will call on Her Royal Highness."

His good humour was completely restored and when he arrived at the nursery he found his youngest daughter sitting on the floor playing with her toys and kneeling there with her was Miss Burney to whom he had heard Amelia had taken a great fancy.

"Hello, Papa," said the Princess, scarcely turning her head, while Miss Burney stood up and curtsied.

"Come, Miss Burney," said Amelia. "It is my turn. Watch. Watch."

"His Majesty is here. Ma'am," whispered Fanny to the little girl.

"I know, but it is my turn."

"You cannot play while His Majesty is waiting to speak to you, Ma'am," said the agitated Fanny who was never quite sure how to behave in a situation which she had not visualized happening, and about which she had not been able to consult that doyen of court behaviour, Mrs. Delaney.

The little girl looked surprised. "Can I not?" she asked. Then: "Go away, Papa. Go away."

"What?" cried the King. "Eh, what?"

And Fanny stood by, blushing and mortified.

"Papa, I said: Go away. We want to play. So Papa ... go. Go."

The King looked at Fanny and smiled and then picked up the child in his arms.

"Why not a welcome for your old papa?" he asked.

"But it is my turn," she explained.

How beautiful, he thought. Youth! The little nose, the soft skin with just a freckle or two, the fair hair, the blue eyes of her race. This child makes everything worth while for me. Charlotte produced her ... not Sarah Lennox. Sarah could not have given him a lovelier child than this one.

"Papa," said Amelia sternly. "It is my turn."

"It is my turn to kiss my little Amelia."

"Then do so and be quick," she cried imperiously. "Now, Miss Burney. Take me. Come here, Miss Burney. Take me, I say. Oh, Miss Burnev, come here."

She was kicking and struggling while Fanny stood there uncertain how to act when the King put his daughter down.

He smiled at Fanny. He liked her. He was amused by her. She had had her book printed because she had thought it would look well in print, she had told him. He had always remembered that. Very fair indeed, he had said at the time. That's being very fair and honest.

"Well, Miss Burney," he said, "the Princess Amelia seems to approve of you, eh, what?"

I ... yes, Your Majesty."

"And that," he said, "is very fair and honest, eh?"

There was great excitement in the Princesses' apartments.

"Just fancy," said the Princess Royal, "he is our brother and yet it's as though we are to receive a call from visiting royalty"

"I wonder how he and Papa will get on," added Augusta. "I wonder if they will start quarrelling immediately or wait a while."

"They will have to be very polite just at first," said Elizabeth. "Mr. Pitt's orders."

"Is Mr. Pitt so very important?" asked Sophia.

"Very! The most important man in the country. He's not married, you know." That was the Princess Royal, who thought a great deal about marriage. She was twenty-one and most Princesses had been found a husband at that age.

"Well" laughed Augusta, "you don't think they'll let you marry him even if he's not, do you?"

"I often think it would be helpful if we were allowed to marry commoners—our own countrymen. Then there wouldn't be all this difficulty in finding husbands for us. It's well-nigh impossible when they must be foreign royalty and Protestant. And there are so many of us, some of us are sure to be left out."

"Sometimes" said Elizabeth, "I think that Papa won't let any of us marry"

"What do you mean?" cried Charlotte.

"Well, he is strange, is he not? He talks so quickly and goes on and on repeating himself. Don't say you haven't noticed that he seems to get worse instead of better. I think he feels strangely about us. He wants us to be virgins all our lives."

"Oh, no," wailed Charlotte.

"We shall have to have secret lovers," said Augusta, her eyes sparkling.

"Or be like George and marry in secret," said Elizabeth.

"But George didn't marry. That's what all the fuss has been about. Mr. Fox denied it in Parliament. They thought he had but he hadn't all the time."

"It will be wonderful to see George. Such exciting things always happen to him. Do you remember when he was always in our apartments and sending those long letters to Mary Hamilton?"

"At first I thought he'd come to see us."

"I think," said the Princess Charlotte enviously, "that it must be the most exciting thing in the world to be George."

"All you need to have done," said Augusta, "was to have been born four years earlier and a boy. Then you would have been the Prince of Wales. That would have suited you, Charlotte."

Charlotte admitted that it would have suited her very well indeed.

Then they began to talk of the stories they had heard of the Prince of Wales until Charlotte, remembering the presence of Mary and Sophia, signed to them to change the subject—which would of course be taken up again with relish as soon as the younger girls were no longer with them.

There was an air of excitement at tea-time with the equerries. Everyone was aware of it—the charming Colonel Digby of whom Fanny was growing more than a little fond; pleasant and careless Colonel Manners who never paused to think what he might be saying; and Colonel Goldsworthy who was constantly gossiping. This was one of the most enjoyable hours of Fanny's day, but only on those occasions when Madam von Schwellenburg was too tired or indisposed to take charge. At such times as this the Colonels would vie with each other to poke fun at the disagreeable old woman which, decided Fanny, she fully deserved, and as she was quite unaware of their suppressed amusement—there was no harm done.

But this was a happy evening, with the gentlemen all paying attention to Fanny—and in particular Colonel Digby—and the conversation running on the Prince's imminent visit.

Colonel Goldsworthy of course knew all the gossip, and Colonel Manners told some amusing stories about the Prince's exploits and Colonel Digby was flirting to such an extent with Fanny that she really thought that he might be considering making a proposal of marriage.

It was all most diverting.

Colonel Goldsworthy was warning Fanny what she must expect when winter came to Windsor.

"Ah, you are well enough now, Miss Burney, in your lilac tabby and your little jacket, but wait until the autumn. There is enough wind in these passages to carry a man o' war. So on no account attend early prayers after October. You'll see Her Majesty and the Princesses and all their attendants soon start to cough and sniffle and then ... one by one they disappear. You'll find that after November not a soul goes to the chapel but the King and the parson and myself. And I only go because I have to. I'll swear it's the same with the parson."

"So His Majesty is the-stoic, Miss Burney," Colonel Manners added.

"I am sure His Majesty would always do his duty."

"Even to letting the whole family perish with the cold."

"They seem to have survived a great many winters, Colonel Manners. But I do declare it must be most trying if one wished to sneeze in the royal presence."