‘This terrible Napoleon Bonaparte,’ sighed Aunt Elizabeth. ‘He is dominating the whole of Europe. And to think that he thought of invading England too. Dear Lord Nelson put a stop to that.’

Charlotte was well aware of Napoleon’s activities. This was the kind of lesson which she assimilated with ease. She knew full well what the country owed to Lord Nelson and what sorrowing there had been when he fell only a few years ago at Trafalgar.

And now that wicked man had killed her grandfather – or at least his soldiers had. Poor Mamma, she would be very upset for she had loved her father. She had once told Charlotte that she had loved him better than any man she ever knew. But one could never be sure; she expressed her feelings with such extravagance. One day she loved Charlotte better than anyone in the world and the next it was Willie Austin – or her Willikins as she called him. Still, she would be very unhappy because of the death of her father.

‘And,’ went on Elizabeth, ‘your Grandmamma Brunswick is in England.’

‘Shall I see her?’

‘You certainly will. Your Mother is allowing her to live at Montague House and she is in her apartments at Kensington Palace.’

At Kensington Palace! Then that surely meant that Mamma was received at Court. She was no longer in disgrace.

There was a further surprise. The Prince of Wales sent his own carriage to Worthing to pick up his daughter and Lady de Clifford and bring them over to Brighton where they might visit the Pavilion and see a parade of the Prince’s own regiment.

Charlotte was delighted. First the little cart and the four greys – and now he was sending his carriage for her! Mrs Fitzherbert might well be behind this but what did that matter? She was at last to be given the chance to know her own father. And if when she returned to Carlton House she might visit her mother she could be loved by them both; and perhaps one day their differences would be forgotten because they would both have one great interest in common: their own daughter.

Perhaps that was a dream, but it was a very pleasant one and riding along those country roads often beside the sea, in his magnificently upholstered carriage, with his coachman very grand in his scarlet and green livery, Charlotte felt she had every reason to believe that her most cherished desire would be fulfilled. Her white muslin dress was very pretty; she had argued with Mrs Gagarin that it would be dirty before the day was over, but Mrs Gagarin had said they should take a chance on that. The Prince would expect his daughter to look her best. And, declared Louisa fondly, Charlotte looked a real picture with those lovely white frills and flounces and her straw hat with the blue ribbons to match her eyes.

‘Do I look nice?’ Charlotte had pirouetted before the glass and pictured her father’s approval. ‘By God,’ he would say, ‘I have a damned pretty daughter.’

They came into Brighton at a jog trot. There was no place quite like Brighton; here was an exhilaration in the air which was nowhere else. This was the town where the Prince of Wales reigned supreme; he had turned it from a humble fishing village to the most elegant place in England – next to London, perhaps. But it was so different from the capital that it need not regard even that as a rival. Here everyone seemed happy; the ladies were fashionable; and the costumes of the gentlemen made one gasp in admiration. The influence of Beau Brummell and the Prince of Wales was evident everywhere.

It was the Prince’s birthday and therefore a great day in Brighton. He was forty-five years old and that was something the people were determined to celebrate. The streets were hung with banners; the children carried posies; and everywhere there were loyal shouts.

As soon as the carriage appeared they cried: ‘God bless the little Princess!’

‘Wave,’ whispered Lady de Clifford. ‘Incline your head. Smile. Show that you appreciate them.’

Charlotte was waving frantically, beaming on everyone.

‘Oh dear,’ sighed Lady de Clifford. ‘Not so violently. Pray remember that you are a princess.’

‘Princes and princesses, kings and queens, they must always please their people,’ said Charlotte in the tones of the Bishop; which made Lady de Clifford sigh even more deeply.

And now here they were at the magnificent Pavilion itself and the band was playing on the lawn. The carriage drew up and Charlotte jumped out. How often had Lady de Clifford warned her that she should wait to be helped and then step daintily down. But Charlotte was far too excited to remember these admonitions.

She had seen her father. He was in the uniform of his own regiment and about his waist was a belt decorated with diamonds. He was clearly very happy, as he always was on occasions like this, and because it was his birthday, and the people of Brighton had determined to honour him, and in any case had always been loyal to him however unpopular he was in London or any other part of the country, he was prepared to shower his charm on everyone and that included his daughter. He embraced her with emotion – tears in his eyes – but was that for the benefit of the spectators?

Now she was being greeted by her Uncle William, Duke of Clarence. Uncle Fred was not here today, she was sorry to see.

Uncle William’s greeting was not as affectionate as it might have been. She had overheard it once said that some of her uncles did not like the idea of a girl’s inheriting the crown. Well, thought Charlotte, they would have to put up with it, for they could have twenty sons and not one of them could oust her from her position. Not that Uncle William showed any signs of having any legitimate sons. He had several children by the lovely actress Dorothy Jordan – young George Fitzclarence, whom she bullied when she met him, was one of them – but they could never inherit the throne, so there was no reason why Uncle William should dislike her for being the legitimate daughter of the Prince of Wales. She thought Uncle William rather stupid anyway and much preferred what she had seen of Dorothy Jordan, who was lovely and had the same warm motherly quality which she had discovered in Mrs Fitzherbert. She wondered whether Dorothy Jordan was here today; if so she would not be far off because although she was merely the mistress of the Duke of Clarence she was accepted everywhere. The Prince of Wales was fond of her and, unlike his parents, he did not consider the absence of marriage lines a reason for banning a beautiful and interesting woman from society.

Now here was Uncle Augustus, Duke of Sussex, who was, next to Uncle Fred, her favourite uncle. He was tall like the Prince of Wales and his complexion was decidedly florid. He seemed pleased to see Charlotte and he had made it clear on more than one occasion that he was her friend and would help to bring about a better understanding between her and her father, but he could behave rather oddly; he was not so simple and straightforward as Uncle Fred in whom she felt she could put greater trust. She was saddened too about his break with dear Goosey, because he had gone through so much for her sake – marrying her against his father’s wishes and having a court case and when it went against them, with the support of his brothers, setting up residence with her all the same.

The nicest thing about the uncles was that they always supported each other and if any of them were in any difficulties the first person they thought of going to was the Prince of Wales.

And after greeting Uncle Augustus it was the turn of Uncle Adolphus, Duke of Cambridge. She never felt she knew Uncle Adolphus who, in his Hanoverian military uniform, was like a foreigner.

Delightedly she thought how much more elegant, dazzling and brilliant was her own father.

The Prince was smiling as he watched. At least, she thought, he’s pleased with me today. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘we are going on to the lawn. The crowds will expect to see us together.’

Walking beside her father, Charlotte was happy. Brighton was the most beautiful place on earth on a hot August day with the sea sparkling and glittering before her and the wonderful Pavilion behind her and the dear people cheering them all – especially her, she thought; and she peeped slyly at her father, wondering how he felt about this. Oh, yes, there were more shouts of ‘Long live the little Princess’ than there were of ‘God save the Prince of Wales’.

This was her day, in spite of the fact it was the Prince’s birthday. She beamed and waved at the people – forgetting all instructions to be decorous. Why should she be, when the people liked her as she was? The band was playing; the sun was shining and the people cheering. What a happy day!

Then she thought of her mother who was not here. How strange that was. Her father’s birthday and her mother not here! The three of them should have been together. Wasn’t it a family occasion? But of course the Princess of Wales never went anywhere that the Prince might be.

On such a day one should not dwell on these controversies so she gave herself up to pleasure.

The picnic was delightful. The footmen served champagne to all the guests, who took it in their carriages which were all lined up in order of precedence. Mrs Fitzherbert should have been in the carriage next to the one Charlotte occupied with the Prince and her uncles. But she was not; instead there was the very cold – though she admitted elegant – Lady Hertford, looking remarkably pleased with herself.

The champagne made Charlotte feel lightheaded. What a glorious day! She trusted she was not displeasing her father by her rather loud laughter. Fortunately Lady de Clifford was not close enough to hear.

She did see Mrs Fitzherbert on that day; she was in her carriage with Minney, not far from Mrs Jordan’s carriage in which the lovely actress sat with several of the Fitzclarence children.

Mrs Fitzherbert inclined her head graciously but the Princess leaped into the carriage and kissed her.

‘My dearest Mrs Fitzherbert, I feared you were not here.’

‘Oh, yes, I still attend functions like this.’

She was obviously a little sad and Charlotte wondered how anyone could be on a day like this.

‘I hope,’ she said, ‘that soon this silly notion will be forgotten and we shall be visiting you again.’

‘God bless you,’ said Mrs Fitzherbert tenderly.

‘When I am old enough to please myself no one shall tell me where I may and may not go.’

‘I am sure that will be so,’ said Mrs Fitzherbert with a warm smile, and she added: ‘Minney has missed your visits, haven’t you, Minney?’

‘Very much,’ replied Minney. ‘Mamma and I were saying so only this morning.’

Charlotte was pleased that they had talked of her.

‘One day it will be different,’ she said; and because she noticed that she was attracting attention, she said goodbye and left them.

And after the picnic there followed the review which she witnessed from her father’s carriage. How proud he was of his own regiment, the 10th Hussars, and he seemed to grow more and more magnificent in his own splendid Hussar’s uniform as he took the salute.

When it was over they went to the Pavilion. What a magic palace it was, what an Aladdin’s cave! Although it was her father’s home it was unfamiliar to her. It was true she had once had a children’s ball here. She had stood in this vestibule with its odd but splendid decorations and received her guests. They had gathered in the ornate banqueting hall where now the Prince would entertain the chosen guests; and in the music room she had listened to an occasional concert.

She wished that she might live with her father and mother in this house which he so loved and for which he was always planning alterations; it was beginning to look like an oriental palace and everywhere was his love of Chinese art evident.

In those little paragraphs in the newspapers which gave her so much pleasure – partly because she knew that her grandmother would have given orders that they were to be kept from her if she was aware that she saw them – she heard a great deal about the Pavilion. Mrs Udney was constantly chuckling over the papers and Charlotte’s curiosity, which her grandmother would, she was sure, have called prying, made a bond between them. She did not dislike Mrs Udney half as much as she had once; and Mrs Udney’s way of calling attention to these paragraphs with a little chuckle or giggle or a clicking of the tongue was the sign for Charlotte to demand – imperiously so that Mrs Udney could not refuse – to see the paragraph.

There were references to Mrs Fitzherbert which she did not always understand but she did guess that Mrs Fitzherbert was not as happy as she had once been. Perhaps dear little Minney was not climbing on his knee so often. But quite a lot of the references concerned the Pavilion and since Charlotte had read of it she longed to see her father’s new bathroom. She slipped away from the throng of people – not easy for a princess, but Charlotte was nothing if not resourceful – and made her way to her father’s apartments.