Jean Plaidy - The Regent’s Daughter

‘I don’t believe it.’

Miss Knight shrugged her shoulders.

‘It’s not true, is it?’ begged Charlotte.

‘Why should your father say so if it were not? How should he know of it?’

‘I shall ask Leopold when he comes.’

‘He won’t come. He is leaving the country.’

‘No!’

‘On the Regent’s request. And your visits to the Duchess are to be considerably curtailed.’

‘I won’t have it,’ declared Charlotte. And then: ‘So he wrote to my father. He asked permission to call. The man’s an idiot.’

Miss Knight was smiling complacently and Charlotte could have slapped her. She wanted to burst into tears; she wanted to sob out her misery; but she wasn’t going to show Cornelia how deeply she felt.

So she railed against Leopold.

‘What a ninny! He asks permission. So he has gone away, has he? He won’t come to Warwick House? Well, I’m glad, I tell you. Let him stay away. I never want to see him again.’

IT WAS RIDICULOUS to feel so wretched over a man to whom she had scarcely spoken and who should be so timid that he must ask her father’s permission before calling; but she did. She was however, not going to allow anyone to know it.

She pretended to be excited about the banquet which her father was giving to the foreign visitors at Carlton House.

‘Come,’ she said to Louisa, ‘make me beautiful – if that’s possible.’

‘It’s the easiest thing in the world,’ declared the fond Louisa.

Had he thought her beautiful? Attractive? Evidently not attractive enough to risk her father’s displeasure for her sake!

‘Feathers, Louisa. Yes, feathers. They are so becoming. And what dignity they give. I need it. I think I am lacking more in dignity than in beauty. Don’t deny it, Louisa. And my silver tissue dress … the one trimmed with silver lace and embroidered in lamé. You know the one.’

Louisa knew it and she exclaimed with delight as she dressed her volatile young mistress in it. ‘If Your Highness could stand a little more still it would be easier. Feathers take such fixing.’

And the result – enchanting! But Master Leopold would not be there to see it. ‘Coward!’ murmured Charlotte.

Her father behaved as though there had been no conflict between them. The perfect host, receiving his guests, charming them, accepting their compliments on the exquisite taste of Carlton House and implying that all his effort in gathering together these artistic treasures was not in vain since it gave them such pleasure. She would never be like him, she thought wistfully.

The Duchess of Oldenburg was present. The Regent could not exclude her as he would have liked to do; and since the Tsar had arrived it was necessary for him to be constantly in her company for where her brother went so did she.

The Duchess approached Charlotte with a handsome man beside her. Not very young, this one, thought Charlotte. In his thirties perhaps. Not as handsome as Leopold, but far more worldly. Not the sort of young man who would run to her father if she gave him an invitation.

‘Dearest Charlotte, may I present Prince Augustus of Prussia to you.’

His bow was eloquent but not more so than his expression. He was quite clearly charmed by the vision in silver tissue and feathers.

‘F has seen you on several occasions, haven’t you, F? He’s really Friedrich, Wilhelm, Heinrich, Augustus – but F to me. Ever since, he’s been badgering me to present him to you.’

F! thought Charlotte. What delightful familiarity.

‘Well,’ said Charlotte awkwardly, ‘and now you have.’

‘It is an ambition realized,’ said F.

‘I am sure it does not stop there,’ laughed the Duchess. ‘I do believe you will find this young man a most entertaining creature, as I do.’

‘I shall hope to do so,’ said Charlotte.

‘You might begin by allowing him to dance with you.’

With that he took Charlotte’s hand and bowing to the Duchess – and somehow he managed to convey a great deal of gratitude in that bow – he led Charlotte away.

It was bold, of course. She looked anxiously towards the mass of people who were circulating about her father. He was hidden from view and since she could not see him presumably he could not see her.

They danced. F performed with grace and led her through the steps so that she felt she had never danced so well. He treated her as though she were a desirable woman rather than a princess on whom it was a duty to dance attendance. He reminded her of Captain Hesse and in a sudden panic she remembered that those letters were still unreturned … but she refused to spoil an occasion like this by thinking of them.

He told her that his father was Prince Augustus of Prussia and that he had fought against Napoleon and had been taken prisoner.

Was he married? Should she be presented to his wife?

He had no wife in actual fact, although he had been married de la main gauche as the saying went.

Charlotte’s eyes were wide; she giggled with mingled pleasure and confusion. No man had ever spoken to her in this way before.

‘For a man of my age and experience,’ he said, ‘you must admit that it would be surprising if it were not the case.’

Charlotte supposed it was and believed that if her father could hear this conversation he would be far more perturbed than at the prospect of a visit from Leopold.

But F – she was already thinking of him as that – would be the last man to run away for fear of her father’s wrath; she had a notion that he might be attracted by it.

He told her about his adventures in the Army and his conversation was racy and amusing. She was very sorry when it was necessary to do her duty to others of her father’s guests, but she found an opportunity to talk to F again.

‘Don’t think,’ he said, ‘that I shall wait to be presented again. We are friends now. If we don’t meet soon I shall write to you. I shall find some means of enjoying your company.’

‘My father would not permit you to call. A certain prince was requested to leave the country because he asked that permission.’

‘It’s sometimes a mistake to ask and the only wise thing to do is to take.’

How bold he was!

‘I shall write to you.’

‘The letter might be taken straight to my father.’

‘Oh … there must be someone who would help me. It would have to be someone who is in the plot.’

‘Plot. You call it a plot!’

‘I am determined to see Your Highness even if I have to plot to do so.’

She laughed. She felt happier than she had since Leopold’s desertion. At least here was one man who was ready to take risks for the sake of her company.

‘Who would carry my letters to you?’ he asked.

‘Cornelia Knight might do so.’

‘She will do this. I shall insist. Can you trust her?’ How deliciously exciting he made it all seem.

‘I would most assuredly trust Cornelia.’

Thus began the intrigue with F. Cornelia was against it at first but Charlotte had been so cold to her lately that she was anxious to win back her confidence and promised to help.

If only Mercer were at hand, thought Cornelia, they could discuss this together; and to ease her conscience Cornelia told herself that since Charlotte was set against the Orange match, F as a Prussian prince might be a suitable husband for her. If this was so, she was justified in helping them to carry on a clandestine correspondence.

Oh dear, she thought, I do hope Charlotte is not being too indiscreet. Had she forgotten the Hesse letters still not retrieved? Hesse was a villain not to send them back; again and again he made excuses and still he retained that correspondence, and heaven knew how far Charlotte had gone in that.

Yet, she thought, the Orange match is not to Charlotte’s liking, and Charlotte is not a princess who can be forced!

That was Cornelia’s defence for helping Charlotte to become involved with a worldly prince who was no newcomer to romantic intrigue.

The Princess of Wales was furiously angry because she was not included in the celebrations to welcome the visitors. It was yet another example of her husband’s contempt for her, and she assured her lady-in-waiting, Lady Charlotte Campbell, that she was coming near to the end of her endurance.

Cut off from her daughter! Shut out from the celebrations! What could she do? She could only react in the way her character dictated and that was to show them that she did not care. She rode out frequently in her carriage and when she did so she was cheered lustily. Rather different from His Highness the Prince Regent, she commented gleefully. When the people expressed their indignation that she was kept from her daughter she looked sorrowful and let them see her weep.

‘Shame!’ they cried.

She was going to discountenance the man who was responsible for her position and she thought of a way which would displease him most. He was taking the Tsar to the opera and she would be there too.

She chattered to Lady Charlotte Campbell while she was dressed and even her women who were accustomed to her strange costumes were taken aback by the sight of her that night in her velvet gown cut so low that her bosom was exposed.

‘And why not?’ she demanded. ‘It’s the best part of me, so I’m told.

‘Slap it on! Slap it on,’ she cried, seizing the rouge pot. ‘Paint me and don’t be sparing with the white lead. A contrast is so striking.’

She lifted the glittering diamond tiara and placed it on her black curly wig. ‘Magnificent,’ she cried. ‘He’ll have to notice me, won’t he? Couldn’t do much else.’

As if that were not enough she must add enormous black feathers to wave above her head over the tiara.

‘Where’s Willie? Willikin, my love, come and admire Mamma.’

Willie came, dressed in spangles, and her ladies looked at him in horror.

‘Madam,’ cried Lady Charlotte, ‘you cannot take the boy with you. You would lose all sympathy with the people if you did. It would seem as if …’

Caroline looked at Willie; her ladies thought him a stupid child, for he always had his mouth open, but to her he was beautiful. She frowned. They were right. How she would love to take Willie, to flaunt him in the face of the Regent, to make people say: Is he her child or isn’t he? But Campbell was right. It would not be wise.

‘Come and kiss Mamma before she goes, my love,’ she said. ‘She’ll soon be back with her boy.’

And the ladies were relieved. At least she was not going to commit the fatal error of taking him with her. Her presence there would be bad enough.

When they had got her safely into her carriage – quite a feat considering her bulk and the plumes, she settled down in her seat and thought with pleasant mischief of what was to come.

It was going to be a successful evening. She was aware of that from the beginning, for as soon as she entered the opera house the people rose to cheer her. She stood back in the box because immediately facing her was the Prince Regent with his guests.

‘The people are cheering you, Madam,’ whispered Lady Charlotte.

But she stood back. ‘Punch’s wife must take a back seat when Punch is there,’ she said with a grin.

This was astonishing, for her ladies had been under the impression that her sole purpose in coming was to make him feel uncomfortable.

And then of course the Regent gave his display of impeccable good manners. Although he loathed the thought of her, although he had not seen her for a very long time, he could not ignore the fact that she was in the opera house. He rose from his seat and gave her that most elegant of bows which, however much they reviled him, never failed to fascinate his people.

There were cheers then for them both; he ground his teeth in chagrin. It was ironical that the only way he could win their approval was by being polite to her.

The evening was a great success, she decided, because the Tsar of Russia could not keep his eyes from her box; he actually put up his quizzing glass and quite openly stared.

‘What a handsome man!’ cooed Caroline. ‘Ha, ha, I don’t see why he should not visit Punch’s wife although Punch has done all in his power to keep him away.’

What an evening. The opera over, the people cheered her in the theatre. She bowed to them several times and hoped the Regent was watching – which of course he was while pretending not to.

And then out to her carriage and the people surrounding it. ‘Long live the Princess of Wales. May your daughter be restored to you. Shame on them for parting you. Long life to Caroline and Charlotte and down with their persecutors.’