The Duchess nodded complacently. She intended to guard her Alexandrina. And she was certain that she was as capable of doing so as the child’s father was.

‘Yes,’ Edward was saying, ‘I must take care of myself. You know my tendency to catch cold.’

‘I know it well,’ said his Duchess. ‘And you must take care. Our baby will need you.’

‘We shall have to live more simply. I must discharge my debts. It is somewhat expensive here, and the tradesmen are too close. The sea always agreed with me and the breezes would be excellent for the baby.’

‘They would,’ agreed the Duchess.

‘Where do you suggest? Not Brighton. I am sure he would object if we went there.’

‘No … not Brighton. That would be far too expensive. We must think of some little place … far away from the high fashion … and creditors.’

They discussed the matter for some days; and finally decided on Sidmouth.

The Duke’s barber applied the dye to his hair and his whiskers.

It was their secret.

I look like a young man, thought the Duke, and while I look like a young man I shall remain one.

He was thankful that he had not lived the kind of life that some of his brothers had lived. He had been abstemious in his habits; he had never become involved with women but had been faithful to Julie and now to his Duchess. He had been in control of his emotions so that now he had been forced to part with Julie he rarely gave her a thought, but had become devoted to his wife and daughter; he was fond of his stepchildren. He intended to live to a ripe old age and when he departed to hand over the throne – which by that time would be his – to a daughter who would have been taught that her destiny was to be a great queen.

Before Christmas they would set out for Devon; he had already made the plans in his precise way and decided where they would stop for the night during the journey. The Duchess would carry Alexandrina herself; she was too precious to be left to nurses.

Fresh air! he thought. What could be better? Alexandrina must be taught to appreciate it.

They left Claremont with as little ceremony as possible because he did not wish his creditors to know where he had gone. Not that he had any intention of not paying them; but they must learn to be patient.

The journey was long and tedious and the weather continued to be bitterly cold. The Duke, though, had set himself certain sightseeing tours on the way and no matter how bleak the conditions he would not alter his plans. As a result of one of these jaunts he caught a cold; the Duchess was angry with him, demanding to know what he would say if Alexandrina should take it from him?

‘What is a cold?’ he asked with a shrug.

‘I don’t want my child to catch it,’ retorted the Duchess grimly; and she would not allow him to come near the precious infant.

He laughed at her and said it would not be for long. He was the strongest member of his family; he always had been. Fresh air would soon cure his cold. He was a great believer in fresh air, and sea breezes were the best in the world. Oh, they had been wise to come to Sidmouth.

But as the days passed and it grew clear that the Duke could not shake off his cold, the Duchess grew alarmed.

She discussed the Duke’s health with his equerry, John Conroy, a man in whom she had great confidence. He had been an army captain but had decided that he could make a more exciting and profitable career in the Duke’s household; and in this he seemed to be right for he was a favourite with the Duchess, which was essential to keeping the Duke’s favour. Although Conroy did not look in the least like the Duke, they were of a type and many people noticed this similarity between them.

Conroy thought that the Duke should give up pretending that he merely had a bad cold which could be cured by doses of fresh air, take to his bed and see his doctors.

‘I will persuade him to it,’ said the Duchess firmly; but before she could do so Edward was so exhausted and unable to control his breathing that of his own accord he took to his bed. Before the day was out he was in a fever; and the doctors arrived to diagnose a congestion of the lungs.

The Duchess, alarmed, did what she always did in moments of stress – she sent an urgent message to Leopold who arrived shortly afterwards with his own doctor, Stockmar, in whom he had great confidence and who was his friend as well as his physician.

It was too late to do anything for Edward who was clearly dying. He should make his will without delay, said Leopold, and Dr Stockmar agreed with him.

The Duke feebly gave his assent and the will was drawn up and signed by him.

He lay back breathless on his pillows, a hint of whiteness showing at the roots of his hair and beard for he had been too exhausted to endure his barber’s ministrations; he had become an old man in a few weeks and as the Duchess stood at his bedside, herself weary and exhausted for she had been up nursing him for five days and nights, she was asking herself what effect this was going to have on Alexandrina.

She had left the child with her nurses – fearful that she might carry some contamination from the sickroom. Fräulein Lehzen was a treasure. No English nurse could have received the Duchess’s absolute trust, and little Alexandrina was safe with Lehzen until her mother could return to her and give her her full attention.

And as she sat by her husband’s bedside she thought of her relations presided over by the wicked Regent, who did not like her and was not impressed by the charm of Alexandrina. What would become of them if they were left to battle alone? But there was one thing they could not take from her. If Adelaide and William could not produce a child, then her precious daughter must be Queen of England.

Nothing can alter that! It was her triumphant thought as she looked at the man in the bed who, such a short time before, had been strong and healthy.

He was dying. She knew it. He knew it too.

‘Victoria,’ he whispered and she bent over him.

‘You will be alone.’

‘I have friends. Leopold … my dear brother Leopold.’

‘Listen to his advice. He will be a father to the child.’

She nodded.

‘The prophecy … Who would have thought I was one of them? It should have been …’

She shook her head. ‘Please don’t talk. You distress yourself. You are going to get better. I know it,’ she lied.

But he knew he was not going to be better. The prophecy had said that two members of the royal family would die and he was destined to be one of them. But there was that other prophecy. A great queen. Their daughter. It was something the Duchess must never forget now that he would no longer be there to remind her.

‘I will never forget it,’ she told him. ‘Her welfare shall be my main concern. She has been brought up by myself … I will trust no other with her.’

‘Oh, that I could have been there!’

‘You may trust me.’

‘There is no one else to whom I could trust our daughter.’

She nodded and pressed his hand firmly.

‘Rest now,’ she said.

He closed his eyes.

She thought of the day he had come to Leiningen, her indecision, their brief life together and the result of that union: her own adorable chubby precious child.

Everything had been worth while and soon once again she was to be a widow. She would never marry again. She now had her mission in life which was to prepare Alexandrina to be the Queen of England.

The Duke of Kent was dead and lay in a small house in Sidmouth.

John Conroy said: ‘We must take the Duke to Windsor for burial.’

But how? the Duchess wanted to know. The journey would be expensive. She had no money, and it would be a costly matter to take her family and their attendants and the furnishings they had brought with them back to Kensington and the funeral cortège to Windsor.

‘We must appeal to the Regent,’ said Conroy. ‘He will surely make himself responsible for the Duke’s funeral expenses.’

Dear Conroy! She wondered what she would do without him.

The Regent’s secretary wrote a cold note implying that his brother’s funeral expenses were no affair of his, but fortunately Leopold was at hand.

‘Leopold, what am I going to do?’ she asked him in distraction. ‘It’s clear that the Regent dislikes me, that he is not going to help and that he refuses to give little Drina the place she should have. He is a hateful, jealous man. He was just the same with his own daughter Charlotte. He cannot bear anyone else to be popular and of course the people adore my child.’

‘Let us be calm,’ said Leopold. ‘There is nothing anyone – even the Regent – can do to displace Alexandrina in the succession, except of course William and Adelaide, if they can produce a child. And that is a hazard we must face. However, it has not yet happened. The fact is that at the moment your daughter stands an excellent chance of ascending the throne being the first of the younger generation. The point, though, is getting the Duke buried, and you with your family and servants out of Sidmouth. But that is merely a beginning. How are you going to live? I believe you have very little money. The Duke left many debts which you will be asked to settle. Yours is not a very rosy prospect, sister.’

‘I know it well. Oh, Leopold, how unfortunate we are! You to lose your wife, I to lose my husband.’

Leopold looked at her with faint exasperation. How could she compare either of her husbands with his lovely young and vital Charlotte. But their cases were not dissimilar. He had been married to the heiress to the throne; and his sister might well be the mother of a future queen. How badly these English treated their German relatives whom they had brought into the closer circle of the family. They were noted for their quarrels; and now it seemed one was brewing between the Regent and his sister Victoria.

He sighed. He had been fairly handsomely treated, having been given an allowance of £50,000 a year. He supposed he could not allow his sister to live in penury and it seemed that the Regent would do little for her. And if Adelaide had a child she would be reduced to no importance whatsoever.

‘I shall go back to Germany,’ the Duchess was saying. ‘I will take up my life where I left it when I married Edward.’

‘That would be a foolish step to take,’ warned Leopold. ‘Alexandrina must be brought up in England. It is a great mistake for those who may well rule one country to be brought up in another.’

The Duchess was secretly exultant for she was entirely of his opinion, her point being that she did not see how she could possibly continue to live in England without an income.

Leopold as usual came to the rescue. He would pay the Duke’s funeral expenses; he would pay for the transport of the Duchess and her family to Kensington; and he would give the Duchess an income of £2,000 a year.

The Regent wept elegantly when he heard of the death of his brother. He told Lady Hertford that he was affected … deeply affected. Edward had not been his favourite brother, he admitted; but family ties were strong. He recalled so much from nursery days.

‘Your Highness was most displeased with him over the Mary Anne Clarke affair.’

Oh dear, how tiresome! It was definitely not the time to refer to that. Edward had broken one of the rules of the royal brothers which was ‘United for Ever’ and, some said, deliberately worked against the Duke of York. The Regent preferred to believe it was only malicious gossip but his opinion of Edward had changed since. Most decidedly it was not the moment to refer to it.

Lady Hertford could be extremely tactless. He looked at her coldly. She had never really brought him comfort. And to think that it was on her account that Maria had left him. How often did he regret the loss of Maria! Of course her temper had been exasperating and she had not been particularly kind and understanding to him since she had left him when he did not wish her to go, but how often he wished that she were back! He had given up everything for Maria – and she had left him! He was most unfortunate in his relationships. He was tied to a woman he loathed; Maria had deserted him; and Lady Hertford who had always been frigid was of little comfort to him.

But there was one other who occupied his thoughts quite frequently. This was Lady Conyngham. There was something so comforting about her. She did not give herself airs like Lady Hertford; she appeared to have an easy-going temper, not like Maria. Whenever it was possible he summoned her to his side and bade her talk to him and this she did in a carefree artless way which he found extremely diverting.