I enjoyed watching the carriages trundling through the streets—hackney coaches and private carriages, the phaetons, barouches, calashes—and of course the highly polished mail coaches the colour of claret, drawn by four splendid-looking horses driven by the coachman in his box coat fastened by enormous buttons of mother-of-pearl, in his big-brimmed hat looking very powerful and able to deal with any hazard of the road.

And the shops! How I revelled in the shops! We were treated with such respect, and chairs were found for us that we might rest while we studied the bales of material which were brought for our inspection.

Then there were the theatres. The opera houses in the Haymarket and Drury Lane and Covent Garden as well as the pleasure gardens, which were all a delight.

We saw little of Dickon and Jonathan. They were always on business somewhere. I wondered a great deal about Jonathan’s life here for it was true that he spent more time in London than anywhere—as I believe Dickon had done before his marriage. What a different life it would have been for me if I had married him, I thought a little wistfully.

But I should never have been sure of him. Jonathan could never be faithful to one woman. I doubted Dickon could in his youth; but Dickon and my mother were now truly lovers, as the Comte, my grandfather, had been with my grandmother. It needed real love to change men like that. Dickon had, strangely enough, found that love, as my grandfather had, and as I knew many people had marvelled in the change in the Comte, so they now did in Dickon. I guessed it must be something very rare. And I thought sadly that Jonathan had not yet reached that stage.

I was ungrateful to wish for anything different from what we had. I had the best of husbands, an adorable child. What more could one ask for?

It was the excitement of the big city and all the pleasures that were to be found in it that made me thoughtful. But were the pleasures important compared with peace and contentment and the knowledge that one could trust completely in a husband’s love?

One would not want to visit the theatre every night, to wander through the pleasure gardens, to visit the shops every day. These things were exciting because they were rare. Familiarity bred contempt. That could be true. I must learn to accept what I had, to realize its worth and be grateful for it.

My mother and I spent a great deal of time choosing our materials. Silk was very expensive since it had become scarce, for much of it had come from France in the past and of course that industry had halted when the people began murdering each other. The same applied to lace. No other people seemed to make these materials with the elegance of the French, so it took us a little longer to find what we wanted.

We went to the theatre in the Haymarket and heard Handel’s Acis and Galatea, which was an uplifting experience; and then for contrast next day we went to Mrs. Salmon’s Waxworks, close by the Temple. We were very amused by the effigies outside the door of an old match seller on crutches, carrying a basket of matches, and beside her a beefeater in the most splendid costume. They were so lifelike that people came up to peer at them and make sure that they were not real. How we laughed and marvelled at the figures! There were the King and Queen Charlotte with the Prince of Wales, side by side with Dr. Johnson and John Wilkes and other notable figures—all startlingly lifelike. I loved the next room, which was a pastoral scene with shepherds courting shepherdesses. In another room was a model of a ship in a sea of glass. So we felt we had good value for our sixpence entrance fee and bought some marbles and Punch-and-Judy figures from the shop which was part of the establishment.

“The children will love them in a few years’ time,” said my mother.

She and Dickon were to attend the royal wedding, for Dickon was influential in high places and of course my mother must accompany him. I was looking forward to hearing an account of the wedding first hand. We had already seen the wedding cake going into Buckingham House, and it was so enormous that it had to be carried in a coach. The people had cheered it as it went along its route.

The Queen was to hold what was called “a drawing room” and Dickon and my mother would attend this after witnessing the ceremony in the Chapel Royal at St. James’s.

I had told my mother that I was a little envious.

“Oh, these ceremonies!” she replied. “Everybody wants to have been asked to them but nobody really wants to go. While I am standing there making sure that my behaviour is exactly as it should be in the royal presence I’ll think of you and Jonathan relaxing at peace and enjoying the day.”

It was my mother who had suggested that Jonathan should look after me while she and Dickon were at the palace. “You’ll want to see something of what’s going on, I daresay,” she said. “And I wouldn’t want you on the streets alone.”

“I’ll take good care of her, Step-mama,” said Jonathan.

“All the rogues and vagabonds will be out today,” added Dickon. “I’ll swear the beggars and pickpockets come in from fifty miles away. They’re looking for good pickings. You’ll have to take care.”

“Trust me,” said Jonathan.

I told myself that I was thrust into this situation. It was no fault of mine that I was to spend the day with Jonathan. How could I possibly have refused to be with him? It was no use pretending that I was not exhilarated by the prospect and I warned myself that I should have to be careful.

I took pleasure in watching my mother while she dressed in her court clothes. She had always been outstandingly beautiful and in all her splendour she was very lovely indeed. No one would have guessed that she was the mother of a son old enough to be a soldier—and fighting with the French at that.

I watched them leave in the carriage.

Her last words to me were: “When you go out, keep close to Jonathan. You’ll be safe with him.”

If only she knew!

Jonathan gleefully told me that he had plans for the day and that he intended to make up to me for not being included in the royal invitation.

“You must be disappointed,” I said. “I was under the impression that you would be honoured.”

“Places are limited, and one for father and son would be asking too much. It is an omission which, in the circumstances, gives me untold pleasure. I intend to enjoy every moment of this glorious day. We shall start on our horses.”

“Jonathan,” I began earnestly, “I want you to understand I will not have…”

He interrupted me. “I assure you I shall behave impeccably. I can on occasion, you know. I have decided to dedicate today to proving to you that I am not such a bad fellow after all. I shall respect your wishes in every way. There! Does that satisfy you?”

“If I could believe you…”

“You can. On my honour.”

“I was not aware that you were overburdened with such a quality.”

“Then that is something else I have to prove to you. Let us go soon. The streets will be impossible as the day wears on. Get into your riding habit at once and we’ll leave.”

“Jonathan,” I began uncertainly.

“I swear to you nothing shall be done against your wishes.”

“I did not seek this.”

“It was thrust upon you. There. I understand everything. Go on… change. This is going to be a day to remember.”

As we rode out into the streets the bells were ringing and the guns were booming from the park and the Tower. Carriages were making their way to St. James’s and people were shouting loyal slogans.

“Nothing like a royal wedding to bring out the patriotism,” said Jonathan.

“Who would believe now that people in this country—serious politicians—such a short time ago feared we should follow the example of the French.”

“They still fear,” said Jonathan. “Don’t be deceived by the flagwaving and the loyal shouts.”

We turned into Hyde Park and rode along by the Serpentine.

“Is it true,” I asked, “that the Prince is going into this marriage reluctantly?”

“I’m sorry for him. She appears to be rather an unattractive creature.”

“I feel sorry for her.”

“You support your own sex, of course.”

“Naturally when the man is said to flaunt his mistress before his bride, and, by the way, has already gone through a form of marriage with a good and virtuous lady.”

“Life can be cruel,” sighed Jonathan. “I thought we’d get out of London. Let’s get down to the river. I know of an inn where we can get a good meal, and as many people will be coming into the city for the wedding, it will not be too crowded.”

We rode down to the river and beside it for some distance.

It was true that the farther we rode, the more peaceful it became.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

“To the Dog and Whistle. It’s an old inn I know. They serve the most excellent roast beef.”

“I shall not want to be too late in returning.”

“Have I not told you that you may trust me to deliver you safely and in perfect order to your dear mama? Don’t forget, I am proving myself… winning my spurs, I think they call it. I expect to emerge from this day with a shining halo. You are going to say: I misjudged him. He is not the villain I thought him.”

“I think I shall wait until the end of the day before passing judgment.”

I thought how handsome he was with his fair hair and those deep blue eyes. I was glad that wigs were out of fashion. One scarcely ever saw them now. They had gone with powder—another fashion eliminated by the revolution. My mother said that men were becoming careless of their dress, led by people like Charles James Fox. Dickon explained that they did it to show their sympathy for the revolution, while Pitt and the Tories refused to comply with the new ways and wore splendid scarlet waistcoats to show their loyalty to the monarchy.

It was a beautifully warm April—one of the loveliest months of the year with the birds in full song and the trees in bud, and I could not help feeling happy on that morning. For one day I was going to forget my past sins; I was going to take my mind off my guilt; I was going to be completely happy… just for today.

“April showers bring forth May flowers,” I quoted irrelevantly.

“Pray that the showers will keep off until we reach the Dog and Whistle.”

It came into view, standing apart from the few houses which formed the hamlet. The sign swayed gently in the light breeze. The dog was brown and the whistle a bright red.

“Follow me,” said Jonathan. “We’ll take our horses round to the stables. They’ll look after them while we eat.”

We went into the inn parlour. It was a charming room, oak-panelled, and brasses gleamed on the walls while a fire burned in the grate.

The host came out rubbing his hands together.

“Well, sir, this is a nice surprise… to see you here today of all days.”

“Shall we say, Thomas, we are escaping. This is my brother’s wife.”

“Good day, my lady. Welcome to the Dog and Whistle.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “I am told it is a most excellent hostelry.”

He bowed in acknowledgement of the compliment and turning to Jonathan said: “And your noble father is, of course, with the royal party?”

Jonathan said this was so. “I trust your good lady is well,” he added.

“Oh, Matty will be here in a trice when she hears what company we’ve got. She’s got nothing cooking till tonight, sir. There’s only the cold lamb and roast beef.”

“Put Matty out of her misery at once, Thomas. It’s the cold roast beef we’ve come for.”

“That’s a mighty relief. I’ll just call her.” He went to the door and shouted: “Matty! Matty! Guess who’s here.”

There was a patter of feet and a plump woman arrived, a mobcap on her thick dark hair and a white apron over her blue cotton dress.

Jonathan went to her and picking her up swung her round.

“Oh sir,” she said, dimpling, “you will have your ways, won’t you? And you here with a young lady… and no warning so that I can cook something special for you!”

“Then I shall send you to the Tower and insist that you are hanged, drawn and quartered.”

“Oh sir, don’t say such things even in a jest.”

“All right, Matty. I’ll be good, as it is a special day. We want some of your famous roast beef, of which Thomas assures me there is a goodly supply.”

“Give me fifteen minutes, sir, and you’ll be surprised.”

“Fifteen minutes, it shall be.”