Hervey went white with rage.
‘Does His Highness know that it is Lord Hervey who waits on him?’
His Royal Highness did know, but it made no difference.
He saw the Prince come out of his apartment in the company of Miss Vane and a vulgar person of immense bulk, dressed—or rather overdressed—in brocade and embroidery, with jewels, someone whose name he did not know and, except for the fact that he was in the company of the Prince of Wales, would not have wished to know.
‘Who is the tradesman with the Prince?’ he asked. ‘A merchant in rich materials obviously.’
‘No, my lord,’ was the answer. ‘It is the Prince’s friend, Mr George Bubb Dodington.’
‘Bubb Dodington!’ cried Hervey, looking as though he were going to faint. ‘I never heard of the creature.’
Then he walked soberly away. What had happened during his absence? He knew that he had been a fool to stay away so long.
The situation became clearer to him every day. He was no more than an acquaintance to the Prince, who greeted him civilly when they met but showed no desire to be alone with him.
It was intolerable. That he, the elegant wit, could be replaced by that ... buffoon! It was unendurable. He knew who was behind this. He had seen the malice in her eyes. She had arranged this out of pique. Because he had ceased to become her lover, because he had shown no resentment that Frederick was, she had sought to take her petty revenge.
Well, she should see what happened to those who dared behave so to Lord Hervey.
The Prince’s Mistress
IN the Queen’s apartment the company were playing quadrille. Caroline had no wish to join. She was a little tired, though determined that none should guess it. Mrs Clayton was hovering, but the Queen could not bring herself to look at her attendant—and friend.
The relationship between them had changed subtly since Charlotte Clayton’s discovery of what ailed the Queen. Charlotte never referred to this as she knew well that it was the Queen’s wish that she should not; but it was there between them. Charlotte had a great many humble relatives and it was one of her hobbies to find places for them.
The Queen sighed. It seemed that since the discovery Charlotte had brought forward a greater number of indigent relatives. ‘Your Majesty, my niece ... my nephew ... my cousin ... would like this or that....’
There was no threat. How could there have been? How could Charlotte blackmail the Queen? Besides, there was great devotion between them. But Caroline always saw that Charlotte’s wishes were gratified; and Charlotte enjoyed playing the benefactress in her impecunious family, for that must have been very pleasant to a woman who craved for power. Craved for power? Did she? As any would. She was regarded, through her place at Court, as the head of her family; and clearly she enjoyed it.
And in her heart Caroline knew that what Charlotte asked—in reason—would be hers because of the secret they shared.
Henrietta Howard was restive. She was always restive nowadays. She had no longer any desire to stay at Court. It was true her position was growing more and more humiliating. The King still called at her apartments precisely at the hour he always had. But he spent the time in abusing her, telling her of his dissatisfaction with her. Poor Henrietta! She was longing to escape. Where to? That scoundrel of a husband of hers who was being paid by the King to allow his wife to stay in the Queen’s employ? A very uneasy position for everyone. And the King was casting covetous eyes on silly little Lady Deloraine who was governess to Mary and Louisa. She was an extremely pretty woman and had a connection with royalty because her husband’s father had been Charles II’s illegitimate son, the Duke of Monmouth. A sad position for Henrietta, who was no longer even the King’s mistress; and who should have left Court long ago and would have done so if the King had been helped to break a habit of years standing.
And how can I help him, sighed Caroline, when in Henrietta’s place there might be some charming, scheming, clever woman.
Life it seemed would never run smoothly. Frederick was a constant anxiety. Charming and affectionate towards his parents as he was in public, in private he showed his dissatisfaction with what they did for him. He wanted more money; he wanted more prestige; he wanted to marry.
He must have none of these ... yet. She and Walpole could not afford to have such a rival, and rival he would quickly become with those wolves of the Opposition ready to pounce on him and make him the centre of a Party which, with Frederick at its head, might well win public support. She remembered the old days of strife between the previous King and his son. History had a way of repeating itself.
Young William was looking handsome and bright tonight; but as soon as he set eyes on his brother he would appear sullen, for he refused to hide his feelings and he deeply resented Frederick. The girls were present. Amelia looked by far the handsomest of the three, but how she favoured masculine styles and she was far too fond of outdoor sports and, Caroline knew, excelled at them. She was bold, perhaps a little brazen. One might think so now to see her openly flirting with Grafton. What a bold and handsome fellow Grafton was. Another result of the promiscuous life of that indefatigable lover Charles II. Grafton was the son of Barbara Castlemaine’s son and claimed to be the grandson of Charles Stuart. These people gave themselves airs and secretly, Caroline guessed, believed themselves to be more royal than the present German branch of the family. Grafton doubtless thought he had a chance with Amelia and Amelia would be nothing loth.
Where are we going to find husbands for the girls? sighed Caroline. It was so difficult being firmly Protestant, which they must be since it was the reason why the English had accepted them, when almost every eligible Prince in Europe was Catholic. It restricted choice so; and now that Sophia Dorothea’s double marriage scheme had come to nothing, what of a husband for Amelia, what of a wife for Frederick?
She and Walpole were not anxious to provide a wife for the Prince of course, for marriage would add to his importance. But it was certainly time Anne was married. And she was getting bitter too.
And there was Grafton trying to compromise Amelia so that marriage might benecessary.
Life was full of difficulties.
And Caroline was stooping a little, which was worrying because she was so delicate, learning to dislike her elder brother because all the others did, particularly William who would have been the Prince of Wales but for Frederick—and how she wished he had been.
She disliked her eldest son. She might as well face it, for to say anything else would have been hypocrisy. If only he had never been born there would be much less strife in the family because it was only since his coming that the trouble had been so pronounced. If she could only find suitable husbands for the girls, if William could be Prince of Wales, and being so young he would not be of age for many years which would give her and Walpole—and of course the King—years of freedom to rule as they thought fit, without interference from an Opposition which each day was seeking to draw Frederick into its net.
Troubles swirling around, conflict within the family circle! It seemed what they must always expect.
Frederick had come in and had created the usual stir. They were bowing and curtseying which was only right of course as he was the Prince of Wales. He came to her and she tried to see him dispassionately—a little man, like his father, neat as George was, and elegant too; he paid attention to the minutest detail of dress, as George did. He was so like his father that this should have endeared them to each other. It had the reverse effect. Frederick lacked his father’s quick temper. One could never imagine Frederick’s taking off his wig and kicking it round the room—a trick of George’s in the old days. Frederick was too careless; all he wanted was to enjoy life in the company of his chosen friends. And his chosen friend now was that impossibly vulgar Mr Dodington.