It was her dream that she would lure him away from the friends who were of no use to him—the profligate Barry brothers, the eccentric Major Hanger, the coarse Letty Lade and her husband. Fox would have been a better friend. As for Sheridan, he had become as wild as the Barrys and the Lades, following the Prince into many a foolish adventure, drinking, gambling ... and she supposed amusing themselves with women.

Sometimes he would be unconscious when they brought him home. How she hated his drinking! It was humiliating to have to share in his horseplay and she avoided it whenever possible. When she heard him coming in with his friends in a merry mood after an evening's drinking she would hide herself perhaps under a sofa or in the heavy curtains at the windows hoping that, finding the room empty, they would go away. It

was no use. The Prince would cry: 'Where is my Maria? Where is my Dear Love. Come out, Maria, if you are in hiding.' And then they would search the room, pushing their swords and canes behind curtains, under sofas until they found her and drew her out—when with shouts of triumph they would expect her to indulge in whatever sort of maudlin fun they fancied.

There was undoubtedly change.

She was anxious, too, about his position with his family. He had always been in conflict with his father, but it was particularly disconcerting that now his mother should be his enemy. She had heard that the Queen hated her son so much that she was ready to do anything to bring about his downfall. There was a rumour that she, Maria Fitzherbert, was to be accused of praemunire for violating the Royal Marriage Act by going through a form of marriage with the Prince of Wales.

She reminded herself that she had known that if she became involved with the Prince of Wales she was going to be very vulnerable to attacks from all directions.

'Why did I?' she asked herself.

The answer was that she loved him.

Yes, she did. She must face the fact. Perhaps it would have been easier if she had not. Perhaps she would have been wiser in her conduct towards him. Perhaps when she heard of those infidelities she would have left him.

But how could she? She considered herself married to him; she had sworn to love, honour and obey him; and she was a woman who kept her vows.

And fundamentally—she loved him. Even sensible women did not stop loving a man who they knew was not worthy of that love.

He could charm her with his gaiety, widi his gallantries, with his gracious manners, with his protestations of devotion. They were insincere, but she made herself believe them because she wanted to. She had heard a remark Sheridan had made of him which had wounded her deeply, the more so because she knew it to be true.

'The Prince is too much every lady's man to be the man of any lady.'

How true! she thought. How sadly true! There was a not very characteristic recklessness about the manner in which she determined to enjoy that summer.

Debts. They were her constant thoughts.

One morning she was awakened by her maid in her house at Pall Mall to be told that two gentlemen were below and insisting on admittance.

'Two gentlemen?' she asked. Was it a joke of the Prince's?

Miss Pigot came running into the room, her face long and indignant.

'It's the bailiffs,' she cried. 'They're demanding immediate payment of this.'

'This' was a bill for one thousand eight hundred and thirty-five pounds.

'Oh, Pig, how did I accumulate such a debt?'

'I don't know, but we've got to find it unless we want these men with us for weeks.'

It was even worse than she had anticipated as she soon discovered. The debt had been long outstanding and her creditors would wait no longer. Unless she could find the required sum before the day was out she would be conveyed to the debtors' prison.

'Oh, for God's sake, call the Prince. Go to Carlton House at once and tell him what plight I am in.'

He came at once. That was one of his most lovable qualities. He would always be gallant and a lady in distress would receive his immediate compassion. A lady in distress! She was his wife. And the debts incurred had been through entertaining him.

He was with her in as short a time as it took to come from Carlton House.

'My dear, dear love, what has happened? These wretched people are bothering you.'

Prison! For his dear love! It was ridiculous.

But they would have to find the money, Maria told him.

'Leave it to me/ he replied, embracing her; he was always lighthearted about money. He never took it seriously. Debts? Oh, they were one of the little pinpricks in the life of royalty. One incurred them and they were settled.

Perhaps for princes, Maria reminded him. But what of people like herself?

'No one is going to bother my dear love,' he told her. 'I will go with all speed to the moneylenders/

He was back not long afterwards with the money.

Beaming with satisfaction he paid the debt and the house was free of its unwelcome visitors.

He then explained that the Jews had refused to advance him the money until some of his own outstanding commitments had been met.

'So, my dear, what do you think I did. I've pledged some of the jewels and plate from Carlton House.'

'Your jewels and plate!'

This was a situation that appealed to him. With tears in his eyes he declared that he would pledge his life for his dear love.

He stayed with her; they laughed; they were lovers as they had been in the first days after the marriage ceremony.

She was as happy as she had rarely been.

But those were uneasy times.

The Quarrel

Early the following year the matter of the Prince's debts had become so acute that he had no alternative but to appeal once more to his father.

The King received him with sorrow. Since his illness he wanted to be reconciled to his son and as he himself had become more mellow, the reconciliation might have taken place had not the Queen been determined to present her son to his father in the worst possible light.

But the quarrel between the Court and Carlton House was having disastrous results on the Monarchy and both the King and the Prince realized that it was unwise to show their dislike of each other so blatantly. This was brought home to them afresh with news of the terrible things which were happening across the Channel.

The Princess Royal, now twenty-five years of age, was aware of the harm the family quarrel was doing and tried to reason with her mother, but the Queen, having so recently acquired her influence, was not going to allow her daughter to interfere with it. Her dislike of the Prince of Wales was like a disease. It possessed her and it seemed there was no cure. She was delighted at the scurrilous reports of his liaison with Mrs. Fitz-herbert which filled the newspapers, and when the Princess Royal pointed out that that lady had always behaved with the greatest decorum the Queen poohpoohed the suggestion and

said that of course the woman was a scheming adventuress who hoped to take advantage of the Prince of Wales's folly. When Maria brought an action against one pamphleteer the Queen read the accounts with glee; but when the writer was fined and imprisoned and the affair appeared to be a warning to others not to incur further penalties, the Queen was disappointed.

How like the Prince to commit the ultimate folly, thought the Queen. To marry a commoner ... and a Catholic. If he had had any sense of his duty he would be married now to a suitable German Princess and have one or two lusty sons to ensure the succession as his father had done.

The best way of disturbing the Prince was to force public enquiries into his so-called marriage with Mrs. Fitzherbert. Let him be disturbed. It was only right that he should be called on to do his duty.