by Deryn Lake
“I do. No man could act out the genuine concern he showed when he heard the news of your mishap, believe me.”
In the faint light, hugging her pillow, Fox’s words came back and with it a thought that had been plaguing Sarah for days. It would seem that the man for whom she had refused a crown had made a brutal joke of her calamity. Whereas he who had offered that crown, and whose happiness her rude refusal and stupid behaviour had for the time destroyed, was all heart, sorrow, and more attached than ever.
It was then, thinking about her dream, realising how eagerly she had awaited Susan’s report of what he had said and how disappointed she had felt that the King’s words had not been of a more personal nature, that it occurred to Sarah she had simply mistaken infatuation for love and now, for the very first time, was facing the real thing.
She hauled herself up in bed, moving awkwardly but smiling for all that. The most pleasurable sensations of a fluttering heart, the quickening of breath, a ridiculous desire to laugh joyfully, were sweeping over her.
“What a fool I’ve been,” said Sarah Lennox aloud. “I’ve missed what was right under my nose. Oh hurry up leg and mend. I must get back to Court. I’ve got to make it up to him. Oh my poor George, I’ve been a regular little bitch.”
But she felt confident, as she sank back against the pillows again, that she knew perfectly well how to put matters right and could imagine the kiss she and His Majesty would exchange at the very first precious moment they had alone together.
*
Sitting behind his desk in Holland House, the tips of his fingers together, his eyes gently closed, Henry Fox’s calm exterior belied the thoughts that were most unpleasantly racing through his agile mind. Never, in his opinion had it been so vital for outside interference to be minimised, for never had the forces against him seemed to be massing so strongly.
The first thing which had given the Paymaster cause for unrest had been the elevation of the Earl of Bute, plotter extraordinary and he of almost sinister influence over the King, to the rank of Secretary of State in the place of Lord Holderness. And not only Fox had been disturbed by this. A thrill of unease had run through the entire Court at this sudden extension of the Scottish nobleman’s power and, accordingly, that of Princess Augusta of Wales.
As if that had not been enough, rumours had followed. Everyone who was anyone was saying that the King’s mother had selected a bride for him, that a fifteen-year-old Princess of Brunswick had been picked and would soon be coming to England. It had been a horrifying thought and yet, when Fox in his usual cunning way, set enquiries in train there seemed to be no basis for the gossip. Yet still the Paymaster was not easy. Wedding talk seemed in the air and surely must have started somewhere.
Opening his eyes, Fox drew a piece of paper towards him and wrote the words New Battle Plan, then beneath started to make a list.
1. Go to Court tomorrow and finally ascertain whether the Rumour be true or false.
2. Write to Redlynch and discover how quickly Sarah will return.
3. See H M and speak of Sarah, judging his looks and replies.
4. Scotch the antics of Lady George for once and for ever.
Having done this, Fox closed his eyes again. For all the setbacks in the world he was still a politician and a fighter. If the house of Fox were to receive a slap in the face over the question of the royal marriage, at least it would not be for want of his trying to turn events in its favour.
Twenty-four hours later Fox felt that the Battle Plan had not been devoid of success. First of all, despite his most rigorous enquiries, there seemed to be no basis in fact, other than the uncomfortable belief that Princess Augusta was up to something, for the rumour that a German bride had been chosen for the King. Secondly, an urgent letter had been sent to Caroline, who was staying at Redlynch House in order to nurse Sarah back to health, asking for a firm date on which her sister could return to town. Yet again, in the same letter, Fox had stressed the importance of allowing neither Lord George nor his wife near the patient nor of letting Sarah out of Caroline’s sight. Finally, he was due to attend a Drawing Room that very afternoon and had every intention of dragging Sarah’s name into the conversation, then narrowly watching His Majesty’s reaction.
Actually, as things transpired, it was the King himself who first mentioned Fox’s sister-in-law, thus giving the Paymaster an ideal opportunity for setting his scheme in motion.
“Good evening, Mr Fox. I am so very glad to see you. I have been meaning to enquire after Lady Sarah. Does she continue to make progress?” was the opening gambit.
‘Right, my lad,’ thought the politician. ‘This is where you reveal all.’ Bowing, he said, “Indeed she does, Sir. In fact she will be returning to London within the next two weeks.”
This was both a guess and a gamble but it paid off. The King’s clear complexion grew slightly pink and his eyes literally started to shine.
“But that is wonderful news. I am looking forward so much to seeing her.”
“Let it be hoped that she does not experience too much pain when she starts to walk again.”
George visibly winced and the close observer suppressed a small sound of triumph. “I pray she does not. Do you know, Mr Fox, I still wonder whether I did wrong in not sending Hawkins to attend her. I feel I would only have myself to blame if she were to suffer unnecessarily.”
Fox allowed himself a smile. “Be assured, Sir, that she has been well treated. Lady Caroline tells me she is in excellent health and, unbelievably, more beautiful than ever.”
The King looked positively radiant. “I am delighted by that news. When did you say she was coming back?”
“Towards the end of the month, I believe.”
“Splendid,” said the King, and Fox, who knew exactly the moment when to stop talking, bowed as if he had been dismissed.
“There’s a man in love I’ll stake my life on it,” he murmured to himself. Now all that was left was for Sarah to recover quickly so that the wheels could be set in motion before Bute and his royal mistress made a move that would ruin everything.
As luck would have it the patient co-operated. The young strong limb knitted together and on 22nd May, Sarah Lennox’s three-month stay in the country finally came to an end. She left Redlynch House with Lady Caroline, bound for Holland House and all the adventures that lay ahead.
Henry Fox had given a great deal of thought as to exactly how and where he would relaunch his beautiful sister-in-law into Society and finally decided that the playhouse was the best possible venue for putting her on public display. Having ascertained that the King was definitely attending a performance that night, the politician saw to it that Sarah, arrayed in the most glorious new gown money could buy, was placed in a loge virtually opposite the royal box.
The King, as was customary, made his entrance only a moment or two before curtain-up and en masse the audience rose to its feet and stood as a mark of respect. George looked round, smiling, and then — oh triumph of triumphs! — caught sight of Sarah and practically fell into the stalls below. To say that he gazed was an understatement. His Majesty positively stared, while Sarah, a born coquette if ever there was one, looked at him from beneath lowered lashes and dropped a small curtsey in acknowledgment of his attention. It was at exactly that moment that the theatre lamps were put out and the King sat down, the rest of the audience doing likewise.
Henry Fox wondered afterwards how much of the play His Majesty could possibly have seen. From the Paymaster’s vantage point it seemed to him that George’s eyes were fixed on Sarah throughout the performance and she, whenever she looked up, could feel that china-blue gaze on her and flushed with delight in the semidarkness. If she had doubted at all that the King was in love with her, these thoughts were now dismissed. Separated by the audience as they were, she could still sense his adoration as if it were tangible. He had eyes for no one and nothing but her and did not care who saw it.
If she had had more than a moment to spare them
a thought, Sarah Lennox would have felt sorry for the actors who bravely struggled on despite the fact that every quizzing glass and lorgnette in the place was fixed on the King and the beautiful girl in the box opposite, not on the stage. Furthermore there were constant little sounds of “Ooh” and “Aah” as someone caught His Majesty smiling at the object of his affection. It was, in every way, an extraordinary evening and Sarah, her heart lifting with each passing second, felt she could not wait for next Sunday and the weekly Drawing Room when she would have the chance of speaking to the King withdrawn from the rest of the world.
Eventually the play came to an end and everyone stood again while the King left the theatre. He bowed handsomely to his subjects who, overexcited by the evening’s events, let out a hearty cheer. To Mr Fox’s jubilation there was another smaller cheer when Sarah swept out.
“Well, Sal, what did I tell you?” he said as the family climbed into their coach.
But she did not answer and when he looked at her closely the Paymaster saw that she had not heard him, too wrapped in her own thoughts to reply.
“What do you reckon on Sal for royal bride?” he said to Caroline as he blew out their bedside candle.
“I don’t know,” she answered, her voice close in the sudden darkness. “I wonder if a girl of Sarah’s temperament would make a good Queen.”
“Now don’t start that. What I meant was, do you think the King is in love with her?”
“Oh yes,” his wife answered firmly. “Of that I have no doubt whatsoever.”
*
Talk of His Majesty’s enraptured behaviour towards the beautiful Lennox creature in a place as public as the playhouse swept town in a matter of hours. Those who had been members of the audience and witnessed the declaration des yeux became the envy of others who had not. Invitations to the next Drawing Room were, of a sudden, prized possessions and by the time Sunday came only the very old and the very deaf were unaware of the buzzing excitement heralding what should have been a decorous and polite occasion.
Sarah had been in a twitter all morning, suffering the tortuous designs of Monsieur Claude, who had been urgently sent for, and simultaneously being pinned into a new ensemble which Caroline’s dressmaker was literally finishing upon her. The entire staff of Holland House, having heard the rumours coming from London even in far-away Kensington, were treating Lady Caroline’s sister with a certain new deference as if they already had the future Queen in their midst.
“Oh, Lucy, don’t,” said Sarah firmly as her maid almost fell to her knees in front of her. “There is no need for that. I am still your mistress and nothing more.”
“But everyone says you will be the King’s wife, my Lady.”
“I think we had better wait until His Majesty asks me before we get too excited.”
But for all that, it was hard to keep calm, particularly in view of her weather-cock emotions which had now swung violently away from Newbattle and towards the handsome young King who so openly adored her. Wondering whether she would get any opportunity to speak to George privately, the girl left Holland House in a flurry of nervous excitement.
Almost too tense for conversation, Sarah stared pensively out of the coach window towards the Green Walk that ran alongside the fields, remembering how once in the winter landscape a gleam of red hair had shown stark against the greyness when the unknown woman had stood and watched Mr Fox’s coach go by. Now, just for a second, glancing in that direction, it seemed to Sarah that a row of tall houses, their backs clearly visible, towered above Green Walk, indeed overlooked it. But closing her eyes then opening them again rapidly, Sarah saw that they had gone and knew that it had been a mere optical illusion.
There was the usual queue of coaches in the courtyard of St James’s Palace and the usual line of people waiting to be presented. Sarah was taken back in memory to her first Drawing Room in December 1759, when old King George II had embarrassed her so greatly and the Prince of Wales had taken pity and come to her rescue. Two thoughts struck her; first, that so much of moment had happened in the eighteen months since she had taken up residence in Holland House, and second, now she came to recall it, that the Prince had looked at her with admiration even then. Had it been love at first sight in his case, she wondered. Perhaps, very soon now, she would know the answer to that question.
It was immediately obvious that His Majesty had not been sure whether she would come or not, for as soon as he saw her he coloured up like a boy, a fact which Sarah found most endearing, and hurried up to her, his expression eager and pleased.
“My dear Lady Sarah,” he said joyfully, “how wonderful it is to have you back at Court. Have you completely recovered from your fall?”
“All but for a certain stiffness in the leg, Sir, which alas spoils my curtsey to you.”
And with that she lowered her eyes and made a reverence which obviously delighted him by its somewhat childlike clumsiness.
“Allow me to help you up.” And His Majesty did so, much to the pleasure of everyone in the room, who, to a man was openly staring in delighted anticipation of the tittle-tattle that lay ahead.
“And you, Sir,” said Sarah boldly, as he brought her safely to her feet and remained holding her hand a moment longer than was necessary, “have you fared well in my absence?”
A slightly sad look crossed George’s features. “Mainly, yes, though there is a great deal to think about always. But everything will be brighter now you have returned. You will be coming to the Birthday Ball of course?”
“I think my newly mended leg will forbid me from dancing, but I shall be present, you can rely upon it.”
“Lady Sarah,” whispered His Majesty surprisingly, “do you get the impression that we are being observed?”
Glancing round at the scores of pairs of eyes fixed beadily upon them, Sarah whispered back, “I do, Sir.”
“Then shall we step aside where we cannot be overheard?”
And with that the King headed for a window embrasure, taking Sarah firmly by the elbow, and sat down with her on the cushioned seat. Vividly reminded of the last time they had been closeted so, Sarah longed to make up for the many hurts she had given him for, in that moment, she could not see a king at all but an earnest young man, tall and elegant, with eloquent blue eyes in whose depths was written enormous tenderness.
Taking her courage in both hands, she said, “I think I owe you an apology, Sir.”
The clear eyes clouded. “What for, Lady Sarah?”
“Last time we sat in this place I was grumpy and not civil. The truth was I had fancied myself attracted to a certain person but fortunately discovered before long that I was not. I believe, Sir, that we conversed on a bad day and I humbly crave pardon for it.”
“I had forgot it,” answered the King.
“Had you really, Sir?”
“I had put it from my mind as not being typical of the Lady Sarah I had grown to admire.”
The object of his affection lowered her lashes, wondering if a declaration of some sort was about to be made, but in that she was to be disappointed for George simply added, “If you are able to dance at all on Thursday, Lady Sarah, I beg that the first shall be with me.”
She looked at him flirtatiously. “I am yours to command, Sir.”
“Then I command it,” he answered, and smiled.
The Drawing Room, that is to say everyone in it, seemed strangely silent as the King’s favourite returned to her family and he, obviously from duty, for his eyes constantly turned in Sarah’s direction, went off to greet his guests. Fox noted with glee that there was a radiance about his sister-in-law that he had never seen before and concluded, without mentioning it to Caroline who suddenly seemed strangely anxious about the whole affair, that Sarah had finally grown to like her royal admirer.
And there the Paymaster was right. As Lucy, with much effort, brushed out Monsieur Claude’s creation for the night, Sarah sighed but would not speak. And as soon as she was alone reached for her Journal that she mi
ght enter in it.
Tomorrow I will practise the harpsichord that he gave me and for which, like a Fool, I still have not properly thanked him. Did my Letter go astray, I wonder? Is it possible that it fell into the hands of Lord Bute? How I fear that Name, for it is certain if he and his Lady have their way I shall be sent from Court forthwith.
Downstairs, in Fox’s study, the Paymaster, more optimistically, was entering in his record of events.
The Sunday after, as soon as his eyes found her in the Drawing Room, which he did not expect, he coloured …
“… and came up to her eager and in haste,” read Sidonie, curled up on the sofa in the Garden Flat, smiling at the sheer exuberance, the sheer joy and love of it all, “… and talked much and graciously. But on Thursday, at the Birthday Ball he had no eyes but for her, and hardly talked to any body else.”
“Oh, dear George,” said the musician, laying down the library copy of The Life and Letters of Lady Sarah Lennox, “if only it could have been different for you. If only it could. With Sarah beside you who knows what might have been achieved?”
She picked up the book again and read on, smiling at the pictures Fox’s account of the King’s first Birthday Ball so vividly conjured in the imagination.
*
He had done the very best possible with his appearance, that was certain. For someone who was not vain, who considered himself a bit of a dullish fellow, King George III had made the effort of a lifetime. Clad in a midnight blue velvet topcoat and breeches, copiously embroidered with a gold and silver floral border pattern in silk, and wearing a superb waistcoat of ivory satin, his silken hose a matching shade of cream, the young man stared at himself in the mirror as his valet slipped the blue riband sparkling with diamonds over his shoulder. Tonight even he had to admit that he looked a little like his fairy-tale counterpart, a King who had stepped from a storybook ready to meet a fair Princess.
But at that word George frowned, thinking of the endless list of lumpy German females that his mother kept thrusting under his nose when all he wanted was to have Sarah for ever in his life, in his arms and in his bed. Yet how to persuade his formidable parent and her resolute friend, Lord Bute, that he wanted to marry an Englishwoman, moreover an Englishwoman of Stuart descent, the King simply did not know. In fact he dreaded the thought of such a confrontation and shied away from the very idea.
