by Jean Plaidy
‘Foolish of me,’ she said, ‘but I am not used to being so tenderly cared for.’
Life had formed itself into a pattern – pleasant and comfortable. Those people who had predicted an early end to the love-affair between Mrs Jordan and the Duke of Clarence now sneered at them because they seemed to have settled into a cosy domesticity.
As William said to her often: he needed no one else but her. To be with other people meant that they could not talk together, be close to each other. Now he preferred his own fireside.
She was working at the theatre and he must be there to watch her play and to bring her home. When he saw Richard Ford at the theatre he was angry and once again tried to prevent his going back-stage. He was afraid that the fellow, having lost his prize, would do anything to regain it; and if he were to offer Dorothy marriage, which was the only thing he himself could not give her that Ford could, he was afraid her desire for respectability and her sense of duty towards her children might make her accept.
He told her of this fear and she laughed at him.
‘Nothing would make me go back to him,’ she declared. ‘Even if I was not in love with the best of men, I would never go back to Richard Ford.’
That contented him.
His brothers smiled at him indulgently. Frederick, Duke of York, was married unhappily. He and his wife did not live together and in fact could not bear the sight of each other. Frederick had his mistresses and the Duchess of York her animals. Her place at Oatlands, William told Dorothy, was more like a zoo than a ducal manor.
As for the Prince of Wales, he was going through a difficult time emotionally. But then he invariably was; but this time there was serious trouble, for he had become so enamoured of Lady Jersey that there was real danger of a breach with Mrs Fitzherbert.
William discussed the matter with Dorothy, expressing his concern.
‘Poor George, he loves Maria. I have always known that.’
‘But if he loved her surely he would want to be faithful to her?’
‘He is under some sort of spell. I don’t know what that Jersey woman has but George cannot resist her. Maria is a proud woman.’
Dorothy conceded that she was. She believed that Mrs Fitzherbert had not been as friendly towards her as the brothers had hoped because she feared they might be compared. Mrs Fitzherbert was very anxious that no one should regard her as the mistress of the Prince of Wales, although if she were his wife it was enough to abolish George’s hopes of the crown.
The affairs of the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York shifted the spotlight a little from William and Dorothy, and this increased their happiness.
But for his new experience of settling down as a husband William realized that he would have been restive. After a life at sea it was not easy to reconcile oneself to staying on land. He had hoped for a position in the Admiralty now that he had been made a Rear-Admiral but the Admiralty did not want him. He had a sense of duty which his brothers lacked, and was in fact more like his father than any of them.
He was often seen in the House of Lords and decided to take up the cause of the slave trade and work against the abolitionists. His speeches were long and verbose and when he rose to his feet a groan would go up throughout the chamber. He lacked the eloquence of the Prince of Wales, and his support of the slave trade brought him a certain amount of odium from those with more humane feelings.
‘I have seen the plantations,’ he had pointed out. ‘As a sailor I have visited these far off places. In Jamaica and America I have seen the system at work. To abolish the slave traffic will disrupt the plantations and will mean higher prices for certain commodities here.’
On and on and on with members promising themselves that when the Duke of Clarence was present they would make a point of slipping out.
William was no orator, no politician; and his understanding of state matters was not great. But because he wanted to be the family man, he must work. He was denied a place in his own profession, so he must do something.
He did not want to spend his time at the races, building extravagant residences like Carlton House and the Pavilion; he did not want to give fetes and balls. He wanted to live quietly and peacefully like a respectable country gentleman with one woman – as his father would have wished to do. But his father had his interest in the farm at Kew; he made his buttons; he had his duties as King of England, and much as he liked the homely life at Kew he must appear at St James’s when duty demanded that he should.
William, however – the third son – who, it was hardly likely would ever reach the throne, had had his career as a sailor brought to an end. He must do something. Therefore he decided to make his voice heard in the House of Lords.
Dorothy listened to his opinions, heard him rehearse his speeches. She knew the effect she was having on him. The gay young sailor he had been was being transformed into the uxorious husband; even his language had changed and the rather coarse oaths which he had picked up at sea were gradually disappearing. William was indeed settling down. And what could be more desirable than this cosy domesticity? Even George, the elegant adventurous Prince of Wales, had told William he envied him his peaceful existence.
William and Dorothy grew happier every day, and then Dorothy became pregnant.
During that spring Dorothy continued to play; her benefit was one of the most successful not only of hers but in the history of the theatre. She received £540 for one night’s performance and Sarah Siddons had only received £490.
William was delighted at her ability to earn money. When he remembered the pay he had received as a captain it seemed strange that his little Dorothy could earn so much in one single night.
‘And deserve every penny!’ he declared when he went back-stage to collect her.
There would be comments about this benefit in the press, he knew. The scribblers would sneer at him and suggest that Dorothy was keeping him. It rankled. He was constantly wanting to sue them. George had said he should try and forget it. It was the penalty of royalty; and if he had seen some of the lampoons on himself and Maria he would think these concerning himself and Dorothy very mild.
Then the irritation was forgotten, for Dorothy was ill. She had been working hard at the theatre and the pregnancy was proving a difficult one. Five months after conception she had a miscarriage.
William was in despair. He sent for the doctors. She would recover, he was told. She needed rest and care – that was all.
He was at her bedside throughout the day and night.
‘You must not fret, my darling. There will be more children… but only if you wish it.’
Dorothy was sad. She had wanted so much to have his child. And so she should, he assured her. But she must get really well first.
‘Oh, William,’ she said, ‘I feared I was going to die and I wondered what would become of the little girls.’
‘My darling, haven’t I given you my word to care for them? Besides, you have taken care of that.’
‘I worry about them, William. But this little one would have been yours, too. That would have been different.’
‘Don’t talk of such depressing things. You are going to get well. I am planning to take you to the Isle of Wight. The sea air is so beneficial. George swears by it. And I daresay you would like to see the children. I thought so. So I have told your sister to bring them here.’
They came with Hester. Dodee and Lucy happy to see their mother, Fanny taking in the details of Petersham Lodge.
‘Oh, Mamma,’ she whispered, ‘it’s so grand. When I grow up I want to live in a house like this.’
Fanny’s eyes hid secrets. What does she hear? wondered Dorothy. How could one shield children from the world? There was the gossip of servants, those pernicious paragraphs in newspapers.
But she must not fret. She must get well. William expected it of her.
George and Maria Bland came to see her and brought their twins – two healthy children; but Dorothy sensed Maria’s impatience with George. Sh
e was so much more successful than he was in the theatre and this was making a rift between them.
She was anxious. Since her mother’s death she had felt herself to be the guardian of the family and she could see trouble ahead for George.
Happiness was so elusive. How grateful she should be for William!
They did not go to the Isle of Wight for the Duchess of Cleveland offered them her house in Margate and they went there instead.
It was so pleasant to be by the sea and to live in the large and comfortable mansion as a simple country gentleman and his wife.
William was happy. His great task was to look after Dorothy; to make sure that she did not exert herself; it was, she believed, the happiest time of her life.
And when they returned to Petersham Lodge she did not take on any new engagements for a while. It was so comforting to be away from the competitive atmosphere of the theatre and while they remained out of the public eye the comments on them ceased to appear.
The Prince of Wales was the great target of attack on account of his debts, his love-affairs and the extravagant profligate life he led.
Dorothy was again pregnant and in the January of the year 1794 she gave birth to a boy.
He was big and healthy; and William was delighted with him. He carried him about the apartment insisting on calling everyone’s attention to his perfections; Dorothy from her bed smiled on them both. It was a picture of conjugal bliss.
They called the child George – after his uncle the Prince of Wales – and he was known from then on as George FitzClarence.
It was so pleasant to be simply a mother; and that was all she was for the following months. Her life was filled by William and the children, for she was soon driving over with young George to see the household at Richmond.
The three girls loved their half-brother, though Fanny was inclined to be jealous of him.
Why should he, silly little thing, be allowed to live in Petersham Lodge while they had to live in this little house with Aunt Hester?
Because Petersham House belonged to his father.
‘Oh, why wasn’t the Duke my father?’
How she wished that had been so. How happy she would be now if they were all William’s children. But life was not as simple as that. There was so much to be suffered before one reached happiness.
Sheridan called. He was in trouble. Drury Lane had not yet been rebuilt and he could not use the Haymarket this season because it was already leased to the Opera Company.
‘It’s the devil of a business,’ said Sheridan.
Dorothy was sure it was; but she could not greatly concern herself. Little George was proving to be a robust child, imperious and demanding. She adored him. So did William.
‘The New Drury Lane will be opening in April, I hope,’ said Sheridan. ‘Then, I trust you will do us the honour of coming back.’
‘The Duke insists that I take a long rest,’ she told him.
He grimaced and thought: We shall have to come along with some very attractive offers.
‘We shall doubtless open with an oratorio or something solemn,’ he told her, ‘and I hope for the attendance of Their Majesties.’
‘And the Prince of Wales?’
‘We don’t want a riot on the first night.’
‘Is he so unpopular?’
‘They’ve turned against him. That’s the mob all over. There was a time when he couldn’t put that charming nose of his into the streets without cries of Hurrah. It’s a different matter now. And then his Mamma and Papa are rather cross with him, you know. There’s always the big quarrel in progress. It’s handed down from generation to generation in the family.’
‘A pity,’ said Dorothy, and thinking of her beautiful little George she wondered how any mother could possibly quarrel with her son.
‘A great pity! There’s some anxiety because of the behaviour of our neighbours.’
‘Our neighbours?’
‘Across the Channel. Since they’ve cut off the heads of their King and Queen I don’t think those of ours rest any happier on their pillows.’
‘It couldn’t happen here.’
‘It happened there.’
‘But our King is so… so… He’s such a good man.’
‘Farmer George the Button Maker! There’s a certain tolerant contempt for him, it’s true. And Charlotte. They never liked her, though she has done no harm – except provide them with thirteen mouths to feed. I’m sorry, Dorothy. You’re one of the family now. William behaves with decorum since you’ve set up house with him. But George…’
‘The Prince of Wales, you mean.’
‘I’m sorry. I spoke disrespectfully. His unpopularity is a little… alarming at this time. Mobs are inclined to follow an example without knowing why. Debts! Building! Balls! Banquets! These were the grievances that were brought against the Queen of France. But I am depressing you, Dorothy; and you looked so charming when I arrived. So much the happy young matron. Don’t give what I’m saying another thought. I’ll just say there’s one thing which could make everyone happier… everyone except George himself, perhaps. And that’s if he married.’
‘Married… but isn’t he…?’
‘Maria! Well, he is and he isn’t. In the eyes of the Church but not those of the State. It’s the State that counts, Dorothy. If he takes a wife the people will be pleased. They prefer wedding celebrations to riots, I do believe. Then there will be children. And the people love children. They loved George when he was a child. Besides, he should marry. He’s no longer so young. He has to get an heir.’
‘I’m sorry for Mrs Fitzherbert.’
‘She’s been sorry for herself for a long time. You should be pleased if he married. Has it occurred to you that if he didn’t and if Fred doesn’t get children – and he’s not living with his Duchess, you know – your William might become a very important member of his illustrious family.’
She looked alarmed and he was quick to soothe her.
‘Don’t worry. It won’t happen. I’ll whisper a secret. Marriage is in the air… for George.’
‘But what if he refuses?’
‘He won’t. He’ll be caught in the net. It’s closing round him. Debts, Dorothy. They can govern a man’s life as certainly as any king ever did. I speak from experience… of the most bitter nature. George will be pressed into marriage by a gang of creditors. You see. Only not a word to William. It would distress him. I talk too much.’
‘You’re letting your imagination run on, Sherry.’
‘A habit of mine. It used to be a profitable one. Which brings me back to the theatre. It’s going to be sad at the Drury Lane without its comic genius. But you’ll come back to us.’
‘You’re very prophetic today, Sherry.’
‘In my profession it’s a useful gift,’ he told her.
She thought of what he had said after he had left. William… third in succession to the throne. The thought alarmed her. The Prince of Wales would be expected to marry; the people expected it. And if he refused and Frederick had no children…
William. No! No one ever thought that William could one day be King of England. And she refused to.
It was so much more comfortable to forget.
She called for her carriage to be brought to the door. It was a plain yellow one and no one would guess when they saw it who rode inside. She had made an appointment to call on her milliner, Miss Tuting, in St James’s Street. She would take little George with her. The airing would be good for him and the girls in the shop would enjoy seeing him.
It was a lovely day. Sunshine brightened the buildings and the trees seemed greener than they did during other years. It was foolish to be depressed by Sheridan’s gossip. William was the third son. If he were the second, there might be cause for alarm; but George and Frederick made a comfortable barrier between William and the State.
The carriage stopped before the milliner’s shop and Miss Tuting herself came out to welcome the important customer.
&nb
sp; ‘Mrs Jordan, this is a great pleasure. The girls have been excited all the morning. Your new hat is ready. It looks wonderful. And you have the baby. The girls will be beside themselves…’
And so into the shop where everyone was twittering with excitement. The news was carried to the work rooms. ‘Mrs Jordan is here. She has brought the baby!’
Miss Tuting went to the foot of the stairs which led down into the basement. ‘Girls, you may come up two by two to see Master George. I rejoice to say he is quite the bonniest child I ever saw.’
So Dorothy sat holding the imperious George who expressed lively interest in those who came to look and worship.
Miss Tuting’s right-hand, a middle-aged woman, was allowed to hold him while Dorothy tried on the hats which were being made for her and everyone turned their attention from young George to her.
‘I think the blue ribbon more becoming than the pink,’ twittered Miss Tuting. ‘And the roses… and the veiling. What does Mrs Jordan think? The young rascal is getting impatient for his Mamma. Oh, but how pretty she will look in her new hat, Master George. You will like that, eh? And the velvet… this silver colour gauze is most fetching.’
It was a pleasant morning. She was completely at home.
In an awe-inspiring silence she changed Master George’s linen in the shop and he, more comfortable, chuckled with glee as he was carried back to his yellow carriage by one of her grooms and carefully handed to his Mamma.
Riding home Dorothy felt that her life was pleasantly domesticated. She refused to consider Sheridan’s suggestions. Poor Sherry, he was perhaps a little envious. He had made such a failure of his life; while she had at last come to real success, which was not to be found in the applause of an audience, the glitter of jewels, the luxury of riches, but in a home – the shared love of a husband and wife and the family which between them they would raise.
A royal marriage
THE PRINCE OF Wales came to Petersham Lodge to talk over the disaster which was about to overtake him.
He sat in his chair, elegant even when he sprawled, one highly polished boot crossing another; his buckskin breeches moulded to his well-shaped though fleshy thighs; his green cloth coat of the most fashionable cut; his neck cloth a masterpiece of ingenuity to hide the swelling in his neck, the symptom of a distressing complaint which must always be hidden by the neck cloth which he had specially designed for the purpose.
