Perdita's Prince: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  Mrs Denton was leaning forward in the box pointing out this person and that, excited and honoured to be present. How difficult life was! sighed Perdita. She wished she had not come.

  ‘There is the Duchess of Devonshire,’ whispered Mrs Denton. As if I did not know the creature, thought Perdita. ‘Is she not beautiful? And her gown! No wonder she is the leader of fashion.’ Is she! thought Perdita. Indeed she is not. I can outshine her any day. And I will. The arrogant woman snubbed me in Pall Mall. I shall not forget it.

  And the Prince was talking to the Duchess and showing so clearly that he admired her and was delighted with her company.

  ‘Of course she is very clever and her house is the meeting place for the Whig opposition. His Majesty won’t be too pleased to have her here, but it’s clear the Prince is delighted. And look … Oh, is she not beautiful! The tall one with the golden hair. I know who she is. Mrs Grace Elliott. There was a big scandal about her. I wonder the Queen allows her to come to Court.’

  ‘She is too tall,’ said Perdita.

  ‘Do you think so? They call her Dally the Tall. It’s because her name was Dalrymple before she married Mr Elliott … who divorced her, I might say.’

  Perdita pursed her lips. Such a woman could mingle with guests while virtuous people must be seated in boxes!

  ‘Oh … look.’

  Mrs Denton had no need to direct Perdita’s attention for she had already seen. The tall Mrs Elliott had selected two rosebuds from her corsage and had approached the Prince, curtsied and offered them to him.

  ‘What … blatant impudence!’

  ‘They say she is very free in her manners, but … at a public ball …!’

  ‘It is quite shocking.’

  ‘He’s taking them.’

  ‘He’s too chivalrous to do anything else.’

  The Prince was standing smelling the rosebuds while Grace Elliott remained before him, smiling complacently. Then the Prince looked up at the box and caught Perdita’s eye.

  He called to one of the members of his suite and handed the rosebuds to him.

  ‘What does it mean?’ twittered Mrs Denton.

  Perdita was silent. It was a direct insult to her. This tall woman with the golden hair was telling her, and the Court, that she was ready to be – or already was – the friend of the Prince of Wales; and the fact that he had taken the flowers was almost an acknowledgement of this.

  There was scratching on the door of the box.

  Perdita did not look round; she felt too mortified.

  Then a voice said: ‘Er … Mrs Robinson …’ And she saw the gentleman of the Prince’s suite to whom he had handed the flowers standing there in the box and holding in his hands the rosebuds.

  ‘With the compliments of His Royal Highness, Madam.’

  Perdita felt almost hysterical with joy. She took the roses. She was well aware of the watching eyes. Dramatically, as though acting for an audience, she put the rosebuds into her corsage making sure that they were very prominent.

  She sparkled. It was a successful ball. No matter that she must sit in a box while others danced with her lover. He had shown his regard for her publicly.

  She was happier than she had been for some time.

  *

  The King and Queen were at Windsor – not so homely and comfortable as ‘dear little Kew’ but preferable to St James’s.

  The Queen was pleasantly excited and the King was pleased to humour her.

  She explained to him: ‘It is always pleasant to see people from one’s native land even though it has ceased to be one’s home.’

  The King could see this point.

  ‘Herr von Hardenburg and his wife are charming people. I trust you will honour them with an audience.’

  ‘Pleased to, pleased to,’ said the King.

  ‘They have with them a young woman … about eighteen years of age. She is very pretty and of good family. I wish them to be comfortable during their stay here.’

  Any such problem pleased the King. There was nothing he enjoyed more than planning domestic details. So he threw himself wholeheartedly into the matter and questioned and cross-questioned the Queen about the arrangements which had been made for the Hardenburgs.

  She had asked that a house be found for them in Windsor; and she believed that they were very happy there. They had several small children and Fräulein von Busch, the young lady whom they had brought with them was such a pleasant creature … very handsome but modest; the Queen was sure that His Majesty would find her a pleasant change from some of these garish women who seemed to be considered so fashionable nowadays … women like the Duchesses of Cumberland and Devonshire …

  ‘Dabbling in politics,’ grumbled the King. ‘Never should be allowed. Women … in politics, eh I what?’

  The Queen did not answer, but her resentment on that score was appeased a little. There were ways in which women could play their part in state affairs – for the amours of a Prince of Wales could be state affairs, witness the way he had fallen into the hands of Mr Fox – subtle ways; and because she was not pregnant she now had the time and energy to exert herself in her own particular brand of statescraft. And the King knew nothing about it. Comforting thought.

  She suggested that they go for a drive and ordered the coachman which way to go. This took them past the house occupied by the Hardenburgs and as Frau von Hardenburg was in the garden with her children and swept a most demure and becoming curtsey, the Queen ordered the coachman to stop.

  ‘Would Your Majesty allow me to present these pleasant people to you?’

  The King was happy that this should be so. Beaming with goodwill he even condescended to dismount and go into the house.

  It was pleasant to talk in German again. Even the King spoke in it as though it were his native language. The Hardenburgs were delighted and honoured. The wife, the King noticed, was a very pretty woman indeed, and as for the children they were quite enchanting. The King sat down and took several of them on his knee, questioning them and smiling at their bright answers.

  ‘Charming, charming,’ he muttered.

  And there was Fräulein von Busch. What a pleasant creature! Plump, pink and white, golden haired and so modest.

  When the visit was over and they rode off the Queen was smiling complacently. As for the King he declared himself to have been enchanted.

  ‘Must make friends from Germany welcome. Very nice people. Homely … pleasant … eh, what?’

  The Queen agreed that the Hardenburgs – and Fräulein von Busch – were indeed homely and pleasant and she could wish that there were more like them.

  *

  The Prince came down to Windsor. This was what the Queen had been waiting for. The King had gone to London on government matters, and she had taken advantage of his absence to summon the Prince.

  Windsor, thought the Prince. What was there to do in Windsor? There was only one place to be and that was London.

  He was bored; he could not think why his mother had sent for him.

  Did she want to chatter to him of what a bonny baby he had been while she did her tatting or sewed for the poor (Pious Person in the Palace of Purity). If so he would return to London at the earliest possible moment. He would do that in any case.

  ‘You should drive with me,’ said the Queen.

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘Because the people would like to see us together.’

  So he rode with her and the carriage stopped at the Hardenburgs’ house and there was Frau von Hardenburg in the garden making a pretty domestic scene with her children which would have delighted the King, but the Queen feared it would not make the same impression on the Prince of Wales.

  ‘I should like to present you to these visitors from Germany.’ She spoke quickly knowing that the Prince did not care to be reminded of his German ancestry.

  The Prince was however extremely affable – and how charming he could be when he wished to!

  He stepped down from the carriage a
nd went into the house; and there was the enchanting Fräulein von Busch, flushing with her realization of the honour and looking so pretty and modest.

  The Prince was clearly impressed. On the drive back he asked a great many questions about the Hardenburg ménage.

  *

  The Prince stayed at Windsor to make arrangements, was his excuse, for his birthday ball in August. He would be nineteen – only two years off his majority. In the last year he had changed considerably; in the next two years there would be more changes.

  In the meantime he was happy – yes, really happy to stay at Windsor, and the Queen was so pleased with the success of her little bit of diplomacy that she was looking forward to telling the King about it when the Prince had given up that play-acting woman and his Whig friends and settled quietly down with that young German girl who would do as she was told and help to guide the Prince to a better life. How amazed His Majesty would be! Perhaps he would realize then that women were not such fools. After all it was the Duchess of Cumberland who was the leading light in Cumberland House. But one did not have to be a bad woman to be clever.

  She knew that the Prince was calling frequently on the Hardenburgs, and about two weeks after she had introduced the Prince to them, Schwellenburg came bustling into her room in a state of some excitement.

  ‘Haf news. Said vill tell Her Majesty selfs. Herr and Frau von Hardenburg left … is gone.’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘To Germany. The childs are there. He come back for them.’

  ‘You mean that Herr von Hardenburg and his wife have gone away and left their children behind?’

  ‘Come back for them, Fräulein von Busch stay and look after them.’

  ‘So Fräulein von Busch is here. But how strange. Why have they gone?’

  Schwellenburg looked sly.

  ‘Herr Prince,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He likes too much vimen.’

  ‘But … Fräulein von Busch …’

  ‘It is Frau von Hardenburg he likes … so her husbint say. There is von I can do … I take her vay from Herr Prince. So he go in night … and come back for the childs.’

  The Queen could not believe it. She called for her carriage; she went to the house. There she found, as Schwellenburg had said, Fräulein von Busch looking after the children.

  She explained in German that Herr von Hardenburg had thought it wiser to leave at once for he feared that their Majesties would be as displeased as he was by the Prince’s too fervent attentions to his wife.

  The Queen was dumbfounded. Frau von Hardenburg! When there was this fresh young girl brought over for one special reason.

  She could not understand it. Her little effort at diplomacy had failed. And that day the Prince, bored with a Windsor that did not contain Frau von Hardenburg, returned to London.

  Danger on Hounslow Heath

  ONE THING HE was sure of, he was tired of Perdita. Her continual hints of sacrifice, her frequent tears, the theatrical tones in which she talked of her position and her wrongs, the turgid sentimental poems she was fond of writing – and they were all addressed to him – these were more frequent than the gay times. He was beginning to make excuses for not calling at Cork Street. And when he did call his visits were enlivened by the brief chats he indulged in with Mrs Armistead.

  He was discovering how handsome she was, and she always seemed so sensible when compared with Perdita. When he kissed her hand in an excess of gallantry she did not protest or show any surprise but accepted his attentions as natural. Even when he went so far as to kiss her lips she returned the kiss in a sensible way.

  He was greatly intrigued; and one thing the Hardenburg affair had taught him was that he no longer had any intention of remaining faithful to Perdita.

  He had already accepted Grace Elliott’s invitation to be her lover. She was amusing – just what he needed as an antidote to Perdita. A little cynical, extremely worldly; and a woman to whom one did not have to swear eternal fidelity every few minutes. He knew what his affair with Grace meant. It was good while it lasted and when it was over there would be no recriminations on either side. He knew that Grace had several lovers. He believed Cholmondeley was still one. There was St Leger, Selwyn, Wind-ham … Safety in numbers. He could be gay with Grace.

  But he was tremendously intrigued with Mrs Armistead. In fact it was an unusual situation. He visited the mistress and desired the maid. Opportunities would have to be made for they could not very well make love under Perdita’s nose.

  She would be different from everyone else, he was sure.

  His Aunt Cumberland knew that Grace had become his mistress and was delighted.

  He talked of Mrs Armistead.

  ‘Intriguing creature,’ agreed the Duchess; and thought how amusing it was that under her very roof Perdita was housing a rival. If she but knew! And she would, in due course. Silly little Perdita had some shocks coming to her. ‘A meeting with Mrs Armistead could easily be arranged.’

  ‘It’s a devilishly ticklish situation.’

  ‘You will not have to consider it so much longer, I gather.’

  The Prince looked startled. Of course he would not! How much longer was he going on with this farce of being Perdita’s devoted lover? Why should he not meet the interesting Mrs Armistead if he wished?

  ‘Why not invite her to Windsor. You could meet at an inn there. That would be discreet. I am sure the good woman would wish for discretion.’

  ‘An inn at Windsor. Why not?’

  ‘You will have to go there for your birthday celebrations.’

  He was thoughtful. He could not help remembering the inn on Eel Pie Island to which he had gone in such a state of ecstasy.

  His uncle appeared.

  ‘Ha, so we have the pleasure of His Highness’s company. Looking well and debonair. Better to be the lover of women in the plural than in the singular.’

  ‘He speaks from experience,’ said the Duchess coolly.

  ‘Am I right or wrong, eh, Taffy?’

  Taffy? thought the Prince. Oh, Wales, of course. It struck a discordant note. Taffy.

  It occurred to him for the first time that his uncle was a very crude man and that he did not really like him very much.

  *

  Perdita was not at home. Gorgeously painted and patched she had gone out for one of her morning drives. She had not felt in the mood for such an outing, she told Mrs Armistead; the Prince’s attitude lately had worried her. But she did not want people to notice that she was less happy than she had been. The Prince was young and gay and he had fallen into bad company; and as she naturally had tried to make him understand this, it had caused a little lovers’ quarrel.

  Mrs Armistead, who had overheard the lovers quarrel, thought it far from little. She had already decided that Perdita had not very many weeks left to her in which to bask in the glory of the Prince’s favour. Let her dress in her silks and muslins, her fantastic hats. Poor creature, she would very soon be dislodged from her position.

  So she had driven out in the ostentatious coach with the wreath of flowers which looked like a coronet and she would be gone for at least another hour.

  Mrs Armistead, reviewing her mistress’s position, was in fact thinking of her own. Things will change mightily when we have lost His Highness, she thought. Would that be the time to retire to Chertsey? She had not only her house but enough money to live on in modest dignity. Mr Fox was her friend. He would visit her there and they would talk politics together; he had paid her the compliment of actually letting her share in a discussion with him and although perhaps she could not go so far as to say he had taken her advice, he had listened to it.

  The footman came to her room to announce that a Mr Meynel had called from the Prince of Wales.

  ‘Mrs Robinson is not at home, but perhaps I should see him. Bring him in,’ she ordered.

  Mr Meynel appeared and bowing asked if he had the pleasure of meeting Mrs Armistead.

  �
�I am Mrs Armistead. But I’m afraid I have to tell you that Mrs Robinson is not at home. Any message you care to leave …’

  ‘I have not come to see Mrs Robinson, Madam, but yourself.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Yes, Madam. His Highness the Prince of Wales asks that you take supper with him.’

  Mrs Armistead flushed a faint pink. ‘Is this really so?’

  ‘Yes, Madam. His Highness is shortly leaving for Windsor; he wishes you to take supper in an inn near that town, and wishes to know whether you accept this invitation.’

  ‘His Highness does not issue invitations but commands.’

  Mr Meynel inclined his head in acknowledgement of the truth of this statement.

  ‘Then, Madam, I am to understand you accept His Highness’s command?’

  ‘Being fully conscious of the honour, indeed I do.’

  ‘I will tell His Highness, who I am sure will be delighted.’

  ‘And when …?’

  ‘Madam, you may leave these arrangements to me. A carriage will pick you up and take you to the inn. All you must do is hold yourself in readiness. You will have notice.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I shall await His Highness’s instructions.’

  Mr Meynel departed and Mrs Armistead sat down, for once without her usual serenity. So it had come! Fox, Derby, Dorset and now the Prince of Wales.

  Oh, indeed Perdita’s day was done.

  *

  In the days which followed, Mrs Armistead was busy. During one of Perdita’s absences she moved many of her belongings to the house of a friend. They should be taken to Chertsey at the first opportunity.

  It would not be possible for her to stay with Perdita after taking supper with the Prince. At least she would not deceive her and remain under her roof. There should be a complete break. A friend of the Prince of Wales could not remain the lady’s maid of his ex-mistress.