The Regent's Daughter: (Georgian Series), page 32
‘I have heard he is very young and graceless,’ said Charlotte.
‘He is both.’
‘Oh, Mercer, what a bother it is to be royal. I shall not accept him.’
‘They might insist.’
‘They?’
‘Your father, of course.’
‘I would not have Orange. I hate the whole family.’
‘Still if the Prince Regent insisted …’
‘I should have to worm my way out of that.’
‘Could you?’
‘Trust me,’ retorted Charlotte.
But she was uneasy. She would find out all she could about William of Orange, son of the Stadholder – but she knew she was not going to like what she heard. They have forced me to have a governess, she thought, but they’ll not force me to take a husband I don’t want.
On a bleak March day Mercer again called at Warwick House, this time with the news that she had come openly. She had heard, through the Regent’s equerry, that she had his master’s permission to visit the Princess Charlotte.
Charlotte laughed gleefully. ‘My father is trying to please me. Perhaps,’ she added wistfully, ‘it isn’t for the sake of pleasing the people but because he wants to please me.’ Mercer brought sad news. The old Duchess of Brunswick was very ill and in fact not expected to live.
‘It’s a long time since I saw her,’ said Charlotte. ‘Poor Grandmamma. Not seeing my mother has meant that I didn’t see her either.’
A few days later the Queen sent for the Princess to tell her that her grandmother was dead. ‘A death in the family is always an occasion for mourning,’ she said, ‘but I think we may say that this is not a very Important death.’
Poor Grandmamma, who had once been Princess Royal and had had such a humiliating life! Charlotte’s mother had talked of her now and then – how she had left England for Brunswick and found her husband’s mistress installed there, and how Grandpapa Brunswick would not give up his mistress, and the poor Duchess had to accept a ménage á trois. And she had had her strange wild children – none of whom had been quite normal (for Mamma was a little odd, Charlotte had to admit), and then when Napoleon had captured Brunswick the old Duchess had come to the country of her birth to find no welcome there for her, for her kind brother was on the verge of madness and his queen was indifferent to the plight of a sister-in-law whom she had always disliked. So the Duchess had lived in that dingy dark house which was not at all like a royal residence, but there she had held court as though it were a palace – and perhaps lived in illusions.
Now she was lying in her coffin – neglected in death as in life. Not a very important death, so the old Begum had said.
Charlotte was sorry and wished she had seen more of her.
She went to Cornelia and talked of her grandmother.
‘She used to sit on a chair in that cold and ill-furnished room and receive us. Oh Notte, dear, it was pathetic. And now she is dead and I might have been kinder to her.’
‘It is no use regretting now,’ soothed Cornelia. ‘What could you have done? The situation was so awkward.’
‘I should like to see her in her coffin. Would that be frowned on?’
‘I don’t see why it should.’
‘I will pay my last respects, as they say. It’s not much use, is it, but if she is watching she will be pleased.’
‘Then we will go,’ said Cornelia, ‘for you will feel happier for it.’
‘You were on the point of going out?’ cried Mercer who had just arrived.
‘To pay my last respects to Grandmamma Brunswick.’
Mercer gave Cbrnelia a cold glance. ‘You think that wise?’
‘I see no harm in it,’ said Cornelia. ‘It’s a natural thing.’
‘Natural to gaze on the dead!’
‘It is the Princess’s wish,’ Cornelia reminded her coldly. Really, one would think the woman was the Queen at least.
‘I consider it quite ghoulish!’
Charlotte looked from one to the other in dismay. She had wanted to see her grandmother in her coffin but clearly Mercer did not approve and perhaps it was ghoulish. Now she was wondering whether she really did want to see the dead Duchess – certainly not so much that she would offend Mercer by doing it.
She took off her cloak. ‘I think Mercer is right, dear Notte. Perhaps I should not go.’
It was triumph for Mercer and defeat for Cornelia.
Really, thought Cornelia indignantly, that woman rules the household!
Charlotte drove to Blackheath with Cornelia and the Duchess of Leeds beside her for she had received her father’s permission, in these special circumstances, to visit her mother.
The Prince and the Queen had come to the conclusion that because of the death of Caroline’s mother that permission could not be withheld. The meeting in Hyde Park had been the main item of news in the papers for a few days; the lampoons had intensified. The Prince’s enemies gloated over his callous treatment of his wife. To separate a mother and daughter! they reiterated. And to see the affection of those two leaning out of their carriages to embrace was so touching.
‘Devil take them both,’ cried the Prince. ‘Not only have I the most vulgar woman in the world for a wife but I have also the most capricious of daughters.’
But in view of the fact that his mother-in-law was dead he had lifted the ban on meetings because there was nothing like a death to arouse public sentimentality.
The Princess of Wales wore purple for mourning and it did not become her. Charlotte always forgot how grotesquely colourful her mother was until she came face to face with her. The brilliantly rouged cheeks, the painted black brows, the black wig with its profusion of curls always gave her a fresh shock.
‘So my angel has come,’ cried the Princess, fiercely embracing her.
‘Papa gave me permission.’
‘The wicked old devil!’ She laughed. ‘What I have to endure from him! But nothing he can do to me hurts me like separating me from my dearest Charlotte.’
‘And how is Willie?’ Charlotte always had to remind her mother of Willie when she became too effusively affectionate. Was she jealous of Willie? She did not think so but she was not sure. There was so much which bewildered her in this strange relationship with her parents.
‘Willie is adorable,’ declared Caroline. ‘He is my solace. But it is of you, my precious, that I wish to talk today. You are no longer a child, you know.’
‘I know it well,’ cried Charlotte. ‘My complaint is that others forget it.’
‘You heard the people cheering as you alighted from your carriage. We have them on our side … against him.’
‘But it is not good that they should be against him. He is after all the King in a way … until Grandpapa recovers at least and we all know he never will.’
‘Poor old King,’ said Caroline. ‘He was always my friend. The only one of the whole miserable family who showed me any kindness.’ She broke into one of her bursts of loud laughter. ‘He had a fancy for me. His mind was wandering half the time, I do believe, but he had a fancy for me. If I’d come as his bride that would have been a different story.’
Charlotte drew slightly away from her mother – repelled yet fascinated as she was so often.
Caroline had noticed. ‘They have made a Mistress Prim of you. That’s de old Begum. You’ve forgotten Captain Hesse … and those pleasant meetings you had and the letters I helped you exchange. What would de old Begum say to that, I wonder? Or His High and Mighty Highness. Imagine the scene.’ She laughed even louder at the thought. ‘He can have his games, oh yes! There’s not a bigger libertine in the kingdom. But it all has to be done like a piece of fancy play-acting.’
Charlotte was not listening. She was thinking of the meeting with Hesse which had given her such pleasure. Innocent meetings when she had felt herself to be living dangerously. They had been alone together so often in her mother’s house; and there had been that occasion when her mother had locked them in the bedroom.
What had brought this home to her with such a shock was the thought of her father’s hearing of this. He would be disgusted. He would find her as vulgar as he found her mother.
She shivered.
‘It is better to forget that,’ she said.
‘Forget your romances? Why they’re the best things in life, my angel. Ask your father. The scandals about him. Have you ever heard of Perdita Robinson? Ha! What a scandal. And then there is the biggest and best of all: Maria Fitzherbert. Did he or did he not marry her? He should not be the one to deny us a little fun, eh? But he would. He would be the first.’
Charlotte wanted to shut her ears.
Her mother, her arm about her, led her to the table. They must eat, she said, before that Leeds woman poked her sly nose in and said it was time for Charlotte to leave.
‘Silly old fool,’ cried the Princess of Wales. ‘She likes shower baths, I hear.’ Her contempt for anyone taking baths frequently was great. ‘I hope she does not try to persuade you to bathe too often, Charlotte. That could be injurious to the health.’
Charlotte did not answer that regular baths were a rule of the household and she knew that one of the reasons why her father had been so disgusted with her mother was due to her dislike of washing herself. ‘And I hear she’s no horsewoman,’ went on the Princess of Wales. ‘Chooses the quietest horse to amble along on. What a woman! And she is given to you in place of your mother!’
Willie joined them and sat under the doting eye of the Princess Caroline. She does in fact prefer him to me, thought Charlotte jealously. She looks on him as her very own. Is he? She shivered. These investigations had not proved that he was Caroline’s son, but they had left some very unpleasant doubts in everyone’s mind.
While they ate Charlotte was thinking of past visits, of her mother smiling secretively when Captain Hesse was announced, as though she were a conjuror who had brought forth a very pleasant gift for her daughter.
What an inflammable situation existed in this house – and she, Charlotte, when she had paid those lighthearted visits and had been so charmed with the company of Captain Hesse, had been playing with fire among the gunpowder.
Yet her mother had allowed it. Why? Because she was sorry for her daughter. Because she wanted to make her happy and give her some pleasure in life.
And she had. Charlotte was not going to deny that – dangerous pleasure though it might have been.
Willie was guzzling as usual. He was not the least bit impressed that the Princess Charlotte was seated at the table and that she was the future Queen of England … unless her father succeeded in divorcing her mother, marrying again and having a son.
And suppose he were in truth married to Maria Fitzherbert and his marriage to Caroline had been no true marriage, then she herself had no more claim to the throne than guzzling Willie.
What a strange household this was.
Caroline was drinking freely and her laughter was becoming louder.
‘Oh, Mamma,’ said Charlotte, ‘how I wish that there need not be this conflict in the family! How I wish that you and my father could be friends.’
Caroline looked at her daughter as though she suspected her sanity.
‘What! Me be friends with that man?’ She picked up her glass of wine and threw it across the table. Charlotte stared at the pools of red liquid staining the white cloth. ‘You may as well attempt to put that wine back in its bottle as stop my fury against people who have so maliciously used me.’
And there it was … the stained cloth, her mother laughing immoderately, Willie putting his finger into a nearby pool of wine and conveying it to his mouth, and the servants not in the least disturbed because they were so accustomed to the wild behaviour of the Princess of Wales.
Going back in the carriage Charlotte was thinking: If he knew about my friendship with Captain Hesse, what would he say? What would the people say? She thought of the things they had said because she had not appeared in public for a while.
Growing up was sometimes alarming.
Slender Billy
WILLIAM, HEREDITARY PRINCE OF HOLLAND, was on his way to London. He travelled with little enthusiasm for he was fully aware of the reason for his journey. His father, the Stadholder, was in England at this time ‘on a mission’; and young William could guess what that mission was.
They had chosen him to be the husband of the Princess Charlotte and although his father was delighted at the prospect, young William himself was not so sure. He was a good soldier; he had distinguished himself under Wellington but he wanted to carry on with his career, not settle down as the consort of an imperious young woman. He had heard reports of her – and she was certainly not the wife he would have chosen.
His father had written of his future as the husband of the heiress presumptive to England as though he were giving him a glimpse of paradise. Napoleon was on the point of defeat; and when that happy event took place, Holland would be returned to the Stadholder. As future ruler he would have to spend the greater part of his time there; but he would also be the consort of the Queen of England. He would realize the benefits of such an alliance: the Dutch and the English joined in marriage – a William of Orange once more in control of England, for he would know how to handle Charlotte and although she would in name be Queen, he would be her husband. He would be a fool if he did not understand how very advantageous such a match would be.
Advantageous, yes. William was ready to concede that. But he would be Charlotte’s husband and by all accounts she was a handful.
He was too young, he reasoned with himself as he knew he would not dare reason with his father. He was by no means prepossessing and hardly the sort of young man to appeal to a high-spirited girl. He was too thin and his teeth were not good and he was nervous and shy.
No, the Hereditary Prince of Orange would have preferred to stay with the Army than to visit the English Court.
By God, thought the Regent, the young fellow can scarcely be called handsome. What’s Charlotte going to say to him?
He received young William graciously enough, hoping that his own natural elegance would set a good example.
He was delighted, he said, to welcome the Prince to England and he hoped that his stay would be a happy one.
William mumbled that His Highness was gracious and the Stadholder looked on, anxiously guessing the impression his son was making.
Gauche or not, the Regent was thinking, he would do for Charlotte who was scarcely a model of deportment herself. Married to this young man she would be obliged to spend months in Holland. What a pleasure to pass on the responsibility to a husband! At least one of the tiresome females who haunted his life would be removed from it. And yet … she was his daughter; and sometimes when he was with her his paternal feelings would arise and he would remember that he was fond of her. If she had had a different mother …
But this was repetition of a wearying and depressing theme. Charlotte unfortunately was Caroline’s daughter as well as his and it was something he could never entirely forgive her.
So … this thin boy with his gaucheries and not very good teeth (but perhaps these could be rectified?) would do very well for Charlotte. The boy was a Protestant and that would please the people – indeed anything but a Protestant marriage was unthinkable. It was time she was married, and when she had children they would occupy her time and thoughts; and this marriage, while not a bad thing for England, would be a relief for the Prince Regent.
They chatted for a while of Wellington’s successes, and the boy became more attractive talking of soldiering. There was no doubt where his heart was.
The Regent remarked on this and added: ‘I have also been with Wellington … in spirit. I cannot tell you how bitterly I railed against the fate which denied me the right to serve my country. When I was your age I implored my father to allow me to join the Army. But I was forbidden. My position as Prince of Wales made it impossible. How fortunate you are to suffer no such bans. I trust you realize this.’
The Prince did realize it. The Regent questioned him and they talked of past battles in which the enemy had been routed. It surprised young William to find how knowledgeable the Regent was and how he could discuss an action as though he had actually taken part in it.
The Regent on his part exerted all the famous charm and before the interview was over William was thinking that if only the Princess Charlotte appealed to him half as much as her father did he would be happy enough to go on with this betrothal.
When he had gone the Regent discussed him with Eldon and Liverpool.
‘Hardly Adonis. I wonder what she will say when they meet. Frankly, I’m not looking forward to that meeting.’
‘If Your Highness makes known his wishes,’ said Eldon, ‘that will be enough.’
‘I know, I know,’ said the Regent testily. ‘It is my wish that this betrothal shall take place and if I say so, it shall. But she is my daughter, Eldon, and I should like her to be pleased with her future husband. Perhaps I’m too indulgent … but I shouldn’t want to see her forced into a marriage which displeased her.’
‘Your Highness, when the Stadholder is restored to Holland it will be a good match.’
‘I know. I’m not thinking of the match so much as the bridegroom. Not a romantic prince, you must admit. And Charlotte can be perverse, as you well know. I have qualms, I must tell you. I am not at all sure how my daughter will like her Slender Billy.’
From that moment William, Hereditary Prince of Holland, had his nickname and was more often referred to as Slender Billy than by his own name.
‘I won’t have him,’ declared Charlotte. ‘Orange! I always hated what I heard of his family. And they tell me he is very unattractive … little and thin … with nothing to say for himself.’
‘You can always supply the conversation,’ Cornelia reminded her.
She laughed aloud. ‘I’m not having it, Notte. I will make it perfectly clear that I will not be forced to marry where I don’t wish to.’
‘Has your father talked to you of the Prince?’
‘No, and that is strange. I know why he’s here. It’s to win my approval. Yet I have not seen him … and I’m not going to if I can help it. And my father says nothing.’
‘He is both.’
‘Oh, Mercer, what a bother it is to be royal. I shall not accept him.’
‘They might insist.’
‘They?’
‘Your father, of course.’
‘I would not have Orange. I hate the whole family.’
‘Still if the Prince Regent insisted …’
‘I should have to worm my way out of that.’
‘Could you?’
‘Trust me,’ retorted Charlotte.
But she was uneasy. She would find out all she could about William of Orange, son of the Stadholder – but she knew she was not going to like what she heard. They have forced me to have a governess, she thought, but they’ll not force me to take a husband I don’t want.
On a bleak March day Mercer again called at Warwick House, this time with the news that she had come openly. She had heard, through the Regent’s equerry, that she had his master’s permission to visit the Princess Charlotte.
Charlotte laughed gleefully. ‘My father is trying to please me. Perhaps,’ she added wistfully, ‘it isn’t for the sake of pleasing the people but because he wants to please me.’ Mercer brought sad news. The old Duchess of Brunswick was very ill and in fact not expected to live.
‘It’s a long time since I saw her,’ said Charlotte. ‘Poor Grandmamma. Not seeing my mother has meant that I didn’t see her either.’
A few days later the Queen sent for the Princess to tell her that her grandmother was dead. ‘A death in the family is always an occasion for mourning,’ she said, ‘but I think we may say that this is not a very Important death.’
Poor Grandmamma, who had once been Princess Royal and had had such a humiliating life! Charlotte’s mother had talked of her now and then – how she had left England for Brunswick and found her husband’s mistress installed there, and how Grandpapa Brunswick would not give up his mistress, and the poor Duchess had to accept a ménage á trois. And she had had her strange wild children – none of whom had been quite normal (for Mamma was a little odd, Charlotte had to admit), and then when Napoleon had captured Brunswick the old Duchess had come to the country of her birth to find no welcome there for her, for her kind brother was on the verge of madness and his queen was indifferent to the plight of a sister-in-law whom she had always disliked. So the Duchess had lived in that dingy dark house which was not at all like a royal residence, but there she had held court as though it were a palace – and perhaps lived in illusions.
Now she was lying in her coffin – neglected in death as in life. Not a very important death, so the old Begum had said.
Charlotte was sorry and wished she had seen more of her.
She went to Cornelia and talked of her grandmother.
‘She used to sit on a chair in that cold and ill-furnished room and receive us. Oh Notte, dear, it was pathetic. And now she is dead and I might have been kinder to her.’
‘It is no use regretting now,’ soothed Cornelia. ‘What could you have done? The situation was so awkward.’
‘I should like to see her in her coffin. Would that be frowned on?’
‘I don’t see why it should.’
‘I will pay my last respects, as they say. It’s not much use, is it, but if she is watching she will be pleased.’
‘Then we will go,’ said Cornelia, ‘for you will feel happier for it.’
‘You were on the point of going out?’ cried Mercer who had just arrived.
‘To pay my last respects to Grandmamma Brunswick.’
Mercer gave Cbrnelia a cold glance. ‘You think that wise?’
‘I see no harm in it,’ said Cornelia. ‘It’s a natural thing.’
‘Natural to gaze on the dead!’
‘It is the Princess’s wish,’ Cornelia reminded her coldly. Really, one would think the woman was the Queen at least.
‘I consider it quite ghoulish!’
Charlotte looked from one to the other in dismay. She had wanted to see her grandmother in her coffin but clearly Mercer did not approve and perhaps it was ghoulish. Now she was wondering whether she really did want to see the dead Duchess – certainly not so much that she would offend Mercer by doing it.
She took off her cloak. ‘I think Mercer is right, dear Notte. Perhaps I should not go.’
It was triumph for Mercer and defeat for Cornelia.
Really, thought Cornelia indignantly, that woman rules the household!
Charlotte drove to Blackheath with Cornelia and the Duchess of Leeds beside her for she had received her father’s permission, in these special circumstances, to visit her mother.
The Prince and the Queen had come to the conclusion that because of the death of Caroline’s mother that permission could not be withheld. The meeting in Hyde Park had been the main item of news in the papers for a few days; the lampoons had intensified. The Prince’s enemies gloated over his callous treatment of his wife. To separate a mother and daughter! they reiterated. And to see the affection of those two leaning out of their carriages to embrace was so touching.
‘Devil take them both,’ cried the Prince. ‘Not only have I the most vulgar woman in the world for a wife but I have also the most capricious of daughters.’
But in view of the fact that his mother-in-law was dead he had lifted the ban on meetings because there was nothing like a death to arouse public sentimentality.
The Princess of Wales wore purple for mourning and it did not become her. Charlotte always forgot how grotesquely colourful her mother was until she came face to face with her. The brilliantly rouged cheeks, the painted black brows, the black wig with its profusion of curls always gave her a fresh shock.
‘So my angel has come,’ cried the Princess, fiercely embracing her.
‘Papa gave me permission.’
‘The wicked old devil!’ She laughed. ‘What I have to endure from him! But nothing he can do to me hurts me like separating me from my dearest Charlotte.’
‘And how is Willie?’ Charlotte always had to remind her mother of Willie when she became too effusively affectionate. Was she jealous of Willie? She did not think so but she was not sure. There was so much which bewildered her in this strange relationship with her parents.
‘Willie is adorable,’ declared Caroline. ‘He is my solace. But it is of you, my precious, that I wish to talk today. You are no longer a child, you know.’
‘I know it well,’ cried Charlotte. ‘My complaint is that others forget it.’
‘You heard the people cheering as you alighted from your carriage. We have them on our side … against him.’
‘But it is not good that they should be against him. He is after all the King in a way … until Grandpapa recovers at least and we all know he never will.’
‘Poor old King,’ said Caroline. ‘He was always my friend. The only one of the whole miserable family who showed me any kindness.’ She broke into one of her bursts of loud laughter. ‘He had a fancy for me. His mind was wandering half the time, I do believe, but he had a fancy for me. If I’d come as his bride that would have been a different story.’
Charlotte drew slightly away from her mother – repelled yet fascinated as she was so often.
Caroline had noticed. ‘They have made a Mistress Prim of you. That’s de old Begum. You’ve forgotten Captain Hesse … and those pleasant meetings you had and the letters I helped you exchange. What would de old Begum say to that, I wonder? Or His High and Mighty Highness. Imagine the scene.’ She laughed even louder at the thought. ‘He can have his games, oh yes! There’s not a bigger libertine in the kingdom. But it all has to be done like a piece of fancy play-acting.’
Charlotte was not listening. She was thinking of the meeting with Hesse which had given her such pleasure. Innocent meetings when she had felt herself to be living dangerously. They had been alone together so often in her mother’s house; and there had been that occasion when her mother had locked them in the bedroom.
What had brought this home to her with such a shock was the thought of her father’s hearing of this. He would be disgusted. He would find her as vulgar as he found her mother.
She shivered.
‘It is better to forget that,’ she said.
‘Forget your romances? Why they’re the best things in life, my angel. Ask your father. The scandals about him. Have you ever heard of Perdita Robinson? Ha! What a scandal. And then there is the biggest and best of all: Maria Fitzherbert. Did he or did he not marry her? He should not be the one to deny us a little fun, eh? But he would. He would be the first.’
Charlotte wanted to shut her ears.
Her mother, her arm about her, led her to the table. They must eat, she said, before that Leeds woman poked her sly nose in and said it was time for Charlotte to leave.
‘Silly old fool,’ cried the Princess of Wales. ‘She likes shower baths, I hear.’ Her contempt for anyone taking baths frequently was great. ‘I hope she does not try to persuade you to bathe too often, Charlotte. That could be injurious to the health.’
Charlotte did not answer that regular baths were a rule of the household and she knew that one of the reasons why her father had been so disgusted with her mother was due to her dislike of washing herself. ‘And I hear she’s no horsewoman,’ went on the Princess of Wales. ‘Chooses the quietest horse to amble along on. What a woman! And she is given to you in place of your mother!’
Willie joined them and sat under the doting eye of the Princess Caroline. She does in fact prefer him to me, thought Charlotte jealously. She looks on him as her very own. Is he? She shivered. These investigations had not proved that he was Caroline’s son, but they had left some very unpleasant doubts in everyone’s mind.
While they ate Charlotte was thinking of past visits, of her mother smiling secretively when Captain Hesse was announced, as though she were a conjuror who had brought forth a very pleasant gift for her daughter.
What an inflammable situation existed in this house – and she, Charlotte, when she had paid those lighthearted visits and had been so charmed with the company of Captain Hesse, had been playing with fire among the gunpowder.
Yet her mother had allowed it. Why? Because she was sorry for her daughter. Because she wanted to make her happy and give her some pleasure in life.
And she had. Charlotte was not going to deny that – dangerous pleasure though it might have been.
Willie was guzzling as usual. He was not the least bit impressed that the Princess Charlotte was seated at the table and that she was the future Queen of England … unless her father succeeded in divorcing her mother, marrying again and having a son.
And suppose he were in truth married to Maria Fitzherbert and his marriage to Caroline had been no true marriage, then she herself had no more claim to the throne than guzzling Willie.
What a strange household this was.
Caroline was drinking freely and her laughter was becoming louder.
‘Oh, Mamma,’ said Charlotte, ‘how I wish that there need not be this conflict in the family! How I wish that you and my father could be friends.’
Caroline looked at her daughter as though she suspected her sanity.
‘What! Me be friends with that man?’ She picked up her glass of wine and threw it across the table. Charlotte stared at the pools of red liquid staining the white cloth. ‘You may as well attempt to put that wine back in its bottle as stop my fury against people who have so maliciously used me.’
And there it was … the stained cloth, her mother laughing immoderately, Willie putting his finger into a nearby pool of wine and conveying it to his mouth, and the servants not in the least disturbed because they were so accustomed to the wild behaviour of the Princess of Wales.
Going back in the carriage Charlotte was thinking: If he knew about my friendship with Captain Hesse, what would he say? What would the people say? She thought of the things they had said because she had not appeared in public for a while.
Growing up was sometimes alarming.
Slender Billy
WILLIAM, HEREDITARY PRINCE OF HOLLAND, was on his way to London. He travelled with little enthusiasm for he was fully aware of the reason for his journey. His father, the Stadholder, was in England at this time ‘on a mission’; and young William could guess what that mission was.
They had chosen him to be the husband of the Princess Charlotte and although his father was delighted at the prospect, young William himself was not so sure. He was a good soldier; he had distinguished himself under Wellington but he wanted to carry on with his career, not settle down as the consort of an imperious young woman. He had heard reports of her – and she was certainly not the wife he would have chosen.
His father had written of his future as the husband of the heiress presumptive to England as though he were giving him a glimpse of paradise. Napoleon was on the point of defeat; and when that happy event took place, Holland would be returned to the Stadholder. As future ruler he would have to spend the greater part of his time there; but he would also be the consort of the Queen of England. He would realize the benefits of such an alliance: the Dutch and the English joined in marriage – a William of Orange once more in control of England, for he would know how to handle Charlotte and although she would in name be Queen, he would be her husband. He would be a fool if he did not understand how very advantageous such a match would be.
Advantageous, yes. William was ready to concede that. But he would be Charlotte’s husband and by all accounts she was a handful.
He was too young, he reasoned with himself as he knew he would not dare reason with his father. He was by no means prepossessing and hardly the sort of young man to appeal to a high-spirited girl. He was too thin and his teeth were not good and he was nervous and shy.
No, the Hereditary Prince of Orange would have preferred to stay with the Army than to visit the English Court.
By God, thought the Regent, the young fellow can scarcely be called handsome. What’s Charlotte going to say to him?
He received young William graciously enough, hoping that his own natural elegance would set a good example.
He was delighted, he said, to welcome the Prince to England and he hoped that his stay would be a happy one.
William mumbled that His Highness was gracious and the Stadholder looked on, anxiously guessing the impression his son was making.
Gauche or not, the Regent was thinking, he would do for Charlotte who was scarcely a model of deportment herself. Married to this young man she would be obliged to spend months in Holland. What a pleasure to pass on the responsibility to a husband! At least one of the tiresome females who haunted his life would be removed from it. And yet … she was his daughter; and sometimes when he was with her his paternal feelings would arise and he would remember that he was fond of her. If she had had a different mother …
But this was repetition of a wearying and depressing theme. Charlotte unfortunately was Caroline’s daughter as well as his and it was something he could never entirely forgive her.
So … this thin boy with his gaucheries and not very good teeth (but perhaps these could be rectified?) would do very well for Charlotte. The boy was a Protestant and that would please the people – indeed anything but a Protestant marriage was unthinkable. It was time she was married, and when she had children they would occupy her time and thoughts; and this marriage, while not a bad thing for England, would be a relief for the Prince Regent.
They chatted for a while of Wellington’s successes, and the boy became more attractive talking of soldiering. There was no doubt where his heart was.
The Regent remarked on this and added: ‘I have also been with Wellington … in spirit. I cannot tell you how bitterly I railed against the fate which denied me the right to serve my country. When I was your age I implored my father to allow me to join the Army. But I was forbidden. My position as Prince of Wales made it impossible. How fortunate you are to suffer no such bans. I trust you realize this.’
The Prince did realize it. The Regent questioned him and they talked of past battles in which the enemy had been routed. It surprised young William to find how knowledgeable the Regent was and how he could discuss an action as though he had actually taken part in it.
The Regent on his part exerted all the famous charm and before the interview was over William was thinking that if only the Princess Charlotte appealed to him half as much as her father did he would be happy enough to go on with this betrothal.
When he had gone the Regent discussed him with Eldon and Liverpool.
‘Hardly Adonis. I wonder what she will say when they meet. Frankly, I’m not looking forward to that meeting.’
‘If Your Highness makes known his wishes,’ said Eldon, ‘that will be enough.’
‘I know, I know,’ said the Regent testily. ‘It is my wish that this betrothal shall take place and if I say so, it shall. But she is my daughter, Eldon, and I should like her to be pleased with her future husband. Perhaps I’m too indulgent … but I shouldn’t want to see her forced into a marriage which displeased her.’
‘Your Highness, when the Stadholder is restored to Holland it will be a good match.’
‘I know. I’m not thinking of the match so much as the bridegroom. Not a romantic prince, you must admit. And Charlotte can be perverse, as you well know. I have qualms, I must tell you. I am not at all sure how my daughter will like her Slender Billy.’
From that moment William, Hereditary Prince of Holland, had his nickname and was more often referred to as Slender Billy than by his own name.
‘I won’t have him,’ declared Charlotte. ‘Orange! I always hated what I heard of his family. And they tell me he is very unattractive … little and thin … with nothing to say for himself.’
‘You can always supply the conversation,’ Cornelia reminded her.
She laughed aloud. ‘I’m not having it, Notte. I will make it perfectly clear that I will not be forced to marry where I don’t wish to.’
‘Has your father talked to you of the Prince?’
‘No, and that is strange. I know why he’s here. It’s to win my approval. Yet I have not seen him … and I’m not going to if I can help it. And my father says nothing.’
