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‘He could be mistaken,’ said Maria with a show of temper,

But how pleased she was when she received her invitation! Her pleasure was

brief, however, because she soon learned that at the fête, there was to be a royal table at which the Prince would sit with his special guests including members of

the French royal family. For the remainder of the guests there would be a buffet—

for two thousand people had been invited— and those who used the buffet would

naturally have to serve themselves.

‘Of course you’ll be at the royal table,’ said Miss Pigot. ‘How could it be

otherwise?’

‘It could very well be otherwise,’ said Maria grimly. ‘But I shall see that it is not. I am going to discover whether or not I am expected to get my own supper at

that buffet.’

‘How can you find out till you get there?’

‘Oh, can’t you see that this would be the ultimate humiliation? I have presided

at dinners where that woman was the guest of honour because he wished it. But I

will not consent to this. And I am going to Carlton House to ask him.’

Miss Pigot was nervous, but Maria insisted and called at Carlton House where

she demanded to see the Prince.

He received her with some surprise but with a show of affection.

‘I have come to ask you where I am to sit at the banquet?’ she asked.

He was embarrassed. How could he explain that Lady Hertford did not expect

her to have a place at the table and that he must please Lady Hertford? Maria

should understand. It was not that he did not love her; but he was under the

influence of the fascinating Lady Hertford and he must obey her wishes.

Maria did not make it easy. She was looking at him with cold dislike— yes,

actually dislike.

He said, ‘You know, Madam, you have no place.’

‘None, sir,’ she answered curtly, ‘but such as you choose to give me.’

With that she left him— uneasy, embarrassed and angry with her for not

understanding that he could not displease Lady Hertford.

She returned to Miss Pigot in a state of melancholy. ‘This is the end, Piggy.

This is really the end. I can endure no more.’

The Duke of York came to see her. His brother’s first act as Regent had been

to reinstate him as Commander-in-Chief of the Army and as he was popular and

had been exonerated from guilt in the Mary Anne Clarke scandal, there was no

public objection to this. He was fond of Maria and deplored the rift between her

and the Prince. She must go to the fête, he told her. People would notice if she

were not there. The people accepted her; did she not know that?

‘Oh what use is the people’s acceptance if my husband repudiates me.’

Frederick remonstrated with the Prince who repeated what Lady Hertford had

suggested. Maria must not take such a prominent place now that he was Regent,

he pointed out. It was all very well for him when Prince of Wales to have a

Catholic wife, but the people would not tolerate their Regent— who was in all but name their King— having one.

She would have to accept this for the future.

To this, Maria replied that she never would. But she did not prevent the ladies

of her household going to the fête and even provided them with new dresses so

that they could do so in style.

The fête was very splendid. The Regent in scarlet and gold lace was a brilliant

figure wearing the garter and diamond star. The state apartments were hung with

blue velvet embroidered with the fleur-de-lis in honour of the French visitors; the gowns of the women— the costumes of the men, their glittering jewellery—

nothing had been seen to rival this for years.

But there were the inevitable malicious whispers.

‘Doesn’t His Highness look grand? And how odd! He is a Regent with two

wives— both of whom have stayed at home.’

————————

Maria knew this to be the end. She was not going to be relegated to the

position he had planned for her.

It was necessary for political reasons, he said; and she granted this. But it was also necessary for personal reasons? Lady Hertford wished it. That was what

decided Maria.

‘After all,’ she said, ‘perhaps we should be happier without him.’

‘Oh, Maria!’

‘I should have said: Perhaps I shall. The uncertainties of the last years have

been unbearable at times. I am never sure of him. I cannot go on like that. I am his wife. I refuse to be regarded as his mistress. I am fifty-five years old. Surely that’s an age when one should have some dignity. And I have dearest Minney and you. I

shall step quietly out of his life.’

And this she proceeded to do. He was uneasy and unhappy when he thought

of her, but the chase for Lady Hertford must go on— it had always been so with

him. The woman he was pursuing was always the all important factor in his life.

Maria was Maria. He would always regard her as his wife and did not wish to

lose her. He wanted her always there in the background, to come back to be

comforted when he needed it. But Maria was proud— she had more regality than

any member of the royal family— and this time Maria said no.

The Duke of York remonstrated with him. He must settle Maria’s debts which

had been incurred on his account; he must see that she was well provided for. It

was to be an honourable settlement.

This, the Prince was ready to do.

‘If you only knew, Fred, I don’t want her to go. If only she would be

reasonable.’

But his idea of reason was not Maria’s.

It was over. She would never go back to him again, she promised herself, no

matter how much he insisted. She had finished with him.

She was a wealthy woman— she had no debts and there would be no

occasions to incur them in future. She had her dearest Minney and she would

make the care of this beloved adopted daughter her life.

‘We will manage very well without him,’ she told Miss Pigot.

And this time Miss Pigot knew that she meant it.

————————

Caroline had a detailed account of the fête at Carlton House, all the glitter and splendour.

‘I should have been there, she said, faintly regretful, and for a moment gave

herself up to contemplating what a life she might have had if the Prince of Wales had not taken such a dislike to her when he had first seen her. Wife to the Regent!

Yes, it might have been good fun! She laughed at the description of him in his

splendid uniform.

Imagine him— well-corseted! But what’s the good of corsets for a paunch

like that.’

Then she started to laugh but was soon melancholy again.

‘One of her moods,’ said Lady Charlotte to Mrs. Fitzgerald.

‘And poor Maria Fitzherbert, she was not there either,’ murmured the

Princess. ‘I’m sorry about that. Oh, what a fool he is. He’s chasing that woman

and she’ll never be his mistress. She’s too cold. She doesn’t care for him, only for the Regency. He is a stupid man, my fat husband. And the most stupid thing he

ever did was to part from Maria Fitzherbert She’s his true wife— not me. He’s a

great big fat fool to have broken with her!’

Then she started to laugh and Lady Charlotte tiptoed away to make an account

of this in her diary.

A DRAMATIC incident suddenly and most unexpectedly robbed Caroline of her

most influential supporter.

The Prince Regent had not made any changes in the Ministry although his

Whig friends confidently expected him to. When the Duke of Portland had died,

Spencer Perceval had become Prime Minister, although many had supposed this

plum would fall to Canning; and during those first months of the Regency,

Perceval remained in office. The Regent was watching the King’s progress which

fluctuated a great deal, and the doctors told him that there were days when His

Majesty was almost lucid. The Prince had no desire to make a change which the

King, if he recovered, would immediately rescind; for this reason he was prepared to wait a while.

Perceval made no secret of his belief that the Princess of Wales had been ill-

treated; and while he remained as the head of the Government, the Prince did not

change his attitude in any way towards Caroline. As long as she kept out of his

way he appeared to be content.

Then one afternoon in May as Perceval was going into the House a man

stepped up to him, placed a pistol against his heart and fired. Perceval dropped to the ground— dead.

It had happened so quickly and seemed so pointless.

When the murderer was caught he proved to be a madman named John

Bellingham who had recently come from Russia where he had been arrested for

some small misdemeanour. He had appealed to the English ambassador there and

as nothing had been done to help him, he blamed the government. His revenge

was to shoot the Prime Minister.

About a fortnight after the death of Perceval, the London crowds turned out

in their thousands to see Bellingham hanged. It was quite a spectacle.

Caroline was desolate, for she knew she had lost a good friend.

After the assassination of Perceval, Lords Wellesley and Moira had attempted

to form a government and when they failed to do so, the Earl of Liverpool became

Prime Minister. Caroline very quickly became aware of the change in her

fortunes.

One of her greatest compensations was the affection her daughter felt for her,

and the weekly visits to Charlotte were the highlights of her life. Charlotte was now a very forthright sixteen, and being aware that she was the heiress to the

throne was not inclined to be forced to anything that she did not want. She was a great favourite with the people and everywhere she went she was cheered.

How different it was with the Regent! He was met by sullen silences and the

occasional booing. The people took up the case of Charlotte and Caroline, and the general opinion was that the Regent was not only a bad husband but a cruel

father. They laughed at his elegance, and his corpulence was exaggerated in all

the cartoons. If he had remained faithful to Maria Fitzherbert they would have had some respect for him. But he was constantly in the company of Lady Hertford

whose frigid manners assured her an unpopularity to match his own.

It was irritating to him to be given continual proof of the people’s affection

for his wife and daughter; and in a petulant mood he ordered that Caroline and

Charlotte, instead of meeting once a week, should meet only once a fortnight.

Caroline was furious.

‘Oh, what a wicked man he is! What harm are we doing him by meeting? My

little Charlotte will be upset, too. Does he think I will endure this? He will see.’

Charlotte was at Windsor and the Queen and the Princesses were also in

residence, so Caroline wrote to the Queen telling her that she intended visiting

Windsor to see her daughter.

A cool note from Her Majesty informed her that it was the Regent’s wish that

the Princess Charlotte’s lessons should not be disturbed; therefore it would not be possible for Caroline to see her if she came to Windsor.

This threw Caroline into a violent rage. ‘Does the old Begum think that she is

going to keep me from my daughter? Charlotte hates her— always has! Why I

remember when she was little her saying:
The two things I hate are apple-pie and
Grandmamma.
That shows, does it not? And she has not changed. She still hates apple-pie and Grandmamma. And this is the woman who will keep me from her. I

am going to Windsor, old Begum or not.’

Lady Charlotte asked timidly if Her Highness thought that wise in view of the

Queen’s letter.

‘Dear Lady Charlotte, I am not concerned with the wisdom!’ Caroline cried.

So to Windsor she went. But the visit was not a success. The Queen received

her coldly.

‘I fear,’ she said, ‘that you cannot see the Princess Charlotte. We have to obey

the Regent’s orders, do we not?’

‘I am going to see her.’

The Queen looked surprised. ‘Perhaps I have not made it clear that these are

the
Regent’s
orders.’

Caroline cried: ‘I’ll find her. I’ll see her. You’ll not keep

me from my own

daughter.’

The Queen looked horrified. What could one do with a woman who was so

ignorant of the respect and homage due to the Crown?

‘I beg of you to leave, she said coldly. ‘I am sure you do not wish me to have

you taken away.’

And something in the coldness of her manner made Caroline realize how

powerless she was. The Queen could call her servants, or even the guards to have