Perdita's Prince: (Georgian Series) by Jean Plaidy

it. But I must have something. A lock of your hair in a plain setting and on this shall be engraved the date of that most important event … your birth. You shall have engraved a message to me and I shall have one engraved to you. Shall I tell you what mine shall be, “Toujours aimée ”.’
    ‘I think this would be unwise.’ Mary was imagining the lock of hair falling into the hands of Madam von Schwellenburg and being carried to Queen Charlotte. The thought of Harriot Vernon had become an obsession with her. People were dismissed from Court within an hour if they became a nuisance; and the Queen had shown clearly what she thought of those unwise women who allowed the Prince of Wales to become enamoured of them.
    The Prince was going on rapturously: ‘And you must allow me to present you with a bracelet. Please … just a plain one and on it I shall inscribe a message for you. I have decided on it “Gravé à jamais dans mon coeur ”.’
    ‘This could be dangerous.’
    ‘Dangerous.’ His eyes sparkled at the thought. ‘I would face the whole world for your sake.’
    Maybe, she thought, but he would not be called upon to do so. Possibly only the King, who would reprimand him and tell him to mend his ways. Whereas for Mary Hamilton it would be banishment and disgrace. She did not remind him of this, for she had no wish to spoil the idyll by mentioning such practical matters; but she must never be carried away by the charm of the Prince unless she wanted to rush headlong to ruin.
    A passionate but platonic friendship would be delightful, but there it must end.
    ‘You must not be too impetuous,’ she warned him.
    ‘Impetuosity. Ardour. No word is too strong to express my feelings. I see beauty, accomplishments … in fact everything in you that could make your Palamon happy.’
    In his romantic way he had called himself her Palamon and she was his Miranda. And when she thought of the passionate letters – and he loved to write letters, for no sooner did he find a pen in his hand than he must use it, and he enjoyed the flowery sentences which he wrote with ease – she was terrified.
    ‘You must write to me as your sister,’ she told him. ‘Only then can I receive your letters.’
    ‘No matter what your Palamon calls you, my Miranda, you are the love of his life.’
    So fervently did he speak that Mary was deeply touched and a little afraid of her own feelings.
    She knew that it was going to be difficult to keep her friendship with the ardent young man on the only possible plane which could ensure her remaining at Court.
    *
    The King’s mood had lightened a little. He had been at odds with his government for some time and the friction between them was all due to the disastrous affair of the American colonists.
    ‘I would accept any ministry,’ he had said, ‘that would keep the Empire intact, prosecute the war and treat me with the respect due to the King.’
    North was continually pointing out that times had changed. North was a weakling. Always in the background of the King’s mind was that blackguard Charles James Fox. Up to no good, thought the King. He likes to plague me. There was a distantkinship between them because, through his mother, Fox was connected with the royal family, on the wrong side of the blanket it was true, for Fox’s mother, Lady Caroline Lennox, was the great-granddaughter of Charles II by his Mistress Louise de Quérouaille; and sometimes Fox reminded him of pictures of his royal ancestor.
    It was all very disturbing, but he had received news that Admiral Rodney had defeated the Spanish fleet at Gibraltar and that Sir Henry Clinton had had some success in the southern colonies. Fox and his supporters might declare that these were no major victories and it was true that there was nothing decisive about them, but the King was pleased to have news of them and it set his mind at rest a little.
    He could go to Kew with a good conscience and give his mind to domestic matters.
    What a