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

joy to visit his model farm, to stroll in the country lanes and receive the curtsies of the country women while the men touched their forelocks as they would to any country squire; to visit the nurseries and see the little ones and make sure that Lady Charlotte Finch was obeying his orders with regard to their eating habits; to take the babies on his knee and caress them. Mary and Sophia were adorable and the elder girls were charming. There at Kew he could be at peace. He could rise early in the morning and light the fire which had been laid for him the night before and then get back into bed and wait until it warmed the room. His servants might laugh at his simple habits but he did not care.
    Then he would talk with Charlotte and perhaps walk a little with her in the gardens. She would talk about the children and her Orangerie and how she had found a new way of saving the household accounts.
    It was all so … soothing.
    Of course there was one subject which gave them cause for alarm – the Prince of Wales – and they must talk of him frequently.
    As he sat in the Queen’s drawing room alone with her like a simple married couple – he spoke to her of the Prince.
    ‘He is much less wild lately,’ said the Queen happily. ‘He has become so attached to his sisters. It is most touching.’
    ‘H’m,’ grunted the King.
    ‘It is truly so. Augusta tells me he is constantly in their apartments. He is so fond of her and Elizabeth – and so interested in all they do.’
    ‘No more chasing maids of honour.’
    ‘That is all over.’
    ‘I’m glad to hear it. It gave me some sleepless nights.’
    He thought of those nights when his imagination had not let him rest, when he had dreamed of women … Cumberland’s women, Gloucester’s women and the Prince’s women.
    ‘It was just a little youthful folly, I am sure. He is over that. After all he is so brilliantly clever. Everyone says so.’
    ‘They’ll say these things of princes, eh, what?’
    ‘It is true,’ insisted the Queen.
    ‘He’ll be eighteen soon … agitating for his own establishment … fancying himself a man. He’ll not get it.’
    The Queen thought that was a matter for Parliament to decide, but she refrained from commenting. Long experience had taught her that she was not expected to offer opinions on any political matter – and her eldest son’s coming of age was certainly that. All that was expected of her was that she bear children. She might keep her household accounts and had the power to dismiss her maids. That was all.
    Perhaps, thought the Queen, if I had not been so busy being a mother I might have insisted on having some say. But it was too late now. George would never allow it; and she was becoming increasingly afraid of upsetting him, for when he was upset his speech grew faster than ever, the ‘ehs’ and ‘whats’ multiplied and that queer vague look came into his eyes.
    Charlotte was sure that the most important thing was to keep the King calm; and today he was calmer than she had seen him for some time. She must keep him thus.
    ‘We should be seen about together,’ said the King. ‘Best place to be seen would be the playhouse. We’ll have a royal command performance, eh, what?’
    ‘With George accompanying us. That would be an excellent idea.’
    ‘So I thought. I’ll send to that fellow at the Drury Lane Theatre. Sheridan, eh?’
    ‘You mean you would command a performance of his play.’
    ‘I don’t like the name of it, and I hear it’s immodest. The title’s enough to tell you that: The School for Scandal. It’ll have to be Shakespeare, I dare swear. Sad stuff, Shakespeare. Never could see why there had to be all this fuss about it. But it would have to be Shakespeare. The people expect it.’
    ‘Well, you will ask this Mr Sheridan to submit some plays for your choice.’
    ‘Yes, I’ll do this. And we will have a family party, eh, what? Good for the Prince to be seen with us. Friendly, family party …