The Prince and the Quakeress - Plaidy Jean (читать книги онлайн бесплатно регистрация TXT) 📗

How far was Bute influencing him? And what of that other menacing shadow; the King’s mother? The Princess Augusta would consider herself of very great importance now that her son had ascended the throne.

The sooner the position is clarified the better, thought Pitt.

Some light was thrown on it when the Parliament assembled to hear the Speech from the throne. These occasions in the past had gone according to pattern. A speech was prepared and the King delivered it.

It soon became clear that the speech the King was making in that very musical and well-modulated voice of his was not the one which had been written for him.

‘Born and educated in this country, I glory in the name of Britain...’

Britain! Why not England? It could only be that the King was associating himself with the country across the Border, the breeding-ground of Jacobites, the land which had rebelled, which had harboured Bonnie Prince Charlie...and was the birthplace of Lord Bute!

That was it. They knew who had substituted that word for England. Lord Bute! He was tampering with the speeches which the King’s ministers had written for him. He was telling the King that Scotland was as important as England. And why? Because Bute was a Scottish peer. That was the reason. And had not Pitt pointed out to him before the death of the last King that one of the reasons why he could not be given high office was because he was a Scottish peer?

So this was Bute’s answer.

Pitt wondered whether to challenge in debate the origin of those words. Perhaps it was unwise. He did not want to antagonize the King...nor the people. The King was new and new Kings were often popular, more so if they were young and tolerably good-looking. No, he would leave it, but he would have to be very watchful of my Lord Bute.

Perhaps it was time the King was married. If he married the right woman she could help to wean the King from this most unfortunate friendship.

• • •

The Princess Augusta was of the same idea.

‘The King should marry,’ she told Bute.

Bute agreed but hesitantly. Like Pitt he saw the possible effect of a wife.

‘He must begin producing heirs and cannot start too soon.’

Bute agreed with that.

‘You hesitate, my love.’

‘It is because I feel that if he married a woman who became possessive, she might be jealous of your influence with him and seek to lessen it.’

‘We must choose the right woman.’

‘Ah yes, and be very careful.’

‘She must be German,’ said the Princess. ‘German women are properly brought up. They are taught to respect their husbands, to obey them and to know their place. Take, for instance, my mother-in-law.’

‘Yet one has always heard she ruled the King.’

‘She was an exceptionally clever woman. We must not find a clever woman for our George. But even Caroline who was so much cleverer than her husband, never let him know it. And there are not many Carolines.’

‘There is also an Augusta,’ said Lord Bute playfully.

‘When Fred was alive I never meddled. I would have thought it most...improper. It was only after he was dead that I saw the need to care for my children and I deliberately set out to protect them.’

‘You are right as usual. It must be a German Princess for George and one of your choosing.’

She smiled at him tenderly. As usual they were of one mind.

• • •

The King was also thinking of marriage. Now the funeral was over and he was indeed King he would have to have a coronation. When he was crowned he wanted her to be crowned too.

He dreamed of her beside him. She would look so beautiful in a crown. She would have to be serious for once, he would tell her indulgently, and she would laugh at him and say: ‘Yes, of course. I am really always serious where you are concerned.’ And it would be true. She liked to tease and banter, but underneath that she was serious.

He was the King, so therefore he could choose his own wife. Why not? It was not as though he were asking to marry a linen-draper’s...He flushed hotly and tried not to think of St. James’s Market and Hannah’s sitting there in the window. That had been impossible. He saw it all so clearly. Yet then it had seemed so right.

But it was over. Thank God it had worked out as it did.

He would always remember her. He had loved her dearly. I still do, he told himself defiantly. I shall always love Hannah. But a man cannot go on mourning for ever, especially if he is a King. She would understand that. She had always understood.

Of course she would. That was why she was always so anxious, why she was always aware of the enormity of their action. She had been far more aware than he had. That was why he had always had to comfort her.

But it was over...and he must forget it...outwardly, of course. Never in truth, Hannah, he whispered. I shall always remember. But it is over and a King must marry.

He had made his peace with Hannah, now he could think of Sarah. Sarah laughing, teasing, dancing that absurd dance, the Betty Blue.

He would no longer delay. The first one he must tell would be his dear friend Lord Bute who would advise him how best to deal with this matter of marriage.

He took up his pen and wrote to that very dear friend :

‘What I now lay before you I never intended to communicate to anyone. The truth is this: The Duke of Richmond’s sister arrived from Ireland towards the middle of last November. I was struck with her appearance at St. James’s and my passion has been increasing every time I have since beheld her. Her voice is sweet. She seems sensible...In short she is everything I can form to myself as lovely.’

He sat dreaming of her as he wrote; then he sealed the letter and had it sent to Lord Bute.

The King’s Courtship

Lady Sarah Lennox was amused. She was a very high-spirited girl, not yet seventeen, and it was highly diverting to know that the King was in love with her. Sarah was living at the time at Holland House, the home of her brother-in-law, Henry Fox; and her closest friend Lady Susan Fox-Strangways, a niece of Henry Fox, was staying there. In Sarah’s bedroom the two girls could giggle and chatter together and be as frivolous as they pleased.

Susan was more serious than Sarah. She was the daughter of the Earl of Ilchester and her family were perhaps not quite so prominent as Sarah’s, whose brother was now the third Duke of Richmond and whose great-grandfather had been Charles II and great-grandmother Louise de Keroualle. There was, Susan often thought, something of the Stuart charm in Sarah. She was certainly attractive and yet when one studied her face one wondered why. Her eyes were small, her mouth too large; but that was of little importance, for when Sarah laughed or chattered or merely entered a room, to the majority she was the most excited female in that room.

Charm! thought Susan wistfully. And it doubtless bring her a throne.

Sarah was saying: ‘But he’s so shy. Do you know, Susan, he stammers. He is really afraid of offending me. Fancy that. The King goes in awe of Sarah Lennox!’

‘Oh, that is what is called courting. When and if you married him it would be very different.’

‘And why should it be, pray?’

‘Because that is the way of the world.’

‘Don’t look so wise, Susan. You know nothing about it. It is entirely in one’s own hands and it would be in mine. If I married him I would keep him as he is today.’

‘Sarah...think of it! Queen! A coronation! And Mr. Pitt bowing to you and waiting on your judgments. And Mr. Fox doing the same.’

‘Mr. Fox would always remember that I am his sister-in-law. He loves me, I know, but he would never bow to my superior wisdom, I do assure you. He thinks I am a bundle of inconsequent frivolity. I heard him tell my sister Caroline so the other day.’