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

George caught his breath in horror. He could not bear to think of Hannah. When he did so, he was overcome by feelings of remorse and inadequacy.

Lord Bute was at his side, laying a gentle hand on his arm.

‘Your Majesty,’ he said softly, ‘that affair is done with. May I speak frankly?’

George nodded.

‘Your Majesty should not feel remorse over that affair. It was true there were difficulties...but there need not have been. Had you consulted me in the beginning, I could have arranged matters satisfactorily for you and there would have been no trouble. Your Majesty is good and honest and my heart rejoices to see it—but the world is full of scheming men and women...’

‘Sarah is not scheming.’

‘Indeed no. She is an enchanting young girl, unsure of her mind, it is true, flitting from one to the other, unable to come to a decision...a delightful creature. But she is surrounded by ambitious men and women who will seek to guide you through her and separate you from your true friends.’

‘You mean yourself...’

‘Myself and Her Highness, your mother.’

‘No one would ever do that.’

‘I am sure Your Majesty would not allow it, but they would attempt it. In the interests of the country, Your Majesty should accept the Princess Charlotte Sophia...and...’

‘And Sarah?’ whispered George.

‘If she truly loved you she would consent to become your mistress. Other women have had to take a similar decision. It would be a test of her love.’

‘I should not ask her to. I should not care for such an association. When I marry I intend to be a faithful husband. I intend to set an example to my people.’

‘Noble sentiments, and they do Your Majesty credit. You can set the pattern of your Court and I know you will do it. Profligacy, so rife in the last reign, will disappear and it will be due to our King. That is magnificent. But you must have a woman who will help you in this. There must be no uncertainty after marriage. No wandering out by night to confer with other men...nothing of that sort.’

‘It was only mischief.’

‘There must be no mischief. Your Majesty, I beg of you listen to Her Highness, your mother. You never had, and never will have, a better friend in the world.’

‘Yes, listen to me and listen to my Lord Bute. When have we ever failed you?’

‘Never, but...’

‘Then heed our words now,’ pleaded Bute. ‘The country needs this marriage with the Princess Charlotte, and you must give the country what it needs.’

‘No,’ said the King. ‘I have heard enough. I am going to marry Sarah.’

He bowed abruptly and left them.

The Princess was in despair, but Bute was not so despondent.

‘Our words have had some effect,’ he said.

‘What if he goes to Holland House and actually asks for her hand?’

‘I do not think he will act so rashly. I shall stay close with him during the next days. I shall bring him to see where his duty lies.’

Augusta felt faintly relieved. Her confidence in Lord Bute never wavered.

• • •

When the King rode out from Kensington Palace he passed Holland House in the grounds of which Sarah, looking delightful as a country girl in a sunbonnet, was helping to make the hay.

He stopped and spoke to her. How enchanting she was! How wonderful it would have been if he had been a country squire and she the daughter of a neighbour! He could fancy that, on a morning like this.

She looked expectant. Was she hoping he would ask her to marry him?

‘I shall,’ he told himself a little too defiantly.

He rode on past Holland House. A King had his duties to his people. Hannah had said that. No one had realized that more than she had. She had wanted to keep in the background so that she did not embarrass him.

Hannah had been different—a Quakeress and niece of a linen-draper. Sarah had royal blood in her veins and they could say what they liked, it was royal blood by whatever means it had got there.

I shall not listen to them, George insisted. I am going to marry Sarah.

Not listen to Lord Bute, his best friend, whose advice he constantly sought? Lord Bute was so certain that it would be wrong to marry Sarah.

This was one instance where Lord Bute was wrong.

But Lord Bute had never been wrong...until now.

It was noticed that the King looked very melancholy as he rode along.

• • •

Bute came to the King’s apartment, his manner grave.

‘Your Majesty, I have just heard news which disturbs me.’

‘What. Is it Sarah?’

Bute shook, his head. ‘A man named Green was arrested at Westminster for making disloyal comments about Your Majesty.’

‘I’ll dare swear he is not the only one. There were disloyal comments enough about my grandfather. Why should I escape?’

‘These, Your Majesty, were directed against your relationships with...a Quakeress.’

‘What?’ cried the King turning pale.

‘I heard that this man had talked of your enticing the Quakeress from her home and setting her up in a house where you visited her.’

‘Is that...so?’

‘Your Majesty will see how unhealthy it is that such rumours should be allowed to grow.’

‘But...will they grow?’

‘Yes, Your Majesty, unless you marry and show the people that you live respectably with your Queen.’

‘It is what I intend to do.’

‘There would be a scandal if you did not marry the bride who has been selected for you. Colonel Graeme is already negotiating. If you married the Lady Sarah all this scandal about the Quakeress would be revived.’

‘I do not see why.’

‘This man,’ Bute went on, ‘was fined and allowed to go free with a warning. But there will be others to chatter. We must stop this gossip without fail. And the only way is to marry the Princess who has been chosen for you.’

‘No,’ said George. ‘I will marry Lady Sarah.’

But Lord Bute was sure that the King’s resolution was weakening.

• • •

George could not sleep. All night he had been thinking, Hannah! Sarah! They were together in his thoughts. He could hear their voices in his imagination quite clearly, ‘If you really love me,’ said Sarah’s, ‘you will marry me. You are the King. You have but to say the word and none can stop you.’ Hannah’s said: ‘Think, George. Thou thought thou lovest me once. Remember thy vows. Thou wanted to make me Princess of Wales, Queen to be. And now...thou hast forgotten. Thou wouldst have risked thy crown for the sake of a love that was so ephemeral. See how mistaken thou wert.’

It was true. He had believed he would love Hannah forever and now he scarcely remembered her—only to shiver with horror to contemplate the folly he might have committed. Yet Hannah had borne his children...he had married Hannah. The thought made him go cold with fear.

Hannah, he thought, you are dead and buried but you will live with me forever.

And her voice seemed to come out of the darkness: ‘Art thou sure that I am dead and buried, George?’

He faced the truth, the dreadful uncertainty. No. He was not sure. The new gravestone rose up clear in his mind as he had seen it on that day. Rebecca Powell. Who was Rebecca Powell? He had never found out. Why, because even then he had preferred not to know what it was better not to know.

Lord Bute had advised him then. His dearest friend was right. When had he not been right? He was beside him to guide him through all the difficulties which lay ahead. He should trust his friend, and his friend said: ‘You cannot marry Sarah.’

Of course they were right. Kings married the women were chosen for them. They did not marry the nieces of linen drapers; they did not even marry the daughters of noblemen. But they did. Henry VIII had done it. Anne Boleyn, Katherine Howard. Two heads without bodies laughed at him in the darkness. Yes, and look what became of us. Edward IV had married Elizabeth Woodville for love. He could hear the voices of her little boys crying in the tower as they were done to death.