“If I do, I must inform you that Mr. Robinson will be with me.” Even then, though we now dwelt apart, I had no wish to offend my husband or upset our domestic apple cart, however rickety it may have been.
Our marriage was then little more than a sham. Mr. Robinson visited me when he needed money, and for little else, though he could always be counted upon to dress grandly and affect his most polished manners when it came to any entertainments in the offing, from concerts to theatre to ridottos to card parties—most especially card parties.
That night, Mr. Robinson and I took our places in one of the balcony boxes at the concert hall. He had no notion of why I had suggested we attend the Oratorio. Immediately, he withdrew his quizzing glass from his pocket and fixed his attention on a garishly attired lady seated across the auditorium. I made use of this opportunity to glance toward the royal box, from which the prince almost instantaneously observed me. He held the printed bill before his face and drew his hand across his forehead, still fixing his eye on me. I had absolutely no idea what he was about. Unable to fathom his semaphore, I frowned and discreetly raised my hands as if to convey that I had not comprehended him.
His Highness continued to make signs, but I could make neither head nor tail out of them. Finally, he laid his arm across the edge of the royal box and moved his hand in pantomime, as if writing a letter. This sparked the attention of the prince’s next youngest brother, Prince Frederick, then Duke of Osnaburg, who was sitting in the box beside him. The youths exchanged words, and Prince Frederick then looked toward me with particular attention.
How should I react? I wondered. Subtly enough to acknowledge their attention without raising my husband’s suspicions—and perhaps worse, arousing the attention of the audience, who was fixated upon the royals in their midst. I had learned from our command performance at Drury Lane that where the royals looked, there too focused the rest of the house.
One of the gentlemen in waiting brought the Prince of Wales a goblet of water; before he raised it to his lips, he looked at me, almost as if to toast me with it. By now, so marked was His Royal Highness’s conduct that several persons in the pit turned to direct their gaze at me.
My vanity was gratified in the extreme to know that the most admired and accomplished prince in Europe appeared to be devotedly attached to me; yet I was as discommoded as I was flattered, for surely now the wags at the morning papers would fall over themselves to mention it. Our London dailies never permitted the truth to get in the way of a good story. Everyone knew that people paid the editors good coin to publicly puff themselves or level a jibe at others. Never mind if the stories weren’t true and the items not genuine—scandal and gossip sold papers.
I had to know more. I requested an interview with the Duchess of Devonshire as soon as she could see me. She was the very pinnacle of smart society and her connexions were both cultivated and extensive. In between remarks about whether or not children got too much fresh air or not enough of it these days, I breezily asked her, “What think you of the Prince of Wales?”
“Don’t think I don’t read all the papers, ma chère; I know why you’re asking me. Frankly,” she added, offering me a meringue with my tea, “I’ve never met him. Odd, isn’t it?” The duchess cocked her head prettily. “Though perhaps not. Their Majesties keep the princes of the blood terribly sheltered—and the princesses even more so.” Confirming what Betty Farren had told me, she added, “Only entertainments that will expand the mind are permitted, and if the events are of a religious nature, such as the Oratorio, so much the better. Unless the king wishes to attend the theatre, they never go to such frivolities. Once he attains his majority, of course, Prince George is free to go where he pleases. I shouldn’t blame him if the moment he turns twenty-one he joins a regiment and dashes off to fight in the colonies, just to escape his parents’ domestic tyranny. I don’t envy the four years of Hanoverian repression still ahead of him.”
“Hush! You mustn’t talk like that, Your Grace! It’s practically treasonous.” And I had nearly forgotten that he was so much younger than I. Good heavens, what would Their Majesties think if they learned he was sending billets-doux to an actress at Drury Lane.
“I can only tell you what I hear of him, which perhaps is not much more than you have heard yourself, though I move with some of his intimates. They say his jokes sometimes have the semblance of genuine wit—which is all to the good. And he appears to have an inclination to meddle with politics, so heaven help us all if my dear friend Fox—or your Mr. Sheridan—takes him under his wing, for then His Highness and His Majesty might come to blows. By all accounts, the prince wishes at all times to be considered a person of consequence—”
“But he is such a one,” I interjected.
“—whether it be in intrigues of state or matters of gallantry. I thought you desired to learn all that I know of your most besotted swain, yes? Then you mustn’t interrupt me,” she teased. “Already it is spread about that His Royal Highness often thinks more is intended in such instances than really is the case. A form of aggrandizement, I suppose one might call it.”
If this was true, I was glad to be erring on the side of caution and
