Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Caroline’s return to Blackheath proceeded with little ceremony.
There were no lingering goodbyes, no solicitous inquiries after her comfort, no attempt—however perfunctory—at courtesy on her husband’s part.
She penned a note to Rebecca and had Drew deliver it before departing the next day, the urgency of it betraying how deeply she relied upon the promise of her friend’s company.
Since her husband had shown her so little courtesy, she did not deign to offer the same to him or his guests, leaving Carlton House without properly bidding anyone farewell.
The omission was deliberate, quiet, and entirely satisfying.
The carriage bore her away through streets already familiar, yet newly altered by circumstance.
By midday, she was safely back in her own quarters at Blackheath, the house receiving her with the calm indifference of a place accustomed to solitude.
There, at last, she allowed herself to breathe freely.
She dismissed her outer garments, settled at her writing desk, and began penning a list of plans for her child, and for her friend’s stay—practical considerations interspersed with softer hopes.
A cradle to be ordered. Rooms to be prepared.
Walks to be taken when her strength allowed.
A small life, forming slowly within her, already reshaping the future she had once imagined barren.
As Caroline caught up on her correspondence, she penned a note to Queen Charlotte to relay her news.
The words required care; this was not merely a personal announcement, but a matter of state.
Still, her hand did not tremble as she wrote.
There was something steadying in committing the truth to paper.
The reality of the prince’s absence was almost a relief. With him gone—off to indulge himself in company that demanded nothing of him—Blackheath became, if not a sanctuary, then at least a place free from immediate scrutiny.
Madam,
It is my duty to acquaint Your Majesty, with all proper respect and humility, that I have reason to believe myself in the family way, and that the hopes entertained by Your Majesty for the continuance of the royal line may, by God’s providence, be fulfilled.
I beg leave to assure Your Majesty that I shall conduct myself with the utmost discretion and propriety as becomes my station, and I submit myself entirely to Your Majesty’s wisdom and direction in all matters touching my condition.
Praying that this intelligence may afford Your Majesty some measure of satisfaction, I remain, with the deepest respect, Madam,
Your Majesty’s most dutiful and obedient daughter-in-law,
Caroline, Princess of Wales
The reply was warmer than she expected, and it pleased Caroline. She read it once, then again, lingering over its phrasing, the unmistakable tone of approval and relief offering a balm she had not realized she needed so badly.
Windsor Castle
My Dear Daughter,
The intelligence conveyed in your letter has afforded me the sincerest satisfaction, and I receive it with gratitude to Almighty God, whose mercy and wisdom govern all things. You may be assured that no news could be more welcome to me, nor more important to the welfare of this kingdom.
I trust that you will take every care of your health and spirits, and I shall expect that you follow, in all particulars, the guidance of those appointed to attend you.
It is my earnest wish that you be spared all unnecessary fatigue, and that your situation be treated with the consideration it so properly deserves.
Be assured that you have my full approbation, and that I shall watch with the closest interest the progress of events which, by God’s grace, promise so great a blessing to your family and to the nation.
I remain,
Her Majesty, the Queen of England, Charlotte R.
At least one member of my new family is excited for my news.
The thought came unbidden, edged with wry amusement and something sharper beneath.
Caroline knew she had some bitterness of spirit, and she chastened herself for it, attempting to think on happier subjects.
She was, after all, not entirely alone. She had a note from Rebecca, informing her that Mr. de Bourgh had granted her petition to stay in Town instead of traveling with the prince and his entourage—a small victory, but one hard-won.
I confess, I am excited to stay with you at Blackheath. Your invitation included my daughter, for which I am exceedingly grateful. She resides at our home on Grosvenor Square with her nanny. I know you will adore Elizabeth. She is a precocious, intelligent child.
Caroline smiled as she folded the letter, her gaze lifting toward the window where the afternoon light softened the edges of the heath beyond.
She thought of Rebecca’s steady presence, the quiet certainty of the child she carried.
None of it erased her disappointment, nor the knowledge of what she had been denied—but it offered something in its place.
Caroline looked forward to the visit with great enthusiasm. For the first time since her marriage, anticipation did not come freighted with dread.
Rebecca arrived a week later, which granted Caroline plenty of time to prepare rooms. The days before her arrival were among the most purposeful Caroline had known since her marriage—filled not with idle waiting or anxious vigilance, but with intention.
She walked through the house at Blackheath with a critical eye, considering light, warmth, and proximity.
She selected a suite in the family wing.
It was impulsive, and not entirely correct socially, but she did not care.
The family wing was quieter, removed from the formal entertaining rooms, and more easily made comfortable.
Caroline anticipated many nights speaking intimately, voices lowered, confidences exchanged without fear of interruption, and days spent on outings with little Elizabeth—walks on the heath, carriage rides into London when her strength allowed, and hours devoted to books and music.
Having a friend made her plight more bearable, and Caroline did not intend to waste a moment.
Soon enough, Nathan de Bourgh would recall his wife, leaving Caroline alone once more, and she meant to fortify herself against that inevitability while she could.
She oversaw the airing of the chambers herself, insisting the fires be lit early despite the mildness of the season.
Fresh linens were laid, flowers brought in from the garden, and a small escritoire placed near the window for Rebecca’s use.
For Elizabeth, she ordered a low table and chairs, requested books be brought from the nursery cupboard long unused, and even instructed Mrs. Harding to see whether any toys might be procured in town without fuss.
The preparations felt almost illicit in their pleasure.
It was mid-morning when Mr. Ellis, her butler, announced her guests. “Mrs. de Bourgh and Miss de Bourgh, Your Highness.” He bowed stiffly and stepped aside so Rebecca could enter, a little girl hanging on her hand.
Caroline rose. “Welcome.” Her enthusiasm could not be disguised. “I am so pleased you are come. Allow me to call for tea while your trunks are taken up.” She rang the bell, and Mrs. Harding, the housekeeper, appeared. “Tea, please, and refreshments.”
Mrs. Harding nodded and left to see to the request.
Rebecca entered the room with a smile that mirrored Caroline’s own relief.
She was dressed in a walking gown of soft pink wool, trimmed simply but well, her bonnet removed and gloves already tucked away as though she meant to stay.
The color suited her complexion and set off the dark richness of her hair, which was arranged plainly at the nape of her neck.
She looked relaxed, composed, and—Caroline noted with satisfaction—entirely at ease in the house.
Elizabeth, however, commanded immediate attention.
She was small for her age but carried herself with an earnest confidence, her dark brown curls escaping the confines of their ribbons to frame a face animated by curiosity.
Her eyes—those fine, color-changing eyes Rebecca had described—were indeed remarkable: green at first glance but deepening toward hazel when she moved into the light.
She wore a pale muslin frock, neatly made but not extravagant, with a narrow sash tied at the back, and stout little shoes clearly meant for walking rather than display.
Elizabeth looked around the room with undisguised interest, then up at Caroline.
“Are you the Princess?” she asked solemnly.
Rebecca inhaled sharply. “Elizabeth—”
Caroline laughed softly. “Yes,” she said at once, stepping closer and lowering herself slightly so they were nearer eye to eye. “I am the Princess of Wales. And you must be Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth studied her intently. “You are not wearing a crown.”
“No,” Caroline agreed gravely. “I find they are rather impractical indoors.”
Elizabeth considered this, then nodded. “My mama says crowns are heavy.”
“She is quite right,” Caroline said, delighted. “May I take your bonnet?”
Elizabeth surrendered it without protest, her curls springing free at once. She smiled, evidently pleased with the effect.
Rebecca relaxed visibly. “She has been asking about you all week,” she said. “I fear I have done nothing to moderate her expectations.”
“I hope I do not disappoint,” Caroline replied warmly. “Come, both of you—sit. Tea will be here presently.”
They settled onto the settee, Elizabeth tucking her feet beneath her with proprietary comfort. She leaned closer to Caroline, her voice dropping conspiratorially.
“Is this your house?”
“It is,” Caroline said. “For the present.”
“Is it always so quiet?”
Caroline paused, then smiled. “Often.”
Elizabeth nodded, apparently satisfied. “I like quiet. It makes it easier to hear thoughts.”