Chapter 2 #2
But Georgie had been growing more resentful and surlier toward the king of late.
One reason might have been due to the king expressing the chance of abdication during the American Rebellion the year before, suggesting to Georgie that he would take the throne while George, Charlotte, and the children retreated to Hanover.
It had been a low moment for the king, but it had become clear since the resolution of all things—and the return of the king’s convictions—that their son had welcomed the idea with great hopes.
And now they were crushed, and the bitter wounds of such a defeat were not so quickly healed.
Charlotte considered their eldest son and his disgruntlement, which seemed to be his primary state of mind.
He was always wanting more money, more finery, more of everything, and the arguments that had sprung from such wishes had sparked words that could not easily be taken back.
Worse than that, the same arguments were beginning to leak over to Georgie’s siblings.
While Frederick was a trifle more sensible than Georgie, he was more inclined to side with his brother than his parents. And Georgie was determined that his brother stay on his side rather than encourage any understanding between parents and son.
It made little sense to Charlotte. Her husband had always prided himself on thrift in his spending, especially compared with the generations before them. Yes, they were a royal family, but George was often called parsimonious by his sons, and he had earned such a description.
“But that is not why I requested your presence, Charlotte,” George said, bringing Charlotte’s mind out of her thoughts on past troubles and strife. “It is a rather specific incident now that requires our attention. You may perhaps know that Fox won the Westminster election.”
Charlotte had heard that, mostly because she begged some of her ladies-in-waiting to find out some of the more political news and insights of the day that might not be shared with a powerless queen.
But there was no point in feigning ignorance or putting on an act with her husband, so she only dipped her chin in a nod.
George exhaled a slow, unsteady breath, his eyes lowering as his fingers clutched at hers.
“Georgie was at one of the celebrations for Fox’s victory and had imbibed so much strong drink that he fell flat on his face in the middle of the dancing.
When he was raised up from the floor, he emptied the contents of his stomach into the circle of dancers. ”
Charlotte closed her eyes as heat rushed into her cheeks.
She clamped her lips together to keep from saying anything aloud that might never be taken back.
Their son could have whatever political opinions he wanted, though as king he would need to remain as impartial as possible, but to humiliate himself and the entire family in such a distasteful way was horrifying.
Bitterness and shame made for disgruntled parents, royal or not.
But Georgie had a strange sort of appeal to the public, when he wished it. He appreciated the fine arts and was entertaining and charismatic, well read, and surprisingly clever. He was also too preoccupied with being seen rather than accomplishing anything productive.
Where his father the king would have been perfectly happy to be a farmer, Georgie could never be anything but a spoiled, pompous, useless member of the aristocracy.
And he wondered why he was never entrusted with weighty matters.
It was a trial for her husband to know that his heir was so completely opposite from him in nearly every way. That the reign George had tried so valiantly to keep in the ways of moderation, dignity, and control was destined to be significantly altered by his own child the moment he left this earth.
But Charlotte knew something George did not: Their sons were in frequent communication with each other, and she was an occasional correspondent as well.
Frederick relayed some of Georgie’s arguments and complaints against their father to Charlotte, and there was little surprise in what she heard.
Georgie felt ignored by his father, which he considered unkind behavior, but why should his father engage publicly with someone who enjoyed the company of his enemies and supported their efforts?
What’s more, all their sons that were of a proper age were some distance away from court and their father.
They were studying and receiving an education as well as finding success away from the finery and frippery of London.
Military service would be important for the younger sons to support the Crown, and no child of King George III could be permitted a mediocre education.
Had they done wrong by their sons? Was that why Georgie had become the way he was? Were there deficiencies in their children’s upbringing that the tutors, nannies, and advisers had neglected to make them aware of?
“I do not know what to say, George,” Charlotte murmured as she opened her eyes. She squeezed her husband’s hand once more, unsure if it was in consolation, comfort, or habit.
Her poor husband, already weighed down by changes in their kingdom and government, did not need this additional burden.
Yet there was no ridding him of it.
“Why, Charlotte?” George asked, his voice wavering slightly. “Why does our son despise me so?”
She could not—and would not—answer that question, but she did not think he meant for her to.
This was one of those rare moments where her husband was not the king of England, but the man she was married to, the man she had children with, and the man whose life had never been his own.
This was simply George, stripped of artifice and finery, of roles and responsibilities, and seeking his way through life and the world like any other who walked upon it.
George, who had been broken by the deaths of their two youngest boys in the last few years.
George, who clung to baby Emily as though she were his salvation.
George, who sought to understand the world in ways few gentlemen of station attempted.
He would have made a brilliant, admirable, compelling man had he been permitted to be anything other than a king.
And he was still wonderfully capable and intuitive as the king.
There was no point in wishing for what never was and could never be, though. It only left one feeling hopeless and pained with regrets.
“My dear,” Charlotte said on a sigh, moving toward a pair of chairs and pulling her husband with her, “I refuse to allow you to blame yourself for Georgie’s behaviors and actions.
” She sat and tugged him into the chair next to her before clasping both of his hands in hers.
“You have made your position with him perfectly clear, and he has responded as he sees fit. It is as when he was a child, throwing a tantrum when he cannot have his way. You recall how he carried on.” She widened her eyes for effect.
A soft, wry chuckle left her husband’s lips, and his shoulders softened.
Emboldened and encouraged, Charlotte went on.
“He is making his choices, and he will have to live with the consequences of them. As we all must. Do not carry more burdens than you must, George. Have we not enough difficulties to contend with that are not wrapped up in our son and heir? Let time and distance correct his ways.”
“But what if time and distance corrupt his ways?” George asked her, his hands cold in her grasp. “If he would listen to me, Charlotte, I could help him. I could show him the error of his ways, and he might become more sensible and teachable. More amenable to what we wish for him.”
Charlotte shook her head. “My king, he has not listened to anyone but himself for some years now. Anything you say will, I fear, be inflammatory due to the simple fact that you are the one saying it. And I am not a better source for him, as well you know. We must hope that Frederick might help him, for I fear he is the only one who might be heeded.”
“If Frederick agrees with us,” George muttered. “Heaven knows, William doesn’t.”
There wasn’t much to say on that score. William was their seafaring son and had lately developed the rough and rude manners of the average sailor.
Hardly a manner befitting a prince, and, what’s more, he had taken it upon himself to argue with his fellow officers and superiors on board ship, even extending to talking back when receiving orders.
Once the American War had concluded, the king had intervened and pulled William from naval service, sending him to Hanover to learn German.
But mostly to improve his manners and learn how to be a true officer.
William hated Hanover, and he was prone to sullenness in his letters.
Charlotte had been trying to assist her third son in improving his mood and his attitude in her responses, but her patience was growing thin.
He was opposing every measure that George was putting in place for him—all designed to improve his deficiencies—and continuing to rebel against them was only going to lead to a bitter and wretched life.
Still, perhaps they should be grateful that William was not overindulging in drink and becoming sick in public ballrooms.
What a thing to be grateful for!
“Do you know when I might see our Emily today?” George asked, his voice as eager and sweet as Charlotte had ever heard. “Truly, apart from yourself, she might be the only creature that can lift my heart.”
Charlotte rubbed his hands as she gave him a gentle smile. “I do not know, George. The nannies tend to those details, as well you know. She is still young enough to keep her own schedule. But if she is awake, I believe she would adore a visit from her papa.”
George’s smile transformed him from a troubled, beleaguered monarch into a young man on the cusp of fatherhood, wreathed in the joy of a sweet baby daughter and diving headlong into a lifelong obsession with such a bond.
This was the man she had fallen in love with over the years and seeing him again made her heart flutter in a way it had not done for an age.
Impetuous decisions were not Charlotte’s way, but suddenly she stood and kept her hold on his hands. “Shall we try to see our baby girl together, my dear? Her sweetness would be a balm for us both.”
“I would love that most of all, my dear wife.” George stood and leaned closer, pressing his lips tenderly to her brow. “Have you the time to spare?”
“Have you?” she asked in return, her thumbs stroking the skin of his hands. “There are so many demands upon your time.”
George nodded once. “In this instance, I shall make the time. I must remind myself that I have not utterly failed as a father while attempting to parent a kingdom.”
Charlotte’s heart buckled at the admission. “Oh, George . . .”
He raised a hand and brushed it along her cheek. “Do not fret, my queen. This mood will lift, and all will be as it was again. But until then, do not leave me.”
She captured his hand and kissed the palm of it, nodding in return. “I will remain by your side, George. Always.”