Chapter 15 #2
“You mean between the ministers and Parliament and ruling the kingdom and other countries vying for better alliances and France knocking at our door and our daughters not having husbands?” George cracked an eye open, a hint of light and laughter in his voice despite the pain.
“Yes, besides that,” Charlotte replied with a smile. “What brought you to this state rather than what is usual for you?”
He shifted his hold on her hand, breathing slowly. “Georgie.”
She ought to have guessed.
There was nothing like their oldest son to bring them both into heretofore unmatched levels of irritation, and he seemed determined to grow even more maddening with every passing year.
Charlotte had heard all about his wild, reckless spending of late.
It was beyond exorbitant, and nothing they said made any difference.
He was an adult, of course, and had his own household, so their ability to control him had vanished.
But with that had also come an inclination for him to ignore any and all financial advice.
It was as though Georgie did not care one whit about the gossip surrounding him. He rather embraced being known for his excesses and was proud of his expenditures. Of his finery. Of his behavior and the company he kept. He was a proud man, even if there wasn’t much to be proud of.
Charlotte would admit, only to herself and her husband, that she had not been particularly proud of their son for some time.
She huffed a long sigh. “What did Georgie do now?”
They were interrupted by the doctor offering George a dose of laudanum, which took some maneuvering. With hisses of pain and clenched teeth, George turned onto his back and managed to sit up enough to take the bitter dose. Charlotte offered him some water to help rid his mouth of the vile taste.
“I shall return in a little while to see how the dose is taking effect,” the doctor said. “And then we can attempt the abdominal maneuvers.”
He bowed to them both and then departed, leaving the two of them alone in the room.
“Get a chair, Charlotte,” George rasped, wiping his sleeve across his brow.
She did so without hesitation and resumed her place, quickly taking his hand once more.
George closed his eyes and tilted his head back on his pillow, looking as though he was praying for strength. “There are rumors that Georgie has married in secret.”
Charlotte blinked, feeling as though her stomach had suddenly dropped from her body and landed two floors beneath her.
Rumors and gossip were not something they generally took stock in, as they were not something that could be controlled nor easily managed. But if George was telling her about rumors, that meant there had to be some truth to them or they had come from reliable sources.
“Married?” Charlotte whispered, feeling no joy from the thought.
Of course she wanted her children to marry and start their own families, but if Georgie had married in secret, that meant he was going against the Royal Marriages Act that her husband had set in 1772 to prevent his siblings from their recklessness.
And if Georgie had done that, it could mean that his wife was not someone who would make a suitable queen.
The marriage would not be valid, but it would significantly damage his reputation more than anything he had done thus far and diminish the respect he might garner when he was king.
George nodded in a slow, unsteady movement. “A twice-widowed Catholic. Maria Fitzherbert.”
She closed her eyes in horror, swallowing hard.
Charlotte was no religious fanatic, but the Privy Council would have never agreed to a Catholic being permitted to marry the heir to the throne.
Even if Georgie had asked permission, it would not have been given.
Or, if he had been determined to wed the woman, he would have been removed from the line of succession.
If she knew her son at all, and she flattered herself she did, he would never agree to give up the throne. Not even for love.
Which meant he was doing this for pleasure, for spite, and for now. Not for the future. Not for love. Not for England.
Just his own selfishness.
Did his supposed bride know how badly this would end?
“When?” Charotte asked her husband in a whisper.
“Two years ago,” came the low reply. “Fox denies the rumors. Says there is no possibility that the Prince of Wales would do such a thing, but there is enough reason to suspect . . .” He groaned and put his free hand to his brow.
“Gads, Charlotte, I think he’s done it. As if his debt isn’t enough, now he has a secret bride.
We will never find a queen for him that will be happy by his side. ”
Sighing, Charlotte brought her husband’s hand to her lips quickly. “Then we will have to find one who will be strong enough and good enough for England. And we must pray that Georgie finds maturity and sense somewhere.”
George coughed a rough laugh. “He would not know what to do with either if he did manage to miraculously find some.”
She squeezed his hand, chuckling herself. “True. Shall I distract you from your stress? I’ve had a letter lately from Marie Antoinette, and she has asked that I meet her in Calais. Unofficially, of course, and without ceremony.”
Her husband looked at her, his smile wry. “Truly? What can she be thinking?”
“I think she wants to be in the company of women who understand and will not use her for their own ends,” Charlotte admitted, thinking back on all her friend had suffered in the last few years.
“And with how ugly her country thinks of her, she might find her circle of friends shrinking.” She met George’s eyes steadily.
“I will ask for your blessing as my husband and my king. There are enough secrets floating about as it is, and if it causes you additional grief, I will not go.”
His hold on her hand increased. “Of course you must go. But Charlotte . . . no one must ever know.”
She nodded. “No one will know. I promise.”