Chapter 21
While I shall never compare my troubles here to yours in France, my dear, I must say that I do feel a new kinship with you.
According to reports, I am in cahoots with an assortment of people who are deceiving the public by claiming the king will soon be recovering, all in the hopes of preventing the Prince of Wales from gaining the regency he so earnestly seeks.
I am, it is said, a most duplicitous woman, and Mr. Pitt ought to be ashamed for indulging my evil whims. One of the doctors here finds me quite villainous and seeks to have me humiliated before one and all. And my son encourages such.
It is now, I believe, understandable why some creatures devour their young.
Charlotte
“Your Majesty, thank you for seeing me.”
Charlotte inclined her chin in a hint of a nod, her fingertips tingling in her lap as she clutched them tightly. That simple pressure was the only sensation in her body that did not feel like a painful cold.
Prime Minister William Pitt had asked her for an audience.
Yes, her.
Not her sons.
Yes, plural. Sons. Georgie had dragged Frederick into his mess, and now all of London was aware that the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York were conspiring against the king and queen.
Not directly, of course, but by keeping them separated and preventing Charlotte from seeing George, despite both of their needs to be together.
Her sons wished to weaken them and increase the chances of Georgie being chosen as regent when the Regency Bill went to Parliament.
How had she failed as a mother to such a degree that her sons would be this scheming?
At least George’s treatment was working, and he was improving every day. He had taken tea with the girls without any hysterics or erraticism. He had not burst into violent cursing, made improper remarks, or rambled endlessly in several days.
Charlotte was learning to breathe again.
She’d had enough of George begging to be in her company only to threaten her, profess love for someone else, or try to force himself on her.
She had wiped his tears, protected her children from his rantings, and shielded George from seeing any of the newspapers or notices about the behavior of their sons against him.
Her goal was to be supportive and stalwart for him and for her family.
Political scheming would always abound in one way or another, and she did her best to avoid conflict there, but her family was fraying, and she felt as though she were the only thing keeping them from unraveling entirely.
It was exhausting. It made her anxious. It stole her sleep. It made her prone to tears.
She did not wish to fear her husband, and yet . . .
There was no time to dwell on it, however, because William Pitt was standing before her, looking as respectful as ever and showing nothing on his face.
George adored Pitt. Valued his opinions and his determination to further England’s interests around the world. He approved of the man’s nature and sense, and dreaded the government being ousted in favor of their son’s Whig friends.
Charlotte feared that as well. If that happened, those in power who wished to force a regency might not allow George to recover.
Her favoring Pitt was no secret either, which had led to accusations that she was meddling with medical reports to give her Tory friends some advantage.
None of it was true, but truth did not matter to the public.
“What brings you to see me at Kew, Prime Minister?” Charlotte asked primly.
One side of his mouth quirked, no doubt catching the emphasis on his visit being for her rather than for her husband, the doctors tending to her husband, or her sons.
“I have come to inform you that we have given Dr. Willis more authority over the king’s treatment,” Mr. Pitt said.
“We have found him to be more forthcoming, unlike Dr. Warren, who has been keeping things from us to protect the king’s dignity.
When pressed, Dr. Warren finally confessed that there was nothing improper or indecent about the king’s behavior, so we can only conclude that he either sides with the Whigs or he is biased against Dr. Willis. ”
Charlotte made a soft sound of acknowledgement. “Neither of those options would surprise me, Prime Minister. I have always found Dr. Willis to be forthright and loyal. He uses no flattery and treats the king as a patient rather than some honor to attain.”
“Just so, Your Majesty.” Mr. Pitt exhaled and ran a hand along his coat buttons. “I have heard that your sons have seen the king, now that he is improving.”
“Yes, they managed to have a tearful reunion with him,” she replied, injecting all the sarcasm and derision into her words that she could.
Mr. Pitt would not judge her for it.
He cleared his throat. “I am surprised such a visit was allowed, considering . . .”
Charlotte only smiled. “Yes, considering, indeed. But Dr. Willis and I spoke on the subject at length, and he gradually informed the king of what had been taking place, so as not to overwhelm him. I need not explain to you how fragile his recovery has been, and the setbacks have been many and discouraging. But the king has come through well enough, and he maintained friendly conversation through the meeting. No high feelings on any side, but also no harsh truths of any actions came forth.”
“Ah,” came the soft response of understanding.
“I must thank you, Prime Minister,” Charlotte went on, letting her cool mask slip a little, “for your assistance with that letter to the Prince of Wales on my behalf. I appreciate your support more than you can imagine.”
A flush entered the younger man’s cheeks, surprising her. “It was my pleasure, ma’am. I trust there have been no other issues from that quarter?”
Her smile turned bitter. “Oh, there have certainly been issues. The Prince of Wales wishes me to be confined to familial relations only so he may seize whatever power his fingers might grasp. I have no doubt that he was not nearly so pleased to see the king recovered as he displayed in his audience. I expect to see the prince shortly, as it happens, and I doubt I shall be an equal recipient of his theatrics.”
“Would you prefer me to remain, ma’am?” the prime minister asked with some concern. “I may act as a mediator, if not simply a witness.”
Charlotte shook her head even as her smile softened.
“Thank you, Prime Minister, but no. I shall not subject you to witnessing whatever display appears. You must make your own judgments on the Prince of Wales, and as we are in one of the family homes, he must be allowed to express himself, lest he believes me to be managing the king’s affairs.
Again. Or accuses me of scheming with the Tories. Again.”
Her dry words seemed to amuse Mr. Pitt, and a low chuckle escaped his mouth.
“Though it should be unnecessary; the Regency Bill goes before Parliament soon. Best to have it in place before it is required, in my estimation. And privately, ma’am, we both may wish for the Prince of Wales to not be chosen. ”
“We may wish, Prime Minister,” she said on a sigh, “but I am not a likely alternative. I have no political ambition or knowledge. The king is the statesman, and I am the one who tends the home fires, keeping the flames of our respect and admiration and family rich and fervent. I might know my husband’s mind and wishes, but I would not make a capable regent for him in truth. ”
“I do not agree,” Mr. Pitt said, surprising Charlotte immensely.
“There are ministers and advisers aplenty to assist you, and no one is closer to the king than Your Majesty. The fact that you have no political ambition and only slight partisan preferences”—he gave her a wry grin—“would make you a very capable regent for the country.”
That was a view she did not hear often. Or ever. But it would do no good to contradict the man who ran the country’s government so capably.
She offered him a smile of her own. “Mr. Pitt, I believe you may prefer me to the Prince of Wales as regent because your continued term as prime minister rests on my appointment to the role.”
He shrugged without shame. “This is also true, but it does not negate my previous sentiments.”
A laugh burst from her, something she had not done for quite a long time. “Thank you for your visit, Prime Minister, and for your information. It means a great deal that you chose to confide in me.”
He bowed with as much depth as he might have given George. “Of course, ma’am. I see no reason to keep the details of the king’s condition from you, and I do not intend to do so.”
Charlotte dipped her chin once more in silent thanks. He left the room with firm but comfortable steps, and Charlotte took a moment to breathe in relief, the air sweet and refreshing in her lungs.
As George continued to improve, the tension that had been residing in her body lessened in equal measure.
Somehow, she had been holding her breath without holding her breath for months on end, waiting for more bad news while hoping for news of recovery.
Dread and vigilance had become her constant companions.
She felt a keen, extreme alertness as to George’s state and worked hard to prevent anything from disturbing him.
She worked hard to remain in complete control of her emotions, unlike George’s paranoia and erratic behavior.
But she had also become a recluse in the last year. Keeping to her rooms and hiding even from her children. It was too painful, too overwhelming to be as strong as she was supposed to be when the source of her strength and comfort was disappearing into a creature she feared and did not recognize.
Could anyone have endured all of that without being moved?