Chapter 21 #2
George was continuing to find his way back to his old self, though he was not yet fully resuming his duties, but that was due to the careful approach of Dr. Willis and his sons, who were also doctors, who wished to ensure that George did not suffer a relapse from draining his healthy energy.
All parties concerned were so pleased with his progress that Charlotte was planning a celebratory concert for their family, friends, and associates.
Rumors of the king’s health—and even some of his death—had been pervading London for months, and now that music no longer pained George’s head, Charlotte wished to present him to the public as whole, hale, and sane.
The only question was if she would be inviting her two oldest sons to join them.
“The Prince of Wales, Your Majesty.”
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
Though it was not required of her, though she was well within her rights to remain seated, Charlotte rose, not as a matter of respect but to keep her son from sitting down.
She did not want this visit to be drawn out in any way.
Georgie surveyed her with cool indifference, waiting for the door to be closed behind him.
He offered no show of respect or deference, and she kept her expression free from emotion.
For a long moment, they only stared at each other.
“I expected you to refuse to see me,” Georgie said.
Charlotte raised a brow. “I don’t recall being given a choice.”
“So you would have refused?”
“I have a feeling this conversation is long overdue.”
Silence fell between them again.
Charlotte found herself smirking. “You requested this audience, so the impetus falls on you to begin.”
His glare darkened at her provocation, which was what she wanted. Real emotions, real intentions, and real words. For once.
“Your behavior of late has been atrocious,” Georgie finally began, his voice dark and low, sharp with a sinister edge.
“You have connected yourself with my enemies and entered into plans for destroying and disgracing me, as well as all your children. You have allowed misrepresentations of my behavior to be given to the king and prevented me from giving the explanations I wish to give. How dare you, Mother?”
Fury, fire, and resentment exploded within Charlotte’s body like patches of gunpowder waiting for the fuses to be lit, and her temper flared to life, accompanied by sulfur and brimstone.
“How dare I?” she repeated, raising her voice without hesitation or shame.
“How dare I? You have no right to expect or demand anything of me, much less of your father, when you are the one driving the reputation of this family into hell itself. You will not say another word to me unless it is fraught with apology and remonstrances.”
“I would—”
“Not a word!” Charlotte thundered in a roar that shook her entire frame with its force.
“I will not be a channel of anything that either you or Frederick have to say to your father, and I can assure you that your father, the king, does not mind what you or Frederick say or do or think. He knows full well what has happened, what you schemed, and his disappointment in his sons has reached new depths that he did not believe possible. Now get out of my house.”
Georgie blinked, his jaw slack and his complexion pale.
She could not blame him. She had never unleashed her temper in full, and she certainly had never spoken to him so frankly. Her letters to him had always been more cautious in wording, even if the sentiment was the same.
But the last few months had stripped her raw, and she was unable to contain her feelings behind polite boundaries.
“Mother,” he murmured, his eyes flashing with resentment.
Charlotte shook her head. “Get. Out!” she bellowed, not caring if all the servants, staff, doctors, and children heard her do so.
Wisely, Georgie turned on his heel and strode from the room, yelling and cursing loudly once out in the corridor.
Rather like a child throwing a tantrum.
How apposite.
Her body thrummed with the pulse of her ire, her hands finally releasing from the clenched fists that had formed at her sides.
That was badly done of her, but it was also long overdue. Her son had a temper to match hers, but she was still his mother, little as he recollected that fact, and she ought to have found some semblance of dignity in her behavior.
And yet she could not regret it.
She would defend her husband to the death, even from their own children, and now that her son had been prevented from taking power due to George’s recovery, there was less to fear for the time being.
But the time would come when her position would be removed from her, and there would be no more battles left to fight. She would need to be a vigilant warrior until then, however.
Until they knew that George was truly restored and not in danger of relapsing, she could not trust anyone who had not already proven themselves faithful. Honorable. Dedicated.
Determined.
The rot was within the walls; she knew it. But she would do everything in her power to keep that rot from destroying the whole of the tree.
And she had more power where her husband was concerned than anyone had ever given her for England.