Perdita's Prince: (Georgian Series) by Jean Plaidy Read Free Book Online Page B

perfections always delighted her.
    ‘He’s apt to be wild,’ murmured the King.
    ‘In that he does not take after his father … nor his mother. But it’s youth, George, only youth.’
    ‘Then the sooner he grows up the better, eh, what?’
    ‘I am so looking forward to being presented to him.’
    The King’s lips were set in stubborn lines.
    ‘You cannot see the children,’ he said.
    ‘Oh, but …’
    ‘I make it clear, eh, what? You cannot see the children.’
    Cumberland looked downcast and bewildered. But the King repeated: ‘I said you cannot see the children. You heard, eh, what? You cannot see the children.’
    Cumberland remembered what a stubborn old mule George had always been. Let him get an idea and there was no moving him. There was something adamant about the way he spoke. So he could do nothing but take his leave and report to Mr Fox that in spite of being received he had made little headway.
    *
    The Prince was developing a great fondness for his sisters and could not let a day pass without visiting them.
    ‘It is pleasant,’ said the Queen, ‘to know that there is such affection between them.’
    Even the King grunted when she told him and said he was glad George was at last realizing his responsibilities.
    If they could have seen the Prince’s absorption in his sister’s attendant they would have felt less satisfaction; but Mary Hamilton was no Harriot Vernon.
    She had told the Prince as much.
    ‘No matter what my feelings I should never do anything which I considered detrimental to my honour, Your Highness.’
    The Prince had seized her hand and cried passionately: ‘Do you think I should ask it? Your honour is more important to me than my own life.’
    Chivalry was now the rule of his life and those adventures which had gone before seemed crude and coarse. Pure love was the only true love; it was much better to dally on the road of romance than to reach the climax, for when one did romance very often fled.
    Mary was beautiful and so wise, being twenty-three years old, six years his senior. She had enormous eyes, a slightly tip-tilted nose and plump cheeks. She laughed often and infectiously. She was perfect. She admitted to a fondness for the Prince. Was it love? he asked eagerly. Yes, it was love. But not gross love. She would not allow him to demean himself nor her.
    Several of the ladies in the Princesses’ apartments reminded her of Harriot Vernon.
    ‘The Queen sent for her one afternoon. Within an hour her bags had been packed and she was gone. Be careful, Mary.’
    Mary needed no warning. She was going to be careful.
    ‘All that I have to offer you,’ she told the Prince, ‘is pure, sacred and completely disinterested.’
    ‘I know,’ he answered. ‘If it were possible I would ask you to marry me.’
    ‘We know full well that is impossible,’ replied the practical Mary. ‘Perhaps you will not be content with what I have to offer.’
    The Prince was on his knees. He was fond of extravagantgestures. He asked nothing … nothing … but to be able to serve her for the rest of his life. ‘You will forget me in time,’ Mary told him sadly.
    ‘Never, never.’
    She shook her head wisely. ‘If you did forget me I should regret that we ever formed a friendship, but I should not complain.’
    ‘I shall never allow you to leave me,’ he declared. ‘How could I endure to be parted from one whom I not only love with enthusiastic fondness but dote on and adore beyond everything that is human.’
    ‘It delights me to hear Your Highness express such sentiments, but I must tell you that I could never be your mistress. My honour is dearer to me than my life … even than you are to me and …’
    The Prince interrupted her.
    ‘You need say no more. I would sooner go to immediate perdition than attempt to do anything that would be detrimental either to your reputation or your honour and virtue.’
    Mary sighed with happiness.
    ‘Then you truly love me.’
    ‘You could not doubt