She rang for paper and ink and immediately penned a note to Rebecca, her hand moving swiftly, urgently.
My dearest Rebecca,
I have returned to Carlton House as commanded and find myself already confined to my apartments. Your presence should be an infinite comfort, if your husband permit you to call. I am not permitted society, it seems, but I will gladly receive a friend.
Yours always,
Caroline
The reply came two days later, and Caroline clutched it with relief.
My dear Caroline,
I am heartsick to hear how you are received. Nathan is not inclined to indulge visits at present, but I shall prevail if I can, and I promise to try.Elizabeth speaks of you daily, and insists she will come to you the moment she is allowed. Hold fast. You are not forgotten.
Ever your friend,
Rebecca
Caroline folded the letter carefully and pressed it to her chest.
I am uncomfortable,she admitted to herself.Physically, emotionally—every way a woman may be.Her back ached, her feet swelled, and sleep came fitfully. Worse still was the uncertainty. Christmas approached, and with it the specter of obligation.
Will he force me into public rooms? Into display?she wondered.Or shall I be hidden like something shameful until the moment of my usefulness?
She rested back against the cushions, breathing slowly until the child shifted once more, insistent and alive.
“No,” she whispered. “Whatever else he may command, he cannot command my spirit.” And in that thought—delicate but resolute—Caroline found the strength to endure what lay ahead.
The summons to Windsor arrived in due course, borne on thick cream paper edged in black and sealed with unmistakable authority. Caroline read it slowly, her expression unreadable, though something within her lifted at the thought of company—even company undertaken out of obligation. Christmas at Windsor would be splendid, certainly, and loud, and full ofceremony; yet it would also mean voices, movement, and the presence of others who might look upon her as more than a problem to be managed.
There was, however, a second letter.
This one was addressed to her alone, the tone markedly different—measured, considerate, and unmistakably maternal. Queen Charlotte wrote that Caroline’s attendance was desired, but not required beyond what her strength permitted; that her condition must govern her engagements; that she was to appear only when able and withdraw without apology when fatigued. It was, Caroline thought, the kindest communication she had received since her arrival in England.
She read it twice before folding it carefully and setting it aside.
George, however, snatched it up, read it once, and required no second perusal.
“You will inform my mother,” he said curtly, “that you are entering your confinement and will not attend.” He stood near the fire, hands clasped behind his back, speaking as though the matter were already settled. “I will not have any risk taken—real or imagined. The heir is all that concerns anyone at present.” What remained unsaid was his desire to be away from his wife.
Caroline looked at him, searching his face for some sign—anything—that might suggest this concern extended to her. It did not.
“I am not yet confined,” she said firmly. “I am merely advanced.”
“You are advanced enough,” he replied, with an impatient flick of his hand. “And you are weary. It is evident.” His gaze drifted briefly—dismissively—to her waist. “There is no need for you to be displayed.”
Displayed. The word stung, though she had long grown accustomed to such language.
“She has said I may attend as I am able,” Caroline ventured, more tired than defiant. “It would please her.”
“It will please her more to have a living grandchild,” George said flatly. “You will write and say precisely what is proper—that you are withdrawing from public appearance in obedience to medical prudence.”
Caroline hesitated only a moment longer. She was weary—bone-weary—and not inclined to fight battles that would cost her more than they gained.
“Very well,” she said at last. “I shall inform Her Majesty that I am entering my confinement and will not risk the child.”
George nodded, satisfied. “See that you do.”
