George stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled, long and slow, as though she had merely confirmed a suspicion rather than delivered news of consequence. “Yes,” he said at last. “I had supposed as much.”
She blinked. “That is all you have to say?”
“What would you have me say?” he replied irritably. “The object of this arrangement has been achieved. My mother will be satisfied. Parliament will be appeased. The task is complete.”
The bluntness of it struck her harder than she had anticipated, though she had braced herself for indifference. Still, the ease with which he dismissed both her and the child they had created together felt like a fresh wound laid bare.
“I thought it proper that you should know,” Caroline said, her voice steady despite the ache spreading through her chest.
“Indeed. And now that I do,” George said, turning away to pour himself another drink, “there is no further necessity for you to remain here. You will remove to Blackheath tomorrow. It will be quieter there, and you will be spared the attentions of my household. I trust you will find that agreeable.”
Agreeable. The word echoed painfully.
She said nothing for a moment, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of witnessing her hurt. This, she realized, was precisely what she had expected—what she had always known would come once her usefulness was assured. Still, knowing did not dull the sting.
“Very well,” she said at last. “If that is your wish.”
He waved a hand dismissively, already finished with the conversation. “My housekeeper will see that arrangements are made.”
Caroline inclined her head, turned, and left without another word. The door closed behind her with a quiet finality that felt far more decisive than any raised voice might have been.
As she made her way back to her own rooms, the tears she had so carefully restrained finally gathered, though she did not allow them to fall until she was alone. Even then, they were few. She pressed her hand once more to her abdomen, drawing comfort from the gentle, undeniable presence there—a presence that belonged to her, if nothing else did.
She thought of Rebecca. Of her promise to stay. Of shared walks, quiet conversations, a child’s laughter in otherwise lonely rooms. It was a small consolation, perhaps, but it was real.
And for the first time that night, Caroline allowed herself to believe that even at Blackheath—cast aside and inconvenient though she might be—she would not be entirely alone.
Chapter Three
Caroline’s return to Blackheath proceeded with little ceremony. There were no lingering goodbyes, no solicitous inquiries after her comfort, no attempt—however perfunctory—at courtesy on her husband’s part. She penned a note to Rebecca and had Drew deliver it before departing the next day, the urgency of it betraying how deeply she relied upon the promise of her friend’s company. Since her husband had shown her so little courtesy, she did not deign to offer the same to him or his guests, leaving Carlton House without properly bidding anyone farewell. The omission was deliberate, quiet, and entirely satisfying.
The carriage bore her away through streets already familiar, yet newly altered by circumstance. By midday, she was safely back in her own quarters at Blackheath, the house receiving her with the calm indifference of a place accustomed to solitude. There, at last, she allowed herself to breathe freely. She dismissed her outer garments, settled at her writing desk, and began penning a list of plans for her child, and for her friend’s stay—practical considerations interspersed with softer hopes. A cradle to be ordered. Rooms to be prepared. Walks to be takenwhen her strength allowed. A small life, forming slowly within her, already reshaping the future she had once imagined barren.
As Caroline caught up on her correspondence, she penned a note to Queen Charlotte to relay her news. The words required care; this was not merely a personal announcement, but a matter of state. Still, her hand did not tremble as she wrote. There was something steadying in committing the truth to paper.
The reality of the prince’s absence was almost a relief. With him gone—off to indulge himself in company that demanded nothing of him—Blackheath became, if not a sanctuary, then at least a place free from immediate scrutiny.
Madam,
It is my duty to acquaint Your Majesty, with all proper respect and humility, that I have reason to believe myself in the family way, and that the hopes entertained by Your Majesty for the continuance of the royal line may, by God’s providence, be fulfilled.
I beg leave to assure Your Majesty that I shall conduct myself with the utmost discretion and propriety as becomes my station, and I submit myself entirely to Your Majesty’s wisdom and direction in all matters touching my condition.
Praying that this intelligence may afford Your Majesty some measure of satisfaction, I remain, with the deepest respect,Madam,
Your Majesty’s most dutiful and obedient daughter-in-law,
Caroline, Princess of Wales
The reply was warmer than she expected, and it pleased Caroline. She read it once, then again, lingering over its phrasing, the unmistakable tone of approval and relief offering a balm she had not realized she needed so badly.
Windsor Castle
My Dear Daughter,
The intelligence conveyed in your letter has afforded me the sincerest satisfaction, and I receive it with gratitude to Almighty God, whose mercy and wisdom govern all things. You may be assured that no news could be more welcome to me, nor more important to the welfare of this kingdom.
I trust that you will take every care of your health and spirits, and I shall expect that you follow, in all particulars, the guidance of those appointed to attend you. It is my earnest wish that you be spared all unnecessary fatigue, and that your situation be treated with the consideration it so properly deserves.
