‘Don’t you think they get bored?’
‘Depends on the subject,’ said Thea. ‘What do you think?’ She nodded towards the King. The young George III was twenty-six years old and interested in everything about his country, particularly politics, agriculture and science. Portraits of his ancestors stared down at him from the walls, but he seemed comfortable in this space. ‘Amused, currently,’ she said, observing the monarch. The King laughed with Monty Fairclough, a short and affable man who was one of the only people in the country who could claim a greater fortune than Thea’s husband, George.
‘Definitely,’ said Harriet as the King began to move on.
‘Now, polite but bored,’ whispered Harriet as the King settled on his next conversation.
‘That’s my sister-in-law,’ hissed Thea, attempting mock outrage.
‘Who is boring,’ muttered Harriet, unabashed. Thea couldn’t deny it. Helena was polite, deferential, neat and tidy and always said the right thing. Thea knew George would like his wife to be more like his sister, and she tried. Hard. But it didn’t come naturally to her, like it did to Helena.
‘No, you could never be that dull,’ said Harriet, as if reading her mind.
‘Hopeful but disappointed,’ whispered Harriet as the King moved on. Thea’s eyes rested on his next subject and she couldn’t help but let out a rueful laugh. ‘Sorry,’ said Harriet, clearly wondering if she had overstepped the mark.
Thea shook her head in reassurance as the King talked to her husband. ‘No reason to apologise,’ she said quietly.
Harriet appraised her as carefully as she could in company. Thea squirmed under the gaze. Harriet was the only person outside of her staff who knew how difficult she found her marriage.
‘I hope Ursula is grateful,’ said Harriet.
Thea shot her a scowl. ‘You know she is. Milford is secure and therefore she is safe.’
‘And you have paid for that every day of five years of miserable marriage.’ There was a seriousness and tenderness to Harriet’s usual flippancy.
Thea sighed. It was true. George had the land and the wealth to save her family home and her vulnerable sister from her father’s debt, but since their marriage he had chosen excess and exorbitance over productivity. He had kept his father’s seat in parliament but showed little interest in anything but bills which affected his own interest or wealth. Nevertheless, he kept up appearances and insisted on their participation in society, hence tonight’s activity. He was one of the primary case studies in her assessment of whether wealth and status conferred superiority of mind, and in his case, it most certainly did not.
‘And I would do it all again for her,’ said Thea firmly. ‘Also, without him I wouldn’t have my gorgeous children.’ They were her saving grace, but even she had to admit the marriage was getting harder to bear. It had soured quickly – as soon as George had realised he had married into a family carrying debt, not fortune.
Harriet considered her again, clearly worried about her friend but knowing there was nothing either of them could do. ‘I worry about you,’ she said matter-of-factly.
Thea gritted her teeth and tried to inhabit her duchess persona. It was handy, at times like this when she just wanted to burst into tears in public.
‘Well, you mustn’t,’ she said firmly. ‘Not here.’ They shared a look of mutual understanding. Thea looked to the queen at the other side of the room for a distraction and found one.
‘Oh my,’ she whispered. ‘Look at Knatchbull.’
A pristine white wig bobbed down into an over-extravagant bow before re-erecting itself atop a skinny neck and an ostentatious turquoise and gilt three-piece suit. Harriet’s eyes followed hers.
‘Ugh,’ she said. ‘Death’s head upon a mop stick, indeed. Even that suit can’t save it, and it must have cost him above three hundred pounds.’
Thea agreed. It was an extravagant outfit. Unlike George, who was born into money and spent all his time squandering it, Neville Knatchbull had been born with little and had made a fortune from the African trade. Not dealing in people directly, but making guns, collars, chains, shackles and all sorts of things that Thea shuddered to consider. After marrying their friend Cecily for her social circle when he was more than twice her age, he had contacts around the globe, a new, grand estate and was a recently established member of parliament. Given that the position now admitted him to the King’s Drawing Room, he could spend even more time simpering to the nobility and, of course, to the Royals. A dislike of Knatchbull, whilst also being required to be pleasant to him in polite society, was one of the few things Thea and her husband had in common.
‘She actually looks a little interested,’ whispered Harriet, her eyes still trained on the queen. Thea screwed up her eyes to see better across the distance.
‘She looks interested in everyone,’ said Thea. ‘I don’t know how she does it.’
‘Germany can’t have been worse than Knatchbull,’ muttered Harriet, causing Thea to poke her in the ribs. Their queen had moved from Germany to marry King George III only three years ago. In that time, she had mastered the language and had already given birth to two sons, at only twenty-one years old.
‘Why is he there, anyway?’ asked Harriet. ‘He’s a sap for the queen but he’s chosen the King’s side until now.’
Good point, thought Thea. ‘Can’t be an accident,’ she said, but then her gaze was taken by the next in line for the queen’s attention.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked, scrunching up her eyes again. Harriet peered in the same direction and then straightened in surprise.
‘I think it’s my doctor.’
‘Why on earth would your doctor be here?’ asked Thea, leaning sideways into Harriet to keep her voice low. ‘Your boils weren’t so bad that curing them is worthy of magisterial accolade, were they?’
