I think many people had believed that I would not get over my illness. It was certain that the Duke of Cumberland did. How he longed to be King himself with poor blind George to follow him. Sly and ruthless as he was, he did act rather incautiously. Very often instead of furthering his schemes, he ruined them.

I did hear a disquieting story. During my illness he had been often with the King. I remembered how he had been in attendance on the late George IV right up to the time of his death and what anxiety there had been when Mama had thought he was trying to get Uncle George to insist that I go to Windsor, where Mama was sure Cumberland would try to get rid of me. Now that I was ill he was currying favor with William.

That was not easy. Uncle William might be called a bumbling old fool, but he was not without a certain shrewdness and he could not be so easily duped.

The story was that during a banquet when the monarch's health was being drunk, Cumberland raised his glass and said, “The King's heir. God bless him.”

There was silence around the table for Cumberland was behaving as though I were as good as dead—in which case he would be the next.

Uncle William was furious. He went very red in the face and standing up he lifted his glass and cried very loudly, “The King's heir. God bless her!”

Dear Uncle William!

Mama laughed heartily over that. I heard her talking to the odious one about it.

“That has finished him! He was a little too sure of himself this time.”

It seemed that she was right. Cumberland disappeared from Court and I began to get better.


* * *

WHAT A JOY it was to return to Kensington. There, a surprise awaited me, for I found that we had better apartments than before. We had seventeen rooms in all and that was a great improvement.

“Only what is due to the dignity of a queen,” said Mama.

I wanted to remind her that I was not yet that, but refrained from doing so. She was so excited because Uncle Leopold had written to tell her that two cousins, with their father, were coming to England; and she was always delighted to see her relatives.

This was her brother Ferdinand and his two sons, Ferdinand and Augustus. I was a little disappointed, for when I had first heard that cousins were coming I had thought of Ernest and Albert. However the prospect of a visit from cousins was always interesting and I shared Mama's happy anticipation.

In due course they arrived, and they were all charming, particularly Ferdinand, the elder cousin. He was on his way to Portugal to be married, and that made him seem a very romantic figure.

It was a repetition of that other cousinly visit; we rode, walked, danced, and sang together. They were able to bring us news of Uncle Leopold and Aunt Louise; and I was very happy for them because they now had a little son who was named Leopold after his father. I had been in transports of joy when I had heard of the child's safe arrival. Dear Aunt Louise must have been particularly joyful as she had been disappointed once before.

When Uncle William and Aunt Adelaide invited the cousins to Windsor I was in a fever of apprehension lest there should be tension between the King and Mama.

He did ignore her and made a point of my sitting between him and George Cambridge at dinner there; but perhaps due to Aunt Adelaide's tact, we managed to avoid a real upset and Mama and the King satisfied themselves with black looks.

I was glad when the visit was over, which was such a pity, for I did love Windsor and the King was always so kind to me. We danced often and that was a great pleasure. I had too little dancing. Mama said I should not dance with anyone who was not royal, which meant that there were very few people with whom I could dance. But the cousins loved dancing, and would often whirl me around the drawing-room—which was of course permissible.

I was very sorry when they left and kept telling myself how fortunate I was to have such delightful cousins.

That was like a prelude. It was not long after the departure of those cousins when Mama summoned me to her apartments. She was waving a letter in her hand and I knew that it was good news.

My heart began to beat more quickly. Could it really be…at last?

“Your Uncle Ernest is coming.”

Uncle Ernest! He was the one who had been so harsh with his wife Luise—Albert's mother.

“And,” went on Mama, “he is bringing with him his two sons—your cousins Ernest and Albert.”

“Oh, Mama!”

“I thought you would be pleased. Uncle Leopold is delighted that they are coming. He says he very much hopes that you and Albert will like each other. He is, as a matter of fact, certain that you will. He says he knows you both so very well and he regards you as his beloved children.”

“Oh Mama, that is wonderful!”

“They will be here in May.”

“For my birthday?”

Mama nodded.

I said, “My seventeenth birthday!” Mama looked a little less pleased, but I took every opportunity of reminding her how old I was getting.

Excitedly I discussed the visit with Lehzen. I would get out my drawing books to show them. I wondered if Albert … the cousins… liked drawing. I wondered if they sang. Did they like dancing?

“They would have been taught these accomplishments as a part of their education,” said Lehzen.

“Yes, Lehzen, but there is a difference between being taught and liking.”

Lehzen patted my shoulder and smiled at me.

Inevitably trouble began to show itself. I had not realized before how anxious people were for me to marry a husband who should be chosen for me by them. Being in my position meant that there were differing opinions in the family and it was a foregone conclusion that the one chosen for me by my mother would not be the King's elect.

The King very much wanted me to marry George Cambridge. There was no doubt that George was a very charming boy; he had been more or less brought up by Aunt Adelaide when his parents were abroad, and she and the King looked upon him as the son they had not had. They considered him ideal for me. But on the other hand Uncle Leopold and my mother had chosen Albert. It was natural for me to lean toward Uncle Leopold's choice. I had adored him, looked up to him. Of course the dearest friend I had ever had was Lehzen, but that was different. I did not idolize her; I merely loved her. Besides, Uncle Leopold's being a man made him seem more grand, more important; and I felt, at that time, that if Albert was his choice, he must be mine too. The fact was that I had fallen in love with Albert's image before I met him. I was determined to love Albert, because, since Uncle Leopold thought he was the most charming and the most suitable young man in the world, he must be.

The King was very well aware of Uncle Leopold's intentions—just as Uncle Leopold was of the King's. I had heard the King refer to Uncle Leopold as “that water-drinking nincompoop, always thinking he is ill, prancing about in built-up shoes in his feather boa.” Uncle Leopold's opinion of the King was equally unflattering.

I was horrified though when the King tried to prevent my uncle and cousins from coming to England. But the Prime Minister apparently said this could not be done, for there was no political reason why their visit should be banned. Then Uncle William looked around for the best ways of discomfiting them and he decided to invite the Prince of Orange and his sons to come to England, and their visit should coincide with that of my uncle and cousins. The Prince of Orange had long been an enemy of Uncle Leopold's.

It seemed that, as usual, someone was going to do something to spoil the visit.

Uncle Leopold was incensed.

He wrote to me:

My dearest child, I am really astonished at the conduct of your old Uncle, the King. This invitation of the Prince of Orange and his sons, this forcing him upon others, is very extraordinary…

Not later than yesterday I got a half-official communication from England, insinuating that it would be highly desirable if the visit of your relations should not take place this year. The relations of the King and the Queen, therefore, to the God-knows-what-degree, are to come in shoals and rule the land, when your relations are to be forbidden the country, and that when, as you know, the whole of your relations have ever been very dutiful and kind to the King. Really and truly I never saw or heard anything like it, and I really hope it will a little rouse your spirit; now that slavery is even abolished in the British Colonies, I do not comprehend why your lot alone should be to be kept, a little white slavey in England for the pleasure of the Court, who never bought you, as I am not aware of their having gone to any expense on that head, or the King's even having spent a sixpence for your existence. I expect that my visit to England will be prohibited by an Order in Council…

I have not the least doubt that the King, in his passion for the Oranges, will be excessively rude to your relations; this, however, will not signify much; they are your guests, not his.

How angry he was! And how disappointed I was that this great occasion should be tarnished by this perpetual family bickering.

But nothing could really spoil that encounter.

Albert! What can I say of that first meeting? It is so sad to recall it now and remember him as he stood before me—tall, handsome—more handsome than anyone I had ever seen—quite beautiful—those large clear blue eyes, so earnest, so serious. I chide myself now because there was a time when his seriousness irked me a little. How could I ever have been irked by anything about my beloved Albert?