unendurable.
His equerries were waiting. The King was growing impatient. He scowled. He – the Prince of Wales – was not free. He must go home with Papa and Mamma like some schoolboy.
He must have his independence. It was never so important as now that he had found Perdita, sweet Perdita!
But wait, he thought. I may not see her tonight, but there is tomorrow. And I shall never forget this night.
*
He spent a restless night. He dreamed of her; he longed for her.
It was no use trying to think of Mary Hamilton. What a child he had been to have imagined that was love. A pure love. He laughed. He had grown up tonight when he had fallen in love with Mary Robinson. He was going to waste no time in letting her know of his devotion.
He was still fond of Mary Hamilton, but this was different; this was real love such as he had never known before.
He would not completely neglect poor Mary. He would still write to her because writing to Mary had become a habit with him. She was after all his dear sister and he her brother.
He could see nothing but Perdita … talking in the wings with Maiden – pink satin jacket and pink heels! he thoughtdisparagingly, but the rogue had looked handsome and he was not treated like a schoolboy – Perdita acting a love scene with the actor who had played Florizel.
Oh, beautiful Mrs Robinson, I am a real prince. I am your Florizel.
It was impossible to sleep, obsessed as he was by such emotion. So he did what he had done frequently when he needed to be soothed; he wrote to Mary Hamilton. He told her of his visit to the theatre and all that had happened there, that on this night he had discovered a goddess. What a comfort for a brother to write to his dear sister.
‘Adieu, adieu, toujours chère ,’ he wrote. And added for the sheer thrill of writing that name: ‘Oh, Mrs Robinson.’
*
Such a tumultuous success must be celebrated and, anticipating it, Mary Robinson had invited a few friends to supper at her house near Covent Garden.
Lord Maiden, who was at her side as soon as the curtain had fallen and the royal party had left, begged to be allowed to be her escort, and knowing of his close association with the Prince of Wales graciously she accepted this.
Sheridan was of the party. He was flushed with triumph. The evening had been as successful as the first night of The School for Scandal, and he had to acknowledge the part Mrs Robinson had played in that success.
It was a gay company which assembled in her drawing room. Mrs Armistead, hovering in the background, never obtruding, noticed a new face among the guests.
We are rising in the world, she thought. Not only Lord Malden but Mr Charles James Fox himself. Who knows where this might end.
And she was elated, seeing in her mistress’s success her own; for Mrs Armistead knew that she was too handsome and more important still, too clever, to remain a lady’s maid all her life.
Lord Maiden whispered to Mrs Robinson: ‘I never saw His Highness so enchanted before, Mistress Perdita.’
And Mrs Robinson flushed and said he was very young, thedear Prince, and so handsome that she could scarcely believe it was possible.
Everyone was talking of the Prince, how different he was from his father; how elegant, how graceful, how gracious. An Englishman, nothing of the dull German about him.
He was no longer a boy either. They could not keep him in leading strings much longer. And when he attained his majority he would be the most powerful young man in the country.
Mr Fox was determined to ingratiate himself with the beautiful actress and she was wary of him. She was deeply conscious of his reputation with women; and had no intention of offering him any encouragement – particularly now the Prince had made his interest so clear. It was a pleasant compliment, of course, that the great statesman should visit her house; it meant that everyone of importance would be clamouring for an invitation; especially now that the Prince had noticed
His equerries were waiting. The King was growing impatient. He scowled. He – the Prince of Wales – was not free. He must go home with Papa and Mamma like some schoolboy.
He must have his independence. It was never so important as now that he had found Perdita, sweet Perdita!
But wait, he thought. I may not see her tonight, but there is tomorrow. And I shall never forget this night.
*
He spent a restless night. He dreamed of her; he longed for her.
It was no use trying to think of Mary Hamilton. What a child he had been to have imagined that was love. A pure love. He laughed. He had grown up tonight when he had fallen in love with Mary Robinson. He was going to waste no time in letting her know of his devotion.
He was still fond of Mary Hamilton, but this was different; this was real love such as he had never known before.
He would not completely neglect poor Mary. He would still write to her because writing to Mary had become a habit with him. She was after all his dear sister and he her brother.
He could see nothing but Perdita … talking in the wings with Maiden – pink satin jacket and pink heels! he thoughtdisparagingly, but the rogue had looked handsome and he was not treated like a schoolboy – Perdita acting a love scene with the actor who had played Florizel.
Oh, beautiful Mrs Robinson, I am a real prince. I am your Florizel.
It was impossible to sleep, obsessed as he was by such emotion. So he did what he had done frequently when he needed to be soothed; he wrote to Mary Hamilton. He told her of his visit to the theatre and all that had happened there, that on this night he had discovered a goddess. What a comfort for a brother to write to his dear sister.
‘Adieu, adieu, toujours chère ,’ he wrote. And added for the sheer thrill of writing that name: ‘Oh, Mrs Robinson.’
*
Such a tumultuous success must be celebrated and, anticipating it, Mary Robinson had invited a few friends to supper at her house near Covent Garden.
Lord Maiden, who was at her side as soon as the curtain had fallen and the royal party had left, begged to be allowed to be her escort, and knowing of his close association with the Prince of Wales graciously she accepted this.
Sheridan was of the party. He was flushed with triumph. The evening had been as successful as the first night of The School for Scandal, and he had to acknowledge the part Mrs Robinson had played in that success.
It was a gay company which assembled in her drawing room. Mrs Armistead, hovering in the background, never obtruding, noticed a new face among the guests.
We are rising in the world, she thought. Not only Lord Malden but Mr Charles James Fox himself. Who knows where this might end.
And she was elated, seeing in her mistress’s success her own; for Mrs Armistead knew that she was too handsome and more important still, too clever, to remain a lady’s maid all her life.
Lord Maiden whispered to Mrs Robinson: ‘I never saw His Highness so enchanted before, Mistress Perdita.’
And Mrs Robinson flushed and said he was very young, thedear Prince, and so handsome that she could scarcely believe it was possible.
Everyone was talking of the Prince, how different he was from his father; how elegant, how graceful, how gracious. An Englishman, nothing of the dull German about him.
He was no longer a boy either. They could not keep him in leading strings much longer. And when he attained his majority he would be the most powerful young man in the country.
Mr Fox was determined to ingratiate himself with the beautiful actress and she was wary of him. She was deeply conscious of his reputation with women; and had no intention of offering him any encouragement – particularly now the Prince had made his interest so clear. It was a pleasant compliment, of course, that the great statesman should visit her house; it meant that everyone of importance would be clamouring for an invitation; especially now that the Prince had noticed
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