Henrietta Howard

Launch Day!

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Raise a glass of virtual champagne, it’s publication day! Mistress of the Court is out in UK paperback now.

There are plenty of exciting offers to kick off the launch. If you missed the Goodreads giveaway that closed today, do not fear. My publisher is offering a special pre-order price on the Kindle edition, which comes out on 25 September 2015. You can reserve yours now for just £1.99 ($3.10 US, $4.99 AUS). The price will go up after publication, so make sure you lock into this deal.

For UK readers, I’m delighted to announce I will be signing at Waterstones Bury St Edmunds on 8 August 2015 between 10:00 and 12:00 and Waterstones Colchester on 15 August 2015 between 12:00 and 13:00. The staff are wonderful and both shops are lovely, so please do come along and see us. If you can’t make it in person, they can take your reservation over the phone and post a signed copy to you.

Mistress of the Court will also be going on its own virtual blog tour with TLC. Watch this space for reviews and more!

Giveaway Time

Mistress of the Court

Make haste, there are only a few days left to enter the Goodreads giveaway for Mistress of the Court! An amazing 20 copies are up for grabs for UK readers. Entries close on 4 August 2015, so get in quick!

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The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins

9781444780499_p0_v1_s300x475Hodder and Stoughton must be my favourite publisher at the moment. Not only are they releasing books set in the Georgian era, but very good books at that! I’m currently reading Martine Bailey’s The Penny Heart and have just finished Antonia Hodgson’s The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins. Both are the authors’ second books, both dark and wonderful in different ways.

I read Hodgson’s debut The Devil in the Marshalsea last year and enjoyed it. The sensory details and grim reality of life for 18th century debtors were well captured. However, something was lacking for me, and I couldn’t really put my finger on it until I read The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins. It was pizazz, something extra that kept me turning the pages and holding my breath. And the good news is, The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins has this in droves.

Hawkins, a kind-hearted but fatally flawed young man, has recently won his freedom and a new girlfriend. He should be happy, but gradually he begins to slip into the old habits that landed him in debtor’s prison in the first place. What starts off as a harmless adventure soon embroils him in the world of criminal gangs in St Giles and vicious wife beaters.

Finding the lives of his loved ones at risk, Hawkins tries to wriggle out of his troubles. Yet he only puts himself in further danger. Not only does he owe a debt to the Queen, he has been wrongly accused of murder.

The victim’s family all hide dangerous secrets. But will Hawkins be able to discover them before the law catches up with him? The twists and turns just keep coming – right until the last few pages.

While the narrative is an enjoyable murder mystery in its own right, it is interspersed with present tense ‘snapshots’ of Hawkins in a cart on his way to Tyburn. For me, these little glimpses made the book extra special. They were immediate and extremely well written, driving the narrative forward and providing a hauntingly accurate account of the last journey made by so many to the ‘Tyburn tree’.

Another clever interruption to the narrative were the ‘press-cuttings’ of Hawkins’ case. We see a ballad written about his crimes and a court record of his trial. These snippets evoked the flavour of the time perfectly and came across as very authentic.

Amidst some heart-pounding action scenes and forays into the slums of St Giles, we also get a glimpse of life at the highest rank of society. I have to confess, I was a little nervous to read the parts where Queen Caroline and the King’s mistress, Henrietta Howard, featured in the book. I’m a bit of a hard customer to please when it comes to two historic figures I hold so dear. But not only was the depiction accurate, Hodgson’s portrayal of Queen Caroline was, to my mind, spot on. I even managed to guess which of the princesses Hawkins was talking to, merely from her speech, which shows what a good job was made of researching the family, despite their comparatively small bearing on the main action.

While Hawkins is not exactly my type of hero, I found myself rooting for the well-drawn characters and eager to return to the their world. A highly recommended book.

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Deaf, peevish old beast

Henrietta_Howard

There are many reasons why Henrietta Howard, the heroine of my new book Mistress of the Court, is a fascinating woman to write about. In previous posts I’ve covered her determination, early feminism and struggle against domestic abuse. However, the aspect of her life that contemporaries at court chose to concentrate on, in poems and in jests, was her partial deafness.

Not all of these were malicious. Pope charmingly uses the affliction to highlight Henrietta’s modest nature:

When all the world conspires to praise her

The woman’s deaf and does not hear

Indeed, Henrietta herself was inclined to make light of her condition with her friends, writing to Lord Chesterfield

I know you so indulgent to your friends, that you would not interrupt their diversions . . . you always affirmed pain was my particular one

But this frivolous comment hid, as so often with Henrietta’s life, a world of pain and suffering. She was not born with any hearing impediment. Her biographer Tracy Borman believes the trouble began in Henrietta’s late 20s or early 30s. The cause is not clear, although for dramatic effect in Mistress of the Court, I attribute the damage to a blow received by her husband.

Henrietta’s was certainly a painful deafness; she often described her ‘poor pain in the face’ and letters from her correspondents are rife with regrets that she is not in  better health. Her friend Dr Arbuthnot constantly treated her for headaches. It may be that Henrietta started to have difficulty hearing her own voice and adopted some signs; one of her letters refers to ‘that gesticulation of the hand for which I am so famous.’

Despite the fact that George II, in one of his rages, referred to her as a ‘deaf, peevish old beast’, it appears Henrietta was perfectly stoical about her condition. In fact, one wonders if she could have born for so long with George II if she were not partially deaf. With the writer Jonathan Swift, she engaged in a kind of playful competition to see who was the most unwell.  ‘I should make you the best husband in the world,’ wrote Swift,’for I am ten times deafer than ever you were in your life.’ Henrietta, however, beat him by showing superior fortitude. Deafness and headache were ‘misfortunes I have laboured under these many years,’ she boasted, ‘and yet never was peevish with myself or the world.’

Eventually, the agony became too severe. Something had to be done. In the summer of 1728, Henrietta consulted the eminent surgeon Mr Cheselden. He suggested an operation – something to be feared and dreaded in the pre anesthetic/disinfectant era. One only has to read Fanny Burney’s account of her own mastectomy to swoon in horror.

Horace Walpole makes an interesting reference to Henrietta’s operation in his anecdotes. He claims that Henrietta heard a condemned man at Newgate, who suffered from the same condition. According to Walpole, Cheselden arranged for the prisoner to be pardoned, on the condition that he submitted to an experimental operation. This is not impossible – Queen Caroline made a similar deal when testing her smallpox inoculations.

Despite reading treatise and advice on treatment for bad ears, I could not establish the exact nature of the procedure Henrietta underwent. Suffice to say, it involved some sort of boring tool. Her own description is rather chilling, calling to mind a sweating surgeon and horrific instruments.

I sent for Mr Cheselden, who, give him his due, worked very hard, but found so much resistance, that I was justified to inquire no further then into my jaw; besides, finding nothing there, we were afraid to proceed.

Henrietta admits that the pain of the operation was ‘almost unbearable’, but it seemed to do good. ‘‘I am much better;’ she reported to John Gay in August. ‘Whether I owe it to the operation I underwent, or to my medicines, I cannot tell.’

When I write biographical novels, I often draft little scenes that I have no intention of putting in the final draft. I like to explore important events in the subject’s life and see even the mundane parts of life through their eyes. As I wanted to get a feel for the medicines Henrietta would take daily, and think about how she would cope with an operation, I wrote the following scene with my research into hearing difficulties.  It is not in the novel, but I hope you will enjoy it.

The doctor peered down his nose at Henrietta. He was dressed in black and white like a parson; as if he was prepared to perform the funeral rites, should she take a turn for the worse. A short, unpowdered wig sat beneath his hat. He looked eminently respectable, but Henrietta eyed him warily. Could this man help her? No doctor had been able to save her parents or siblings from their fate. In her experience medical men were mere harbingers of death; crows that sat on the lychgate and cawed as the coffin passed by.

‘Mrs Howard. An honour.’ He bowed, keeping his eyes fixed on her ear.

Suddenly, pain pulsed through her head, nearly felling her. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed a hand to her brow. This would not do. The pangs were coming frequently now, with greater strength. She had to try something to stop them.

A whiff of smelling salts beneath her nose jerked her back to her senses. She looked up gratefully at the doctor, who now stood beside her. ‘Thank you Mr Cheselden. I came over most queer.’

Her frowned. ‘It is your head that troubles you?’

‘Yes, my head and my ears. I do not hear well at all. My friends Dr Arbuthnot and Lord Chesterfield have spoken very highly of your skill with such things. They believe you can help me.’

He wet his lips. His face was plump and ruddy; like most doctors, he looked astonishingly well living off others’ pain. ‘Perhaps I can. Tell me how this first came about.’

With lowered eyes, she explained the gradual loss of her hearing and the headaches that arrested her, especially in times of distress. She told him she had knocked her head many times in the past, but attributed it to riding accidents instead of Charles’s well-aimed fist.

He lifted his bag and began to rummage in it. ‘And what have you taken so far?’

‘Some pills made of Jesuits’ Bark and gillyflower syrup. Laudanum, of course. I try to sleep with half an onion on the bad ear.’

‘With this type of pain, you should be kept cool and take emollient substances such as milk and spinach. Did you never think to shave your head?’

She could just imagine George’s reaction to that. ‘I wish to keep my hair. But I did have a blister, here.’ She ran her finger along her jawbone from the side her chin to just below her earlobe.

‘Yes. The corner of your jaw, just there. That is where we should concentrate.’ He drew out a small wooden case and laid it on a side table. Then, with his index finger, he tilted her chin to the light.

She swallowed. ‘What – what do you mean to do?’

‘You are familiar with the theory behind bleeding? Letting the ill humours flow out?’ She could not nod while he held her head, so she blinked. ‘Then there is a process where we go deeper, especially in cases of lunacy. You may have heard of trepanning?’

She froze. Everyone knew of the horrific procedure where a hole was drilled in the skull to release pressure in the brain. Sometimes discs of bone were removed permanently.

Mr Cheselden smiled. ‘Do not turn so pale, dear madam. I only mean to say that whatever obstructs the flow of blood through the head may cause the ache. With an instrument similar to the trepan, I can bore a small hole in the angle of your jaw to unblock it.’

Her heart bounded within her. Suddenly she did not want any help; she would rather be left alone. ‘Would it hurt?’

Evading her question, he gestured to an armchair. ‘We might do it just there. You could sit comfortably with a cambric handkerchief over your eyes; you would not see a thing. Have you an old sheet, and some lint?’

The ache in her head was dull now; terror drove it off. She moved her dry tongue. ‘I believe I do. But sir, pray tell me how much it will hurt. I must prepare myself.’ She watched him as he passed to the side table and opened his box. Polished steel glinted from within. She turned her face away, sick with horror.

‘I do not believe it will be much greater than the pain you already labour under,’ he said gently. ‘Unless . . . Perhaps you do not feel yourself equal to withstand it?’

Unexpected pride kicked in her chest. Unequal to withstand it indeed! This man had no idea what she had been through. ‘I am accustomed to discomfort, I assure you. What is your price?’ He named a large sum. ‘For such a fee sir, you must be sure of success.’ He inclined his head.

It did not feel right to spend so much, after begging George for more money. But didn’t she deserve some relief; a slither of money to spend on herself, instead of Charles and his blasted debts? ‘If you are certain, I will proceed, Mr Cheselden.’ Fear crept through her as the words left her lips.

‘I must ask for the payment upfront. In case of . . . difficulty.’

Trembling, she told the money into his hand. George’s impassive profile stared back at her from a coin. Despite everything, her lip twitched. It seemed absurd to pay out such a great sum, when George would gladly put a hole in her head for no charge at all.

Henry Howard

Mistress of the CourtEvery novel has its minor characters. Sometimes, they can be even more interesting than the protagonist. In fiction these ‘bit part’ characters can create spin offs, but in fact-based historical fiction they are real people with rich lives of their own. Today I want to consider the life of Henry Howard, who features in my story about his mother, Henrietta, titled Mistress of the Court.

On New Year’s day 1707, Henrietta Howard gave birth to a son. First child and heir to his father, Charles, who was in turn the son of an Earl, you would think his future would be bright. Unfortunately, the boy was to live a confusing and emotionally traumatic life.

Named for his maternal grandfather, the young Henry Howard arrived in a family already at odds with one another. His father Charles was in the process of suing Henrietta’s brother over her dowry. Money was short, and so was the love between the two parents. From Henrietta’s writings, we know that Charles was a drunkard, gambler and abusive husband. When his lawsuit failed, the family were left more in debt than ever. Depositing Henrietta and the infant Henry in ‘mean lodgings’ in Berkshire, Charles returned to London to live his life unencumbered by their presence.

This abandonment lasted some two years. Henry was deprived of a father for the earliest part of his life – and any form of financial aid from that father. Even when Henrietta, finally at her wits end, set off in search of Charles, the family did not enjoy a happy reunion. They boarded with Charles’ brother at Audley End house for a year and a half. However, Charles was again frequently absent, deserting mother and child for months on end. They were finally expelled from Audley End for failing to pay the rent. It is testimony to Charles’s bad behaviour that he was evicted by his own brother.

Audley End House
Audley End House

If this constant movement and upheaval was confusing for the young Henry, it was about to get worse. He was dragged across the roughest parts of London under the assumed surname of Smith to avoid his father’s debtors. Every so often, his father would run away under fear of arrest and leave him with his mother. Unsurprisingly, mother and child grew close. Henry was Henrietta’s only comfort and gave her the affection she did not receive from Charles. They were both ‘under the pressure and smart of hunger’ most of the time.

In Mistress of the Court, Henrietta travels to Hanover in order to make money and a future for her son. While this probably was her main motivation for going abroad, it is distressing to think that she must have further traumatised Henry by depriving him of his only friend. She only raised enough money for herself and Charles to go to the Hanoverian court and woo the next monarch. Henry was left behind, though it is not clear with whom.

My knowledge of Henry’s life comes solely from Tracy Boreman’s excellent biography of Henrietta and Henrietta’s published correspondence. I have not seen any letters Henry wrote about his childhood, if indeed any survive. But it is hard to conceive that he was not deeply affected by these strange early years of his life. He had been passed from pillar to post like a package, half-starved through most of his formative years. He was a frequent witness to the abusive relationship between his parents. At the age of barely seven, he was abandoned by them both for just over a year. Little wonder he appears as a strange and rather prickly child in my book.

Henrietta Howard
Henrietta Howard

Prospects improved for Henry with the death of Queen Anne in 1714. His parents arrived back in England shortly before the coronation of George I and were granted places at court. However, their new lodgings in St James’s palace were not as grand as they sound. It was a horrid place, rife with damp and the necessity of sharing chamber pots between families. One wonders if Henry was altogether pleased to be reunited with his parents under these circumstances.

The domestic situation certainly did not ease up. Henrietta and Charles were constantly coming to blows. He disapproved of her clothes and her friends. He was annoyed that her service to the Princess of Wales interrupted her attendance on him. Henrietta confessed to getting out of bed several times a night for fear he would kill her. Not precisely an ideal environment for a child under 10 to grow up in.

Things finally came to head with the split of the royal household in 1718. Henry’s parents worked for different factions of the court and were both unwilling to give up their roles. After a furious row, Henrietta stormed out without even stopping to take her belongings. Charles sent a bitter letter after her, saying he no longer considered her to be his wife.

In Mistress of the Court, I have Henrietta separated from her son unwittingly. But the sad truth is that she actually made the decision to leave him. It was certainly not something she did lightly. Her writings show she agonised over the choice and genuinely feared for her life if she stayed with Charles. But what a blow it must have been for Henry, just eleven years old! It was a breach of trust that he would never forgive.

Henrietta was in fact, extremely naive about her son. At first she thought Charles would allow her to visit him – an illusion which he quickly dispelled. She then remained convinced that Henry would take her side, despite her actions. She was determined not to pressure him but ‘leave all to his natural inclinations’. What she actually did was leave him to the insidious ways of Charles. And Charles, accordingly, was raising the child to despise his mother.

This was all the easier when Henrietta became mistress to the Prince of Wales. While it was necessary for her survival, you can imagine how it looked to Henry. He probably thought his mother had deserted him to run off with her lover. And though it was far from the truth, Charles would have encouraged the idea. Charles wrote to tell Henrietta that their son was forced to ‘hear the reproaches of your public defiance to me, and what the world will interpret as the occasion of it.’

George II, Henrietta's lover
George II, Henrietta’s lover

Henrietta was only able to obtain sketchy details of her son’s life over the next few years. She discovered he was at a school near Salisbury and sent her cousin to visit, but he was removed to a private school before she arrived. In 1720, he attended Magdalene College at Cambridge. His studies were followed up at an academy in Paris. Henrietta’s friend Lord Peterborough sent his son to the same academy, hoping to glean some further information. It does not seem he was successful. Whether in or out his father’s company, Henry made no effort to contact his mother.

It appeared that Charles was right when he wrote that ‘No artifice or temptation . . . will every prevail with [Henry] to desert me.’ This is surprising, considering Charles’ behaviour through Henry’s childhood. Henrietta was certainly shocked, and disbelieving. ‘I wish to God [Henry] was of a riper age to be judge between us,’ she wrote. ‘I am not willing to suppose he will long neglect a parent who has not forfeited the duty he owes her.’ Nor was she alone in her hopes. From Alexander Pope’s letter of 1727, we can see that Henry was not treated particularly well by his father:

And yet, as to the last thing that troubles you (the odd useage of Mr H towards his son) I would fain hope some good may be derived from it. It may turn him to a reflection, that possibly his mother may be yet worse used than himself; and make him think of some means to comfort himself in comforting her.

It was not to be. Henrietta legally separated from Charles in 1728. This proceeding was highly usual at the time, considered as something only resorted to by ‘blasphemous, trouble-making’ women. Henry would have felt humiliated by this public end to his parents’ marriage, and the wide spread gossip of his mother’s infidelity.

This separation was the final nail in the coffin of the mother/child relationship. Charles died just five years later in 1733, but still Henry made no contact. In fact, Henrietta appeared afraid of seeing him. Lord Bathhurst could only convince her to visit by assuring her that ‘my castle is not molested by your son.’

Henry became Earl of Suffolk upon Charles’ death and enjoyed some success in his life. He was elected. Member of Parliament for Bere Alston and married a wealthy heiress, Sarah Inwen, on 13 May 1735. Her dowry cleared Audley End house of its debts. It was the kind of shrewd action Henrietta herself would take.

Sadly, Henry’s life was not destined to be long. He had no children and died in 1745, aged just 39 years old. I like to think his young widow was deeply in love for him, for she left it a good seven years before remarrying. She became the second wife of Lucius Cary, 7th Viscount of Falkland, though still remained childless.

It is so sad to consider that Henry’s short and tragic life is completely of a piece with the miserable, tempestuous marriage that created him. The one good thing to come of the union, he did not survive long enough to carry on the bloodline or find reconciliation with his mother. We can only imagine Henrietta’s feelings when she lost her son, some twenty-two years before her own death. But I hope that at least, in his earldom and his marriage, Henry was able to find some of the happiness that eluded his early days.

 

Mistress of the Court

A03973(2)I’m very pleased to announce that I now have a date for the second book in my Hanoverian series, Mistress of the Court. The good folk at Myrmidon books will be sending it out into the world on 4 August 2015!

I thought I’d be slightly less excited about the publication of my second book than I was about the first, but this is not the case. As you’ve probably seen from my numerous posts about them, Henrietta Howard and Caroline of Ansbach have become extremely dear to me. I simply can’t wait to introduce them to you in fictionalised form. It seems a very long time ago I was talking about Caroline’s rooms in Hampton Court on television. I feel like I’ve taken a huge journey with these ‘characters’ already, but it’s far from over!

We don’t have a cover yet, but if you would like a visual taster of the world you will enter in Mistress of the Court, please visit my Pinterest board. It’s a work in progress but already has some beautiful images. You can also explore my archives, which discuss Henrietta’s early feminism, Caroline’s quick and vengeful wit, and the gentler side of George II. However I must warn you – they may contain spoilers!

To further whet your appetite, here’s the blurb for the book. Roll on August!

Orphaned and trapped in an abusive marriage, Henrietta Howard has little left to lose. She stakes everything on a new life in Hanover with its royal family, the heirs to the British throne. Henrietta’s beauty and intelligence soon win her the friendship of clever Princess Caroline and her mercurial husband Prince George. But as time passes, it becomes clear that friendship is the last thing on the hot-blooded young prince’s mind. Dare Henrietta give into his advances and anger her violent husband? Dare she refuse?

Whatever George’s shortcomings, Princess Caroline is determined to make the family a success. Yet the feud between her husband and his obstinate father threatens all she has worked for. As England erupts in Jacobite riots, her family falls apart. She vows to save the country for her children – even if it costs her pride and her marriage.

Set in the turbulent years of the Hanoverian accession, Mistress of the Court tells the story of two remarkable women at the centre of George II’s reign.

Henrietta Howard
Henrietta Howard

 

Henrietta Howard – Unlikely Feminist

Henrietta Howard by James Heath
Henrietta Howard by James Heath

George II’s longest-serving (and longest-suffering) mistress was famed for her submission and gentle behaviour. She was one of the few women who could listen to the king’s tirades and retain her tranquility. Her manners set a pattern for modesty, discretion and obedience. As one contemporary observed, she acted ‘as if she had never seen any ill nature, and had been bred among lambs and turtle-doves.’ Such a character may not strike you as an early champion of women’s rights, but in fact Henrietta held a number of views that were, for her time, bordering on the radical.

If you look at Henrietta’s formative years, it is easy to see why she came to the conclusion that women had ‘superior sense, superior fortitude and reason.’ Her father, Sir Henry Hobart, whilst much beloved by his wife and family, was an extravagant and hot-headed man. Tracy Borman describes him with a ‘quick temper and dictatorial manner’. Eight years the senior of Henrietta’s mother Elizabeth Maynard, he ran through her dowry of £10,000 at a rapid rate and left the estate heavily in debt. There were also rumours that he had deprived Elizabeth of her rightful income. Sir Henry’s tempestuous life ended when, incensed over a slander, he challenged his neighbour to a duel. He was skewered on a sword, leaving his wife and eight children with his bills.

Sir Henry did have a son and heir, but the boy was too young at the time of his death to take up the reins of management. A series of shocking deaths over the next few years left only Henrietta, her brother and two sisters remaining from the initial family of ten. As the eldest survivor Henrietta, a girl, had to take charge.

Blickling Hall - Henrietta's childhood home
Blickling Hall – Henrietta’s childhood home

It is interesting to see that even at this early age of sixteen, Henrietta was aware that she needed to use men to get what she wanted. She needed security and a husband to help her care for her younger siblings. She must have been thrilled when, in less than a year, she managed to secure an offer of marriage from a distant relation, Charles Howard. As the third son of the 5th Earl of Suffolk with a distinguished military career, he seemed like an excellent catch. But Henrietta’s youth and inexperience had failed to see his true character: ‘wrong-headed, ill-tempered, obstinate, extravagant and brutal.’ He sold his commission soon after their marriage and frittered the £700 away on drink, gaming and women. To make matters worse, he decided to sue the young brother Henrietta had tried so hard to protect. This must have been enormously distressing for poor Henrietta, who was by that time on the verge of giving birth to her first child.

We know of the terrible life Henrietta led between 1706 and 1713 thanks to a raging letter she wrote to Charles in 1728, listing all her wrongs. She was frequently starving, abandoned for weeks on end with no idea where he was, and ejected from lodgings where he did not pay the rent. This would have been bad enough, but Charles was also physically violent towards his wife. She describes ‘dreadful scenes…which humanity would force the most barbarous to commiserate.’ A neighbour confirmed that she treated Charles with ‘constant awe…scarce even daring to speak to him’.

Henrietta did, however, defy Charles in one essential way: she sold all their belongings without his knowledge and purchased two tickets to Hanover. Her object was to secure a post in the household of the Hanoverian royal family, who were next in line to the British throne. Happily, she succeeded.  Under the auspices of Princess Caroline, she began to see a very different model of marriage from her own.

Caroline
Caroline

I’ve written at length in other blog posts about the balance of power between Caroline and George II. Here, it is only necessary to say that any feminist views Henrietta nurtured must have received encouragement from observing the relationship. She saw how expertly a clever woman could manage her husband without seeming to. In fact, Caroline’s tactics of apparent submission and gentle agreement were exactly those Henrietta would use when she herself became George’s lover.

In my last post, I explained why I think Henrietta did have some genuine affection for George. But it cannot be doubted that she also used him for protection from her brutal husband  – and money. She also made use of other men at the court, whether it was to raise her political status, provoke her royal lover or help her with building projects. In later years, Swift and Pope wrote of her as if they had been mistreated by a femme fatale. Whatever the truth about her flirtations, I find Henrietta’s views on love very interesting. In her court career, she was faced with ludicrous love letters by an elderly admirer, the Earl of Peterborough (and they are TEDIOUS, believe me). With the help of her great friend John Gay, she replied by expressing her opinions on the subject of courtship. Although she aimed many good-humoured jests at her own sex, the  picture that emerges is a woman who expects to be addressed as an equal, rational creature rather than a swooning stereotype. My favourite excerpts from these letters are show below

 If you will allow a woman ever to think, I must beg your lordship to give me leave to tell you what I think of your letters… I fancy the man who first treated the ladies with that celestial complaisance used it in contempt of their understandings… But perhaps you will ask me, if a woman be neither like angel nor devil, what is she like? I answer that the only thing that is like a woman is – another woman… The most agreeable compliment to a woman is to persuade her she is a very fine woman. No reasonable woman desires more… I think every man is in the wrong who talks to a woman of dying for her; the only women that can have received a benefit from such a protestation are the widows.

Henrietta’s beliefs were to be put to the test in the winter of 1717. The great Christening quarrel split the royal household apart. She was faced with the choice of either staying with her son and abusive husband, who served George I, or following Prince George and Princess Caroline into exile. Never before had she been given the opportunity to break away from the terror of her marriage. She longed to escape, yet she knew it would bring disgrace and separation from her son. It was an agonising decision which she wrote about at length, trying to establish whether she could keep her own honour free from her husband’s taint, and listing the many wives she knew who were made miserable through ‘man’s tyranick (sic) power.’ ‘Self preservation is the first law of human nature,’ she wrote, ‘are married women then the only part of human nature that must not follow it?’ In the end, she did follow that law of nature and took the brave step to leave.

Of course, a man like Charles Howard did not give up easily. Over the next eleven years, he would continue to threaten and torment her. Not only did he deny any access to their son, he secured a warrant to legally kidnap her, even making an attempt to break into the palace and seize her. He blackmailed, he enlisted the views of bishops, he referred to the law. You can tell what a horrendous man he was by the fact that his own brother Edward died leaving all his money to Henrietta – not Charles. And in true form, Charles tried to go against the deceased’s wishes. When Edward passed away on 22 June, Charles ‘took possession of body and goods, and was not prevailed upon till yesterday (28 June) to resign the former for burial’.

Naturally, Henrietta wanted to free herself from association with this man. She felt that being mistress to a prince did not demean her honour half as much as marriage to such a wretch. But her options were severely limited. Divorce was so unusual that it would need an Act of Parliament – an expense far beyond her means. Legal separation was only possible if the wife could prove adultery and life-threatening cruelty. Henrietta had certainly endured both, but had kept it well hidden from the world. Not to be deterred, she took the astonishing step of suing for a private deed of separation. Such deeds were extremely rare and would have been viewed with censure. At first, Charles resisted all negotiation. It was then that Henrietta penned her furious letter demanding justice. ‘You have called me named and have threatened to kick me and break my neck,’ she complained. ‘I have often laid abed with you when I have been under apprehensions of your doing me a mischief.’ She made it very clear that she felt the failure of the marriage was his fault:‘the marriage duty, which I have performed and you have violated…you who have made marriage an instrument of cruelty.’ It was money, rather than a sense of shame, that softened Charles in the end. However, one way or the other, Henrietta achieved her aim of independence at the beginning of 1729.

Four years later, her freedom was secured. Her husband and lifelong tormentor finally died. But there is another twist to the tale. Rather than relishing the single life she had worked so hard to obtain, Henrietta threw herself into the protection of another man just two years later. Caroline thought it an unaccountable piece of folly. But you have only to read the tender correspondence between Henrietta and her second husband, George Berkeley, to see why she acted as she did. Berkeley was everything Charles had not been: intelligent, humorous and kind. He did not scruple to marry the prince’s ‘damaged goods’ and gave up his own home to live with her at her precious house of Marble Hill. He cared for her when she was ill, he missed her when she was away. He helped her to raise her nephew and niece, Dorothy Hobart, who may actually have been Henrietta’s illegitimate child. Berkeley understood the secret strength of the woman he was marrying and accepted her views. The pair often engaged in a playful war of the sexes. ‘The actions of women are too inconsiderable to draw consequences from them: thus I know your pride and arrogance in power makes all you men reason,’ Henrietta wrote to him. ‘But I do not despair to see some of my sex vindicate us, and make a figure that will make some of you tremble.’ The pair were exquisitely happy until Berkeley’s death 11 years later.

Marble Hill
Marble Hill

But Henrietta’s fight for troubled women did not end with the happy resolution of her own story. Her niece beloved Dorothy fell in love with a soldier considered unsuitable by her family. In despair of receiving permission to marry, they pair eloped. When they were finally discovered (unmarried), Henrietta took an interesting course of action. She continued to urge Dorothy to save her own future and stay away from the man. In a society that would condemn a woman for running away with a suitor and not marrying him, Henrietta’s advice is unusual. It almost echoes the progressive Lizzy Bennet in Pride and Prejudice when Lydia elopes with Wickham: ‘And they must marry! Yet he is such a man!’.  As it turned out, Dorothy was entangled far deeper than suspected and could not take her aunt’s advice  – she was with child. She made the marriage, but fortunately it turned out to be a very happy one.

The same could not be said of the last woman Henrietta tried to save. I have written a little before about Lady Mary Coke, who was forced into a miserable marriage. Mary’s husband was every bit as cruel as Charles and, I suspect, mentally disturbed. Mary complained that he ‘tore my ruffle all to pieces and told me I deserved to be assassinated.’ Henrietta acted as friend and adviser to the distressed Mary, even finding her legal aid and trying to get her a separation. Sadly, Mary was not quite as brave as Henrietta. She hesitated to take the radical step and was discovered. Her punishment was imprisonment in her room without food.

The fact that this treatment of Lady Mary was still considered legal really highlights what Henrietta and her contemporaries were up against. For one, I admire the spirit that kept Henrietta true to herself through a life of hardship. Her ‘feminism’, however primitive, was truly brave and, I think, remarkable for its time.

Humanising King George

George II
Bust of George II

There’s no denying it: the Hanoverian kings were an odd bunch. But while this makes them fascinating to study, it also makes them difficult to write. I recently attended a talk by Tracy Borman, in which she described George IV as the ‘most normal’ amongst the Hanoverian monarchs. When the ‘normal’ one is a vain fantasist addicted to drink and opium, you know you have a problem.

It is amazing just how readily these kings lend themselves to farce. Now, while I like a little bit of comedy in my novels, I also want people to take the characters seriously as human beings. When working on George III for Queen of Bedlam, I had to prize away the image of a tyrant passed down in American legend and the anecdotes of his madness, such as the one where he shook hands with a tree (this didn’t actually happen, but many people still believe it did). Fortunately, George III had so many good qualities and such tragically bad health that it was not hard to redeem him. But what of his predecessor, George II?

I have to admit that George II has been my greatest challenge yet. Many of his failings were just so . . . funny. At the time of his reign, he was the subject of intense satire. Every contemporary account has some comic element; his short temper, his obsession with lists or his boring conversation. It was important to me that I got this peppery character across and made use of the comedy, but I was not content with letting him become a mere caricature. As I considered him through the eyes of his women, he began to change.

P1000653
Bust of Caroline

George’s wife Caroline was a clever woman who undoubtedly used her beauty to manipulate him. In her last years, she endured cruel insults and humiliation from him. But I found that some elements of George and Caroline’s relationship could have come straight from a romance novel. At their first meeting, George was in disguise. He visited her court posing as a travelling count – rather like the games Henry VIII used to play, but with much more success. He was able to observe Caroline and decide she was the wife for him. Despite  taking many mistresses over the course of his life,  George never really lost his devotion to Caroline. He wrote her beautiful love letters and was inconsolable when she died. One account says that all the queens had to be removed from his deck of cards to save him from bursting into tears. He asked to be buried beside her with the side of his coffin removed, so that their ashes might mingle. These actions do not tie up with the coarse, unfeeling man that history has traditionally presented to us.

Then we have Henrietta Howard, George’s long-serving mistress. It is generally agreed that George and Henrietta shared a highly cynical relationship; she needed his money, he needed a mistress for his masculine pride. But I think there may have been a little more to it than that. George was famous for being a miserly king, yet he gave Henrietta many gifts, long after he was supposedly tiring of her. One present was a whopping £11,500 in the stocks. This was specifically designed to free Henrietta from dependence on her abusive husband – a special contract was drawn up to specify that he could not touch it. Thanks to George’s foresight, Henrietta was able to build Marble Hill, her home for the rest of her life.

Henrietta’s awful husband continued to plague her for money, but miraculously her allowance increased by just the sum he was demanding each year. Since it is recorded by Hervey that Caroline turned down all Henrietta’s requests for pecuniary aid, we are safe to assume that the extra money came from George. It would have been easy for him to leave Henrietta to her fate and take up with a new mistress, but he didn’t. In fact, even when she left him in disgrace, she still received a court pension.

P1000319
Marble Hill

None of this ties up with the comical George II so often portrayed. While we usually see a king that no woman could tolerate, let alone love, the real man seems to have inspired some affection in return. Caroline may have relied on him mainly for power, but during a time of crisis she preferred to sacrifice her children rather than leave him. In her own words, they were not worth ‘a grain of sand’ in comparison to her husband. To Henrietta, George was ‘dearer than my own brother’. And while we must allow for some court sycophancy, the last letter she wrote to him suggests that real feeling had once been there. She writes of ‘the honour of [his] esteem’ and how it had made ‘the happiness of my life’. She ends mournfully, ‘The years to come must be employed in the painful task to forget you as my friend; but no years can ever make me forget you as my King.’

So was there something about women that softened George? I found my own key to his character in this portrait.

Sophie Dorothea and children
Sophia Dorothea and her children

Isn’t it beautiful? It’s not difficult to see who the favourite child is. The son and heir is lovingly held in his mother’s arms and clings to her in return. The daughter is somewhat in the shadows, a little apart from the group. Well, this little boy is George II and the woman is his mother Sophia Dorothea.

George was close to his mother, resembling her in feature and quick feelings. But his world was torn apart when, at the age of nine, his parents separated for good. Caught in adultery, his mother was banished to the Castle of Ahlden and never saw him again. Her portraits were taken down; he was not allowed to mention her. His father mocked him for his grief; the only comfort left was his grandmother. I don’t think we can underestimate how fundamentally this episode would have affected a child. It could offer an explanation for both his gruff behaviour and his softer attitude toward some women. Is it too much of a leap to conjecture that he saw his mother in Henrietta Howard, another desperately unhappy young wife? Was Caroline, with her firm advice and unswerving loyalty, the maternal figure he yearned to replace?

While the legends of George trying to swim across a moat to reach his mother have been proved false, I think the spirit of the story is very true. He certainly intended to free Sophia Dorothea and make her Regent of Hanover if she outlived his father. Sadly, this did not happen. Mother and son were kept apart by less than a year; she died at the end of 1726, he gained his throne too late in June 1727.

Where George's mother was imprisoned
Where George’s mother was imprisoned

Interestingly, George’s mother crops up in my research again a few years after her decease. Once more she seems to herald a change to her son’s behaviour. On a trip to Herrenhausen, George stumbled across his mother’s personal papers. He evidently found something he did not like there. Perhaps he had always believed her innocent of adultery and had a nasty shock. Whatever it was, it shattered his image of her. He never spoke of his mother again.

Perhaps it is a coincidence that his behaviour toward Henrietta and Caroline deteriorated after this trip. However, I think that George’s discovery about his mother may have had a direct impact on his relationship with the woman he clung to for reassurance, and the woman he was trying in some small degree to save.

Looking through the eyes of a little boy caught in a family crisis, I hope I have managed to make George into a more three-dimensional and believable character. But I am conscious that in doing so, I have come down rather hard on the father he despised, George I. Rest assured that George I will get his own humanising treatment – watch this space!

Royal Dining – Summer Banquet Hop

summer-banquet-hop

This is my contribution to the English Historical Fiction Authors’ Summer Banquet Blog hop. Keep reading until the end to visit other posts, or leave a comment to enter my giveaway! I’m offering three lucky winners a free Kindle copy of God Save the King. THIS GIVEAWAY IS NOW CLOSED. WINNERS WILL BE ANNOUNCED 10 JUNE 2013.

Good ladies and gentlemen, welcome! I hope you’ve brought your tickets. Come closer, fill up all the gaps. Press yourself against the rail, as much as your mantua will let you. There isn’t room for silly things like “personal space”. You’ll taste the breath, feel the sweat of the person next to you. What, you expected a chair? Outrageous! Just what kind of banquet did you have in mind? You should count yourself privileged to be here. Your blessed eyes will behold a spectacle: the royal family at dinner.

The idea royals dining in public came over from the Continent with Charles I. While the Stuart monarchs were happy to put on a show, their Hanoverian cousins proved somewhat less willing. George I submitted to it on a few occasions, mainly against his will, preferring to take supper privately with his mistress Melusine. George III was far too down-to-earth for such pomp and ceremony, although he found a compromise by parading his family up and down the terrace at Windsor Castle instead. As for George IV – well, he ate a lot. I don’t think I’d really want to stand and watch him gobble down his food, do you? And sadly, George IV didn’t have the foil of a dutiful family to sit at his side. If you imagine him sitting at table with his hated, frivolous wife and sulking daughter, you can see why he never dared to try it.

But George II was quite a different creature. He and his clever wife, Caroline, knew that the key to power lay in public opinion. They were tireless self-promoters and would do anything to raise their profile – or get one over on George I. This post is going to explore the fascinating ritual of dining in public at the court of the second George.

The spectacle usually took place on a Sunday, although the venue was varied: public dining rooms existed in Hampton Court, St. James’s and Kensington. The royal family would enter the room to a flourish of trumpets and sit, surrounded by officers of their household. The onlookers – admitted by ticket only – would be railed off, giving the whole thing a very zoo-like quality. In some accounts, benches are mentioned. I sincerely hope the spectators had somewhere to sit, but it may not have been the case in all the palaces. In Courtiers, Lucy Worsley recounts an incident where the press of people was so great that the rail broke, sending the public tumbling wig over heel. The good-humoured King and Queen laughed heartily. If the noise of chatter wasn’t enough to make them dizzy, the courtiers also had a band playing in their ear for the entire duration of the meal.  Added to the heat and the smell created by the crowds, there must have been a cacophony of noise.

A court mantua

Serving the many dishes was a stressful affair. Not only were the household officers putting on a show for the public, but they had to beware of offending the monarchs – or, just as hazardous, inadvertently snubbing a colleague.  Food had to be kept flowing and its path was fixed: through the chain of command, from the lowliest hands to the most important. Each member of the King or Queen’s household would perform their own role, from taking off the covers and carving to tasting for poison. The luckiest of the lucky got to serve the monarch themselves on bended knee. One only hopes the luckless retainers had something in their own stomachs before performing this task. You can just imagine their mouths watering and bellies rumbling as they served choice dish after choice dish.

What, exactly, would King George II and Queen Caroline eat? The list is endless. Stewed venison, sausages, potted pork, pheasant with prune sauce, smoked salmon, prawns, fried sweetbread, mutton loaf, chicken and mushrooms, gooseberry tart, turnips, carrots, parsnips, whipped syllabub, jelly, sweetmeats, pineapples, peaches and grapes – to name but a few! Vegetables were generally considered bad for the health, so it’s refreshing to see such a number on the royal table. After all, Queen Caroline was an advocate of science and enjoyed a healthy breakfast of fruit and cream. You may think, with all this food and elaborate serving, the Queen could manage to get a drink by herself. Not so. A page would hand a glass to her Woman of the Bedchamber, who then gave it to a Lady of the Bedchamber, who had the honour of presenting it to the Queen’s lips.

Frederick with Anne, Caroline and Amelia

So who would you see, at this royal table? If you were visiting court before her marriage in 1734, you might get a glimpse of Anne, Princess Royal. Her face was badly marked by small-pox, but she had a commanding and imperious air.  She was known to wish her brothers out of the way, so that she could inherit the crown of England herself. Her younger sister, Amelia, might also be there. The tomboy of the family, she carried the smell of the stables and probably a few dog hairs on her sumptuous mantua. Amelia was blonde, clever and catty – she loved to gossip and, to use a modern term “wind people up”. Lord Hervey said she was never happy without a back to lash. The third daughter, Caroline, was a dark-haired, shy girl. She took the role of peacemaker in the family, though she often had recourse to food as a comfort. She would probably be eating at a great rate, talking little. The younger sisters, Mary and Louisa, were in all likelihood a little too young for public dining.

On rare occasions, you would see Prince Frederick of Wales and his bride Augusta at table. The atmosphere with them around would be tense, as Frederick didn’t get along with his family. You also needed to watch out for his practical jokes – he once tried to make his sisters sit on stools while he and his wife got armchairs. He then tried to insist that his sisters were not served on bended knee. The fiery trio of girls were having none of it: they got their chairs back, and simpering service, though they missed out on coffee.

Another brother, the Duke of Cumberland, might have been present when he was a little older. He was the darling and the pet of the family, a precocious child. However, he would grow up to be an obese soldier who suffered from strokes. By 1745, he would also have the black stain of the battle of Culloden next to his name, tarring him as “the Butcher”.

Then we move on to the King and Queen themselves. George II was short but dapper with bulging blue eyes. If he was not in one of his famous tempers, he would enjoy the meal. I only worry about his long periwig – it must have been difficult to keep it out of the various sauces. His wife, Caroline, would make no such blunders. She acted as the perfect Queenl chatting amiably, only “stuffing” herself if chocolate was on the menu. Described by Lucy Worsley as “fat, funny and adorable”, Caroline charmed many of her courtiers. A visitor at court might admire her famous large bosom, her long blonde hair and magnificent dresses. But I would ask you to spare a thought for the woman standing behind her, serving the meal: the sylph-like Henrietta Howard, the King’s mistress. Unhappy with her royal lover and the Queen’s jealousy, Henrietta exuded an air of gentle melancholy. Her large, soft eyes would fix on you and say: “Get me out of here. This fine banquet is not all it seems.”

King George II

If you enjoyed my summer banquet, follow the hop through history! Below are links to all the contributors. Please do visit:

  1. Random Bits of Fascination (Maria Grace)
  2. Pillings Writing Corner (David Pilling)
  3. Anna Belfrage
  4. Debra Brown
  5.  Lauren Gilbert
  6. Gillian Bagwell
  7. Julie K. Rose
  8. Donna Russo Morin
  9. Regina Jeffers
  10. Shauna Roberts
  11. Tinney S. Heath
  12. Grace Elliot
  13. Diane Scott Lewis
  14. Ginger Myrick
  15. Helen Hollick
  16. Heather Domin
  17. Margaret Skea
  18. Yves Fey
  19. JL Oakley
  20. Shannon Winslow
  21. Evangeline Holland
  22. Cora Lee
  23. P. O. Dixon
  24. E.M. Powell
  25. Sharon Lathan
  26. Sally Smith O’Rourke
  27. Allison Bruning
  28. Violet Bedford
  29. Sue Millard
  30. Kim Rendfeld

Marble Hill

Marble Hill

The lovely Palladian villa of Marble Hill at Twickenham is place of refuge and escape. Maria Fitzherbert retreated there when her lover, the future George IV, decided he was going to ditch her and marry Caroline of Brunswick instead. Legends tell of him riding up and down the road nearby on the night before his wedding, tormented with indecision. We also have the account that a mutual friend rode to Marble Hill and informed Maria when George had actually gone through with the marriage ceremony. Upon hearing the news, she fainted away. But it wasn’t just Maria who fled to Marble Hill. Before her time, the house was a sanctuary for a Hanoverian mistress who led, to make a massive understatement, a difficult life. Her name was Henrietta Howard.

I was lucky enough to take part in Historic Royal Palaces’ study day on 2 May 2013, which was all about Henrietta. It’s simply wonderful that a whole day was devoted to finding out more about this truly admirable woman. We were treated to an overview of Henrietta’s life from Tracy Borman, author of King’s Mistress, Queen’s Servant. I can thoroughly recommend the book, which Tracy clearly poured much love and research into. She delivered an excellent talk and held a question and answer session afterwards, where I was able to find out how Henrietta dyed her hair blond (horse urine. Nice). As Tracy explained, not much was known about Henrietta until she undertook to write her biography. We knew she was a mistress of George II and built Marble Hill, but other details were lacking. Thank goodness Tracy decided to find out more, because what we uncover is a complicated and resourceful woman who it’s hard not to love.

Henrietta grew up as a minor aristocrat, part of the Hobart family at Blickling Hall. Tudor fans will know this is the house where Anne Boleyn was probably born. But despite her privileged start, Henrietta was doomed by the extravagance of her spend-thrift, dominating father. His death in a rash duel threw the family upon hard times. In the next few years, Henrietta’s mother and all her elder siblings were to follow her father to the grave – leaving the impoverished Henrietta responsible for the family.

Luckily, Henrietta had a connection to the Earl and Countess of Suffolk, who welcomed her into their home. But what seemed like a safe haven turned out to be a gilded trap.  It was while staying with the Earl and Countess that she met their youngest son, Charles. Young and in need of stability, she was won over by the handsome soldier. Henrietta married Charles aged just 19. It was to prove a dreadful mistake.

Charles was a drunken, gambling, cheating husband. He was also mentally and physically abusive. Only one child was born of this ill-made union: a son, Henry. Though Henrietta adored her boy, she struggled to raise him. Often going without food, fleeing from mean dwelling to mean dwelling, she had to assume the name of Mrs Smiths to dodge her husband’s creditors. There were years when he abandoned her altogether. Most women would have given up. But not Henrietta. By selling all she had, and frequently starving herself, she managed to raise the money to take herself and Charles to Hanover. Here, she hoped to win favour at the court and ingratiate herself with the next King of England. You might ask why she took such a terrible husband with her on this venture. Sadly for Henrietta, it was his noble name of Howard that was the key to the inner sanctum of royalty.

Henrietta_Howard

Henrietta soon won the friendship of Princess Caroline and secured a position in her household. Charles, somehow got himself a job under King George I. The pair were still stuck together, but at least they had income and a roof over their heads. Just as Henrietta had planned, they were able to come back to England when George ascended the throne, jewels in the new and sparkling court.

It was only during the fateful years of 1717 and 1718 that Henrietta finally escaped the clutches of her husband. The establishments of King George and the Prince and Princess of Wales dramatically split over a young prince’s Christening. Servants were forced to chose a side and Henrietta was swift to attach herself to Caroline – leaving the fuming Charles behind with the old King. Tragically, Henrietta’s decision meant she had to leave her son darling in Charles’ “care”. The boy was raised to hate her.

About this time, Henrietta’s close friendship with the Prince of Wales turned into something more. She became mistress to the future George II – although it was by no means a passionate or romantic love story! George was short-tempered, brutally frank and given to long, boring conversations. It was sense, not emotion, that lured Henrietta into his bed. But while the new position earned Henrietta money and status, it also soured her relationship with George’s wife, Caroline. Henrietta soon found herself the object of jealous spite and longed to flee the court.

In secret, Henrietta planned and saved for Marble Hill. She was intimately involved in every detail of the design. This place was her dream, her safe haven after a life of torment. But getting there was difficult. Charles threatened to abduct her if she left royal protection. Henrietta was trapped for years, until Charles finally did her one good service: he left her a widow. Now her life of freedom in Marble Hill could begin. The study group were lucky enough to have a private tour of this stunning building.

Supper and gambling took place here

In all things, Henrietta seemed to defy convention. Not only did she manage to formally separate from her husband (something practically unheard of in those times) she took a masculine approach to her building. The Palladian style was considered a logical, mathematical, and thereby male province. Henrietta took the basic concepts and made them her own.  The superbly balanced rooms should have been left with with minimal decoration. However, Henrietta thumbed her nose at this rule of style and cluttered shelves with her collections of blue and white china porcelain.

I was surprised by the small rooms and narrow doorways in the house. How, one wonders, did Henrietta get through them in her skirts? She must have turned sideways! We started the tour downstairs, taking in the coolly elegant hall. Now relatively empty, it would have been crowded with people and gaming tables.  Next, there was a beautiful little breakfast parlor – too cramped for much company, but you can imagine Henrietta sitting their sipping tea. But my favourite place on the bottom floor was the magnificent room hung with fashionable India paper (and not just because there were coffee and biscuits waiting for me there. This room cost Henrietta a fortune to have installed (and English heritage a fortune to restore!).  The hand-painted paper would have been imported from China by the East India company and stuck to a silk canvas with a mixture of flour and water.  A painfully slow, highly skilled task to accomplish. Apparently, Henrietta quarreled with the workmen over the bill. It seems her famously meek and gentle temper had frayed by the time she finally escaped court life!

The India paper

Once we mounted the mahogany staircase, we found ourselves in the entertaining rooms. The first floor – the piano nobile –  was where the parties took place. Right at the centre is the Great Room: a  masterpiece of white panelling and gilt detail. You can just imagine the literary Georgian circles in which Henrietta moved (she was friends with people such as John Gay, Jonathan Swift and Alexander Pope) flocking to this beautiful chamber. Today, the Great Room contains the house’s treasures: some of the few remaining items of furniture that belonged to Henrietta.

On the same floor we found the bedrooms of Henrietta and George Berkeley, her second husband. Berkeley had been Henrietta’s friend for some time before their marriage, and many believe they had a secret romance while still living under the roof of George II. Ironically, it was Berkeley, not her royal lover, who turned out to be Henrietta’s Prince Charming. Soon after leaving court, Henrietta scandalised society by marrying him in a private ceremony. Henrietta’s new husband was was younger than her and riddled with gout. Although contemporary gossips mocked the match, Henrietta was to finally find the happiness she so deserved.  The couple were deeply devoted to one another.

The Great Room

Interestingly,  the bedrooms were not considered “private” in Marble Hill. The entire house was made for entertaining. This is clear from the vi

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