Free The Prince and the Quakeress: (Georgian Series) by Jean Plaidy Page B

gaped at their magnificence others were too accustomed to the sight to pay much attention, unless it was a person of some note. Then the crowd would cheer or boo, however the mood took them; but they would almost always laugh. There seemed to be such a lot that was gay, amusing, interesting and such fun going on down there. Fun? It was sin. But Hannah was conscious of a quiet rebellion within her. If one sinned in ignorance could one be blamed? She thought not – at least it could not be quite so wicked to sin in ignorance. Therefore how much better it was to remain in ignorance.
    She would tell no one of the pleasure she derived from looking down on the noisy excitement of St James’s Market.
    *
    Hannah was ten years old when Uncle Henry decided to marry. What consternation there was in the room she shared with her mother. Mary Lightfoot feared the cosy existence might be at an end. Henry was good to them; but what of Henry’s wife?
    Five years of living comfortably – at least as comfortably as one could live in such close proximity with sin – had softened them. Mary was disturbed – not that she believed her brother would see her go hungry, he was too good a man for that; but a strange woman in the house would be sure to change something and Mary trembled for the future.
    She need not have feared. Aunt Lydia proved a meek and docile wife – a true Quaker, a virtuous woman who would no more have thought of turning out her sister-in-law and her fatherless child than she would of taking a lover.
    After the first mild difficulties of settling down Mary and Hannah adjusted themselves to the new régime. Uncle Henry was the head of the house – good but stern, anxious to care for those under his roof – his sister and her child, no less than his wife and his own children. The children began to arrive in due course; George three years after the wedding, Rebecca two years later, Henry two years after that and Hannah two years after Henry. Mary and her daughter Hannah soon found new ways of being useful in the house and Mary realized that their position was yearly becoming more secure. Hannah was nurse to the children; Mary helped her sister-in-law in the house. It proved to be a very satisfactory arrangement.
    In spite of having three able-bodied women in the household Henry Wheeler could afford to employ a servant and he took into his household a young woman of Hannah’s age.
    They called her Jane, and Jane’s coming made a great deal of difference to Hannah. Jane was not a Quaker; she liked to laugh and enjoy herself; she remarked to Hannah that she could see no harm in that. Neither could she for the life of her see why it should be more sinful to laugh than to look glum. Hannah listened half fearfully. Jane’s attitude to life was everything she had been taught to fear. Yet she did enjoy laughing with Jane when they were making the beds together or taking the children for their airings. Being so much older than her cousins – she was thirteen years older than George the eldest – meant that Hannah had no choice of a friend except Jane. So it was natural that they should be often together.
    It was Jane who caught Hannah at the window. She was not in the least shocked; she came to join Hannah and pointed out the elaborate chair which was being carried through the market. Did Hannah know the gentleman who was being carried? Hannah did not know. Oh, but Hannah knew very little of the world because everyone should know the gentleman in the chair. It was Lord Bute himself. And they said that the Princess of Wales was very partial to him. Had Hannah ever heard that? Hannah had not and she thought that must make the gentleman very happy, which set Jane rocking with laughter.
    ‘It makes them both happy, so they say, Miss Hannah. But whether the Prince is so happy about it… that’s another matter. Not that he would complain, considering…’
    Hannah was nonplussed and fascinated. It was interesting to learn from Jane