Free Perdita's Prince: (Georgian Series) by Jean Plaidy

performance for The School. It would be the crowning triumph and what fun to watch the royal disapproval of the wit … though would they grasp it? What would prim George and dull Charlotte make of the wittiest play in London? How amusing to discover.
    The King had interrupted: ‘Yes it must be Shakespeare, Mr Sheridan. The people expect it of us.’
    Sheridan sighed. ‘I believe Your Majesty does not greatly care for tragedy, so I will not suggest Macbeth .’
    ‘Can’t stand the stuff. People killing each other all over the stage, eh, what? I call that even worse than the rest of the fellow’s plays, Mr Sheridan.’
    ‘Then Your Majesty would perhaps care to see The Winter’s Tale. A charming story of virtue rewarded, Sir. And we have a very good production of this play. It is a favourite of mine, if Your Majesty would allow me to express my opinion. It is a play for the family, Sir. One could take one’s children and not be dismayed.’
    ‘Ah,’ said the King. ‘The Winter’s Tale. I remember it. A silly story, but as you say nothing to offend.’
    ‘I have an excellent actress in the part of Perdita, Your Majesty. She has been delighting my audiences for some little time and I am sure will please you.’
    The King grunted, implying that he was not interested in actresses. But the voices in his head were telling him that he would enjoy seeing this beauty perform.
    She made quite a name for herself as Juliet, Your Majesty; and since then has been a favourite of the public.’
    ‘Good. Then let it be The Winter’s Tale, Mr Sheridan.’
    ‘Sir, the players will be enchanted … and a little nervous, I dare swear. I shall take the first opportunity of letting them know the honour that awaits them.’
    The King smiled, in a good humour. He liked giving pleasure and discussing the visit of his family to the play was more comforting than those interviews with his ministers.
    *
    Sheridan went back to his house in Great Queen Street … that house which was far more expensive than he could afford. But he was by nature reckless and extravagant.
    He went straight to the drawing room for he knew that he would find Elizabeth there at the harpsichord. She invariably was because it was essential for her to do a great many hours practice a day. She was reckoned by the musical world to have one of the most enchanting voices of all time.
    He was right. She was there; and she rose at once to greet him, coming forward her arms outstretched. Even now her beauty struck him afresh and he had to stifle a feeling of shame for the infidelities he had practised since their marriage. Not that she would not understand. Not that she would ever withdraw the comfort of her serene presence. Elizabeth was a saint – and how could a man like Richard Sheridan live up to the high ideals of a saint?
    ‘Elizabeth my love.’ He kissed her hands; he did not have to feign affection; it was there, rising up, swamping all other emotions temporarily whenever he saw her. ‘What do you think? I have just come from the presence of His Majesty, King George III.’
    ‘A royal command performance?’
    ‘You have guessed rightly, my dear.’
    She drew him on to the sofa and said: ‘Come, tell me all about it.’ Her lovely face was framed by soft dark hair, the sweet mouthand the lovely long-lashed eyes under delicate but beautifully arched brows, glowed with interest.
    Sheridan then gave an imitation of his interview with the King, exaggerating it, mocking both himself and the monarch so that Elizabeth laughed immoderately and begged him to stop.
    ‘The outcome of this historic interview is, my love, that we are to play The Winter’s Tale for the royal family. And the Prince of Wales himself will be present.’
    ‘This is a sign that the Prince will be seen more frequently in public.’
    ‘Papa holds the knife that will cut the apron strings. It is poised, but the cut has not yet been made.’
    ‘I am sorry for His Majesty. He is so good, really,