Edward of Kent: traded love for the throne and created an era

Twenty-seven years. That's how long this story lasted. Without a wedding, without vows at the altar, under the sidelong glances of high society. And then he simply took and exchanged the woman who followed him to the ends of the earth for six thousand pounds a year and a ghost of a chance at the crown.

Sounds like the beginning of a cheap pulp novel. But this is a dry historical reference.

Edward Augustus, Duke of Kent. The fourth son of the mad King George III. A man whom his own father openly called "worthless." You know, when you grow up in a family where you are considered a nobody, you have two paths: either break down or prove everyone wrong. Edward chose the army. At eighteen, he was already pulling his weight in the service. In Geneva, away from the London stuffiness and his father's nitpicking, he lived as a young prince should - carousing, getting into debt, having affairs. Two affairs even ended in the birth of illegitimate children.

And then came 1790. And her.

Thérèse-Julie de Saint-Laurent. She was thirty, he was twenty-three. She was married to a French baron. And perhaps that's all you need to know about the rules of propriety of that time: a smart, sharp-tongued, beautiful French woman simply packed her things and left with the British prince.

The king-father, upon learning of this, was furious. The punishment was immediate - Edward was exiled. Not just anywhere, but to the icy wilderness. To Canada. "Let him cool down," George III probably thought. And here begins the most interesting part. Julie went with him.

Imagine Quebec in the late eighteenth century. This is not the fashionable salons of Paris. Cold, bone-chilling wind, garrison boredom. Upstanding officers' wives demonstratively turned away from Julie when they met. She was a "mistress," a sinner. But the paradox is that all the men in the garrison were absolutely charmed by her. She created around Edward a comfort that he had never seen in the royal palace. Canada, Nova Scotia, then the scorching Gibraltar - she followed him like a shadow. Like a wife. Whom she could never officially become.

Edward, to his credit, understood the precariousness of her position. He secretly set aside money in a special fund, bought her a house. Just in case. If one day he had to marry for the sake of duty.

And that day came.

The prince's career somehow didn't work out. In Gibraltar, he decided to play the iron-fisted commander, tightened the screws of discipline so much that the soldiers mutinied. He was ignominiously recalled. There was a catastrophic shortage of money. Despite the state support, Edward lived beyond his means. Debts grew like a snowball, creditors knocked on the door. It got to the point that in 1816 the prince of British blood was forced to flee with Julie to Brussels - just to avoid going to debtor's prison.

And a year later, disaster struck in London.

Princess Charlotte died in childbirth. The only legitimate heir to the throne in the next generation. The Hanoverian dynasty suddenly found itself on the verge of extinction. George III had many sons, but they either had no children or lived with mistresses, like our Edward.

Parliament panicked. The lords gathered and rolled out a proposal that looked like an auction: any prince who married a person of royal blood and had a legitimate child would have his debts written off and would receive a bonus.

And then Edward, who had turned fifty, began to bargain. Literally. He sent out letters, asking: "How much exactly will you pay me if I give up my life and go to the altar?". They agreed on six thousand pounds annually.

Twenty-seven years of devotion ended with a deal with Parliament.

"You can judge how my heart falters within me and bleeds at every manifestation of tenderness and affection with which she endows me," Edward wrote to a friend. He was not a monster. He was in pain. But debts and the looming crown outweighed everything.

Julie took the blow with dignity that the British lords could not even dream of. She didn't make a scene. Didn't demand compensation. She asked for only one thing as a memento - his portrait. Packed her things and left for Paris. Edward secretly sent her money and gifts until the end of his days. She will outlive him by ten years.

And the prince went to Germany - to get married. He chose his bride with cold calculation. Victoria of Saxe-Coburg. She is thirty-two. A widow. Which means - and this was critical - it was proven that she could give birth (she had two children from her first marriage). There was no love there. But there was mutual respect and a common goal.

When Victoria became pregnant, Edward was on cloud nine. And here begins a real race against time. In the eighth month of pregnancy, the prince makes a crazy decision: the future monarch must be born on English soil! And never mind that they don't have the money for a comfortable trip. They are jolting in a carriage through the spring slush from Germany to England. Dirt, impassable roads, the risk of losing the child.

They made it. In May 1819, a healthy girl was born. Victoria Alexandrina.

Edward was so proud, as if he had performed a miracle himself. He showed his daughter to literally everyone who came into the house. He boasted of his heroic health: "Look at me! I will outlive all my fat and sick brothers. I will become king, and then she will wear the crown."

The irony of fate is a cruel thing.

In the winter of 1820, this healthy fifty-two-year-old man simply caught a cold on a walk. Ignored the cough. A few days later, pneumonia burned him to the ground. He died on January 23, leaving his wife a mountain of new debts and an eight-month-old daughter.

He never knew that his prediction almost came true. Six days after his death, his father, King George III, would die. Then, one by one, childless, his older brothers would go to the grave. And in 1837, that very girl, for whom he had jolted in a carriage through the European mud, would ascend the throne.

She will rule for sixty-three years. An entire era will be named in her honor. The daughter of a "worthless" prince, whose birth was paid for by the betrayal of a woman who loved him more than life.