Such was the confusion of affairs at Sidmouth, that the Duchess found herself without the means of returning to London.  Prince Leopold hurried down, and himself conducted his sister and her family, by slow and bitter stages, to Kensington.  The widowed lady, in her voluminous blacks, needed all her equanimity to support her.  Her prospects were more dubious than ever.  She had L6000 a year of her own; but her husband’s debts loomed before her like a mountain.  Soon she learnt that the Duchess of Clarence was once more expecting a child.  What had she to look forward to in England?  Why should she remain in a foreign country, among strangers, whose language she could not speak, whose customs she could not understand?  Surely it would be best to return to Amorbach, and there, among her own people, bring up her daughters in economical obscurity.  But she was an inveterate optimist; she had spent her life in struggles, and would not be daunted now; and besides, she adored her baby.  “C’est mon bonheur, mes delices, mon existence,” she declared; the darling should be brought up as an English princess, whatever lot awaited her.  Prince Leopold came forward nobly with an offer of an additional L3000 a year; and the Duchess remained at Kensington.

The child herself was extremely fat, and bore a remarkable resemblance to her grandfather.  “C’est l’image du feu Roi!” exclaimed the Duchess.  “C’est le Roi Georges en jupons,” echoed the surrounding ladies, as the little creature waddled with difficulty from one to the other.

Before long, the world began to be slightly interested in the nursery at Kensington.  When, early in 1821, the Duchess of Clarence’s second child, the Princess Elizabeth, died within three months of its birth, the interest increased.  Great forces and fierce antagonisms seemed to be moving, obscurely, about the royal cradle.  It was a time of faction and anger, of violent repression and profound discontent.  A powerful movement, which had for long been checked by adverse circumstances, was now spreading throughout the country.  New passions, new desires, were abroad; or rather old passions and old desires, reincarnated with a new potency:  love of freedom, hatred of injustice, hope for the future of man.  The mighty still sat proudly in their seats, dispensing their ancient tyranny; but a storm was gathering out of the darkness, and already there was lightning in the sky.  But the vastest forces must needs operate through frail human instruments; and it seemed for many years as if the great cause of English liberalism hung upon the life of the little girl at Kensington.  She alone stood between the country and her terrible uncle, the Duke of Cumberland, the hideous embodiment of reaction.  Inevitably, the Duchess of Kent threw in her lot with her husband’s party; Whig leaders, Radical agitators, rallied round her; she was intimate with the bold Lord Durham, she was on friendly terms with the redoubtable O’Connell himself.