On 11 August 1821, Baldwin’s London Weekly Journal announced a death. ‘The struggle is over! Hope, fear, anxiety, are now alike at an end: Caroline, Queen of England, is no more!’

The news sent shockwaves across the nation – not least because rumours were circulating that she had been poisoned – but largely because her sordid story and ongoing feud with her husband, King George IV, had been captivating the nation for 25 years. The ‘Queen’s business’, as it had become known, had ‘struck its roots into the heart of the nation; it took possession of every house or cottage in the kingdom,’ wrote social commentator William Hazlitt. The 200-year-old royal scandal wouldn’t be out of place in today’s tabloid press, but long before the British public were enthralled with the story of Charles and Diana and their doomed marriage, another bitter divorce drama was being played out – and the whole nation was invited to pull up a ringside seat.

Caroline was born in 1768, the daughter of Charles William Ferdinand, the Duke of Brunswick, and Princess Augusta of Great Britain, the eldest sister of King George III. Despite being the intended bride of her cousin George, the Prince of Wales, the two had never met. When they did eventually meet in 1794, Caroline was reported to have said that the Prince was ‘very fat’ and ‘nothing like as handsome as his portrait’, and George immediately called for a glass of brandy to drown his sorrows. Despite the misgivings of both parties, the marriage went ahead in 1795. Caroline was to be ‘the idol of this nation… she will answer the warmest wishes of the people of England, by the prudence of her public conduct.’ The Oxford Journal’s assertion of 1794 would prove to be partly correct – that she would win the heart of the nation – but the prudency of her public conduct was at times questionable to say the least, as we shall see. However, the Journal was keen to manage the public’s expectations of her physical charms: ‘Without raising the ideas of our readers too extravagantly in point of beauty, we may safely pronounce, that the Princess Caroline is at least pretty.’ Praise indeed…!

Unbeknownst to Caroline, Prince George had already secretly married his mistress, Maria Fitzherbert, in 1785 – although the marriage was not recognised legally since he had not sought the permission of the King under the Royal Marriages Act of 1772. Prince George’s extravagant lifestyle and dissolute behaviour had done little to win him public support, and it was hoped that a union with a Royal Princess would convince Parliament to pay off his debts and inspire renewed confidence in the British public.

The 8 April 1795 was a day of rejoicing as the nation came together to celebrate ‘The Royal Marriage’. That evening, illuminations were lit in honour of the nuptials and ‘many places were distinguished by the most beautiful and elegant devices’ (Kentish Gazette, 10 April 1795). So far, so good. But behind the scenes, a different (and not quite so romantic) story was unfolding. The Prince of Wales was already drunk when the ceremony took place and was so intoxicated by the evening that Caroline later claimed he ‘passed the greatest part of his bridal night under the grate, where he fell, and where I left him.’ George was equally scathing, writing that ‘it required no small effort to conquer my aversion and overcome the disgust of her person.’ Fortunately, the three times that they did allegedly share a bed in the early days of their marriage was enough to conceive Princess Charlotte, who was born in January 1796. But George had had enough. In a letter to Caroline, a mere 12 months after their marriage, he wrote:

“We have unfortunately been oblig’d to acknowledge to each other that we cannot find happiness in our union… Let me therefore beg you to make the best of a situation unfortunate for us both.”

Feeling herself to be the wronged party, Caroline wasn’t planning to go quietly. In 1796, the Bath Chronicle claimed that Lady Jersey, Caroline’s Lady of the Bedchamber, had ‘intercepted some letters addressed by her Royal Highness to the Duke of Brunswick’ and distributed their contents – but the truth was more salacious. Lady Jersey had been the mistress of the Prince of Wales since 1793. Her resignation was quick to follow, accompanied by a somewhat self-pitying letter which was leaked to the press in which she lamented the ‘dark and designing calumny’ that had befallen her (Chester Courant, 2 August 1796).

Faced with a barrage of gossip, as well as the knowledge that her husband loathed her, Caroline established her own private residence in 1797 – but not before reminding George that they were both answerable to the King and it was her duty to give ‘an example of patience and resignation under every trial’.

Caroline may have claimed to be honour bound to the King, but if contemporary press reports were to be believed, she seemed to have a rather loose interpretation of the word ‘duty’. With Princess Charlotte placed in the care of a governess, Caroline was free to do as she chose – and she did exactly that. Inevitably, it wasn’t long until the rumours began circulating and she found herself accused of various indiscretions, including an illegitimate pregnancy and a bizarre dispute with her neighbours, involving a lewd drawing and a poison pen letter.

A Royal Commission, known as the ‘Delicate Investigation’, was established in 1806 to secretly examine Caroline’s personal affairs and uncover her infidelities, but no direct proof of infidelity was found.

With a growing sense of isolation, and restricted access to Princess Charlotte, Caroline left for the continent in 1814 and settled in Italy, where she employed Bartolomeo Pergami as a servant. He quickly became a favourite of the Princess, and it was rumoured they were lovers. The relationship was parodied thoroughly in caricatures depicting the two of them in a variety of compromising situations. Caroline’s relationship with Pergami became common knowledge and she found it increasingly difficult to conceal the fact from Prince George’s investigators. Knowing her position was weakened, Caroline attempted to negotiate a divorce in exchange for money, but the situation reached a stalemate. Matters came to a head on 29 January 1820 when King George III died. Caroline, still legally married to Prince George – now King George IV – became Queen of the United Kingdom.

Caroline remained a popular figure with the public, despite her continental capers. George had never quite managed to shake off his rakish reputation, and his spending habits during the lean years of the Napoleonic Wars had ensured public support for him remained at an all-time low. Eager to avoid a public trial, the government decided to make Caroline an offer – that, for an annual stipend of £50,000,

her Majesty should renounce all right, title and claim, to the name, dignity and honours of Queen of England…That her majesty should agree to never to put her foot in England, or in any part of the British dominions…

Caroline rejected the offer and rather audaciously decided to travel back to England and assert her position as Queen. On her arrival on 5 June 1820, on which she very definitely put her foot in England (Dover, to be precise) she was greeted with ‘enthusiastic cheering’s… and a universal shout of congratulation,’ as The National Register remarked. Crowds thronged her route to London bearing flags declaring ‘God Save Queen Caroline’. It was a triumph of PR for Caroline, who was able to capitalise on a growing movement of radicals demanding political reform and a national debate on the rights of the people. Not so for King George, however. He would have to rely on the Pains and Penalties Bill 1820, which was forced through the House of Lords, to dissolve the marriage. The reading of the bill became a character assassination of Caroline as various witnesses from her time abroad testified as to her ‘licentious, disgraceful and adulterous intercourse’ (Saunders’s News-Letter, 15 November 1820). It was all rather damning but remarkably did little to dent her popularity, which highlights just how unpopular King George had become. The bill was eventually dropped following a triumphant piece of oratory from Caroline’s defence lawyer Henry Brougham, and she eventually settled on £50,000 a year but without preconditions.

On 19 July 1821, Caroline made the dubious decision to attend King George’s coronation, an event at which she was most unwelcome. When she arrived at the doors of Westminster Abbey, ‘there was an immediate rush to the door, which was closed amidst much confusion’ (Baldwin’s London Weekly Journal, 21 July 1821). Despite her protestations she was sent away on the grounds that she didn’t have an admittance ticket. Undeterred, she attempted entry at two different entrances but was forced to leave. It was all rather humiliating, and an unfortunate swansong because she would be dead within three weeks. On the night of the coronation, Caroline fell ill and took a large dose of milk of magnesia and some drops of laudanum, but her condition deteriorated. ‘There is good reason to believe,’ Bell’s Weekly Messenger speculated, ‘that the circumstances attendant on her visit to the scene of the Coronation… materially contributed to bring on that crisis which terminated her dissolution.’ Caroline died at Brandenburg House in Hammersmith on 7 August 1821.

The exact cause of her death was never established but Caroline was in no doubt as to its origins: ‘The doctors do not understand my malady,’ she told a female attendant a few hours before her death. ‘It is here (laying her hand upon her heart); but I will be silent; my lips shall never make it known; injustice and cruelty have triumphed.’ In a final act of grudge-bearing, Caroline requested her tomb be inscribed with the words, ‘Here lies Caroline, the Injured Queen of England.’

She may have been the first royal princess to make headlines for reasons good and bad, but as history has already shown, she most certainly wouldn’t be the last.