The Plot Twist I Didn’t See Coming

I thought this April would be about my upcoming book, The Queen of Bushy House. It turned out to be about loss.

Before everything changed, I had been thinking about beginnings – specifically, how The Queen of Bushy House first came to be.

I first learned of Dorothea Jordan and Adelaide of Saxe-Meiningen at a Bushy House open day. The story was intriguing: a relationship between a famous actress and a future king that ended badly, and the young princess who stepped into Dorothea’s place just a few years later. But I didn’t see it as a book idea. I was more interested in the twentieth century and knew little about the Georgians, so I hadn’t really considered writing their story.

A few months later, my mom came to visit. We walked through Bushy Park on a wintry day, passing the house where Dorothea and Adelaide had once lived. I told her about them – two women who had never met, yet were bound together through one man, William, Duke of Clarence. She listened as we tromped through muddy paths, past the bare skeletons of gnarled oaks and silvery birch, doing our best to avoid the herds of deer.

As we neared the gate out of the park, she said, “Why don’t you write about them?”

Why don’t I, indeed? If memory serves, I had been whinging about what to write next – and about the manuscript my publisher had rejected.

When we got home, we looked Dorothea up and found a biography, Mrs Jordan’s Profession by Claire Tomalin.

“I know her books,” my mom said. “She wrote an excellent biography of Dickens. Very readable.”

I ordered a copy. I read it and was entranced by Dorothea – and by the many ways she has been written about and interpreted throughout history. Even now, I suspect she would be judged harshly, despite her many accomplishments.

There is much less written about Adelaide. She is a more shadowy figure in the rear-view mirror. Hers is a story shaped by heartbreak and the pressure to produce an heir. She was universally liked – I don’t think I came across a single ill word written about her.

They are two very different women.

Yet their story feels strikingly modern.

Dorothea juggled the demands of her profession and her household, reinventing herself after a very public, high-profile break-up, always aware of how quickly popularity can turn.

Adelaide, meanwhile, carried the heavy expectations of her family on her young shoulders and stepped into a deeply complicated situation when she agreed to marry the Duke of Clarence. He was adamant she would treat his children as her own – but, just three years older than his eldest son, she could not possibly have understood what that role would demand of her.

Messy families are certainly not a modern invention.

At the heart of The Queen of Bushy House is motherhood, in all its forms. It feels fitting that this book began with my mother posing a simple question: “Why don’t you write about them?”

My mom was an early reader of the manuscript, my biggest cheerleader, and an endless source of encouragement when I chose to self-publish. It felt like an obvious choice to dedicate the book to her.

When I wrote the dedication a couple of months ago, I did not realise that she would never hold the book in her hands. After nearly a year of battling cancer, she died in early April.

After weeks of grief and practicalities, I now return to Dorothea and Adelaide’s story. My mom is on my shoulder, urging me on.

The next steps are coming soon. I only wish she were here to see them – but I think she’d be proud of what’s to come.

I’ll be sharing the cover in the next few weeks. If you’d like to follow along, you can subscribe on Substack for updates.