The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series) (3 page)

‘Ah,’ said George William, ‘a family conference.’

Christian Lewis replied that it seemed wise for them to talk over their affairs together before they listened to what the council had to advise.

‘Advise?’ asked George William. ‘Or insist on?’

‘There would be no need to insist, I am certain,’ answered placid Christian Lewis, ‘for once our duty is made clear to us it will be the ardent wish of us all to perform it.’

‘I understood,’ replied George William ironically, ‘that I am to be the one to perform the duty.’

John Frederick said quickly: ‘If you did not, there would be others to step into your place.’

George William turned to smile lazily at his fiery brother. Not you, my brother, he thought. But he bowed his head graciously and turned to Christian Lewis.

‘It is becoming increasing clear that Dorothea cannot have a child,’ said Christian Lewis. ‘All this time and she remains sterile. The doctors tell me that it is unlikely she will ever conceive. Time doesn’t stand still, my brothers. You are thirty-three, George William. It is time you finished roaming and giving sons to Venetian women. You must marry without delay.’

George William lowered his eyes. He was aware of John Frederick’s smoulderingly ambitious gaze and remembered the story they had heard from their father of how when his father lay dying he and his brothers had drawn lots as to who should provide the heir. The story had fascinated them all. Sometimes they would go to the very chamber in which Duke William the Pious had died and play the scene … treating it as a game. There had only been four of them to draw lots; but they had insisted that their sisters play the unimportant rôles – Sophia Amelia the old man in the bed and little Anne Eleanor – long since dead, for she had died before her sixth birthday – must be the steward who held the pieces of wood for them to draw. The excitement of that game had been that they had never known who would draw the shortest stick and he who did was allowed to be the lord of them all for the rest of the day.

George William could have sworn that John Frederick was thinking of that game now – wishing they could draw lots and make it a reality. Christian Lewis was occupied with the idea of passing on his duties, and Ernest Augustus – it was certain that his thoughts were where his heart was – in Venice.

‘You have decided,’ said George William grimly; ‘and I’ll warrant there is something else you have determined on too. The name of this unfortunate woman.’

Christian Lewis smiled. ‘I am sure she will reckon herself the
reverse, brother, when she sees you. I have heard it said that women favour you – and what I have seen gives me no reason to doubt it.’

‘Well,’ demanded George William, still conscious of the resentful glances of John Frederick, ‘who is she?’

‘It has been suggested that Princess Sophia, daughter of the late King Frederick of Bohemia and Elector of Palatine, would be a good choice.’

‘Sophia …’ murmured George William. ‘I have heard she is proud. Would she take me?’

‘When a woman reaches the age of twenty-eight and is unmarried, she is not difficult to please.’

‘Then,’ replied George William, ‘it seems possible that she would take me.’

‘My dear brother, we have made certain that if you travelled to Heidelberg to woo her, your journey would not be in vain.’

‘Then,’ answered George William, ‘it seems there is no help for it. To Heidelberg I must go. Will you be my companion, brother?’

He had turned to Ernest Augustus as he spoke. The younger man smiled. Of course he would accompany his brother. It would be one last carouse before George William accepted his responsibilities.

‘You should make your preparations without much delay,’ Christian Lewis warned them. ‘The council is impatient … so are the people. They want to see the heir.’

George William shrugged his shoulders. He was resigned. He thought of his father who had drawn the shortest stick with a reluctance which now matched his own. Perhaps it would be possible to follow his example, for he had not been completely confined to Celle even after his marriage. Yet he had been a good Duke, combining pleasure and duty. And he had given his people what they asked – four sons.

Perhaps it was not so depressing as he had once thought; and he was certain that if John Frederick took his place, he would very quickly find some opportunity to denude his brothers of their estates and fortunes. There was a look of ambition in the eyes of John Frederick which George William did not like.

Very well, he was the second son; he would do his duty.

‘Well, brother,’ he said to Ernest Augustus. ‘There is no help for it and no reason for delay. Let our good people see that they can rely on us.’

Within a short time of their return from Venice the two brothers were preparing to leave for Heidelberg.

The Princess Sophia was elated at the prospect of receiving her suitor. She remembered him well for she had seen him years ago when he had first come to Heidelberg with his young brother – an exceedingly handsome boy, with the manners of a courtier; he had danced with her and she had flirted with both boys. She suspected that this was an occupation in which they indulged as naturally as breathing. George William had played the guitar to her which he did most charmingly; and while he was in her company had made her believe that he enjoyed it more than that of any other person.

But she was too shrewd nowadays to believe that – although at the time she had been willing enough to delude herself. Well, now she was to marry him – and it was time too that they both married. She was not displeased with her prospective bridegroom – although being an extremely ambitious woman she had had hopes of a more advantageous marriage.

What joy, though, to escape from Heidelberg! It was not very pleasant being tolerated at her brother’s court as the poor sister who was not particularly well endowed with personal attractions, and every year taking a few steps farther away from marriageability.

In her youth she had been tolerably handsome; but this had been completely overshadowed by the beauty of her mother. Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia – until her husband Frederick had been deprived of his throne – had become known as the Queen of Hearts, so charming was she, and compared with such a mother the mildly handsome looks of her daughter Sophia had been insignificant. Moreover, she had been poor from birth, for the family’s fortunes had been already in decline when she arrived in the world. Therefore with little to recommend her but her birth she became excessively proud of that.

Although she did not see her mother frequently – Sophia declared that Queen Elizabeth preferred her dogs and monkeys to her children – it was she who dominated the household. Her personality was such that she must attract and, however resentful Sophia felt, she must admire. It had not been much fun, moving about Europe enjoying hospitality wherever it was possible to beg it, yet Queen Elizabeth did so with grace and great charm; she even gave banquets – although this always meant the sacrifice of some precious jewels; the courtiers about them were mostly rats and mice, Sophia had grimly commented, to which of course could be added the creditors. And through her troubles Elizabeth moved, serene, admired, adored – the Queen of Hearts.

She never forgot that she was an English Princess. Although, Sophia pointed out – and had her ears boxed for her impertinence – her mother was the Danish Princess Anne and her father, King James I of England and VI of Scotland, more Scots than English.

But England was the country enshrined in her mother’s heart. In England she had been an honoured princess; in Bohemia she had been Queen of a Kingdom which quickly rejected her husband and made an exile of her. Sophia had been brought up with a great admiration for England and to hope that she might go there – as a Queen.

It had not seemed an impossible dream. It was true that her uncle, Charles I, had been in conflict with his Parliament and as a result had lost his head, that Oliver Cromwell had set up a Commonwealth and that the son of Charles I, Prince Charles, was wandering from court to court on the Continent now, waiting and hoping for a chance to regain his kingdom. If ever he did, a bride would be very carefully chosen for him, but, while he was a wandering prince, he was not such a good proposition. That had seemed to be Sophia’s chance.

He was a charming young man, this cousin of hers – witty, amusing, goodhearted, selfish perhaps – but what Prince was not? – gay and very licentious. She dreamed of him; so did her mother.

‘One of my dearest wishes, Sophia,’ her mother had said to
her, ‘is to see you Queen of England.’

‘But there is no Queen of England,’ Sophia had replied, to which her mother had shrugged her shoulders impatiently.

‘Of course there will be a Queen of England. Charles will go back. Make no mistake about that. I believe the people would have him now – they are heartily sick of the Puritans already.’

So the Queen had had her daughter brought up to speak English fluently; and she learned more about England than any other country; and although she had never seen it, her mother talked of it so intimately when they were together that Sophia saw it … saw Windsor Castle with its ancient walls, and the palace of St. James’s and Whitehall where her uncle Charles the Martyr had been cruelly murdered by Cromwell’s orders.

Sophia had believed that England was important to her, but Cousin Charles made no effort to court her. One heard constant stories of his amatory exploits, but there was no marriage. He was waiting, said the Queen, until his throne was restored to him; and then what chance would his poor cousin Sophia have to marry him and become the Queen of England?

So the years passed – and while Charles waited for his throne Sophia waited for a husband. There was the attack of smallpox from which she recovered, but it had left its mark on her, and her beauty was not improved.

She was beginning to despair of ever marrying, which would mean living at the court of her brother the Elector Palatine where she was not wanted, listening and often forced to take part in the squabbles between him and his wife, the poor relation, the woman whose ambitions had gone sour, who had no fortune – nothing but her pride in her birth and a love for a far-off country which she had never seen and which was becoming a fetish with her.

Thus Sophia – twenty-eight and desperate – prepared to offer a warm welcome to Duke George William when he came to Heidelberg to propose marriage to her.

Her maid dressed her for the meeting. It was not a new gown; there was no money for new gowns. Her mother, wandering in exile through Europe, continually suffering poverty, short of
money, could not help; nor was her brother the Elector inclined to. She had her home at his court; she must be content with that. ‘Oh, rescue me soon, George William!’ murmured Sophia. And her eyes brightened at the prospect.

While her maid was dressing her hair she studied her reflection. Her hair was rather pretty, falling in light brown natural curls about her shoulders; when she smiled she was not without charm despite the damage done to her skin by the accursed pox. It was a pity she were not a little taller, but she made up for that by carrying herself well and haughtily – as became a princess with English blood in her veins.

She hoped George William would be pleased with her. Not that it should make any difference if he were not. This marriage had been arranged and he would have no more choice than she would. She hoped he had not changed. He had been such a charming boy – as her cousin Charles undoubtedly was; and George William, she believed, although he had had countless mistresses, was not quite so profligate as Charles. His mistresses would not be important though, as long as he spent enough time in her bed to enable her to provide the necessary heirs – and, of course, accorded to her the dignity of her rank.

A servant came to tell her that her brother the Elector commanded that she join him in his apartments. She knew this meant she was to be presented to her future husband.

One last look at her reflection. If I were not pitted with the pox, she thought, I should be tolerably handsome.

She was announced, and as she came into the apartment saw her brother with George William. George William was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen.

As he bowed to her, she lifted her eyes to him, and felt an excitement creeping over her. This was indeed the next best thing to marriage into England.

George William took her hand.

‘I find it impossible to convey my pleasure in this meeting.’

He was suave, elegant, gallant.

His brother, standing a few paces behind him, was quite a pleasant young man but eclipsed by the other’s superior attractions.

George William gave no sign of the deep depression which he was experiencing.

He had decided in that moment that marriage was even more repugnant than he had imagined – and he certainly did not want Princess Sophia for his bride.

There was little finesse about the Elector. He knew why the brothers were in Heidelberg and so did everyone else, so why make any pretence about it? The house of Brunswick-Lüneberg wanted a wife for its Duke, and there was no doubt that he wanted a husband for Sophia. He was tired of keeping his sister; her tongue was a little too sharp for his liking, he resented her cost to his household: and he would rejoice to see her the concern of someone else.

So he arranged that the young people should have a private interview on the very day of the arrival of the Duke and his brother.

Duke William, accepting the unpleasant duty before him, plunged in without any preamble, seating himself beside Sophia and taking her hand. His voice was cool as he said: ‘You know for what purpose I am here?’

There was nothing of the coquette about Sophia.

‘I have been told,’ she replied.

‘Then I trust you are not displeased by the arrangements which our families have made for us. I do assure you that if this matter is distasteful to you …’

‘It is not distasteful to me,’ she answered sharply.

He was surprised, and she turned to him laughing. ‘I am not going to play the part of coy maiden. Have no fear of that. I am nearing thirty. Time is running out. If I am going to give my husband heirs I should delay no longer.’