The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series) (41 page)

‘You are a friend of my son Charles?’

He was taken by surprise and recovering himself assured her that he was.

‘You are older than he is, and I believe you have a fondness for him.’

‘This is so,’ Königsmarck assured her.

‘His father is sending him to Morea. I am uneasy. He is young yet, and although it is our duty to fight our battles I should like to know that he had a good friend at hand. It would give me pleasure if you would volunteer to go with him.’

Königsmarck’s heart had begun to beat a little faster. He raised his eyes to the Duchess’s face and tried to read her mind. Everyone knew that she doted on Charles and the fact that she was not by nature a doting woman emphasized the depth of her emotion for this favourite son. Yet on the other hand what did she know of the intrigues of the court? Was she aware of his liaison with Clara and that at the same time he was involved with the Princess Sophia Dorothea? Was she warning him to get out of Hanover? Yet why should she care what trouble he involved himself in? No, it was real anxiety for her son that he saw in her face.

What could he reply to her? She was a woman who expected obedience.

He was experienced enough to know that he was going to find it very difficult to evade Clara von Platen during the next weeks. How much easier if he left Hanover for a while. When he returned, doubtless she would have found a lover to absorb her as he once had.

It would be one way of easing a delicate situation.

‘Since Your Highness asks it of me, I can only have pleasure in doing as you bid me.’

‘Thank you, Count Königsmarck,’ said the Duchess Sophia.

Very shortly after that interview Prince Charles left for Morea and with him went Count Königsmarck.

The Stolen Glove

ALL THROUGH THE
winter, while Königsmarck was in Morea, Sophia Dorothea’s spirits were kept up by the letters which he sent her. It was bitterly cold and enormous fires burned in the grates; the wind whistled about the Alte Palais and in the streets the people grumbled. Many of the men were away at the war – a war which had little meaning for them and for which they had to pay through the taxes.

Ernest Augustus anxiously awaited news from Morea and Sophia was constantly reproaching him for sending her dearest son so far from home to fight the Turk. It would have been different fighting in Flanders with George Lewis, she complained. Ernest Augustus tried to soothe her, but he too was uneasy. He was paying a big price for his Electorate.

Clara was at hand to amuse him, holding brilliant courts in the palace and at her own mansion Monplaisir. She was restless, eager for news from Morea, for, she said, she was as anxious for that Electorate as he was, knowing that he had set his heart on it. In truth she was thinking of Königsmarck and longing for his return. She did not lack lovers, but they failed to satisfy her. There was, she regretfully admitted, for her only one Königsmarck.

Eléonore von Knesebeck was in her element; it was her great
task to see that the letters Königsmarck sent to Sophia Dorothea reached her and that those of Sophia Dorothea reached Königsmarck. She enjoyed threading her way through Clara’s network of spies, and she congratulated herself that the Countess had no notion that her one-time lover was now writing the most passionate letters to her rival, assuring her that to her and her only could he give his heart.

One day Sophia Dorothea was in the act of writing a letter to Königsmarck when messengers arrived from Morea. A hush had fallen on the palace; it was Eléonore von Knesebeck who came hurrying in to tell her news.

‘What is it?’ cried Sophia Dorothea. ‘You look … stricken.’

Eléonore could not speak for a few seconds; her teeth had begun to chatter.

‘It’s … Charles,’ she said. ‘He’s been killed in Morea.’

Sophia Dorothea clasped her hands together to steady herself. ‘Charles,’ she whispered.

‘It’s been a terrible disaster and …’

‘And … Königsmarck?’

‘I don’t know. I …’

Sophia Dorothea had run to her and was shaking her frantically. ‘You know … you know and you won’t tell me.’

‘I don’t know. I swear it. Only Charles. They found his body on the battlefield … his men were with him … all dead!’

‘Königsmarck?’

‘They did not say Königsmarck.’

‘Then what of him …?’

‘I don’t know. I swear I don’t know.’

Sophia Dorothea pushed Eléonore von Knesebeck aside and hurried down to the great hall.

The court of Hanover was in mourning for Prince Charles. Ernest Augustus shut himself into his apartments and brooded, but the Duchess Sophia was so heartbroken that she collapsed and had to take to her bed; the doctors were called but could not diagnose her illness; yet because she had lost all zest for life they feared she might die; and those about her knew how deeply she loved this son.

From Celle came George William and Duchess Eléonore to offer condolences. Celle was in mourning too, said George William, for everyone had loved Prince Charles.

Gloom settled in the palace. Not only had they lost Prince Charles but there had been utter defeat at Morea. The Duke of Wolfenbüttel had suffered terrible losses in the contingent he had sent; and it was agreed that it would have been better if the expedition had never been undertaken.

The Duchess Eléonore spent a great deal of time with her daughter who mourned Charles sincerely for he had always been a good friend to her; and in the days following that when the grim news had been brought to Hanover she had thought she would die of grief, for then the fate of Königsmarck had not been known. She had endured terrible anxiety each hour expecting to hear bad news.

Only to Eléonore von Knesebeck could she confide her grief.

‘I never surrendered to him,’ she said. ‘I denied him myself. He wanted to be my lover more than anything on Earth, Knesebeck, and I denied him that. If only he would come back … I would deny him nothing, nothing …’

Eléonore von Knesebeck tried to comfort her. ‘One should not brood on the past; one must hope for the future; after all hope did remain.’

Yes, hope remained.

It was a bright April day when Königsmarck came back to Hanover bringing with him a fraction of the troops he had taken with him to Morea.

Königsmarck is back! thought Clara. In fact she thought of nothing else. He was more gaunt than when he had gone away; he seemed a little older, but none the less attractive thought Clara. There’ll never be another man like him for me. How did I put up with the others? Never mind. Now he is back.

Königsmarck! thought Sophia Dorothea. He has changed. He has suffered hardship. He is more serious; and when his eyes met hers in the great hall, she knew that he was even more ardent.

He would tell her now that life was short; that was a fact which had been brought home to him in Morea. She had seen the young and handsome Charles go forth to war, but she had not seen him lying on the battlefield his body shattered by a Turkish lance. If she had she would understand that life was a precious gift which could be lost at any time. Who would have thought Charles’s end would come so soon, he who had been full of health and life? They must enjoy living; there must be an end to dreams.

It was not easy to meet alone, for there was danger in secret meetings, but Eléonore von Knesebeck was at hand to scheme, and with her help they could be together … alone for an hour or so.

He came to her apartment and Eléonore was there to take him to her, to guard them while they were together. They could trust their confidante Knesebeck, they assured each other.

Sophia Dorothea threw herself into his arms. ‘I feared I should never see you again,’ she cried. ‘I could not have gone on living without you.’

‘All the time I was thinking of you. I came back for you. I fought for my life as I never have before … because it was for you.’

‘I am afraid …’

‘The little Knesebeck is guarding. We can trust her.’

‘Oh, yes, we can trust her. And I swore that if you came back to me …’

He kissed her. He understood. He had been spared for her; now there would be no holding back.

Clara waited for him in her apartment. Naked beneath her robe – scarlet because the first time it had been scarlet and that would remind him. Her face was freshly painted and in the candlelight she looked as radiant as a young girl. She put down the candle, which she had held close to the mirror, and let the robe fall open while she let her hands caress her body. It was firm and no one would guess she had borne children; she wondered anxiously whether that last trouble had changed her. Königsmarck, the rogue, had been responsible for that. She would tell him so.
It had made her really ill at the time and no one believed the story she had put out as to the cause of her illness. She would have been pleased to have had a little Königsmarck, but the time would have been awkward. At least the others could have been Platens by Ernest Augustus, and the truth was that Ernest Augustus was not the man he had been; and because he had been away from the court the child could not have been assigned to him either.

She knew that it was a little Königsmarck; and there had only been one course open to her. Dangerous! Humiliating! She had hated it. But as she had meant to tell him, a small price to pay for all the fun they had together.

Her skin was as soft and white as ever; the daily milk baths looked after that.

Oh, Königsmarck! she thought. It was worth while.

Anticipation excited her. She wrapped her robe tightly about her and trembled.

‘Königsmarck! Königsmarck. Hurry, Königsmarck!’

How hard it was to wait! Up and down the room she paced; taking a candle she went to the window and idly looked out, but she saw nothing except her own face reflected in the glass. Fresh and young like the face of a young girl. So it would seem to him.

But how long he was in coming!

It was some time later when she realized that he would not come at all.

Clara was angry but she masked her feelings. Why did he not come? Had he not understood her invitation. Didn’t he know that she was the one who decided when an affair should be terminated?

Was it possible that he had a mistress at court? She knew that he had a romantic attachment to Sophia Dorothea, but that was nothing. Just kiss my hand and dream of what can never be. Königsmarck was too much of a man to be satisfied with that. It was just an airy-fairy game he played to pass the time.

Now, he had a mistress and Clara was going to find out who;
and when she did she was going to see that that little affair did not progress.

He would soon be back with her.

George Lewis had gone to Flanders with his men and the atmosphere of the palace was always easier for Sophia Dorothea when he was absent.

She had been living excitingly since Königsmarck’s return. They wrote letters constantly to each other; there was another who was in their secret and that was Aurora Königsmarck, Königsmarck’s sister, who had come to live in his mansion for a while. Aurora adored her brother, approved of his romantic adventure with the Princess, and being ready to act with Eléonore von Knesebeck as go-between, made the affair so much easier to conduct.

‘For the first time since my sixteenth birthday I am happy!’ Sophia Dorothea told Eléonore von Knesebeck, whom she and her dear Philip had nicknamed affectionately the Confidante.

Eléonore was delighted; she was constantly visiting Aurora Königsmarck with whom she had appeared to strike up a friendship. Back and forth went the letters. Sophia Dorothea read them and reread them and tied them up with ribbons that she might keep them constantly with her.

Occasionally there were meetings and it was the delight of Confidante Knesebeck at the palace and Aurora Königsmarck in her brother’s mansion to put their heads together and arrange trysts for the lovers.

Sophia Dorothea spent her time between her children and her lover and it was true that never had she been so happy. Her beauty blossomed and Eléonore von Knesebeck declared that her very looks would betray her if she did not take care.

Life had become gay, colourful, touched with delicious intrigue.

The fact that meetings were so difficult to arrange made them all the more exciting when they took place. Königsmarck congratulated himself on having a place in the Guards which meant that he was often in the gardens on duty. How simple for Sophia Dorothea out for a walk with Eléonore or with the
children to pass by. Then they could feast their eyes on each other and even though she could do no more than smile and he salute her, their day was made.

The children looked for him; they would point him out to her and he made a special point of saluting them. Young George Augustus would salute in return, standing very straight like a soldier, and little Sophia Dorothea would attempt to do the same.

Sophia Dorothea was walking in the gardens one day with her little daughter, Sophia Dorothea on the alert for a glimpse of her lover and had not realized how far they had walked, when the child began to whimper that she was tired and couldn’t climb all the steps to the apartment in the palace.

Sophia Dorothea laughed and caught the little girl up in her arms.

There were attendants who could have carried the child, but Sophia Dorothea did not ask them to do so; and as she was about to mount the stairs a shadow fell across the sunlight and a hand was laid on her arm.

‘The child is too heavy for Your Highness.’

The sound of that voice thrilled her; she turned, a radiant smile on her lips.

Their hands touched as he took the child, who gazed at him in wonder and attempted to make the salute.

Königsmarck carried the little Princess up the stairs with her mother leading the way, as though, her attendants told each other afterwards, they were an ordinary couple returning home together. It was an extraordinary way to behave and a complete flouting of etiquette; but then the Crown Princess had never had much respect for the Hanoverian customs, having been brought up in free and easy Celle.

Königsmarck was putting the child down when Clara on her way to the gardens where she knew he would be on duty came into sight.