The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series) (7 page)

The inevitable happened when he conjugated the verb to love.

‘Je vous aime,’
he told her; and she pretended to believe that was part of the lesson.

‘That is correct,’ she told him.

‘Correct and inevitable,’ he said. ‘From the moment we met I
knew meeting you was the most important thing that had ever happened to me.’

He had seized her hands across the table but she was smiling at him calmly.

‘I do not expect you to love me as deeply, as devotedly as I love you … yet,’ he rushed on. ‘But I must have the opportunity of showing you … of …’

Her eyes were puzzled. ‘The Princess tells me that you are in no position to make such a declaration,’ she said.

‘You will come back to Germany with me. We will live there together for the rest of our lives … but not all the time of course. We will travel … see the world. I will take you to Italy, to England …’

‘But how would that be possible?’ she asked.

‘How? We will just go. That is how.’

‘Then is it not true that you have taken an oath to your brother never to marry?’

‘To marry …’ he stammered.

She smiled coolly. ‘I see that marriage had not entered your mind.’ She rose. ‘The lesson is over. I think, do you not, that in the circumstances there should be no more.’

He was on his feet and at her side.

‘Eléonore …’ He tried to embrace her but she held him off.

‘I do not think you understand,’ she said. ‘We are poor … we are exiles … but my family would never allow me to enter into such a relationship as you are suggesting. Goodbye, my lord Duke, I am sorry you did not explain sooner.’

With that she left him. He stood staring after her – bemused, frustrated and desperately unhappy.

‘What can I do?’ he asked the Princess.

She put her head on one side and regarded him affectionately. So handsome. Such an accomplished lover. Well, this time he had indeed met his match.

‘These French nobles … they are so proud,’ she reminded him.

‘I understand that. I would not have her other than she is … but what can I
do
?’

‘You might offer settlements. They are very poor. The father’s prospects are alarming … unless one of his daughters – or both of them – make wealthy marriages.’

‘If it is a matter of money …’

‘Compared with them, my dear lord Duke, you are very wealthy and you would give a great deal to win my dear little Eléonore. But it may be that money is not enough. But we can try.’

‘You will talk to her?’

‘I would do a great deal to make you happy,’ she answered.

The Marquis d’Olbreuse smiled at his beautiful daughter.

‘It is for you to decide, my child,’ he said.

‘But how could I accept such … dishonour. Have you not always said that our pride is all that is left to us now?’

‘I have and I mean it. But it is not easy to make a good marriage when there is no dowry. I have nothing to offer you … neither you nor Angelique. How different it would be if we had not been driven from our home!’

‘You are not suggesting that I should accept him?’

‘I would not suggest that you did anything you do not want to do.’

‘But father, he is asking me to become his mistress!’

‘It is true. But he has talked of settlements … and a man does not usually offer that to a casual mistress. I believe if it were possible, he would marry you.’

‘But,
mon père
, it is not possible.’

Angelique had come into the room. She was a very pretty girl but lacked Eléonore’s outstanding beauty.

The Marquis looked from one to another of his daughters and sighed.

Two lovely girls and he had not the means to set them up in life. That, he believed, was his greatest tragedy of all. Life did not become easier as the years passed. He visualized an old age of poverty, of living on the bounty of others. It was not a pleasant vista for a proud old man.

And if Eléonore accepted the offer of the Duke of Brunswick-Lüneberg? He was rich; he was a Prince – albeit a German one
of a small principality. He was not the head of his house because he had an elder brother living and had signed away his own rights – but …

Even so, he would not persuade her that here was a chance to make her family’s future secure. In France a Prince’s mistress was a power in the land – often more so than his wife. Eléonore was French enough, proud enough, beautiful and intelligent enough, to play the rôle made famous by so many women of her own country. In her small way she might become a Diane de Poitiers. Little pride was lost and honours were gained in such a role.

But the man was a German, of course; and they had not the same refinements of taste as the French nor the same ideas of gallantry.

It must be for her to choose. But if she accepted, if she played her rôle as he was sure it could be played, what good she could bring to her family!

Eléonore, who knew him so well, guessed the thoughts which were passing through his mind. She was a little shocked; and yet she understood so well.

When she retired to her room Angelique followed her there.

‘You are the talk of Breda,’ said Angelique. ‘How I envy you!’

‘Then you are foolish. My position is far from enviable.’

‘They say that Duke George William is madly in love with you. I think he is most attractive. I don’t know how you can refuse him.’

‘Then it is a pity he does not transfer his affections to you.’

‘Now Eléonore, don’t be touchy.
Mon dieu!
So it is true then?’

‘What?’

‘You’re in love with him.’

Eléonore turned away angrily.

Was she? She was not sure. But Angelique had noticed something in her demeanour, some change.

If he despaired and went away, she would be quite desolate. Was that being in love?

If he had offered marriage how joyfully she would have accepted. But how could the proud daughter of a proud house agree to become a mistress?

The Princesse de Tarente watched the lovers with interest. So charming she said, in a blasé world. She was certain that in time Eléonore would relent.

She told George William so and that if he offered a morganatic marriage it might help to persuade Eléonore.

‘Alas, she has had a strict upbringing and it has always been impressed on her that she must never live with any man without marriage.’

‘I have been a fool,’ cried George William. ‘If I had not made the contract with my brother how happily would I marry her. Nothing but my declaration of renunciation holds me back. I know that I want to live with Eléonore for the rest of my life, and I shall never want any other woman. She will be sufficient to me. My dear Princess, I cannot describe to you how much I have changed. I am a different man. Had I known it was possible to feel this passion, this tenderness, this desire for a tranquil life with one woman I should never have been such a fool as to sign that contract. I know now why I refused Sophia. I must have been secretly conscious that Eléonore was waiting for me.’

‘So charming!’ sighed the Princess. ‘So romantic! You have promised settlements that would accompany a proper marriage … you have offered a morganatic marriage … you can do no more. I am certain that Eléonore loves you.’

‘Are you?’ he cried rapturously.

‘My dear George William, how delightful it is to be in love! Oh yes, she adores you. She would make you a wonderful wife and you would be the best husband in the world. You have learned the emptiness of mere passion, the dissatisfaction which must follow lust. You are in love, and it is quite beautiful. I believe you will win in time. I will give a ball for you both which will, in a way, set a seal on your relationship. When she knows how much all of us in Breda are with our dear romantic lovers, she may relent, for she longs to, I do assure you. Oh,
how she longs to! She cannot deceive me. She is as much in love with you as you are with her.’

He kissed the Princess’s hands with fervour. She was his very dear friend. If he were not so wholeheartedly in love with his Eléonore he would doubtless be in love with her.

‘No more compliments of that nature, my dear,’ reproved the Princess. ‘They might reach Eléonore’s ears, and then she would think she was right after all – fascinating as you are – to hold out against you.’

But he was grateful, he assured her. He would be grateful to the end of his days.

It was a glittering ball and the guests of honour were Duke George William and Mademoiselle Eléonore d’Olbreuse.

They danced together; they talked together; and made no secret of their pleasure in each other’s company.

During the evening the Princess called them to her and told them that it made her very happy to give this ball in their honour.

‘I want you to know, my dearest
demoiselle d’honneur,
that all of us in Breda wish you well. I want you to take this as a memento of this happy evening.’

She put a medallion into Eléonore’s hands – a picture of George William set with diamonds.

‘What can I say?’ cried Eléonore, deeply moved.

‘Say what you have to say to him, my child. And that will best please me.’

She left them together and George William drew her to an alcove in the ballroom as he had on the first night they had met.

‘You see,’ he said, ‘you must say yes now. It is the wish of everyone that you do.’

‘I want to,’ she told him, ‘but …’

‘I promise you you will never regret this step, my dearest.’

‘I do not believe I should, but I should never be your wife and …’

‘There should be a marriage.’

‘Not legal, not binding.’

‘It should be binding in every way.’

‘And our children, what of them? I could not bring illegitimate children into the world.’

‘They should have every honour that I could give them.’

‘I do not know. I cannot say.’

‘But you love me.’

‘Yes,’ she answered earnestly. ‘I love you.’

‘Now I shall win. You cannot hold out against me. Eléonore, my dearest, say yes now. Let this wonderful evening be the happiest of my life … so far. Let it be the beginning of all my joy.’

‘I will give you an answer tomorrow.’

‘And it will be yes.’

‘I think so … I hope so … and alas, I fear so,’ she answered.

That was a happy night. He was sure of success. He was already wording in his mind the settlement. There should be a ceremony in every way as solemn as a marriage service. They should never have anything to regret.

He was the one who must regret … regret the contract he had been fool enough to enter into with Ernest Augustus. Why had he not understood then that he did not want marriage because he had never been in love, that he did not understand love before he met Eléonore!

He was angry with himself because he could not give her everything – simply everything that she desired. Still he would make up for the one lack. She should be treated like a queen.

Tomorrow he would call on her father. They would talk … make plans.

He lay sleepless thinking of the next day.

His servant was at his bedside.

‘My lord Duke, a messenger.’

Those fateful words. He had always dreaded them because they invariably brought disturbing news from home.

‘Bring him to me, without delay.’

The man stood by the bedside, travel-stained and weary, yet with that elation in his face which was a characteristic of those
who brought exciting news – good or bad. He sensed by the solemn look this one was forcing on his face that this was bad news.

‘My lord Duke, Duke Christian Lewis is dead.’

‘Dead!’ cried George William struggling up. ‘My brother … dead.’

‘Yes, my lord. And there is more. Duke John Frederick has seized the Castle of Celle and has declared that he will hold it against you.’

George William leaped from his bed; fate was against him; Eléonore was on the point of relenting; and now news had come to him which necessitated his immediate return to his own country.

He presented himself at the lodgings of the Marquis d’Olbreuse.

‘Monsieur le Marquis, I must speak to your daughter without delay.’

‘Certainly, certainly,’ replied the Marquis. ‘I will tell her you are here.’

Eléonore came eagerly into the room, but as soon as she saw her lover she knew that something was wrong.

He took both her hands and looked into her face. ‘My love, I have to return to Celle this very day. My eldest brother is dead and the elder of my two remaining brothers has seized my castle there, and is attempting to rule in my place. I have no choice. If I am to keep what is mine I must go at once.’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you must go.’

‘And I still have not had your answer.’

‘I cannot decide … I cannot. Pray give me time.’

He sighed. Then he fervently kissed her hand. ‘I shall be back,’ he told her. ‘As soon as the affair is settled I shall be with you. But I want you to take these documents. You will then have no doubts of my feelings for you.’

‘You have no need to give me further proof. I know. If only I could reconcile all that I have been brought up to believe is right with what you are asking and what I desire!’

He embraced her tenderly.

‘You will in time,’ he said. ‘As soon as I have settled this
unfortunate matter I shall come to you or better still you must come to me. Now … I must leave you.’

Within a few hours Duke George William was riding out of Breda, and when she studied the documents he had left her, Eléonore saw that he had settled on her his entire fortune in case of his death.

She wept, horrified at the thought that he might be going into battle against his brother.

If it were not for the thought of the children they might have, she would have written to him at once telling him that she would come to him as soon as he sent for her. Because of that thought, she wavered still.

Strife within the family was an evil thing. All the brothers agreed to this; but John Frederick had declared that he would be revenged on his brothers for passing him over for Ernest Augustus without consulting the family. In the past brothers had agreed to draw lots and rely on luck; but George William had acted in a high-handed manner and bestowed Sophia and all the change implied on the youngest brother. For this reason John Frederick had revolted. Moreover, George William was bringing the family into disrepute. He was never at home. First it had been Venice – and now Breda. It was time he was taught a lesson.