The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series) (8 page)

But when George William came riding back with all speed to Celle, John Frederick had no wish to take up arms against him and agreed that such problems as theirs should be discussed round a council table; but George William must understand that if he were to be allowed to rule his little principality he could not satisfactorily delegate authority to others; he must be present himself. These long residences at foreign places must come to an end.

George William saw the wisdom of this. He must settle down. As it happened it was just what he wanted to do … with Eléonore.

If she would come to him, if they could set up house together, he would ask for nothing more but to live quietly for the rest of his days in his own land.

The brothers met. The death of Christian Lewis meant that there were prizes to be passed round; and as a result of the conference George William became Duke of Celle, John Frederick Duke of Hanover, while Ernest Augustus remained the Bishop of Osnabrück. They were all satisfied – even John Frederick.

Now, thought George William, all that remained was to go back to Breda and bring Eléonore home to Celle.

His ministers shook their heads with disapproval when he said he was returning to Breda.

‘My lord,’ it was pointed out, ‘if you left now John Frederick would claim what he did before. You would lose Celle, for although the people prefer you as their Duke your perpetual wanderings displease them. They want you to rule them, but only if you do so in person.’

‘It would be a short stay, I do assure you.’

‘It would be dangerous to leave now. You must stay at least a year before you wander abroad again.’

George William was in despair. Eléonore was still unpersuaded; and it might be that only he could do the persuading.

He wrote to her at once explaining the position. There was a short delay before her answer came back, telling him that he must forget her; for she had suffered from the smallpox and her beauty was gone. He could not love her now, and she prayed that he would put her out of his mind as she was trying to put him out of hers.

Her beauty gone! He pictured her with her dazzling complexion ruined, the soft skin pitted in that disfiguring way which ruined so many who would otherwise be beauties. He wept; he mourned; and after a day or so he knew that he wanted Eléonore whether she was beautiful or not.

He wrote and told her so.

The Princesse de Tarente wrote to him. They missed him in Breda but they had heard that his affairs at home were no longer giving him reason for anxiety. Poor Eléonore was wretchedly unhappy. ‘She loves you, my dear Duke, do not allow yourself to believe otherwise. Do not believe what she tells you,
for she is trying to make it easy for you to do without her. In spite of her sadness she is as beautiful as ever. She has the loveliest complexion in Breda. It breaks my heart to see her so sad, and I am sure you do not wish to break my heart, my dear.’

He smiled when he read the letter.

So Eléonore was lying to him … for his sake … to make it easier.

He was determined on two things: to have Eléonore and Celle.

He decided on a visit to Osnabrück. After all, Ernest Augustus had always been his friend and Sophia seemed satisfied with her fate, so perhaps she did not hold the jilting against him.

He would ask their advice and help.

Sophia received him graciously. How handsome he is! she thought. Being a little drawn, a little thinner, does not detract from his charm.

He went to the nursery and saw the children. George Lewis was almost five, Frederick Augustus four – and both were healthy boys.

‘What do you think of my sons?’ asked Sophia, watching him closely for a trace of envy.

‘You are fortunate. My brother is delighted, I am sure.’

‘From what I hear you are not pleased now that you renounced your rights. Is it true that there is a lady in Breda whom you would like to marry?’

‘It is true. I want to have a good talk with you and Ernest Augustus about her. I think you can help me.’

‘Help you? You need help to persuade the lady?’ Sophia’s laugh was a little harsh. So he is in love! she was thinking. He could not contemplate marrying
me.
He preferred to give up his rights to escape
me.
And now if he is as enamoured of this French creature as rumours say, he is feeling he acted a little hastily. He is wishing he had thrown me over without bothering to find a husband for me!

She could have hated him – if he was not so handsome, so
much more charming than Ernest Augustus, if she had not decided when she had heard she was to marry him, to fall in love with him.

‘You will hear what I have to suggest?’

‘The contracts stand firm,’ she replied grimly.

‘Naturally. I did not mean in that way. George Lewis is all attention.’

‘He is an intelligent child.’

‘Two intelligent children! Lucky Sophia! Lucky Ernest Augustus! I am sure you will want to help
me
to be happy.’

George Lewis was holding up a wooden sword.

‘Uncle,’ he said, ‘I shall be a soldier.’

George William lifted the boy in his arms. What an ugly little fellow he was, but his eyes were bright.

‘We will go to war together, nephew.’

‘I shall come too,’ piped up Frederick Augustus.

‘Of course.’

‘Come,’ said Sophia, ‘dinner will soon be served. And afterwards we shall talk together.’

They left the nursery and George William went to his apartments in the palace.

They are contented, he thought; Sophia owes me no grudge and Ernest Augustus should be very grateful to me. They will help me.

They had eaten well of sausage and red cabbage with ginger and onions – a dish to which, during his sojourns abroad, George William had grown unaccustomed.

He thought longingly of the French cooking at the table of the Princesse de Tarente. But he must not think of Breda – only as to how he could bring Eléonore out of it.

He noticed that every time he saw Ernest Augustus, his brother was changing. He was getting gross with too much good living – greasy German food, and the heavy ale they drank. He hunted frequently, travelled occasionally; and took his choice of the women of his court. A typical ruler, thought George William. How different his own life would be with Eléonore!

And Sophia? She was dignified, never forgetting her royal blood, and as long as everyone else remembered it she did not care that her husband was blatantly unfaithful. She ruled the household and would never allow any of his mistresses to attempt to dominate her. She was the woman supreme in the castle; and as long as Ernest Augustus granted her that, he could go his own way. Now of course she was hoping for more children. Two were not enough; for this reason Ernest Augustus must spend certain nights with her.

It was an amicable arrangement and Ernest Augustus was pleased with his marriage.

Sophia kept her feeling to herself, which was as well, for George William had no idea of the emotions he aroused in her, and when she said that she wanted to help him, he believed her.

When they were alone together he explained the situation to them both.

‘A pity she is a Frenchwoman,’ said Ernest Augustus. ‘I never trusted the French.’

‘Oh, come brother, we know the French have been our enemies. But that is not the fault of Mademoiselle d’Olbreuse and her family. Why, they are
exiles
from France. Louis has had them driven out. That should make you friendly towards them.’

‘You think that we can help you?’ asked Sophia.

‘Yes, by inviting her here. Treat her with respect. If you did so she would understand that, in spite of the circumstances, she was being given all the honours that would be due to my wife.’

‘She would not be your wife,’ put in Ernest Augustus quickly. ‘That is quite out of the question.’

‘I know. I know,’ replied George William wearily. ‘I have sworn that I will not marry. But I could marry … morganatically. You could have no objection to that.’

‘The documents would have to be very carefully drawn up.’

‘Naturally.’

How time changed people! thought George William. Here was Ernest Augustus, wary and suspicious; and a few years ago
he would have done anything in the world to please his adored elder brother.

‘Well, should we ask her here?’ said Ernest Augustus to Sophia.

She was pleased that he bowed to her decision in matters such as this; it was payment for refusing to hear the giggling and other noises which came from his bedroom.

‘We shall have to consider this,’ she said slowly. ‘To take her under our protection might be misconstrued.’

‘How so?’ demanded George William.

‘Oh, it is easy to make trouble. Look how John Frederick almost succeeded in snatching Celle from you. If you had not returned when you did who can say what might have happened.’

‘You must do this for me,’ insisted George William. He laid his hand on her arm.

She was conscious of the hand there – yet successfully she hid her reaction.

How he pleads for her! she thought angrily. He pleads for her as eagerly as he rejected me!

‘We will consider,’ she said coolly.

‘And you will give me your answer … when?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘I shall expect you tonight,’ Sophia told Ernest Augustus. ‘There is this matter to discuss.’

He nodded. It was time they slept together again, and he had no other project in mind for the night.

In her bedchamber he sat on the bed watching her.

‘Well?’

‘I think we should invite this woman here.’

‘You would be prepared to do that?’

‘I think it would be good if he lived with his mistress. That is all she can ever be, of course. We must make sure of that.’

‘Naturally it is all that she can be. I have his signature on the documents.’

‘I saw a look in his eyes tonight. Ambition, I said. And I fear ambition.’

‘But he has signed the documents. I have them under lock and key.’

‘There they must be kept. But he has changed; and we must be careful. When he signed over his rights to you he was a feckless young man, wanting merely to flit from one adventure to another. Now he has become serious. He wants this woman to be his wife. What do you think he will want next? Children. And once he has them he will want estates for them.’

‘Which he can’t have.’

‘Which,’ agreed Sophia, ‘he can’t have. But that won’t prevent his wanting them. And this woman … she will want them too. Our George Lewis is the heir; but what if George William has a son?’

‘George Lewis will still be the heir.’

‘George William is rich … richer than you are … in spite of what he has assigned to you. I’d rather Celle than Osnabrück. And Celle must be for George Lewis.’

‘So it shall be.’

‘We have to be careful. That is why I want that woman here. I want to see what manner of creature she is who has worked this change in him. And I want her to know that it is useless for her to dream. She is a nobody and I am a Princess of a Royal House. I have English blood in my veins.’

‘Oh, how you go on about the English!’

‘I happen to be proud of my connection with a proud people.’

‘Who murdered your uncle!’

‘That was a few of their leaders. The people are now happy to have my cousin Charles back on the throne. I am proud of being English, Ernest Augustus, and I don’t care who knows it. They at least have one King to rule over them … they are not split into all these principalities which are not worth much alone. That is why George Lewis must inherit as big an estate as possible. He must have Hanover, Celle, Osnabrück … the whole of the Brunswick-Lüneberg inheritance. And that woman will try to prevent it if she can, because if she should have boys of her own … You see my point? I am going to ask her here. I am going to show her that if she comes into this family she comes on the wrong side of the blanket and need
have no fine ideas of what
her
children will get, or
she
will get for that matter. She comes as the Madame of the Duke of Celle – not as his wife. That’s what I want her to know and that is why I am going to ask her here.’

‘So you are going to help our lovers?’

‘Yes, I am going to help them, because I think it is a good thing that George William settles down to produce a few bastards and remembers that they have no inheritance because when he passed me over to you, he passed over his rights with me.’

‘You sound as though you would punish him for rejecting such a prize.’

‘Punish him! I care not enough to wish for that. I’m satisfied with the way everything turned out.’

‘A pretty compliment, my dear.’

She came and stood before him – unseductive yet inviting.

‘We will have a large family,’ she said. ‘Two sons is not enough.’

There was excitement in the Olbreuse lodgings when the letter arrived from Osnabrück.

Eléonore hastened to show it to her father.

‘It can mean one thing,’ said the Marquis. ‘You are accepted by his family. This is the Duchess herself; and she is a Princess. It is couched in a very welcoming manner. This means that all is well.’

‘It means a marriage that will not be accepted as one.’

‘My dear, many morganatic marriages have been made before.’

‘My children would have no rights.’

‘You are clever enough to see that they do, I am sure.’

Eléonore looked at her old father. What it would mean to him if she accepted this invitation and married George William, she well knew. The first thing George William would do would be to settle a pension on the Marquis. He had said as much; and she trusted him to keep his promises.

She looked at Angelique – so gay and pretty. What chance had she of making a good marriage as the daughter of an impoverished Frenchman – aristocratic though he might be, even though the French nobility was of as high a social standing as a
German Prince, and often more cultivated and civilized! Not that she would criticize her German Prince; his absence had taught her how wretched she was going to be without him.

Her family was urging her – but more insistent than anything else were her own inclinations.