Victoria in the Wings: (Georgian Series) (11 page)

They were growing up. Adelaide was twenty-three; Ida was twenty-one; even Bernhard was fifteen. They were no longer children and still the dreary war went on.

And suddenly there was change. The bells were ringing all over Europe. The soldiers of Saxe-Meiningen who had gone to fight in the Prussian Army returned home and there were victory parades through the streets. What had seemed the impossible had become the possible; it had in fact actually happened.

Napoleon had been beaten at Waterloo by Blücher and Wellington. England and Germany had rid the world of that megalomaniac and the world was free again.

No more bandages. No more occupation. The war was over.

‘This,’ said Ida, ‘is an end to the dull existence. Now they will find husbands for us, you see.’

She was right. So much time had been lost, mused the Duchess Eleanor. The girls were no longer very young. She consulted with her ministers. They must make up for lost time. They must find husbands for them without delay.

The Duke of Weimar was young, handsome and not ineligible. He was Governor of Ghent and from this post derived the greater part of his income. They would invite him to the castle and there he could meet Adelaide and perhaps if he were agreeable the marriage could be arranged.

If it were not the most brilliant of matches it would be a comforting one, at least, mused the Duchess, for Weimar was not so far distant from Saxe-Meiningen that there could not be frequent visits and Adelaide was a girl who loved her home and family dearly. Eleanor would not wish her to be too far away.

There was excitement throughout the castle. The seamstresses were busy. There were beautiful gowns for the Princesses and particularly for Adelaide.

She felt nervous and shy.

He will be very disappointed when he sees me, she thought; but she did not mention it even to Ida.

Those rooms in the castle where soldiers had been billeted were repainted and refurnished. The Duke of Weimar’s suite must be adequately housed.

‘What an important visit this is!’ cried Ida with a chuckle. She was excited because she knew that her turn would come.

The Duchess seemed happier than she had since the death of her husband; she was sure they had left the dark days behind. Bernhard was now sixteen – in two years’ time he would be of age; then there would be no need for a Regency and Saxe-Meiningen would have its reigning Duke. And the girls would be married – Adelaide first and then Ida – both into neighbouring dukedoms, so that they need not be distantly separated.

The girls were watching from the turret windows; soon the cavalcade must come into sight and at the head of it would ride the Duke of Weimar. ‘Do you remember how we used to look from this window and see the soldiers coming?’ said Ida.

Adelaide nodded.

‘This is rather different, eh, sister?’ Ida was chuckling with
excitement. ‘Suitors are more fun than soldiers. Ugh! That awful war. Those bandages! I shall never forget them. I wonder what he will be like.’

‘Who?’

‘The Duke of Weimar, of course. His name is Bernhard the same as our brother’s. I long to see him. Do you think he will be handsome?’

‘I hope not … too handsome.’

‘Why ever not? People should be as handsome as it is possible to be. The more handsome the better.’

Not when they have a plain bride waiting for them, thought Adelaide.

She could scarcely bear to look, yet she was as eager to see as Ida was. Let him be kind, she prayed. Let him not ask too much.

‘Do you know,’ said Ida, ‘I fancy I can see something in the distance. Is it? Yes … I’m sure. Look, sister.’

They strained their eyes to see. It was indeed the outriders of the cavalcade in the livery of the House of Weimar – brilliantly colourful among the trees.

Ida gripped her sister’s hand in excitement.

‘Adelaide,’ she cried. ‘They’re here. They’re here.’

Her eyes were brilliant; there was a faint colour in her cheeks; she was beautiful.

One of their women was coming up to the turret.

‘You know what this is,’ said Ida. ‘Mamma has sent for us to go down. We must be ready to greet the Duke when he arrives. Am I presentable?’

‘Very. Am I?’

‘You always are. Always neat. Always tidy. Dear Adelaide, you are such a pattern of virtue. What shall I do when you are gone? I shall deteriorate … rapidly, I fear. There will be no good example for me to follow.’

The woman had entered.

‘I know! I know!’ cried Ida. ‘We are to come down and be ready to greet the Duke when he arrives.’

He had leaped from his horse, a commanding figure, six feet four
inches tall. He came forward to greet the Duchess Eleanor who gave him her hand to kiss.

‘You must allow me to present my son to you.’

The Dukes of Weimar and Saxe-Meiningen bowed.

‘And my daughters,’ went on the Duchess.

They stood on either side of her – Adelaide the plain and Ida the beautiful.

The Duke of Weimar looked from one to the other.

‘The elder, the Princess Adelaide,’ said the Duchess.

Again that bow.

‘And the Princess Ida.’

Once more he bowed and his eyes rested on Ida and lingered there.

The Duchess took his hand and led him into the castle, and it was as Adelaide had known it would be. He could not take his eyes from Ida, nor she from him.

The Duchess Eleanor called her ministers to the castle.

‘The Duke of Weimar is asking for the hand of the Princess Ida,’ she told them.

‘Would it not be more agreeable if the Princess Adelaide married first?’

‘It would have pleased me better, but the Duke of Weimar asked for Ida. It is a good match and we cannot with wisdom refuse it.’

It would be the utmost folly to, since if the Duke of Weimar could not have Ida he would certainly not take Adelaide.

‘It is an excellent match for a younger daughter,’ said the Duchess; ‘and what pleases me is that neither the Princess Ida nor the Duke would have to be persuaded to it. They are more eager than we could hope. In fact they declare they are in love.’

In the circumstances it seemed that there was only one thing lacking to make the young couple completely happy and that was the consent of the Duchess and her ministers.

That consent was readily given, although every one of them believed it would have been more fitting for the elder princess to marry first.

‘Adelaide!’ cried Ida, throwing herself at her sister.

‘What is it? You’re crying.’

‘Such odd tears. I’m so happy … and yet I’m so sad.’

‘How can that be?’

‘Oh, Adelaide, dearest Adelaide, I don’t know what to say to you. They … they have given their consent. Bernhard and I are to be married.’

‘Well, what is that to cry about?’

‘Oh, sister, my dearest Adelaide, you really don’t mind?’

‘Mind … but I am delighted to see you so happy.’

‘I … I shall marry before you.’

‘And so you should because you are so pretty.’

‘But he was to have been for
you
.’

‘Being very sensible he fell in love with you instead. I can’t say I blame him. As a matter of fact if he had not done so I should have thought there was something lacking in him.’

‘Oh really… Adelaide … you are not … furious!’

Adelaide laughed. ‘Did you really think I should be?’

‘No,’ admitted Ida. ‘Even if you had loved him, which I trust you don’t.’

‘No, my dear Ida. I do not think I should fall in love so easily. I should need to know someone for years and years.’

‘Yes, I believe you would. You are so calm and wise and good. And I am wildly happy, Adelaide, if you are not unhappy about this I am the happiest woman in the world.’

‘Then you are indeed the happiest woman in the world.’

Ida had pressed her face against her sister’s. She was always so impulsive.

‘Now, I shall ask your advice … about my wedding dress, my jewels … everything. Because you always tell the truth. So if you were really unhappy you would have to say so. But then you might not because you are also unselfish and you might think you would spoil my happiness. Oh, Adelaide, do you really mean this?’

‘I mean it. I don’t want to marry. I hope I never do. I hope I stay here with Mamma and Bernhard – my Bernhard not yours – for the rest of my life. I begin to think that is what I really want. I
am sure no man would really want to marry me any more than your Bernhard did.’

‘It’s nonsense. He would have fallen in love with you if I had not been here. I’m sure of it, because someone will love you one day – very much. I am the sort of person they fall in love with – you are the sort they grow to love. One day someone will love you as I do and Mamma does and our Bernhard does. That’s because we
know
you.’

‘Ida, you are growing hysterical.’

‘Dear Adelaide, you are always so calm, so good.’

The wedding was to take place immediately for there was no point in delay, said the Duchess. Ida was intoxicated with happiness; the seamstresses were working at full speed in that room at the castle which had been set aside for them and the whole of Saxe-Meiningen was talking about the wedding.

The great day came; the bells rang out; the bride was a vision of beauty in her shimmering gown and jewels and even Adelaide looked handsome on that day with the jewels in her hair and the gown which had been made for her to wear at her sister’s wedding.

‘Your turn next,’ said her brother Bernhard; and she laughingly shook her head.

The Duchess told herself that they must busy themselves with finding a husband for Adelaide; it was not right that the younger sister should marry before the elder.

The wedding celebrations continued for two days with festivities in the town, fireworks and illuminations; it was as exciting as the victory celebrations. When Ida and her husband left for Weimar Adelaide ran to the turret to watch them until they were out of sight.

How she missed Ida! She could not remember ever being separated from her before. The castle seemed quieter; she would often think: I must go and tell that to Ida, and then remember that Ida was not there.

The Duchess watched her daughter anxiously. Adelaide was twenty-four. It was not really very young and she looked her age. That cursed Napoleon! thought the Duchess. Precious years had
been wasted because of his selfish desires for conquest.

‘My dear Adelaide,’ she said. ‘I know you miss Ida sorely – more so than any of us. I am sorry that she should have been the one to go first.’

‘It was inevitable, Mamma.’

‘Well, she is married, and it will be your turn next.’

‘Perhaps not. I am not eager for marriage. I should be happy at home here with you and Bernhard.’

The Duchess shook her head and smiled, but she did not press the matter.

‘My dear,’ she said, ‘I need your help. The prosperity we gained under your father’s rule has disappeared. These terrible wars have impoverished us all. I am most concerned for some of the poorer classes. There is starvation in the villages such as there never was in your father’s day – nor would there have been now but for the war. The beggars have multiplied. I want you to help me look into these matters. They are most urgent.’

Helping to relieve cases of hardship she was more contented than she had been; the Duchess gave her permission to found a group of ladies like herself who would join with the Poor Law Institution, and she worked eagerly at this.

When she rode out into the streets the people cheered her. Good Princess Adelaide, they called her.

She was pleased because she was of some use. Perhaps, she assured herself, it was better to be useful than decorative.

One day there were visitors at the castle.

One of the women came running into Adelaide’s apartments to tell her that a band of riders was approaching.

She hurried to the window; her heart began to beat fast; then she went down the great staircase and out to the hall and the court-yard.

Ida threw herself into her sister’s arms.

‘Ida. You have come home.’

Ida was laughing. ‘Don’t be alarmed. I have not run away. My husband had to go away on a mission for a short while and I got his permission to visit you for a few days. So here I am.’

There were fond embraces and they went into the castle where
Ida could not stop talking. She must tell them all about Weimar and her husband’s castle and life there and how happy she was – particularly as she was not too far away to pay visits like this. She had a secret. She was almost certain that she was pregnant. She wanted nothing more than this to complete her happiness.

It was wonderful to have Ida back home even for a short stay and when she left the Duchess Eleanor and Adelaide accompanied her part of the way back.

And so a year passed. Ida had given birth to a daughter whom she called Louise, and Adelaide and her mother had been to Weimar to see Ida and the child.

There were no suitors for Adelaide. It seems there never will be, she thought. No, the Duke of Weimar saw me and preferred my younger sister. All the eligible bachelors in Europe will know that by now, and they will not want to take what Weimar refused.

She did not care. She was twenty-five – growing old fast. She was often with her mother; the Duchess discussed State affairs with her; when her mother was sick, she nursed her; they were as close as she and Ida had been.

One day while they sat together over a batch of accounts which Adelaide was helping her mother to balance, the Duchess said: ‘There is news from England.’

‘England?’ said Adelaide, but mildly interested. It was very far away, although there was a link between the German States and England; the Kings of England were of the House of Hanover and many of them had been unable to speak English without an accent – and George I had not been able to speak it at all. Herr Schenk had taught her history which he said was the subject most important to royal people.

‘The Princess Charlotte is dead. There will be consternation for she has died giving birth to a child who would have been heir to the throne.’

‘Poor child … to be without a mother.’