‘Then I will send von Eltz back to Ansbach as soon as our position is in order.’ His father stuck out his hand across the desk. ‘Congratulations, son, I think you have made a good choice in this.’
For the next few days, Herrenhausen was a hive of covert activity. Details were arranged with von Eltz, secretaries drafted the appropriate letters of goodwill to the margrave and the elector continued to pack for his trip to Pyrmont.
Von Eltz made ready to leave. The elector made ready to leave. George settled in to wait, something he was not admittedly skilled at. More than ever, he was glad to have taken his father’s suggestion about visiting Caroline incognito. Their splendid but whirlwind courtship provided him memories that were vivid with colour and recalled with private laughter. Ever since his declaration, the ‘personal’ aspect of wedding Caroline had been transmuted into an act of the state. He was glad not to have met Caroline first under those conditions, where everything was stiff and formal. They would have walked the gardens of Ansbach with a retinue following behind. There would have been no laughter, no time for joking; everything they’d done would have been on display and then analysed and dissected. It would have been a play acted out on Hanover’s political stage. Like a play, it wouldn’t have been real.
This wasn’t real, this couldn’t be happening, Caroline thought for the hundredth time as she led Baron von Stede up the stairs to her private receiving chambers. The phrase ran through her head, a litany of disbelief that had been summoned up upon von Stede’s arrival at Ansbach that afternoon.
To her great disappointment, von Stede had arrived alone, suggesting he’d left his companion at Nuremberg, trying once more to make contact with their Italy-bound friends. But it wasn’t that simple. Von Stede had been invited in, tea had been offered. Her brother was glad to see their recent company again. She noticed von Stede had been stiff, his demeanour far more formal than it had been on his previous visit. Caroline had thought it might be due to the absence of his more outgoing friend, but she was admittedly biased. Everything had seemed less colourful in the wake of Monsieur de Busch’s departure.
Then von Stede had looked over at her and said intently, ‘If it is to your liking, I would like a private conversation with you. I have news of our mutual friend that I’d like to share. He sends his greetings.’ Among other things, Caroline was sure but that surety didn’t cause her pulse to race any less.
With all the calmness she could gather, Caroline led von Stede to her apartments and closed the door. They were not entirely alone. Her chaperone, Fräulein von Genninggen, placed herself at a safe distance near the long windows of the room.
Caroline took a seat in a chair and folded her nervous hands in her lap to keep them from betraying too much. ‘I trust our friend is finding Nuremberg more to his liking this time through.’
This comment seemed to catch von Stede by surprise. He lifted an eyebrow in enquiry.
‘It is only that he remarked to me that he found Nuremberg a bit dull,’ Caroline offered.
Von Stede made a gracious nod of his head. ‘I believe that, these days, all else pales by comparison to your company. Which is why I am here.’
‘A very neat segue, sir,’ Caroline said. ‘Please feel able to speak freely.’
Von Stede cleared his throat and gave a jerk of his head to indicate the fräulein’s presence was disagreeable to him. ‘Perhaps the fräulein would be good enough to await us somewhere else.’
It was to be entirely private, then. Caroline understood and sent the fräulein out of the room.
‘First, I need to inform you that our friend is well and sends his most sincere regards. I also need to inform you that the name Monsieur de Busch is entirely fabricated. The man who came to you as Monsieur de Busch is George Augustus, the Electoral Prince of Hanover.’
This was definitely not real. This was the stuff of fairy tales, of princesses rescued by knights in disguise. When she’d thought she was kissing a nice baron, she’d been kissing the electoral prince, a future king of Great Britain.
‘I do not mean to distress you.’ Von Stede was looking at her strangely, as if she might become overwhelmed by the news. Perhaps he was regretting sending Fräulein von Genninggen out of the room.
‘I had no idea,’ Caroline managed. Now, of course, it made sense—the polyglot accomplishment of languages including English which he’d need in his new country, the courtly manners, the desire to not discuss the court at Berlin. There’d been little signs that he was not a mere baron.
She recovered herself quickly. Sophia-Charlotte had taught her to be gracious and controlled in all situations. ‘I am honoured that he’s remembered me enough to send a personal messenger.’ She looked sharply at von Stede, another thought occurring. ‘I assume you’re not merely Baron von Stede either?’ It was the perfect opening for him to declare himself and Caroline desperately wanted to know with whom she was doing business.
Von Stede bowed. ‘I am Baron von Eltz, privy councillor to the Elector of Hanover. I have been sent by the prince’s father to ascertain your agreeability to a proposal of marriage by the prince.’
There it was, wrapped in the fancy words of court negotiations, the simple proposal of marriage. Her dashing baron wanted to marry her. Caroline’s heart sang but she could only answer, ‘I am agreeable to the offer. I will speak to my brother this evening. He will know what steps need to be taken next.’ She knew very well what the next steps were but she also knew her role in this. It was time for the men to make the arrangements and write up the contracts. It was time for her to be a bride.
Chapter Eight
Von Eltz gave a cough. ‘I must also probe into a matter of some delicacy before we proceed. Are you free to pursue this alliance?’ He paused here, looking for the right words.
Caroline divined his intent and took pity on him. ‘The King of Spain has no claim on me. I have recently sent a note to not bother with the meeting his councillors and others requested in Nuremberg.’ She smiled at the irony of it. ‘The prince is not really in Nuremberg, is he?’
Von Eltz returned her smile, chuckling a little at the dark humour that the King of Spain’s envoys might accidentally meet up with the prince after all of Hanover’s contretemps to avoid discovery. ‘No, the prince is not in Nuremberg. He’s in Hanover, chafing at the bit for a wedding as soon as it can be arranged.’
‘Then you may tell him I will come to him with all haste possible, although there is much to be done.’ She was amazed she managed to sound so decorous. Her pulse was racing with the thrill of it and she thought she’d fairly burst with the joy of the moment. If it were up to her, she’d leave this minute, but princesses did not act impulsively.
Von Eltz bowed graciously. ‘I will leave you with a final admonition, princess. This must be kept as secret as possible. It is the prince’s wish.’
‘His wish is my own, from this day forward,’ Caroline pledged. Even if the privy councillor hadn’t requested it, Caroline would have urged secrecy anyway. With such happiness close at hand, she didn’t want to risk any interference from the King of Prussia.
As soon as von Eltz left her alone in her rooms, Caroline danced across the floor in her happiness, her skirts sweeping about her, her arms outstretched. She knew hearts should not be factored into alliances and ultimately this was an alliance, but her heart was engaged just a little. She would be a fool not to admit it. She had found a prince among men, quite literally.
Caroline did her duty. She spoke to her brother and, in turn, he did his duty requesting the presence of the Landgrave of Hesse-Darmstadt to draw up the settlement of property between brother and sister.
To her great relief, the drawing up of contracts did not take long. The landgrave, her own councillor and von Eltz did an admirable and expedient job, although the waiting seemed interminable for her. She was more than ready to see George again.
Von Eltz tried to allay her growing impatience with rides in the countryside where he’d share bits of n
ews from George enclosed in the official dispatches.
On the ninth of July, George wrote that his grandmother, the dear, had been surprised by the announcement of their betrothal because she had known nothing about the plans in motion and in many ways it had been her plan from the start. It seemed to Caroline that it was quite fortuitous. She could not have Sophia-Charlotte as a mother, but she could have Sophia-Charlotte’s own mother as a grandmother-in-law.
By the twenty-first of July, Caroline was assured the betrothal was now considered an ‘open secret’ at Hanover’s court. It would become public knowledge at a dinner hosted by the Elector of Hanover within the week.
By late August, her trunks were packed, her entourage ready for the journey to Hanover and the royal wedding that awaited her there.
It had all been accomplished with remarkable speed, although at times the speed had seemed to diminish to a snail’s plodding. Looking back, she could see the whirlwind truth of it. In June, she’d had no inkling of who a future husband might be, nor had she even been looking for one. She’d merely been resigned that there would be one. Now, eight weeks later (and that was being generous with the calendar; a stickler for details would claim it at seven), she was off to marry the future King of England, a prize so far beyond the scope of her House as to be unthinkable.
Caroline smiled to herself as they set off on the journey to Hanover. He was not only a future king. She was off to marry a man who made her laugh, who knew within a span of days and without asking that she liked cameos, who liked her the way she was—Protestant and intelligent. That was worth more than any crown. She knew in her heart that if Monsieur de Busch had asked for her hand, she would have given it.
Their marriage would not be perfect. Of necessity, kings and queens led imperfect lives and marriages; the very nature of how the alliances were arranged guaranteed that. She was not naïve enough to think she and George would escape those limitations. No, it would not be perfect but they would be happy.
Late August 1705
There was no more perfect way to ruin a wedding than a death in the family. George cursed his bad luck and paced the reception hall of Herrenhausen, where the relevant parties were gathered. The kind Fates had turned their backs for just an instant and the impossible had happened. His grandfather, the Duke of Celle, had died suddenly. He hadn’t been sick. He’d been out hunting, for heaven’s sake. It was nothing more than a chill. A man hale enough to hunt shouldn’t die from a chill. At least he should have the courtesy of dying after the wedding festivities.
‘We’ll postpone the wedding, of course,’ said one of the councillors. Others agreed. But that was unacceptable to George.
‘Why “of course”?’ George broke in briskly.
The councillor who’d suggested it stammered, looking for an answer. ‘It’s customary,’ he managed. ‘When there’s a death, impending celebrations are put off.’
‘But in this case, it is almost impossible to stall the preparations. The princess is en route to us.’ George had a flash of brilliance. ‘In many ways the wedding is no longer an impending event, but already under way.’ He glanced at his father. ‘The contracts are set, the bride is on her way, preparations have been made.’ Everyone was listening to see where he was going with his argument. ‘It’s one thing to cancel events that haven’t occurred yet, but it’s another to cancel events that have begun. We cannot expect Princess Caroline to idle away her days in Hanover waiting for a wedding she’s been promised.’ The very mention of this request being for Caroline’s benefit swayed the argument in his favour.
Once the announcement of their engagement had been made, George had discovered just how wonderful people found his choice. Everywhere he went it seemed someone had a glowing compliment to make about his future wife. It filled him with pride and with great longing to be with her again. Mentioning her was a stroke of genius. The room began to murmur. It would be unfair to Caroline, one advisor assented. Others nodded.
George shrewdly launched his other salvo in a quiet voice now that the seed was sown. ‘After all our efforts, we certainly don’t want to risk losing her to the Prussian king. If we delay, he might find a way to oppose the contracts. He is her guardian after all.…’ George let the last trail off into whatever implications individuals might draw.
At last his father spoke up. ‘I think, in this case, we might set aside mourning for the duke for a few days.’ He shot a sharp glance at George. ‘But you have to understand the festivities will be curtailed greatly, three days at most. The wedding itself will need to be a quiet affair.’
George maintained a sombre expression as he managed, ‘Yes, Father, I understand entirely.’ He understood that he’d won. There would be time later for pomp and pageantry. Right now he only cared about making Caroline his. His young blood burned hot at the prospect. Another thought occurred to him.
‘I think it would be best if I rode to meet their travelling party and inform them of the new plans,’ George said, careful not to word it as a request but as a statement. The entourage from Ansbach would be halfway to Hanover. It would be a chance to see Caroline informally before she arrived at court. Perhaps even a chance to be Monsieur de Busch again before he had to be the king.
‘Monsieur de Busch is downstairs, my lady,’ Fräulein von Genninggen announced. ‘He’s requested an audience with you in a private parlour.’
Caroline looked up from her needlework, her fingers starting to shake. ‘He’s here? Of course I’ll see him. I’ll be down right away.’ Just as soon as I tidy my hair, change my dress—oh, I must look a mess, Caroline thought. Travelling was difficult on a person. There were never enough facilities for a proper bath.
George is here! Her heart sang. It was most unlooked for and yet most welcome. Unless he brought bad news? The fear that something had happened prompted her to forgo an elaborate toilette. She was downstairs and in the parlour within five minutes. She was in George’s arms thirty seconds after that, just as soon as they were alone.
‘It’s not bad news?’ she enquired, worried eyes searching his face.
‘Bad news with a happy ending,’ George told her. He sat down on a bench and pulled her onto his lap. ‘I’ve ridden out mostly because I missed you. But also because my grandfather has died. It was very unexpected.’
Caroline’s heart sank. Deaths meant mourning. The wedding would be postponed. She waited to hear the disappointing words.
‘The wedding will have to be a quiet one. But at least it won’t be postponed.’ George smiled. ‘I could not bear that. The summer apart has been torture already.’
Caroline let out a breath of relief. ‘A quiet wedding is fine, George. It only matters that we are together. Perhaps it’s better to begin our married life on a calm note.’ She looked down at her hand where it rested against his chest, his heart beating beneath it.
‘I am eager to know you, George,’ she ventured. ‘I want to learn what you like, your favourite colour, your favourite hobbies. Our time at Ansbach was too short and yet it’s enough to know I care for you.’
‘If you like, we can start tonight,’ George whispered huskily in her ear before stealing a long kiss that recalled starry nights at Ansbach and promised a future full of adventure.
He came to her that night under the secrecy of darkness. She was ready for him. She’d left her hair loose, brushed until it shone like spun gold in the candlelight of her room, and she wore a white gown of linen embroidered at the hem with tiny green flowers. She was fully aware the linen was not a barrier to eyes, the candlelight illuminating her body through the shift.
It would be better this way, they’d decided over a private dinner of red wine and boar, to be together as man and wife in the relaxed intimacy of the inn. Here, there would be no expectations of the kingly marriage bed. Here, they would just be themselves, two lovers exploring each other’s bodies. The very thought of it had made her rush through dinner.
The door opened a fraction and George entered silently
, shutting the door firmly behind him and locking it. He was dressed simply in white shirt and buff breeches. He was already barefoot.
‘Boots are nothing but a nuisance.’ George smiled, following her eyes to his feet but his eyes didn’t stay there long. He was obviously entranced with her. ‘Boots are a nuisance and you are beautiful.’
Caroline smiled, uncertain what to do next. How did one proceed with a lover? But George had it all well in hand. He caught her to him and kissed her. Would you like to undress me, my dear?’ he whispered against her neck.
It was an easy enough task and one that she revelled in. There was a certain thrill in revealing her lover’s body inch by inch as the shirt fell away and she gazed at his chest. In the prime of youth, he did not disappoint. The muscled chest she’d guessed at through layers of clothes did exist in truth. It tapered down to a lean stomach and hips. Here she hesitated, her hands resting on the waistband of his trousers.
He helped her with the trousers until he stood unabashedly naked before her, his arousal jutting proudly. She blushed profusely. But he laughed. ‘You should look your fill, and take pride that you can rouse me so thoroughly. This is what you do to me.’
So she did look. The male body was wondrously made, and for all her education at Lutzenburg she recognised she was woefully uneducated in this arena.
He took her to bed then, pulling her shift over her head and looking longingly down the length of her body. He cupped her breasts and kissed each of them by turn, causing her to tremble with the pleasure of such attentions. He kissed her belly, his hands framing her hips before he rose over her, kissing her full on the mouth. Oh, this was exquisite! She clutched him to her, her legs spreading instinctively to bring him closer. She felt him nudging at her entrance and she strained against him, her body begging him to take her. Then he was there, inside her, bringing with him a stab of pain, a shock only because there’d been so much pleasure.
Prince Charming in Disguise Page 4
