by Jean Plaidy
But he had become evasive; he had already postponed the betrothal; he spent more time lately shut up with Bernstorff who was a man she had never been able to respect. Perhaps George William was growing old and did not always feel as healthy as he used to. That might change him, make him a little moody.
But now the summer was passing and Sophia Dorothea’s birthday was almost upon them; she had made up her mind that on that birthday the betrothal should take place.
September was a beautiful month – the most beautiful of the year to Eléonore; and the fifteenth, that important date had always been celebrated more lavishly than any other in the calendar.
This September should be the most lavish of them all, decided Eléonore. She would invite the Wolfenbüttels to the celebration and the people of the town would crowd into the castle and its grounds to enjoy the festivities and to hear the good news that Celle and Wolfenbüttel would be joined together forever in friendship because of the alliance between the Crown Prince of Wolfenbüttel and the Princess of Celle.
She went to her daughter’s apartments where Eléonore von Knesebeck and Sophia Dorothea were laughing together over some secret joke.
Fraulein von Knesebeck immediately became serious and bobbed a curtsy when the Duchess appeared. Eléonore said: ‘The Princess will send for you when you may return.’
Sophia Dorothea smiled at her mother. ‘You sound a little serious, Maman.’
‘Just a little,’ Eléonore agreed. How lovely the child was! she thought. But a child no longer. Sophia Dorothea’s young body was in bud, ready to burst into bloom. What a beautiful woman she would be. A Princess, well educated, of courtly manners, she would turn Wolfenbüttel into a little Versailles – not a travesty of one as some of these German princelings had provided for themselves, but one of which Louis himself would not disapprove. She was more French than German – versatile, charming, graceful and gracious. May she be happy, prayed Eléonore.
‘You will soon be sixteen, my darling,’ she said.
‘But you would not look so grave if you had come to ask me whether I should prefer a ball to a play.’
‘No, that is no matter for gravity; and we shall decide it soon. It is this, dearest: You are not a child any more.’
‘I am glad you realize it, Maman. You have been inclined to treat me as one.’
Eléonore in a sudden burst of tenderness held the girl against her. ‘It is because you are so precious to me.’
‘I know. I know. Is it this marriage you want to discuss?’
Eléonore nodded.
‘I thought so. It is to be soon?’
‘Well, as we said, you are no longer a child. We should announce your betrothal on your birthday and the marriage should take place soon afterwards.’
‘And I shall have to leave Celle?’
‘My dear – Wolfenbüttel is only a few miles distant. You will be a constant visitor here and I there. You don’t imagine I would allow anyone – even your husband – to keep us apart.’
‘No, Maman. I don’t. But husband …’ Sophia Dorothea shivered. ‘I don’t like the word.’
‘My darling, but you like Augustus William?’
‘Yes, I like him. He’s very agreeable. He’s very kind and says he adores me.’
‘So you find him acceptable?’
‘I would rather stay as we are, but I know I have to marry, so since that is so I’d as lief take Augustus William as anyone.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘You know when they were talking about the Princess Anne and George Lewis … Maman, I felt so sorry for her and that made me almost love Augustus William.’
Eléonore laughed. ‘I am glad of anything that makes you love him. He is good and you will be happy with him. Girls can’t stay young and with their mothers all their lives.’
‘More’s the pity.’
‘You won’t think that when you have your babies.’
‘Ah … babies!’ murmured Sophia Dorothea.
Eléonore took her daughter’s hand and said softly: ‘You see, my love, I want to talk to you about this. I’m going to persuade your father to agree to the announcement of the betrothal on your birthday. I feel a little uneasy … I don’t know why … unless it is because I hate losing you. But I won’t of course when you marry Augustus William. He is like a son to me even now, and his father has always been my good friend.’
‘So it is to be soon after my birthday then.’
‘Yes, but say nothing to anyone, even to little Knesebeck as yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘I just have a feeling that it is better not.’
‘Maman, when I marry, Eléonore von Knesebeck will come with me, won’t she?’
‘Of course if you wish it.’
‘I do wish it. It would be good if you could come too.’
Eléonore laughed. ‘My darling, your husband would say he was marrying your mother as well as you. Moreover, what of your father?’
‘He would never be able to do without you.’
‘I shall pray,’ said Eléonore solemnly, ‘that you are as happy in your marriage as I have been in mine.’
Why was she uneasy? She was not sure. Sophia Dorothea was not really unhappy about her forthcoming marriage; she accepted the fact that she had to marry and the Crown Prince of Wolfenbüttel was of her age, a good-looking boy, in love with his bride-to-be. Two young people like that would be happy; and when the children came, Sophia Dorothea would wonder how she could ever have thought the life at Celle offered her all she wanted.
She would speak to George William without delay. She went to his study and entered unceremoniously as she always did. George William was in deep colloquy with Bernstorff who looked up in astonishment at her. Why? Did he expect her to petition an audience with her own husband? She had been accustomed to seeing George William rise to greet her with pleasure and, no matter who was with him, invite her to take a share in their discussions, to listen courteously to all that she said.
George William had risen; he took her hand and kissed it – as tender as ever.
‘We have a little business to finish, my dear.’
She was mildly astonished. It was a way of telling her that in her presence the business could not be conducted.
‘I will see you later;’ she said gravely; and she was aware of the smug expression in Bernstorff’s face as he stood there waiting for her to depart until he could resume his chair.
She passed out of the study frowning.
Yes, there was a change; and she was uneasy.
What business did her husband and his minister discuss from which she must be excluded?
She chose the time to broach the subject when Bernstorff could not interrupt them. In the connubial bed she was safe; and there George William was the lover he had always been.
‘I want to settle this matter,’ she told him. ‘The time is getting close.’
‘Time?’ he said gently, sleepily.
‘The birthday will soon be here.’
‘Ah, the birthday.’
‘I have invited Duke Anton Ulrich and his family to the celebrations … naturally.’
‘Naturally.’
‘Dear Sophia Dorothea, she is reconciled to Augustus William although not anxious to leave her home. We should consider that the greatest compliment she could pay us. My dearest child! I have always been concerned for the time she should leave us. I knew what a wrench it would be for her. We have been so happy together, have we not?’
‘Very happy,’ agreed George William.
‘And I pray that she will be too. I trust Anton Ulrich as I could very few people, I am so fond of Augustus William and he is of Sophia Dorothea. Who could help it? I am so relieved that she should marry so close to us. We shall be able to keep an eye on her … it won’t be like losing her.’
George William stirred uneasily; he was glad of the darkness. How on earth could he approach the matter of a match with Hanover? He thought of George Lewis that uncouth young monster – crude and
coarse … and their dainty little Sophia Dorothea in such hands. The project seemed impossible here with Eléonore. And the child was reconciled to marriage with Augustus William. How could he say to Eléonore: But a match with Hanover would be so much more advantageous. Of course it would, but not to Sophia Dorothea. Eléonore would never consider it.
He had half promised Bernstorff. But then who was Bernstorff? Only his minister, his servant. Why should he be afraid of Bernstorff?
‘So,’ went on Eléonore, ‘I want to announce the betrothal at the birthday.’
George William was silent, his heart beating rapidly and uneasily.
She put her arms about his neck. ‘I want it to be a happy day. You remember how she has always loved her birthdays? Do you remember when she was four and we explained together what a birthday was? I can see her now … sitting there, those lovely dark eyes so solemn while she listened and how she looked at us so trustingly.’
Yes, he remembered. He had been a fool. Sophia Dorothea’s happiness and that of Eléonore – for the two were synonymous – were all that mattered. Of course he would never seriously agree to give their beloved child to George Lewis, the monster of Hanover.
‘And she sat between us on her little bed …’ he added, ‘gripping your hand and mine.’
‘It has been a wonderful life since we came to Celle,’ said Eléonore. ‘I want her to know happiness like that.’
He agreed, of course he agreed. But he thought of all the secret conversations with Bernstorff, all the advantages of a match with Hanover.
‘I knew you would agree that the announcement should be made on her birthday,’ said Eléonore.
Inwardly he cried out: But I can’t. I have half agreed to the match with Hanover. But how could he say those words which would shatter the happiness of his beloved Eléonore and his dearest Sophia Dorothea? And yet …
But Eléonore was laughing softly, having no idea of the conflict within him.
‘We will go ahead with preparations,’ she said. ‘I shall hate losing her, but Anton Ulrich and dear Augustus William will soften the blow … not only for us but for our dearest child.’
What could he say? Nothing. So he remained silent.
Celebrations for the birthday were going on and the excitement had extended to the town of Celle where the people were decorating the streets. Bells were heard at all hours for the ringers were practising the special carillon to be performed in honour of their Princess.
This was to be the most important birthday yet and although no definite announcement had been made it was being whispered that there was a special reason for it. Frequently the equipage from Wolfenbüttel had been seen riding to the castle and Duke Anton Ulrich was popular in Celle; he had a charming young son who pleased the people even more than his elder brother had done because he was nearer the age of their beloved Princess.
Bernstorff was growing more and more uneasy. Duke George William brushed aside the subject of the Hanoverian alliance every time he broached it; the Duchess Eléonore had an air of excited contentment; she treated Bernstorff as she always had with the respect due to his position in the Government and was perhaps a little more cordial towards him. He took this as a bad sign.
It was two days before the birthday when he broached the matter of the Hanoverian match with George William. He had found it difficult to secure a private audience before that and suspected that George William avoided him, which naturally made him more uneasy than ever.
With great luck he found the Duke alone and begged a word with him.
‘My lord,’ he said, ‘it would not be too late now to extend an invitation to your brother of Hanover.’
‘It is too late,’ answered George William.
‘At least George Lewis might be invited. He can have no quarrel with the Duchess.’
‘She would never agree to invite him.’
‘I am sure that they are waiting for a move.’
‘For what reason?’
‘In our little affair, my lord. Hanover would welcome the alliance. George Lewis … he would come to it when his parents had persuaded him … and now that the Princess will be sixteen …’
‘Listen, Bernstorff. That affair is off.’
Bernstorff grew pale. He saw those rich lands – the dream of an avaricious imagination – slipping away from him. He would be in bondage for the rest of his life. If he brought about this marriage he would be rewarded by Ernest Augustus and better still by William of Orange. And all this was being snatched from him beause once more the Duchess was dominating her weak husband.
‘But, my lord …’ he stammered.
‘Yes, it would have been a good match, but my daughter is promised to the heir of Wolfenbüttel and she has a fondness for the boy so the Duchess is of the opinion that in these circumstances it is better for the child to be happy.’
‘The Duchess!’ Bernstorff could not control himself. ‘And your opinion, my lord …’
The Duke shrugged his shoulders. ‘I confess I would rather be allied to Hanover than Wolfenbüttel. I should have been delighted to be reconciled to my brother Ernest Augustus. We were such friends in our youth.’
Oh, God! thought Bernstorff. No reminiscences! This is no time for them.
‘It is, of course, you my lord, who will decide.’
Again he saw the look flash across the Duke’s face. He knew what his minister was implying. Affairs of state have to be decided by women’s sentimental whims. George William saw in that moment all the advantages of the match with Hanover; he was remembering that all Princes and Princesses must accept marriages of convenience. He had intended that this should be so – but once more he had given way. He felt ashamed of himself. He had no will of his own. The Duchy of Celle was managed by Eléonore and everyone knew it.
‘It is too late now,’ he muttered. ‘The betrothal to Augustus William will be announced at the birthday.’
Stunned, pale with rage and frustration, Bernstorff took his leave.
He must put up a fight. There was too much at stake to allow everything to be lost. Bernstorff shut himelf into his private apartment; he paced up and down. What could be done at this late hour? Anton Ulrich and his family were making their preparations to leave Wolfenbüttel; in two days’ time it would be too late, for once the announcement of the betrothal had been made George William would never withdraw it; nor would Ernest Augustus accept a girl who had been betrothed elsewhere. Two days in which to save a plan – a fortune for himself … and for Clara von platen!
Ah, there was the answer. Clara had as much to lose as he had. She, too, was in the pay of William of Orange; she, too, wanted George Lewis kept close at hand so that she could control his affairs through her sister as she herself did those of Ernest Augustus.
He must get a message through to Hanover with all speed for he knew that Clara would work as zealously as he himself could do.
He sat down at his table, wrote a rapid message explaining what was happening at Celle, and then sent for his servant.
He stood at his window watching the man ride away to Hanover.
Clara rushed into Ernest Augustus’s presence scattering all those servants who were with him.
‘My dear Clara, you look distraught,’ said her lover. ‘What’s that you have in your hand?’
‘Distraught! And so will you be when you have heard. This is a message from Celle. Do you know what is happening? Their little pet will be sixteen on the fifteenth and her devoted Maman is arranging to announce her engagement on that day.’
Ernest Augustus’s smile faded. He was now as eager for alliance with Celle as Clara and Bernstorff.
‘To… .’
‘Exactly,’ stormed Clara. ‘To the Wolfenbüttel boy. They are such good friends and the little darling will not mind leaving dear Papa and dearest Maman for such a nice little fellow.’
‘Clara, calm yourself.’
‘Yes, my dear. We must both be calm. We must think how to frustrate this plan.�
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‘But George William has agreed to it.’
‘She has persuaded him. Bernstorff has done his utmost to make your poor feeble brother see that he is just a cipher in the hands of that woman, and to some extent he has managed it, but she has only to get him alone and she’ll have him dancing to her tune.’
‘Nevertheless George William has agreed to the betrothal.’
‘Yet he would prefer George Lewis as his son-in-law. He is very eager for the alliance. It is merely that she has overruled him … as usual.’
‘Well, what can we do now?’
‘We have to stop the announcement.’
‘How?’
‘By your going over to Celle and offering George Lewis for Sophia Dorothea.’
‘And the Duchess?’
‘We do not have to persuade her. That would be an impossibility in any case. George William is desperately anxious to be on good terms with you. He longs to see one government between Celle and Hanover.’
‘That would come automatically with his death when Celle will go to George Lewis.’
‘But he wants to make sure that his daughter loses nothing. In every respect the alliance between Celle and Hanover is perfect; and George William realizes it.’
‘But the Duchess …’
‘A sentimental woman. She imagines her daughter loves this Wolfenbüttel boy. And you must admit that George Lewis is scarcely the sort to attract a girl who has been brought up as Sophia Dorothea has.’
‘He might have done more to make himself agreeable.’
‘You ask the impossible. He could not make himself agreeable however he tried … that is to a girl brought up like the Princess of Celle. I believe he gives a good account of himself in some quarters. But we waste time. What can we do? Someone must go to Celle.’
