The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘Count Königsmarck,’ she said. ‘I knew you would come.’

  ‘A summons from the Countess von Platen …’

  ‘Could not be disobeyed,’ she added.

  She held out her hands to him and as she did so the robe which had no fastenings fell apart disclosing her naked body.

  She was laughing at him; he heard himself laugh too. There was no turning back now … even if he had wanted to.

  It was early morning before Count Königsmarck left the apartments of the Countess von Platen.

  Sophia Dorothea was constantly in the company of her parents; and Count Königsmarck in that of the Countess von Platen. The whole court was whispering together about Clara’s new liaison, but if it came to Ernest Augustus’s ears he said nothing. He was concerned chiefly with fulfilling the demands of Leopold and earning that Electorate.

  Königsmarck suffered intermittent feelings of guilt and exhilaration; he had never had a mistress quite like Clara. His remorse when he considered what he was doing tormented him and often he would swear that he would never see Clara again; then she would come to him and taunt him; and these interviews always ended in the same way. She invited him to Monplaisir; she was enjoying life as she rarely had before. She was satisfying her immense sexual appetites and at the same time humiliating her enemy and enriching herself, for she saw that Königsmarck took his turn at her card tables and lost. Why not? He had a large fortune of which she would be happy to take a share. This she was doing, and after a successful evening there were satisfying nights.

  If Clara had been romantic she would have told herself she was in love with Königsmarck. When he had left her in the early morning she would lie in bed asking herself what it was she enjoyed so much: His prowess as a lover? His handsome body? His insatiable sensuality which was a match for her own? Or the fact that Sophia Dorothea was in love with him. In any case it was a situation which appealed to her senses and her character; and what more could she ask than that?

  Sometimes she had a twinge of fear that no other man would ever satisfy her after Königsmarck. That brought with it a sense of fear because she was aware every night of that remorse in him; she knew that even when he was in her bedchamber he was thinking of Sophia Dorothea and that each night there was a battle to be fought to make him forget his romantic attachment to that insipid little fool who wanted him as her lover and was afraid to accept him.

  Rarely had life been so amusing, so interesting, so full of triumph for Clara. Then she began to be a little astonished at herself. It was true that no other man appealed to her, and her desire for Königsmarck was growing to an obsession. At all hours of the day he was in her thoughts; and those nights when he was not with her were unbearable. Two emotions began to dominate Clara’s life: her desire for Königsmarck and her jealous hatred of Sophia Dorothea.

  Sophia Dorothea had, of course, learned of her lover’s disaffection. Rarely had she felt so desolate. She was the victim of a cruel marriage; and now the man whom she loved, the knight-errant had proved his worthlessness by becoming the lover of her greatest enemy.

  Königsmarck was writing notes to her which she ignored. Did he think she was a complete fool? she demanded of Eléonore von Knesebeck. Did he think that he could openly deceive her and that she was so infatuated with him that she would accept such conduct?

  ‘I never want to see him again!’ she declared.

  Fraulein von Knesebeck was like a flustered hen. It had been such fun. So exciting. So dangerous! And now it was all over. She understood Königsmarck was a man after all, and he could not be expected to be satisfied with romantic dreaming of what might be and never was. She tried to explain this to Sophia Dorothea.

  ‘Don’t make excuses for him!’ stormed Sophia Dorothea. ‘And of all people it had to be that woman … that vile, vulgar creature.’

  Eléonore muttered that men were men and it was no use trying to change that.

  She would come sighing into her mistress’s apartments. ‘I saw Königsmarck today. He looks so wretched.’

  ‘Doubtless jealous of his mistress. Perhaps he has discovered by now that he is not the only favoured one.’

  ‘He gave me a note for you.’

  ‘Then you were a fool to bring it and had better put it into the fire without delay.’

  Eléonore von Knesebeck did no such thing. She laid it on the table and retired, knowing that as soon as she had left Sophia Dorothea would seize on it.

  And at last she agreed to see him. Recklessly Eléonore von Knesebeck brought him to her apartment and as she looked at him – more appealing in his humiliation and misery than he had ever been in his arrogance and faithfulness – Sophia Dorothea wanted to forgive him everything if he would but promise to give up Clara.

  But she was proud and she had been deeply wounded.

  ‘Why,’ she demanded, ‘do you wish to see me?’

  ‘To tell you how unhappy I am.’

  ‘Why? Has your mistress been unfaithful to you?’

  ‘It has been like an evil dream.’

  ‘Evil and irresistible!’ she cried. She had to be angry or she would burst into tears; she would be telling him how glad she was to see him, that she wanted to be back on the old terms … that she would accept anything if they might return to those.

  So she whipped up her anger. ‘I am quite disgusted,’ she said. ‘So you have joined the grooms and pages who supply that woman’s nightly entertainment! And not only grooms and pages, of course. Noble Counts join her retinue of lovers.’

  ‘You do well to abuse me. I deserve all you say of me. But now I am with you I understand full well how much I love you. I have been unable to express my feelings. I have been frustrated … quite maddened by frustration that I have not known what I was doing. You must believe me, my Princess. I will never see the Countess von Platen again. I will be faithful to you and to you only as long as I live. In truth, it was because I believed I must be her friend to help you that I went to her in the first place.’

  ‘You very well showed your friendship to me!’ put in Sophia Dorothea scornfully, but she was in tears.

  He embraced her. ‘My dearest … my Princess… .’

  ‘I believed in you,’ she sobbed. ‘I would have trusted you.’

  ‘You can trust me. Never again will I see that woman. I swear to you.’

  The door opened and Prince Charles came into the apartment.

  ‘You are mad!’ he said. ‘I could hear your voices in the next apartment. Do you realize that there will be others listening?’

  He looked from one to the other. ‘I know your feelings for each other, but you will have to be careful.’

  ‘As careful as others are … as Clara von Platen for instance?’ demanded Sophia Dorothea.

  ‘She is not the mother of the heir of Hanover,’ replied Prince Charles. ‘Listen to me, you are behaving foolishly, both of you. You have my sympathy, my understanding, my friendship. That is why I bid you take care. If it came to the ears of Ernest Augustus that you were lovers, you, Königsmarck, would be banished from Hanover. As for you, Sophia Dorothea, your reputation would be smirched. There would be doubts as to whether young George Augustus was your husband’s son. Don’t you understand?’

  ‘I have always understood that,’ declared Sophia Dorothea, ‘and I have never been unfaithful to my husband.’

  Prince Charles sighed. ‘Who would believe you … overhearing what I have just overheard! And,’ he continued, ‘how can we say who has overheard it? Clara von Platen would seize every opportunity to ruin you.’

  ‘But not the Count,’ said Sophia Dorothea bitterly.

  ‘That is perhaps something for which we should be grateful. Come with me, Königsmarck. You should not be here alone with my sister-in-law.’

  Königsmarck looked at Sophia Dorothea, and she could no longer hide her true feelings. He took her hands and kissed them. Charles turned his back and gazed at the door.

  ‘I am forgiven?’ whispered Königsm
arck. ‘Say that I am and we will find a way to happiness.’

  Sophia Dorothea nodded and they were both conscious of a bleak satisfaction as they parted.

  Prince Charles said: ‘You are a fool, Königsmarck.’

  ‘I am in love with the Princess.’

  ‘So you go to her apartments and behave in such a manner that every little spy at every keyhole can hear what you are saying, while you conduct an affair with the most jealous and vindictive woman at court who happens to be my sister-in-law’s greatest enemy.’

  ‘I agree with you. I am a fool.’

  ‘And immediate wisdom is necessary. There is only one thing you can do at the moment, Königsmarck. Leave Hanover. Come with me to Morea.’

  ‘You are going to Morea!’

  ‘I have just received orders from my father to prepare myself. I am to lead a company against the Turks. It is part of his agreement with Emperor Leopold.’

  ‘But to Morea!’

  ‘I am asking you to leave one dangerous spot for another. You’re a soldier, Königsmarck – but I believe you are in as great danger here as you will be in Morea.

  Morea! The adventure of war. It had always appealed to him. But to leave Sophia Dorothea just when he had persuaded her to forgive him!

  ‘Well?’ asked Charles; and when Königsmarck did not answer, he added: ‘Think about it.’

  The Duchess Sophia had sent for Königsmarck.

  He thought: So we were overheard. It has come to the ears of the Duchess and I am about to be banished from Hanover. He thought of the Court of France, of that of Saxony. They were far more brilliant than Hanover but he would be far from Sophia Dorothea.

  Now that he had seen her again he wondered how he could have been temporarily beguiled by Clara von Platen. She was old – all of forty; she was experienced in a manner which had fiercely attracted him; but after seeing Sophia Dorothea in her fresh youth and beauty, he knew that he loved her and he cursed himself for his lapse.

  Never again would he be lured to the bedchamber of that old harridan. He was going to make Sophia Dorothea happy. He did not even despair of becoming her lover in actual fact. She wanted him even as he wanted her; he had sensed that at the last meeting; and one thing the affair with Clara had done was make her aware of that.

  It was going to be embarrassing if he stayed away from her much longer. Clara was not the sort to let him go easily. He was uneasy – but the immediate problem was before him. He had to face the Duchess Sophia who would very probably give him orders to leave.

  He found the Duchess subdued, which was rare with her; but her greeting was almost warm.

  ‘My dear Count, pray be seated.’

  He obeyed her and she gave him a friendly smile which put him on his guard. With a woman like the Duchess Sophia one could never be absolutely sure of her intentions.

  ‘You are a friend of my son Charles?’

  He was taken by surprise and recovering himself assured her that he was.

  ‘You are older than he is, and I believe you have a fondness for him.’

  ‘This is so,’ Königsmarck assured her.

  ‘His father is sending him to Morea. I am uneasy. He is young yet, and although it is our duty to fight our battles I should like to know that he had a good friend at hand. It would give me pleasure if you would volunteer to go with him.’

  Königsmarck’s heart had begun to beat a little faster. He raised his eyes to the Duchess’s face and tried to read her mind. Everyone knew that she doted on Charles and the fact that she was not by nature a doting woman emphasized the depth of her emotion for this favourite son. Yet on the other hand what did she know of the intrigues of the court? Was she aware of his liaison with Clara and that at the same time he was involved with the Princess Sophia Dorothea? Was she warning him to get out of Hanover? Yet why should she care what trouble he involved himself in? No, it was real anxiety for her son that he saw in her face.

  What could he reply to her? She was a woman who expected obedience.

  He was experienced enough to know that he was going to find it very difficult to evade Clara von Platen during the next weeks. How much easier if he left Hanover for a while. When he returned, doubtless she would have found a lover to absorb her as he once had.

  It would be one way of easing a delicate situation.

  ‘Since Your Highness asks it of me, I can only have pleasure in doing as you bid me.’

  ‘Thank you, Count Königsmarck,’ said the Duchess Sophia.

  Very shortly after that interview Prince Charles left for Morea and with him went Count Königsmarck.

  The Stolen Glove

  ALL THROUGH THE winter, while Königsmarck was in Morea, Sophia Dorothea’s spirits were kept up by the letters which he sent her. It was bitterly cold and enormous fires burned in the grates; the wind whistled about the Alte Palais and in the streets the people grumbled. Many of the men were away at the war – a war which had little meaning for them and for which they had to pay through the taxes.

  Ernest Augustus anxiously awaited news from Morea and Sophia was constantly reproaching him for sending her dearest son so far from home to fight the Turk. It would have been different fighting in Flanders with George Lewis, she complained. Ernest Augustus tried to soothe her, but he too was uneasy. He was paying a big price for his Electorate.

  Clara was at hand to amuse him, holding brilliant courts in the palace and at her own mansion Monplaisir. She was restless, eager for news from Morea, for, she said, she was as anxious for that Electorate as he was, knowing that he had set his heart on it. In truth she was thinking of Königsmarck and longing for his return. She did not lack lovers, but they failed to satisfy her. There was, she regretfully admitted, for her only one Königsmarck.

  Eléonore von Knesebeck was in her element; it was her great task to see that the letters Königsmarck sent to Sophia Dorothea reached her and that those of Sophia Dorothea reached Königsmarck. She enjoyed threading her way through Clara’s network of spies, and she congratulated herself that the Countess had no notion that her one-time lover was now writing the most passionate letters to her rival, assuring her that to her and her only could he give his heart.

  One day Sophia Dorothea was in the act of writing a letter to Königsmarck when messengers arrived from Morea. A hush had fallen on the palace; it was Eléonore von Knesebeck who came hurrying in to tell her news.

  ‘What is it?’ cried Sophia Dorothea. ‘You look … stricken.’

  Eléonore could not speak for a few seconds; her teeth had begun to chatter.

  ‘It’s … Charles,’ she said. ‘He’s been killed in Morea.’

  Sophia Dorothea clasped her hands together to steady herself. ‘Charles,’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s been a terrible disaster and …’

  ‘And … Königsmarck?’

  ‘I don’t know. I …’

  Sophia Dorothea had run to her and was shaking her frantically. ‘You know … you know and you won’t tell me.’

  ‘I don’t know. I swear it. Only Charles. They found his body on the battlefield … his men were with him … all dead!’

  ‘Königsmarck?’

  ‘They did not say Königsmarck.’

  ‘Then what of him …?’

  ‘I don’t know. I swear I don’t know.’

  Sophia Dorothea pushed Eléonore von Knesebeck aside and hurried down to the great hall.

  The court of Hanover was in mourning for Prince Charles. Ernest Augustus shut himself into his apartments and brooded, but the Duchess Sophia was so heartbroken that she collapsed and had to take to her bed; the doctors were called but could not diagnose her illness; yet because she had lost all zest for life they feared she might die; and those about her knew how deeply she loved this son.

  From Celle came George William and Duchess Eléonore to offer condolences. Celle was in mourning too, said George William, for everyone had loved Prince Charles.

  Gloom settled in the palace. Not only had they lost
Prince Charles but there had been utter defeat at Morea. The Duke of Wolfenbüttel had suffered terrible losses in the contingent he had sent; and it was agreed that it would have been better if the expedition had never been undertaken.

  The Duchess Eléonore spent a great deal of time with her daughter who mourned Charles sincerely for he had always been a good friend to her; and in the days following that when the grim news had been brought to Hanover she had thought she would die of grief, for then the fate of Königsmarck had not been known. She had endured terrible anxiety each hour expecting to hear bad news.

  Only to Eléonore von Knesebeck could she confide her grief.

  ‘I never surrendered to him,’ she said. ‘I denied him myself. He wanted to be my lover more than anything on Earth, Knesebeck, and I denied him that. If only he would come back … I would deny him nothing, nothing …’

  Eléonore von Knesebeck tried to comfort her. ‘One should not brood on the past; one must hope for the future; after all hope did remain.’

  Yes, hope remained.

  It was a bright April day when Königsmarck came back to Hanover bringing with him a fraction of the troops he had taken with him to Morea.

  Königsmarck is back! thought Clara. In fact she thought of nothing else. He was more gaunt than when he had gone away; he seemed a little older, but none the less attractive thought Clara. There’ll never be another man like him for me. How did I put up with the others? Never mind. Now he is back.

  Königsmarck! thought Sophia Dorothea. He has changed. He has suffered hardship. He is more serious; and when his eyes met hers in the great hall, she knew that he was even more ardent.

  He would tell her now that life was short; that was a fact which had been brought home to him in Morea. She had seen the young and handsome Charles go forth to war, but she had not seen him lying on the battlefield his body shattered by a Turkish lance. If she had she would understand that life was a precious gift which could be lost at any time. Who would have thought Charles’s end would come so soon, he who had been full of health and life? They must enjoy living; there must be an end to dreams.