‘What do you know of him?’ she asked.

‘That he is very handsome and attractive, has distinguished himself on the field of battle, is amusing, clever und witty.’

‘He sounds like a god rather than a cousin.’

‘I am sure you will think him so,’ said the Duchess triumphantly.

So it was what they wanted, thought Caroline. They were hoping for a match.

Marriage with the Duke of York. One would go to England, her mother’s country of which she talked as though it were some El Dorado— and yet her mother had not been nearly so happy living there as she had believed herself to be when she left it. That’s natural enough, thought Caroline, for that’s how life always seems.

Yes, she would like to see England. She would like to see Uncle George, who had always seemed to be led by the nose by his mother and that lover of hers— and Aunt Charlotte who was the villainess because her sister-in-law, now Duchess of Brunswick, had so disliked her.

‘Tell me about them, Mamma,’ she said. ‘Tell me about the King and the Queen.’

‘It is long since I saw them,’ said the Duchess comfortably, because there was nothing she enjoyed like a gossip and a gossip of the old days was the best kind.

‘George was really quite handsome— in his way. Fair hair, blue eyes— rather heavy jaw and kind— very kind. He always wanted to please everyone. He was very startled when he found himself King of England Grandpapa, of course, was very old and Papa was dead so George was the next in the line of succession, of course, but we all thought Grandpapa would go on and on. Then one day he went into his closet and died instantly. And so George was king and he was exactly twenty-two— not much older than you.’

‘Was he pleased do you think?’

‘Pleased! He was terrified! He wouldn’t move a step without Mamma and Lord Bute. Of course there was a real scandal about that affair. They used to call him the Scotch Stallion. The people hated him. They jeered at him when he went out in his carriage. In fact there was a time when they actually tried to do him a mischief. But Mamma was faithful to him for years—’

Caroline looked slyly at her, mother. Trust the Duchess to explain everything which a moment before she had suggested it was improper to discuss. One could wheedle anything out of Mamma, thought Caroline, provided one employed the right tactics.

‘The Scotch Stallion,’ cried Caroline, suddenly unable to restrain her mirth. ‘I like that. I like that very much.’

‘My dear Caroline, I beg of you! You should not speak of such things. What next I wonder.’

‘And what of Queen Charlotte, Mamma? Tell me about her.’

‘A horrid creature. I disliked her on sight. Little and thin— very thin. Such a flat nose— such a big mouth. Really, she looked like a crocodile. She should have been humble— very humble. To come from a little court like Mecklenburg-Strelitz to marry the King of England.’

‘ ‘It was rather like Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, I expect, was it not, Mamma?’

The Duchess looked cautiously at her daughter. ‘Yes, but smaller,’ she said.

‘Of less consequence. And we soon made her realize this. I reported her actions to my mother, and we soon put her in her place. I remember an occasion when she did not want to wear her jewels to church and we made her. It was symbolic, you see. If she had had her way about that, she would have tried to exert her power over the King in more important ways. Sometimes I wondered whether it wouldn’t have been better to have let him have Sarah Lennox after all. Oh dear, he was mad for Sarah Lennox. You would call her a pretty creature. But flighty.

And that has been proved. She left Bunbury, you know. For she married Bunbury when she knew she could not have George. And there was a child— not her husband’s. Most scandalous. And that was Sarah Lennox for you. And meanwhile everyone said Charlotte might be a dull, plain little German hausfrau, but she was fertile— oh, very fertile. Fifteen children. Just imagine! No sooner is one delivered than she is pregnant again. Serve her right. It was all she was fit for.’

‘I should like to have fifteen children. I wonder if I ever shall―’

‘You will have to get married soon to have so many.’ The Duchess laughed suddenly. ‘There has to be a small breathing space between, you know. Not that Charlotte asked for much. Or perhaps George wouldn’t let her.’

They laughed together— the Duchess maliciously, Caroline wildly.

‘Thirteen of them left, because they lost Octavius and Alfred. Thirteen out of fifteen is not a bad score though, is it? Thirteen. Very nice. Seven of them sons.

Oh, yes, Charlotte provided the right proportion. Nine boys there were and two boys dead makes seven, does it not? Seven husbands for seven Princesses.’

‘So Queen Charlotte was a benefactor to mankind after all,’ commented Caroline. ‘To royal mankind anyway. Just imagine all the princesses who would have had to go without husbands if she had not so zealously done her duty.’

Caroline began to laugh; and the Duchess was always disconcerted— as everyone else was— by that too wild laughter.

‘It is something for you to remember,’ said the Duchess severely, ‘And now the second son is coming to see us— Frederick, Duke of York! I confess it is a long time since I was so excited.’

‘How much more excited you would have been, Mamma, if it had been the first son, the Prince of Wales?’

‘Well, my daughter, we cannot hope for miracles. The Prince of Wales would never be allowed to leave England. If ever it should come to pass—’

‘You mean if a miracle should come to pass, Mamma?’

The Duchess looked sternly at her daughter. ‘When the Prince of Wales decides to marry, it will be the King’s envoy who conveys the news to his chosen bride’s family.’

Again that demure look crossed Caroline’s features. ‘Well, Mamma, I will endeavour to be duly excited by the proposed visit— but not too excited because it is only Uncle George’s second son, and he is coming himself. Now if it were Uncle George’s envoy instead of his son, I should be capering with glee, should I not?’

‘Caroline, sometimes your talk is most improper!’

‘I own it.’ said Caroline. She wanted to add: It is a trait I have inherited from my dear Mamma. But that would be unwise. To let the Duchess know how indiscreet she was might put a curb on conversations such as this which could mean that Caroline might become far less knowledgeable about the scandals of Europe.

The Duchess looked pleased. ‘Remember it,’ she said sternly. ‘And as soon as the Duke of York arrives you should greet him with charm and— propriety.’

Caroline was thoughtful when she left the Duchess. A possible suitor? This was clearly what her parents and Madame de Hertzfeldt had in mind. Well, she would inspect the young man and if she did not like him she would not have him.

Had not her father said that she would never be forced into marriage?

Crossing the courtyard she paused to watch the soldiers on duty. How smart they looked in their uniforms. She was sure Cousin Frederick of York would not be half as handsome as the soldier who was now coming towards her.

He saluted.

‘Good day,’ said Caroline in the familiar manner in which she spoke to everyone.

‘Good day, Your Highness.’

‘It is a good day.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Are you often on duty here, er— ” ‘I am Major von Töbingen at Your Highness’s Service.’

‘At my service, that is nice; and a little reckless Major von Töbingen, for what if I should ask a service of you?’

‘It would be the greatest pleasure of my life to render it.’

What charm! thought Caroline. And he looked so earnest, as though he really meant it.

‘I shall remember that,’ she told him; and she walked on, but when she had gone a few paces she paused to look over her shoulder. He was looking after her.

She laughed and ran into the palace.

‘Major von Töbingen,’ she said aloud. ‘A delightful man. I’ll swear he’s far more handsome than the Duke of York.’

When the Duke arrived Caroline continued to think so. By that time she had had many conversations with Major von Töbingen. In fact she was beginning to make plans which included him. She thought what delightful children he would have that was if they grew up to look and behave as he did.

The Duke of York was a tolerably good looking young man, a little arrogant.

Were all the English arrogant? she wondered. He was light-hearted, gay and ready for a flirtation with his cousin Caroline, but she suspected that he might not wish it to go beyond that.

She liked him moderately. Perhaps if she did not constantly compare him with Major von Töbingen she might have considered him as a husband, for after all if she were going to get her big family, as her mother said, she must not delay too long.

When he found that she was not prepared to treat him as a potential lover, the Duke was philosophically resigned, one might say relieved. His cousin Caroline was not ill-looking; she was bright enough; but she did not appeal to him as a wife or mistress. He was longing to get back to England; he had been away a long time but when he thought of Englishwomen they seemed so much more desirable than any he had met on his travels.

He had clear memory of Mrs. Robinson, the very handsome young actress with whom his brother, George, had been in love. What a goddess she had seemed! And he had left England before that affair had come to its conclusion.

He often laughed to think of George in love, for when George fell in love, he did so wholeheartedly. He remembered how he had accompanied his brother out into the gardens at Kew to that spot where Essex— who was then Malden— had brought the beautiful actress, George’s Perdita. And there George and she had embraced under the trees while he kept watch on one side and Malden and Perdita’s lady’s maid on the other.

What a creature Mrs. Robinson was! He had not seen anyone to touch her for beauty since he had left England. And the lady’s maid was a beauty too.

He was longing to be back; and he hoped before very long he would be. Why should he be exiled from home just because the King thought that a Guelph should take his training in a German army? But one must be fair to the old man.

There was fighting on the Continent and that gave him a chance to take part in a real battle. But oh, how he longed to go home and talk to his brother George and find out what he was doing now. For of one thing he could be sure, the Prince of Wales would be doing something exciting How much truth was there in this rumour that he had married a Mrs.

Fitzherbert? If he had— by God, there would be trouble. But there always would be trouble around George. That was the one thing he could be sure of. Oh, indeed, what joy to be home, to share his brother’s adventures, to be on those old terms of intimacy. For George was his friend as no one else ever could be.

Arid now here he was at the Court of Brunswick. Aunt Augusta was not in the least like her brother. In fact, Frederick was sure his father would heartily disapprove of his sister. He always had; but at the same time the King felt that his niece, the Princess Caroline, should be the wife of one of his sons.

Not this one, thought Frederick. I should soon tire of Madame Caroline. And she would never make a docile wife. Still, it amused him to ride with her, talk with her, dance with her— in fact behave towards her as a very good cousin.

She wanted to hear about England; and as they rode out with a party he would bring her horse close to his and talk to her.

Did they ride much in England? she wanted to know.

‘All the time. I reckon we have some of the finest horses in the world.’

Trust them, thought Caroline. They had the finest everything.

‘And your brothers and sisters, they enjoy riding.’

‘My brother, the Prince of Wales, is devoted to the exercise. Not only does he ride, but he drives his own phaeton and carriages. He is said to be one of the best horsemen in the country.’

‘People will pay royalty such compliments.’

‘What do you mean, cousin?’

‘That princes and princesses are always the best this and that. They only have to have one good feature and they are beautiful. Take me, for instance. I have been called the beautiful Princess of Brunswick. What do you think of that?’

‘That it is not untrue.’

‘Courtier!’ she laughed. ‘You don’t mean it! You think I am just tolerable as a cousin. Oh, do not think, Master York, that I am inviting flirtation. I am not. If I wished to flirt, there are many ready to oblige.’