‘A miniature?’ cried Sophia Dorothea, her attention caught by the sparkling ornament in her father’s hand.

He held it out to her, smiling. ‘There! Is it not magnificent? A picture of your bridegroom set in gold and diamonds. Could you have a more delightful gift?’

Sophia Dorothea looked at it – the heavy sullen face, that even the flattering brush of an artist could not make pleasant. The very diamonds seemed hard and cruel. She flung the ornament at the wall with such force that several of the diamonds were broken from their settings.

There was a brief silence while all in the room stared at the damaged miniature.

Thus, thought Eléonore, was the happiness of this family shattered on that dismal morning.

With the help of her mother Sophia Dorothea had dressed in the splendid gown which had been designed for her birthday. She was calmer but pale and the obvious signs of grief were on her face.

She must descend to the hall and receive the guests, chief of them the Duchess Sophia. Cold, hard and proud, she thought her; how different from her own beautiful mother! What shall I do? she asked herself, when I go from here to Hanover?

Eléonore was beside her – restrained, elegant and outwardly resigned. When she had recognized the impossibility of getting the decision rescinded she had given herself entirely to the task of comforting and advising her daughter. They must put up a good show in public; if they had to accept this fate they must be careful to make sure that they did so with the best possible grace and missed no advantage which could be snatched from it. ‘At least,’ Eléonore had said, ‘we shall not be far from each other; and you may depend upon it that nothing shall keep us apart. Some Princesses are forced to leave their own countries for others across the sea and they never visit them again. At least we shall not be parted like that.’ Sophia Dorothea took courage from her mother’s reasoning; all through that wearying ceremony – always before so joyous – she was aware of her; but she was aware of her father too, the man who had changed overnight and become her enemy.

Beside her father stood his chief minister Bernstorff, smiling and complacent because by a miracle – performed by the indefatigable Duchess Sophia – his future prosperity had been assured.

The Duchess of Sophia hid her pleasure beneath an excess of dignity.

Proud Eléonore! So beautiful. Queen of Celle. Now her authority had been displaced by the woman whom her husband had scorned. It was like the settling of a long outstanding debt; and since the defeat of the enemy was so much an individual triumph, it could not fail to bring the utmost satisfaction.

Duchess Sophia could scarcely take her eyes from Eléonore to study her future daughter-in-law. Undoubtedly a beauty; she might even equal her mother when she was more mature. Spoiled, over indulged. They would alter that at Hanover.

Sophia Dorothea was thinking: When will this hateful day be over? She was worn out with her emotions, and it seemed long before she could return to the peace of her room.

Her mother came to help her undress and they were silent. Eléonore sat by her bed when she lay there, holding her hand.

‘This is the last birthday in Celle,’ said Sophia Dorothea sadly. ‘I suppose the others will be clebrated in Hanover.’

There was a finality in the words; she accepted her fate; from now on she knew it was useless to hope for release.

Eléonore was relieved, for she too saw the hopelessness of fighting against the inevitable.

The last birthday! Sophia Dorothea exhausted, slept; and Eléonore kissed her gently and crept away.

The Wedding

THE TRUMPETER IN the tower sent out the welcome. There was bustle in the castle. For the first time for years Ernest Augustus, Duke of Hanover, was the guest of his brother George William of Celle.

George William forgot his remorse, so delighted was he to welcome his brother. They embraced; they patted each other on the back; they were both emotional over this reunion.

Beside his father stood that important young man, the Crown Prince of Hanover, George Lewis, the prospective bridegroom. Neither tall nor short he stood inelegantly slouching, his hands hanging at his side; his manner was as awkward as his figure; his features were heavy, his eyes dull, his mouth both sensuous and sullen.

When George William turned to him he did feel a wave of misgiving; but it was such a pleasure to see his brother that he was certain his son must have inherited some of his charm. George Lewis was young yet, a little shy, a little embarrassed. Thus it was when one was young.

‘Come into the castle,’ cried George William. ‘We are longing to show you how happy we are to have you here.’

The Duchess and her daughter did not bear this out, thought Ernest Augustus cynically. By God, he thought, what a beautiful woman she is! And even now in her grief and bitter disappointment, gracious. It is small wonder that George William has been so dominated by her, but well that he now realizes his mistake.

And the girl – she was enchanting in spite of her despair. Ernest Augustus thought’ her the daintiest, prettiest creature he had ever seen. She reminded him of the girls who had delighted him during his travels by their delicate beauty and charming foreign ways – so different from the frauleins of his own country.

And to marry that oaf, George Lewis, poor child!

And there was Sophia, triumphant, already thinking of this plan – to which he had had to work so hard to reconcile her – as her own. Magnificent Sophia! The grandest of them, believing so firmly that her English blood set her above them all in rank that it seemed it did.

Sophia’s eyes were on her son. Cannot he even be gracious on such an occasion? she was thinking. After all the trouble to which we have gone! He is to get a girl who, though spoiled, must be one of the prettiest in Europe and with one of the biggest fortunes. He was the most pig-headed stubborn boy in the world who had surrounded his brains with such a thick crust that she defied any man or woman to find what was in them. Sometimes she thought he was quite stupid, he was so lethargic; at others he could be surprisingly shrewd. At least he had the advantage of being able to surprise. And now he was sullen, having no more wish to marry his cousin of Celle than she had to marry him. He would be wise enough though to accept the match for he realized the advantages it would bring.

It was the moment for the unhappy pair to be presented to each other.

They looked at each other squarely. George saw a child – a silly little girl. Her daintiness meant nothing to him; her beauty failed to move him; her slender grace had no charm for him. He thought of his big-busted Marie with the lewd eyes.

Sophia Dorothea saw the coarse jowls, the sullen eyes and she thought: He is all that I feared he would be.

The room seemed to tip drunkenly; the faces of those about her receded and then rushed towards her; she saw the face of her future husband distorted so that it looked like that of an ape as she swayed; had her mother not caught her in her arms she would have fallen to the floor.

Sophia Dorothea had fainted.

Platen, Clara’s husband, came to Celle to help his master work out the marriage settlement; and the two brothers – each with his chief minister – were closeted together to deal with this matter. The odds were well in favour of Hanover for Platen worked zealously with Ernest Augustus to extract the utmost advantage; and Bernstorff worked with them to advance his; as for George William, he was so delighted to be on old terms of friendship which his brother that he was happy to concede anything that was asked of him.

‘A marriage portion say of a hundred thousand thalers?’ suggested Platen.

Three pairs of eyes watched George William’s reaction to this suggestion. It was astonishing that he did not even blink.

‘It seems fair enough,’ he said.

Ernest Augustus lowered his eyes. Platen was a good fellow. He would reward him for this; and it would please Clara. A title perhaps. Baron. Clara would like to be a Baroness.

A hundred thousand thalers and the estates which were already settled on the girl. This match pleased Ernest Augustus far more than the English one would have done. He doubted the Princess Anne would have received such a dowry.

Bernstorff had to make some pretence of working for Celle. He suggested that should the Princess Sophia Dorothea become a widow she should be entitled to a dower of twelve thousand thalers.

Twelve thousand thalers. A small sum when compared with a hundred thousand; yet Bernstorff managed to make it sound a good deal.

George William in any case was eager to be, as he said, reasonable. This was a contract between relations; they had no wish to bargain sordidly with each other.

He knew that he was passing his daughter into the best possible hands.

Then, suggested Platen, there was no reason why the marriage settlement should not be drawn up without delay and the two Dukes could put their signatures to it in company with the two happy young people.

No reason at all, agreed Bernstorff, rubbing his hands together and smiling at his master as though by so doing he could delude him into believing that they had come well out of the matter.

When Eléonore heard the terms of the marriage settlement she was astounded.

‘It seems to me,’ she told George William, ‘that you are bewitched.’

‘Nonsense,’ retorted George William. ‘You have worked yourself into such a passion over this marriage that you condemn every part of it.’

‘You give away one hundred thousand thalers and all she will have if she becomes a widow is twelve!’

‘She will always live in accordance with her rank, naturally.’

‘In accordance with her rank!’ repeated Eléonore bitterly. ‘He has a mistress at Hanover. At least she should be dismissed from Hanover before Sophia Dorothea enters the palace there.’

George William was silent.

‘Well?’ said Eléonore. ‘Do you agree with me?’

‘Naturally he will not need a mistress now that he has a wife.’

‘Your brother has a wife but that does not prevent his having many mistresses, headed by that Platen woman.’

‘My dear, you are becoming hysterical.’

Eléonore stamped her foot. ‘I insist that Marie von dem Bussche be dismissed from Hanover before my daughter arrives there.’

‘I will mention the matter,’ said George William.

‘I will be present when you do, to add my voice to yours,’ she replied firmly.

The Duchess Sophia emitted a harsh laugh. ‘My dear Duchess,’ she said, ‘this woman is of no importance.’

‘She is George Lewis’s mistress and has succeeded in making a scandal of her name.’

‘You have odd ideas,’ replied Sophia. ‘Men will have their mistresses. As long as their wives lose nothing by it, what matter?’

‘How could their wives fail to lose love … companionship?’

‘Such strange fancies! As you know the Duke of Hanover has his mistresses but I never allow them to interfere with me.’

‘My daughter has been brought up to respect the sanctity of marriage.’

‘A strange upbringing indeed! Why, as long as she sees enough of her husband to get herself children, what complaint could she have? She should be pleased rather that there are some who can amuse him from time to time. It will give her a little respite.’

‘You have cynical ideas of marriage.’

‘Worldly ones if you like. Perhaps at Hanover we are more worldly than you are at Celle. But I assure you that your daughter will have nothing to fear from her husband’s mistresses.’

‘She has not yet signed the marriage agreement, nor given her written consent to the marriage. I have accepted much so far, but I shall stand against this. She shall not go to Hanover as George Lewis’s wife while he keeps a mistress there.’

‘I think you are a little … unreasonable.’

‘There are many matters on which we do not agree,’ replied Eléonore.

What a tiresome woman she was! said Sophia to Platen and Bernstorff. There they were with everything agreed upon and now Madame Eléonore was making difficulties over Marie von dem Bussche.

Ernest Augustus said: ‘Well, it is understandable. She is a fine woman and I admire the manner in which she is facing this. As for the girl … she’s pretty and should be enough for George Lewis until she is with child. I think we should concede this request.’