After that there followed more ceremonies ... the Lord Mayor gave a banquet to celebrate the betrothal to which the whole court was invited. The people lined the river bank as our barges sailed along to Westminster Hall and the Prince and I were in the King’s barge with my father. The King had his hand on my shoulder and the Prince was on the other side of me. I did my best not to show the misery I felt.

I was moving fast toward my marriage. I had to accept the fact that nothing could avert it now. I should have to marry this strange, silent man who seemed much older than I. Twelve years is a great deal when one is fifteen. It was only two weeks since I had heard the news which had robbed me of my content. It seemed like two years.

The ceremony was to take place in my bedchamber. An altar had been set up there for the service which would be performed by Bishop Compton, who had taken charge of my education, the Archbishop of Canterbury having been taken ill suddenly.

Early that morning Elizabeth Villiers came to me in some dismay and told me that her mother, Lady Frances, was ill — very ill indeed, and would not be present at the ceremony.

She added: “The Lady Anne is also indisposed.”

As soon as Elizabeth left, I went to Anne’s apartments. I remembered with concern how pale she had been looking of late.

I was horrified, for when I opened her door and was about to enter, Dr. Lake suddenly appeared.

“My lady,” he said, “you cannot enter the Lady Anne’s apartments. Your father has strictly forbidden it.”

“What do you mean, Dr. Lake? Am I not to see my sister?”

“She is ill ... and needs rest.”

I was astounded but Dr. Lake would say no more. So I was to be denied my sister’s company.

I went back to my room, bewildered. I had never been so unhappy in my life.


* * *

IT WAS NINE O’CLOCK IN THE EVENING, and the ceremony was about to begin.

The Prince, the King and Queen, my father and his heavily pregnant Duchess were there with the Bishop of London and those officials whose presence was considered necessary. Not a great number for such an occasion, but enough to fill the room.

They had bathed my eyes and done their best to disguise their redness — the outward signs of my grief; they had dressed me as a bride. I was sure there had never been a more unhappy one.

My father took me to the altar which had been set up, and as he did so I turned an imploring look on him. Was it too late?

Of course it was. I saw the despair in his eyes and I knew that if it had been at all possible to save me from this marriage he would have done so.

The King was jovial and smiling. If he knew of my reluctance and terror, he gave no sign. My stepmother’s eyes were full of compassion. I wondered that she was present, for she was very near to the birth of her child.

The King smiled at me affectionately and whispered that I was a beautiful bride and he was envious of the bridegroom, who was looking far from exhilarated by the proceedings. Perhaps he found it disconcerting to be confronted by an obviously reluctant bride.

“Where is Compton?” cried the King. “Hurry, man, lest the Duchess bring us a boy and then the marriage will be disappointed.”

The Prince winced a little at this and there was a faint titter from some members of the company.

My uncle continued to regard his nephew with a touch of cynical amusement, which I had noticed on more than one occasion.

The service had begun. It was the culmination of a nightmare. I was in truth being married to a man I did not know and who, on a very brief acquaintance, frightened me and filled me with dislike.

The Prince was saying that he would endow me with his worldly goods and, symbolically, laid some gold and silver coins on the book as he pronounced those words.

Then the King, still jocular, cried: “Take them, my dear niece. Take them quickly and put them in your pocket without delay, for it is all clear gain.”

I saw the Prince’s lips twitch with annoyance and the service continued.

Then it was over and I was the Princess of Orange.

How did I live through the rest of that night? I do not know. For a long time I tried to shut it out of my mind.

I was only half aware of what was to come. I had heard only whispered comments and had hazarded deductions. I knew such things existed but I had never given a great deal of thought to the subject until the last few days when I knew the ordeal lay just ahead.

I felt more frightened than I ever had in my life.

There was a great deal of chatter and laughter. People came and talked to me, congratulating me. I drank some wine.

“Not too much, my dear,” said the Queen. She pressed my hand. She had come to England to marry a man she had never seen, but she had been older, much older — twenty-two, I had heard it said. Mary Beatrice had been only my age. But the Queen had come to marry the King and Mary Beatrice my father. They had come to our court. I had to go to this strange place with a cold, dour husband.

They prepared me for bed. I wished they would dispense with the old custom. I wished I could run away.

The Queen and Mary Beatrice were there. It was part of the hateful ritual. They undressed me gently.

Mary Beatrice looked so tired. I was sure the child’s birth was imminent. Oh, why had it not come before? Why had it not been a healthy boy? And why had the Prince of Orange not said, as it was a boy, he no longer wanted this marriage! But the child was not born and I was already married to him.

I was told to get into the bed. I lay there, trembling. Then the Prince was beside me.

The King was laughing. He pulled the bedcurtains, shutting us in, and as he did so, he shouted: “Go to work, nephew, and St. George for England!”

I heard the laughter. I was aware of the darkness, and I tried to steel myself for the ordeal to come.


* * *

ALL THROUGH MY LIFE I have endeavored to forget those events which disturb me. I have not always succeeded. The night following my wedding was one of those.

I awoke in a daze, hating the daylight, putting my head beneath the bedclothes to shut it out. With immense relief, I found that I was alone in the bed.

It was over — the night of pain, horror, humiliation and horrific awakening. If I had been wiser, as so many of the girls were, it would have been easier. But I had been thrust from innocence into brutal knowledge and my initiator had been a cold, calculating man, impatient with my reluctance, my cries of protest and my endless tears.

I sensed his irritation and that what had to be done was no more agreeable to him than it was to me. What he did was a necessary duty. He despised me and I was in great fear of him.

I kept asking myself, is this how it will be every night? Then I prayed in my foolish childish way that night would never come.

I lay still for a while, bruised, hurting and feeling unclean.

My attendants came in. Elizabeth Villiers and her sister Anne and my dear Anne Trelawny, who looked at me anxiously and compassionately. She put her arms round me and kissed me tenderly.

“I shall be with you in Holland,” she reminded me.

That was like a faint glimmer of pleasure in a dark, dark world.

“You have been crying again, my lady princess,” said Anne Villiers.

Elizabeth looked amused, and I hated her. I wondered if I should ask my father to stop her coming with me. It seemed a trivial matter in the midst of all my misery.

“I will bathe Your Highness’s eyes,” said Elizabeth, practically. “They are rather swollen.”

I was dressed. I did not know whether the Prince would come again. I prayed not. I did not want to see him.

A visitor did arrive. It was William Bentinck, and the sight of the man set me shivering, for I knew he was the most favored of my husband’s attendants and that there was a very close friendship between them. I gathered that there must be something very unusual about this man, for the Prince was not one to show affection for the people around him — and he undoubtedly did show some regard for this man.

Bentinck said: “I come from His Highness the Prince of Orange. He has asked me to bring this to you.”

With that he bowed and put a casket into my hands and, with the air of a man who has completed a mission, he begged leave to retire, bowed deeply and was gone.

I was left holding the casket. Elizabeth was staring at it with curiosity.

“Is Your Highness going to see what it contains?” she asked.

The two Annes showed a curiosity to match Elizabeth’s, yet I stared at the casket with repulsion, as though I expected venomous snakes to emerge, because it came from him, that man who struck fear into me such as I had never known before, who in a few weeks had ruined my happy and peaceful existence.

Trembling, I opened the casket. Therein lay several jewels, among them a pendant of rubies and diamonds on a golden chain.

Elizabeth held her breath in admiration.

“They are beautiful!” cried her sister.

“You must try on the pendant,” said Anne Trelawny.

“It is the custom to send jewels on the morning after the wedding,” said Elizabeth.

I felt the cold jewel on my neck as Anne fastened the chain. I was thinking, I shall never be able to forget. And this is only the beginning.

“Is it not beautiful?” cried Elizabeth. “Think what it costs!” Her eyes squinted. I thought, she is envying me. Oh, if only she were in my place and I in hers!

I said: “Take it off and put it back in the casket.”

They looked surprised, all of them. Even Anne Trelawny did not understand. They were all overwhelmed by the beauty and costliness of the jewels.

I saw him briefly the next day. He hardly looked at me. I think that night of horror had not pleased him either. My hopes rose at the thought that perhaps it would not be repeated.

The day was taken up with receiving deputations and congratulations. It seemed that everyone was pleased about the wedding except my father and stepmother and, of course, the married pair.

That night I lay in my marriage bed and waited. For a long time I lay there, listening for his footsteps. Once I dozed and awoke with a start. It was well into the night before I could believe, with an overwhelming joy, that he was not coming to me.


* * *

I WAS AT ST. JAMES’S, our dear home. It was some days since I had seen my sister Anne. She had been too ill to be visited, they said. She must rest. I wanted to talk to her and I was sure, however ill she was, she would want to see me.

My ladies were all talking about the Prince of Orange. I knew they thought he was very strange. They were saying that there was nothing of the ardent lover about him. He did not spend any time alone with me and when it was necessary for us to be together, he hardly looked at me; he never seemed to show the least sign of affection for me.

He was eager for all ceremonies to be over. I expected he was as bored with the continual congratulations as I was, but I felt that if he kept away from me it was the best thing that could be hoped for in a situation which would have been more intolerable if it were the reverse.

Two days after the wedding Mary Beatrice’s baby was born.

My father came to see me and I could see at once that he was very pleased, though he embraced me with an expression of mingled anxiety, commiseration, understanding and self-reproach for what had been done to me, and tenderness. I wanted to tell him of my miseries and let him know that I was aware that what had come about was due to no fault of his.

“My dear,” he said, “I have come to tell you that I have a son.”

My first thought was: how cruel that it should be now instead of a week before when he might not have married me.

“A son,” he repeated. “Yes, a son.”

“And the Duchess?”

“She is well and overjoyed, of course.”

“And the child?”

“He will survive.”

“Dear Father . . .”

“Dearest daughter, if only . . .”

It was no use talking of it, but it was comforting to know that he understood.

“The Prince, your husband, will not be pleased,” he said.

I shook my head. “He should have been born before . . .” I did not finish, and my father took me into his arms and held me against him.