It seemed George and Anne had not taken kindly to each other. Poor Anne! I expect she compared him with Lord Mulgrave, and the contrast must have been great.

How I wished I could have been with her, to have known her true feelings. Anne was not a letter writer; she had always avoided taking up her pen. She was quite different from me in that respect and any communication I had from her was brief. I did hope she was not too unhappy at this time.

I heard that George had been averse to the match after meeting Anne and Anne felt the same about him. So there could have been no regrets when the young man was recalled to Hanover and was almost immediately betrothed to Sophia Dorothea of Celle.

So George’s future was fixed, and I was sure someone would soon be found for Anne.

There was sad news from home. Little Isabella had died. I was desolate. I had grown to love my little half-sister when she had been with us and I guessed the anguish Mary Beatrice would be suffering. It was so cruel that this child — the only one who had managed to survive for a few years — should be taken from her.

My father wrote very sadly to me. I knew that he would be going through a very difficult time. The King was not in the best of health and there was uneasiness everywhere. He hoped that I was happy. Dr. Ken had reported that he was not pleased with the manner in which I was treated at my husband’s court.

I wrote to him and said that I was very well and by no means unhappy. Dr. Ken may have exaggerated. He did not really like being away from his own country and he had had some differences about religion with the Prince.

My father also said that he believed there were rumors circulating about himself, and he hoped nothing would be done to poison my mind against him. He wanted my assurances that the feelings we had had for each other were as they always had been.

I assured him that this was so, although I wondered afterward if this was entirely true. In the days of my childhood I had thought him godlike, perfect in every way; but recently I had felt a little impatient with him. I hated the conflict and it was becoming more and more clear to me that if my father had not flaunted his religion in such a way, many of our troubles need never have occurred.

When Dr. Ken went back to England he was replaced by Dr. Covell. Dr. Covell had traveled a great deal and was very different from Dr. Ken. He was more gentle, more inclined to keep his opinions to himself, but I quickly realized that he had no great fondness for William, and I was not surprised, for he was shocked, as Dr. Ken had been, by the lack of respect accorded me.

There was more news from England regarding Anne. This time her suitor was another George — the Prince of Denmark. By all accounts, he appeared to be a rather pleasant person, unassuming in the extreme, and because he was only the second son of King Frederick of Denmark, he could take up his residence in England and Anne would not be expected to leave her home. I could well imagine that this would make the young man very agreeable to her — and when I heard that Colonel Churchill was a friend of the Prince, who in turn thought highly of the Colonel, I was sure that Sarah would approve of him and that would count very highly with Anne. So I was not surprised when I heard she was satisfied with the match, and I rejoiced in this, for I did not want my sister to suffer as I had.

I was living a very quiet life at this time. Anne Trelawny was a great comfort and I also had my old nurse, Mrs. Langford, with me. Her husband was a clergyman and one of my chaplains. There were the Villiers and Betty Selbourne with Jane Wroth — now Jane Zulestein — and a rather pretty Dutch girl named Trudaine.

Another of the Villiers sisters had arrived in Holland. This was Catherine. She had married a Monsieur Puisars, a Frenchman who had a post at The Hague.

My father was writing frequently to me now and I knew that William was very uneasy about this. He kept a close watch on my actions, and did not care that I should appear often in public. On the rare occasions when I did, I was regarded with great interest by the people and I fancied that they liked me. Their smiles indicated this and, although they are not a people to give vent to emotions, they implied that they approved of me. William noticed this and it seemed to puzzle him and did not, I think, altogether please him. He himself was always greeted with the utmost respect but hardly affection. With me it was the reverse, and this made him rather thoughtful and may have been the reason why he did not want me to appear too often.

He had arranged that, in addition to the maids of honor, who were my friends, there should be several Dutch attendants. They were given orders to attend my needs and make sure I was given the utmost care. When they first appeared, I resented them, for they seemed like jailors, but I soon found that they were pleasant girls and grew quite fond of them.

Now that I had so much leisure, I realized that I had not worked as hard as I might have done at my lessons and my ignorance disturbed me. I discovered a special interest in literature, and as there was little to do but walk in the gardens, do needlework, or, if I were at Loo, amuse myself with the poultry, I became involved with my books. I even painted a little, remembering the instructions of my dwarf, Richard Gibson.

With these occupations the days passed pleasantly. More and more people, though, were asking themselves why I allowed my husband to govern me. It was said: “The Princess of Orange lives like a recluse and this seems to be at the wish of her husband.”

But I was enjoying my books and painting. I suppose I have a peace-loving nature. I had never wanted to stress my rank. I think, more than anything, I wanted to live on happy terms with those about me. I have always thought that displays of anger rarely benefit the people who make them. I think, too, that I had become somewhat fascinated by William. I knew he was not handsome, not quite straight in frame, cold, aloof, without tenderness. Set out like that, it would seem he had all the least likeable traits a man could have. But there was something very strong about William. Ambition, I had seen in men, but not that power which I believe is reckoned to hold a certain attraction for some women. It may be that I am one of them.

So I lived my docile life at the House in the Woods, or at Dieren, which I visited from time to time because it was said to be good for me — and of course at the Palace of Loo. And those about me — some of them English visitors to The Hague, Dr. Covell, Betty Sherbourne, Mrs. Langford and Anne Trelawny, continued to complain that the Prince of Orange behaved very badly toward his wife.

The news from England was awaited eagerly. It seemed clear that a crisis was looming. The Exclusion Bill, which was to prevent my father taking the throne in the event of his brother’s death, had failed to go through once more, simply beause the King had prevented it by dissolving Parliament.

The Duke of Monmouth was very much in evidence — Protestant son of the King, though, unfortunately for him — and for England, some implied — born on the wrong side of the blanket. If only he had been the legitimate son, all this unrest could have been avoided.

But it was not impossible to put this matter right.

I could imagine how the King would watch his son’s antics with that amusement he bestowed on all matters, whether of great importance or none at all, as though to say, it is for you to settle when I am no longer here.

My father had returned from Scotland and the King had received him with great joy. Those ministers who had brought about his exile had been overruled by those who wished for his return; but the fact that the heir to the throne had been sent into exile had created a very uneasy situation.

My father had assumed his old duties. He still had his enemies but they appeared to be less powerful and, although he was not popular, it was said that many preferred to have him brought out of exile and at home, where he could be watched.

Everyone did not agree with that. Perhaps that was why the Rye House Plot occurred.

That there should be a plot to kill the King seemed incredible. He was as popular as ever, and all hoped that he would live for a very long time, for while he was on the throne all was well. But he had prevented the Exclusion Bill becoming law, and now his brother was back in the country, heir to the throne. To some it must seem that the King’s affection for his brother had overcome his good sense; and there were those who were determined that at all costs the Duke of York should not come to the throne. So they planned to kill him, and with him the King. Hence the Rye House Plot.

Fortunately it was ill-conceived and one of the conspirators took fright and confessed that the assassinations were being planned. The King and his brother were to be murdered on their way back from Newmarket, at a house in Hertfordshire which belonged to a maltster and was called Rye House. I was greatly relieved to hear that my father and the King were safe.

This was particularly interesting to many of the people at The Hague because some of the conspirators were well known there. Lord Russell was one; Algernon Sidney another.

By this time I had guessed, of course, that these men had been at The Hague conspiring with William to be ready for the time when my uncle died.

William was aggrieved, if not for Sidney and Russell — who were executed after the trial, which had shown how deeply involved they were — for the failure of the plot which, had it succeeded, would have removed those who stood between me and the crown.


* * *

ANNE WAS MARRIED TO GEORGE OF DENMARK. How I wished I could have been present in the Chapel Royal at St. James’s on that day. By all accounts she had quickly forgotten Mulgrave and was perfectly contented with the bridegroom they had given her. How rarely that happened, and how blessed were those to whom it did!

Anne would sail through life as she always had done, apart from that minor upset over Mulgrave which she should have known was doomed from the start.

Sarah Churchill was with her and would remain so. Anne would arrange that and Sarah would agree, because of the advantages her position brought her.

Meanwhile, I must pursue my quiet life, reading, painting, walking, seeing few people but those in my immediate circle.

It was with great sorrow that I heard that the Duke of Monmouth was suspected of having been concerned in the Rye House Plot.

I believed he was genuinely fond of his father; he had always shown a great affection for him. I knew that he and my father were not good friends. I was sure Jemmy thought my father a fool to parade his Catholicism as he did; and, of course, my father was not pleased to see Jemmy appearing in public with the airs and grace of a Prince of Wales, as though the role were his by right.

Now Jemmy was in trouble. He had been in trouble before but the King had always been lenient and again and again he had been forgiven. Jemmy possessed the Stuart charm in great measure and was like his father in many ways — alas, though, he lacked his wisdom.

He could scarcely be forgiven this time. Sidney and Russell had been executed for their part in the plot, so how could Jemmy go free? The King did what he always did in such a situation. He prevaricated. There was no imprisonment for Jemmy, but he was sent into exile. Brussels seemed the natural haven and to that city he came.

William made sure that he was given a welcome when he eventually arrived in Holland, and this was noted and commented on.

I was told that when the King heard of it, he was highly amused and in his dry way commented that he was surprised that the Duke of Monmouth and the Prince of Orange could be such friends when they were both pursuing the same mistress — by which he meant the English crown.

There was uneasiness everywhere. Everyone waited for what would happen next. I wondered how my uncle felt, knowing they were all thinking of his death. I could imagine the regrets he would feel that he would not be there to see the results of their actions.

Algernon Sidney had been replaced as English Envoy by Thomas Chudleigh who was not accepted very graciously by William. Chudleigh had been sent to be watchful, for William’s preference for Sidney and Russell was well known.

Chudleigh joined the set who were complaining about the Prince’s treatment of me, and who were still writing to England about it.