With pride John introduced his brother to his wife and George soon realized what an unusual woman he had for a sister-in-law.
“Tell us what sort of man the Prince is,” suggested Sarah; “and is he eager for this marriage?”
The Prince of Denmark was genial, George told them; he was easygoing, loving a life of peace, and always affable to those who served him.
“His character is not unlike that of the Princess,” commented Sarah. “They should be a good match.”
“He would live happily with most people,” said George Churchill.
“Easily led,” put in Sarah speculatively.
“But I hear he is a man of valor,” her husband said.
“That is so,” George told them. “If intrepid action is necessary he is capable of it, and when his brother Christiern was taken prisoner by the Swedes he rescued him.”
“I have heard of that occasion,” said John. “It was during the war between Denmark and Sweden.” He turned to Sarah. “Prince George, hearing that his brother was in the hands of the enemy, put himself at the head of some cavalry and broke right through the Swedish lines. They were taken so much by surprise that they allowed him through; he had found his brother and was galloping off with him before they made any attempt to stop him—then it was too late. I call that a brilliant action as well as a brave one.”
“Doubtless it happened before he grew quite so plump,” commented Sarah.
“Ah, you have noticed that the Prince is getting a little corpulent. The pleasures of the table … the pleasures of the vine.”
“One would not expect the man to be a saint,” said John, smiling at Sarah.
“If he were my husband, I should not expect him to be a fool either,” she retorted, “and any man who indulges an appetite is that.”
It was a point to remember, thought John. No more pleasant little adventures with the ladies, Sarah was telling him. He wanted to retort: As if I should want to, now that I have my incomparable Sarah.
“It is important that he is accepted here,” went on George confidentially. “He has very little in Denmark—only about five thousand crowns and a few barren islands.”
“And yet he aspires to the hand of the Princess Anne!” said John.
“Who could,” Sarah interrupted, “in certain circumstances become Queen of England.”
“Do not forget that he is a royal Prince. They would, however, wish him to live in England which I believe would very likely endear him to the Princess, for what young girl wants to leave her home, particularly one where, if what I hear is correct, she has been greatly indulged by her family.”
“So they would live in England,” mused Sarah, her eyes alight with pleasure. She looked at her John—so handsome, and possessed of something more than personal charm. If ever I saw latent genius, I see it there, she thought; and she was triumphant in the realization that some women could choose their husbands, while Princesses must have them chosen for them. Prince George of Denmark was the absolute antithesis of John Churchill, and Sarah knew who was going to make the brighter mark in the world.
She turned to George suddenly. “You seem to know a great deal about this Prince. He is friendly toward you?”
“Completely so. He discusses most things with me and so I know his mind on most matters.”
Sarah nodded. Then she said slowly: “Thus it is with myself and the Princess. I am her greatest friend. When she marries I shall ask to leave the Duchess of York’s household and be taken into that of the Princess Anne. A Churchill with the Princess, and a Churchill with the Prince … friends, confidantes. That does not seem such a bad idea.”
They understood each other so well. Sarah smiled from her brother-in-law to her husband. She had made up her mind; Anne’s marriage to the Prince of Denmark could be a very good thing for the Churchills and therefore a very good thing.
“The Prince is charming!” declared Sarah. “I do believe that if I were not so devoted to my John I could fall in love with him myself.”
“Sarah, you really mean it?”
“But do you not agree? Madam, what do you ask of a man? Did you hear how he rescued his brother? What bravery! My John was telling me about it. He said he had rarely heard of such a feat of bravery. And I understand, too, that the Prince is gracious. His servants love him.”
“I found him … affable,” said Anne.
“Madam, dear, you are halfway to being in love with him.”
“Sometimes I think of dear Mulgrave!”
“Pah! An adventurer if ever there was one!”
“Oh, no, Sarah, he loved me truly. Those beautiful verses …”
“I never thought much of poets. Words mean more to them than deeds. No, I rejoice that in the Prince of Denmark you will have a husband worthy of you. And the more eager you are for the marriage, the more you please your father.”
“He was very sad about Mary.”
“And who can wonder? When I compare the Prince of Denmark with that … monster!”
“Poor, poor Mary! Yet when we were in Holland, Sarah, she seemed happy.”
“To see you, to escape from Caliban for a while.”
“How sorry I am for her.”
“It is no use repining, Madam. Think rather of your joy. You are to have a husband with whom you are already in love …”
“But am I, Sarah? I am not sure …”
“You cannot deceive Sarah who knows you so well, Madam. If you are not already in love you are halfway there. And who can be surprised at that! This handsome hero has come across the seas to claim you. I am so happy for you, Madam.”
“It is going to be a happy marriage, is it not, Sarah?”
“The happiest at Court, Madam. You know I am always right.”
That was one thing Anne had learned. Obediently she began to fall in love with her bridegroom, and soon found it difficult to remember what Mulgrave looked like. This was so much more comfortable. George was pleasant, so eager to please; and he was kind, she could see that. Everyone was delighted at the prospect of the marriage. Her uncle wanted it; and so did her father, and when her father took her aside and asked her if she were truly happy and she told him she was, he took her into his embrace and wept over her.
“I thank God, my dearest daughter,” he told her, “for I could not have borne to see you unhappy as your sister was.”
After that she felt she owed it to them all to be happy. It was not difficult when she considered George.
There was no reason why the marriage should be delayed. The day chosen was appropriate, being St. Anne’s Day, and at ten o’clock at night in St. James’s chapel the ceremony took place. The bride was given away by her uncle the King; and afterward there was a brilliant banquet. There was rejoicing in the streets, and the sounds of music and the light from the bonfires penetrated the palace.
Another Protestant marriage! said the people, who had welcomed the Orange marriage for the same reason. James’s addiction to Catholicism was always a sore point with those who declared they would have no popery in England. Mary and Anne could well be sovereigns of England and the people had no intention of standing mildly aside while they were made into little Catholics. But there was no danger of that. Wise King Charles—always with an eye on the main chance—had decided. Not only had he taken the education of the Princesses out of their father’s hands, but he had found Protestant bridegrooms for them.
The fact that Marie Thérèse, the Queen of France, had just died, made the marriage doubly welcome. Louis, a widower in need of a wife, made a dangerous situation, for all knew that James would have been delighted to see his daughter the wife of the Catholic King of France.
But all was well; she was safely married to Protestant George; so they danced with glee around their bonfires and declared the bride to be beautiful and the bridegroom gallant while Anne and her husband sat side by side, eating heartily.