Augustus William turned pale and reeled as though he had been struck, while Anton Ulrich’s hand went to his sword and he cried: ‘I would like an explanation of this.’
‘It is simple,’ said George William. ‘The Duchess Sophia of Hanover arrived here this morning with proposals from Hanover and these I have accepted for my daughter.’
‘She was promised to my son!’ cried Anton Ulrich.
‘It is true we discussed the possibility, but nothing definite had been decided on.’
‘My son is here … I am here … to celebrate your daughter’s betrothal to him!’
‘That cannot be, for she is promised to George Lewis.’
‘So you have deceived us … led us on… . You have …’
‘I have decided,’ said George William. ‘It is often that matches are discussed between parents and come to nothing.’
Anton Ulrich turned in bewilderment to Eléonore. ‘And you … are you in agreement?’
She shook her head. ‘I suffer more than you can understand. She is my daughter … my gently nurtured daughter… . She is to be given to this …’
George William said coolly; ‘There is nothing more to be said on the subject. If you will enter …’
‘I certainly shall not,’ cried Anton Ulrich hotly. ‘We have been insulted enough. This shall not be forgotten.’ He turned and signing to his son they walked to their horses.
The trumpeter on the tower stared in astonishment at the sight of the cavalcade which he had so exuberantly welcomed such a short while ago, now galloping away.
Strange events were taking place in the castle of Celle that morning.
Sophia Dorothea lay on her bed staring helplessly at the ceiling.
She had wept until she was exhausted. That this should have happened on her birthday was so extraordinary. Those days she looked back on as dreams of delight had led to this grim nightmare.
Everything had changed. Her mother, who had seemed like a benevolent goddess, all powerful, all loving, was all loving still but stripped of her power, and therefore a different being. Where was her father who had always been so indulgent, who had loved to watch her riding or dancing, his eyes full of pride and love? Where was he now? He was changed; he must be, for her mother had wept and begged him not to allow her to be given to George Lewis and he would not listen.
Her mother came into the room and knelt by her bed.
‘Dearest Maman … what shall we do?’
‘We must be calm, my darling, and perhaps that will help us.’
‘Perhaps we could run away.’
‘No, my pet, that could not help us.’
‘You will always be with me …’
‘Always … always!’
‘Perhaps I am not so frightened then.’
‘You must not be.’
‘Where is my father?’
‘He is with the Duchess Sophia.’
Sophia Dorothea shivered.
‘And … and …’
‘No, he is not here yet, but doubtless he will come soon.’
‘I dare not look into his face.’
‘The stories we have heard of him have been exaggerated. They often are.’
‘I cannot, Maman. I cannot.’
‘There, my dearest. Try not to cry. Let us try to think clearly … to plan together.’
‘The only plan I can think of is to run away. Perhaps Augustus William will rescue me. He is coming today.’
‘He has been. He came with his father. They have been told and have ridden away.’
‘So we are deserted!’
The door opened and George William stood looking at them. Sophia Dorothea threw her arms about her mother and looked at him fearfully.
‘What nonsense is this?’ he said, advancing to the bed. ‘I have birthday presents for you.’
‘There is only one thing I want,’ cried Sophia Dorothea. ‘Never to have to see George Lewis.’
‘What nonsense have you been filling her head with?’ the Duke demanded of his wife.
‘She has heard rumours of this bridegroom you have chosen for her.’
‘Rumours! What are rumours? Lies … all lies. Now, my child, this is great good fortune. You are going to be the Duchess of Hanover in good time. You will be rich and powerful …’
‘Stop! Stop!’ cried Sophia Dorothea. ‘I cannot bear it.’
‘You stop this screaming,’ commanded her father.
‘Cannot I even weep in my misery?’
‘I will have no more of these histrionics. You, Madam, are responsible. You have filled the girl’s head with absurd stories. Anyone would think I was handing her over to a monster.’
‘He is an evil monster!’ cried Sophia Dorothea. ‘I hate George Lewis. I love Augustus William. Oh, Father, please let me marry Augustus William.’
It was a return to the old wheedling which had always been so successful in the past. He had never been able to resist giving her all the silly little gee-gaws she had coveted. It was only now when she wanted something which was of real importance that she was refused.
Only a changed man could have refused her. But he was changed. So was her mother. Oh, yes, devastating change had come to the castle of Celle that September morning.
‘Let there be an end of this nonsense,’ said George William. ‘I have a gift here from the Duchess Sophia. You should feel honoured. She is a great lady and she has ridden through the night to wish you a happy birthday and bring this present to you. Look. It is magnificent.’
‘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.