‘There would be trouble, my lord. The wife of the Crown Prince …’
‘This is different, Hildebrand. There is more to this than the act of making love.’
He was silent. He wanted to rescue her from her miserable life, make her gay, glad to be alive.
But Hildebrand was right, of course. This was no ordinary love affair to be entered into with a light heart. Carl John had always said that love to be most enjoyed should be a lighthearted affair. ‘Never become too deeply engaged, brother. Savour the joys, not the sorrows of love.’
Carl John was right. Perhaps he should go away.
He was there that night after supper to pay court to her in the great hall. She looked so radiant that surely everyone must notice the change in her; he had seen her before she had seen him, when he had first arrived. Beautiful, graceful but listless. Now the listlessness had disappeared and to the discerning that could be significant. He knew when she lifted her eyes to his that he excited her as she did him.
In such moments he was all for reckless action. He thought of riding away with her far from Hanover. To Saxony? To France? He would not look beyond the first exciting days. And would he have anything to fear from lethargic George Lewis? They were mad dreams. She had her children and when she had spoken of them he had sensed what they meant to her.
It was a foolish dream. Here in the great hall, he knew it. There could only be a clandestine love affair – notes smuggled to the Princess, secret meetings; continual fear of discovery.
They danced together and she had an opportunity of speaking to him.
‘I love you,’ he told her, ‘and would serve you with my life.’
‘I think people watch us,’ she answered.
‘What are we going to do?’
‘You must leave Hanover. Quickly … quickly… .’
She caught her breath as she said that, and he knew how deeply affected she was.
‘I cannot leave you … now.’
‘To stay would mean … disaster.’
‘If you returned a little of the devotion I would offer you I should care nothing for disaster.’
Spoken like a reckless lover! But she smiled sadly.
‘You should go away,’ she reiterated.
‘I could never leave you,’ he answered firmly.
But she shook her head. Then the dance was over and he could not hope for more private conversation.
The feelings they aroused in each other could not be kept under control. Every time she entered the great hall, every time she walked in the gardens, she looked for him. And he was never far away … always seeking the opportunity to be beside her.
Eléonore von Knesebeck told herself it could not be long now. They would be lovers and it was right that Sophia Dorothea should enjoy a little happiness, that she should repay her husband in some small measure for all the pain and indignity he had heaped upon her. Königsmarck’s friends warned caution, but what gallant lover was ever cautious?
To Königsmarck’s friends it was as though fate had decided to step in and save him from disaster when the news of the death of his uncle, Count Otho William, occurred in Italy. The presence of the young Count of Königsmarck was needed there.
He left and tension relaxed.
Without him Sophia Dorothea was desolate yet she was more conscious than any that the danger had passed.
Life was a thousand times more wretched without him. True, there was no fear of what recklessness might possess them both; but how she longed for that fear to return. Without Königsmarck life was dull, dreary and not worth living. Her only hope of happiness was in her children.
She stayed late in bed; she took rides in her carriage and often the children accompanied her. All her pleasure was in them; she read a great deal; she did fine needlework for pleasure and coarser for duty; and after supper she ignored George Lewis and his friends, Clara von Platen and hers, and was surrounded by her own little court, playing cards now and then, or dancing.
To this little court came her brothers-in-law. They had always been fond of her and as they disliked George Lewis, were jealous of him, and were in constant fear that their small inheritances would go to him when their father died, they were his natural enemies. But because he was crude and coarse, because he preferred the flaccid and plump Ermengarda von Schulenburg to the dainty and charming Sophia Dorothea, they disliked him more than ever.
Charles in particular was fond of her and showed her quite clearly that he was on her side. He was charming and gay and even the Duchess Sophia was charmed by him and secretly admitted that he was her favourite son. She was not displeased that he defended Sophia Dorothea; George Lewis was an oaf and she heartily wished that Charles had been the elder.
Charles often came to Sophia Dorothea’s apartments accompanied by one of his brothers and their friends. There they would discuss the gossip of the day and provide some diversion for Sophia Dorothea.
A few months after Königsmarck’s departure Charles came in full of excitement.
‘Such news,’ he cried. ‘A friend of mine and yours has returned to Hanover.’
‘A friend?’ said Sophia Dorothea slowly.
‘Count Königsmarck.’
Sophia Dorothea felt lightheaded; she knew there was a fixed smile on her face.
‘He arrived today. His first question was about you. Were you well? he wanted to know.’
‘It was kind of him.’ Her voice sounded far off, as though it belonged to someone else.
‘He has implored me to present him to you this evening. May I?’
She was silent.
‘Don’t say you have forgotten him?’
‘No … no. I have not forgotten him. Yes, please bring him. I … I shall be pleased to see him.’
Pleased! A strangely mild word to express her feelings. She already felt alive again. The hatred of Hanover; the disillusion of Celle seemed trivial now.
Here was a chance to feel alive again.
Why refuse it? Why should Sophia Dorothea not discover some joy in life?
On invitation from Ernest Augustus George William came to Hanover. The brothers embraced warmly; they both enjoyed their meetings. Ernest Augustus because he could congratulate himself that he, the younger, was in command; George William because he had always had a sentimental attachment to the brother who, in their youth, had adored him. They were happy together because Ernest Augustus was so deeply aware of the change in their relationship and George William either unaware or deliberately blind to it.
Ernest Augustus had arranged that they should be alone, but he thought ruefully to himself that Clara would quickly discover the reason for the encounter. She had her spies everywhere; and he himself was indiscreet where she was concerned. She had a way of worming secrets out of him when he was half asleep. Oh well, a man’s mistress of long standing must necessarily be in his confidence. This happened with the Grand Monarque himself; and as every Prince in Europe modelled himself on the master of Versailles, what could be expected?
‘Well, my dear brother, it does me good to see you.’
‘You grow more energetic with the years, Ernest Augustus.’
‘Oh you, my dear fellow, have found life too easy in your cosy castle. It’s time I prodded you to ambition. I trust your Duchess is well?’
George William’s expression was a little uneasy. ‘She is anxious about our daughter.’
‘You spoilt the child – you and your Duchess between you. A pity you only had the one. She is settling down. Soon we shall hear that there is another little one on the way, I doubt not.’
‘Poor child. I should not want to think that she is unhappy.’
‘She’ll settle, never fear. I have my eye on her. I am very fond of your daughter … my daughter now, George William. What a good thing we made that marriage. And that brings me to the point. We have to stand by the Emperor now and if we do, he will show us proper appreciation.’