“Marriage,” began the Prince, “is a state which a man in my position must consider at some time, and it would seem to me that time has come. I have had proposals from various sources. One from the King of France.” He paused and glanced sideways at Sir William. Would he have discovered that Louis had offered him a bastard? Sir William gave no sign and the Prince enlightened him no further. “In spite of this,” he went on, “if I decided to marry it would be to England that I should look.”
“I am glad to hear it, Your Highness.”
“Oh, I have not brought you here as a diplomat. I wish to speak to you of this matter as one friend to another.”
Sir William intimated that he was very willing to be a friend to the Prince of Orange.
“I should want a wife who did not give me trouble at home, for I shall be much engaged abroad. Before I married there are certain facts I should want to know about my wife’s character and education. My wife must be a woman who would live well with me and I might not be easy to live with. In fact, certainly those women who live at the various courts today might find it difficult to live with me; the tendencies which displease me are prevalent in the Court of the King of England and that gives me pause for thought.”
“I believe, Your Highness, that the best marriage you could make would be with England.”
“Such a union would please me, but I should need to know those facts I mentioned about my wife.”
“My own wife is a great friend of Lady Frances Villiers who is in charge of the Princess’s household.”
“Then I would ask you as a friend to command her to give me an account of the Princess Mary. If it pleases me well then I should not be averse to this match.”
Sir William said he would dispatch a message to his wife without delay; and he doubted not that she would do her utmost to give the Prince of Orange a true picture of the Princess Mary.
Lady Temple sent glowing accounts of the Princess Mary. She was a charming girl, more beautiful than her sister, skilled in dancing, of good temper, and would almost certainly prove a docile wife; moreover she was young for her fifteen years and could doubtless be molded.
William liked that description. He sent for his good friend Bentinck.
“There is no one else whom I would trust with this mission,” he told him. “I wish you to set out with all speed to London. There it will be necessary to negotiate with the Lord Treasurer, Lord Danby. He is the man. I doubt not that your mission will be successful for I know that you always work tirelessly for my good. I want this marriage with England.”
They discussed each point in favor of such a marriage while they considered the disadvantages.
“Providing the Duke and Duchess of York do not have a son, this could be a most brilliant marriage for Your Highness,” said Bentinck.
“It is a chance we have to take,” was William’s answer. “They have tried and failed before.”
Bentinck agreed that apart from the brilliant prospects of William’s ascending the English throne through his wife, the marriage would still be a good one.
“Holland is fighting a desperate battle for survival,” said William. “The bravery of the Dutch cannot stand out against the power of Louis. Our Spanish allies are unreliable. Bentinck, we need England. The crown … that is a matter for later.” His eyes glowed. “It will come. In the meantime England, standing with us—as the King will do if his niece is Princess of Orange—can save us.”
Bentinck, who knew his friend very well, understood that William had no doubt that one day the English crown would be his. He was a man who believed in predestination and he was certain that he was born to rule not only Holland but England, Scotland, and Ireland.
To be with him was to feel that certainty. Bentinck set off for England with high hopes of success.
Shortly afterward William of Orange received an invitation from Charles to visit England.
THE RELUCTANT BRIDE
The King was smiling across the table at Lord Danby. Poor Danby! he thought lightly. His position is not a happy one.
“In the circumstances, Your Majesty,” Danby was saying, “the Dutch marriage is greatly desirable.”
Charles agreed. “The people hate the war with Holland and marriages are the best guarantees of peace.”
The eyes of the King and his Lord Treasurer met. There were so many secrets which they shared and which it would be advisable, both knew, should never leak out. Danby had helped in those transactions with France which some might consider shameful and which would certainly shock the King’s subjects if they were aware of them; Charles’s secret leanings toward Catholicism, his monstrous promise to Louis, could lose him his throne if they were known. They had much to hide, these two. But the King was nonchalant; he had an infinite belief in his ability to extricate himself from the difficult situations into which he could not resist falling in his continual attempts to provide himself with money which his Parliament would not—and indeed could not—grant him.
Danby, on the other hand, trying hard to appear calm, could not hide his disquiet. His fall could be imminent. In the streets they were singing lampoons about him. He was the most hated man in England. He had not sinned so deeply as his master; but he would be blamed. Charles had only to flash his famous smile—which was merry and sardonic at the same time—on his subjects and they would forgive him his lechery, and his treachery. Such was not the case with Danby. He could not charm them with his unromantic appearance—his lean figure, his pale face, and his obvious ill health. Moreover, he knew that if Charles’s secret dealings with the King of France ever came to light, it would be Danby who would be blamed for them, not Charles.
And now the people were restive largely because they hated war. Charles would show them that he was prepared to put an end to the war and that he was no friend of the King of France because Louis would be furious at a match between Holland and England. Perhaps of late his subjects had begun to suspect Charles favored Catholicism.
“Very well,” said the King. “We will send for Orange. We will show the people that we are anxious for peace with Holland, for can we want to be at war with the husband of our own Princess Mary?”
“Your Majesty,” said Danby, “the Duke of York will not consent to this marriage.”
“You must make him understand the importance of it, Danby.”
“Your Majesty, the Duke of York has not your understanding of affairs. I feel sure he will remind us that you once promised not to dispose of his daughters without his consent.”
Charles was thoughtful. “It is true I made such a promise. But God’s fish, he must consent.”
Danby bowed his head. Consent or not, he thought, the marriage should take place. He, Danby, was rushing headlong to his ruin, as Clarendon had some years before. It was not easy to serve a King such as Charles II, a clever man who was in constant need of money and not too scrupulous as to how he acquired it, a man who was ready to conduct his own foreign policy in such a manner that his Parliament knew nothing about it.
For them both the marriage was a necessity.
Charles’s shrewd eyes met those of his statesman. He knew what Danby was thinking.
“You see the need as I do, Danby,” he said. “So, it shall be done. Tomorrow I leave for Newmarket.…”
James, furious, stormed into his brother’s apartments.
“I see you are speechless,” said Charles, “so I must help you out of your difficulty as I have so many times before by speaking for you. You have doubtless seen Danby.”
“This marriage …”
“Is most desirable.”
“With that Dutchman!”
“A dour young lover I will admit, but our nephew, brother. Forget not that.”