She was pleased when it was over and she could escape.
William was pleased too. She had perhaps been brought up to be too frivolous, but that was something he would soon remedy.
She was not without beauty; she was young, very young, and he believed that he could mold her into the wife he wanted.
James and Charles were well aware of the impression Mary had made on her cousin. William was eager for the marriage, and Charles delivered his ultimatum: Peace terms agreed on first and after that the marriage should be discussed.
William had betrayed his desire for the marriage and his uncles might use his eagerness to their own good and the detriment of Holland. That must never be. The marriage contract must be settled first so that he might not be forced into accepting disadvantageous terms in order to secure it.
William now stood firm. The contract must be completed before the peace terms were discussed.
James was angry; Danby was terrified; and Charles lifted his shoulders in a significant gesture. Orange was not the most charming of men; tact was a quality which had not been bestowed upon him; but, God’s fish, the marriage was important. Charles was never a man to cling to his dignity when he found it expedient to dispense with it.
“Our lover shall have his bride,” he declared. “It shall be as he wishes. Wedding first; business after.” He turned to his brother and momentarily his eyes were sad. “Now, James,” he went on, “there can be no further delay in breaking the news to Mary. You’re the man to do that.”
Mary started at her father. She could not believe she was hearing him correctly.
Marriage! But she did not want marriage. All she wanted was to go on as she was now. Marriage was something she had never considered seriously because she found the subject distasteful. Married people were rarely happy. She knew how her uncle the King deceived the Queen again and again and she was aware of the Queen’s unhappiness. She remembered the quarrels between her father and her mother; and even now that he was married to the beautiful Mary Beatrice he was not faithful to her. Mary Beatrice wept often because she was so hurt by his infidelities.
And now it was her turn! And the husband they had chosen for her was that little man, her cousin William, who looked as though he had never learned how to laugh. If she had to marry he was the last husband she would want.
“So you see, my dearest,” James was saying, “you are no longer a child and it is time you married.”
“I do not wish to marry.”
“That is often the case, but when you are married you will be content.”
“I never shall. I never shall.”
“Now, Mary.”
She turned away from him for the tears were already on her cheeks.
“Please, Mary, you must be sensible. This is difficult I know. You have had such a happy time and perhaps some would say have been a little spoilt … but now you must realize your duty. You see, my dear, you are in a position of great importance …”
She was not listening. Marry Orange. Go to bed with Orange. It was shocking. It was distasteful. She hated it.
Then another thought struck her. He did not live in England. He had a kingdom over the seas. So she would not only have to endure him, but she would leave home. Leave her dearest Frances … Frances, her true husband! She would leave Anne, her sister, from whom she had never been separated in the whole of her life. How could she be happy without Anne to scold, to laugh at, to play with. She could not endure it; she would not endure it.
She flung herself at her father and began to sob wildly.
“Father, do not make me leave home. Do not make me marry. Let me stay at home. I cannot bear to go away.”
James stroked her hair and tried to comfort her.
“Oh, my dearest, alas that this should be.”
The Princess Mary was inconsolable.
The Queen came to her to try to comfort her, but Mary would not be comforted.
“It happens to us all, my dear,” said Catherine. “I came to England to marry the King.”
“The King is not like Orange.”
Catherine had to admit that. Charles was the most charming man in the world and she loved him dearly; in spite of his constant infidelities she considered him a good husband for he never spoke an unkind word to her and all she had to suffer was his neglect and the pain which his preference for other women gave her.
“You will feel better later,” Catherine assured her. “It is the first shock.”
Her stepmother, heavily pregnant, also tried to reassure her.
“When I came here I was your age. I hated your father and now I love him dearly.”
“But this is Orange,” persisted Mary. “He is not like my father.”
“Yet you will come to love him. You must because he will be your husband.”
They could not understand. It was not only that they had given her this most unattractive man; it was the contemplation of marriage itself.
Her sister Anne was moved out of her usual placidity.
She came running to her sister, her face puckered in distress.
“Mary, they are saying that you will go away.”
The sisters clung together.
“But you cannot, you cannot. How can we be parted?”
“They will send me to Holland … with William, Anne.”
“It will never be the same again.”
“They say that nothing ever stays the same forever.”
“But you are my sister and we have always been together … we always should be.”
They could only cling together, weeping in their despair.
That day Mary wrote to Frances. She must find some means of coming to her, for she was so desolate that she thought her heart was breaking. She must talk of her trouble, for the most distressing calamity was about to fall upon her.
The King sent for his niece. Lady Frances Villiers was anxious because Mary was in no condition for such an occasion; hours of weeping had made her eyes red and swollen.
She was dazed as she was helped to dress. Elizabeth Villiers watched her in silence. What a child she was! thought Elizabeth. Hadn’t she considered that a girl in her position would be forced into marriage at an early age, and that all these matters were arranged for such as she was. Those like Elizabeth had to look out for themselves. How different she would have felt if a brilliant marriage were being arranged for her! Mary had always been a simpleton.
“My dear lady Mary,” mourned Lady Frances, “you look so wretched.”
Mary’s lower lip trembled and for a moment it seemed as though she would burst into further tears. “I am … wretched,” she stammered.
“You must not look like that or the King will be displeased.”
“I don’t think he will. I think he will understand.”
“Come,” said Lady Frances catching at a stool to steady herself, for her limbs felt as though they did not belong to her today. “You must not keep His Majesty waiting.”
Listlessly, Mary allowed herself to be conducted through the corridors of Whitehall to the royal closet. Those who accompanied her, Elizabeth Villiers among them, waited outside.
When Charles came into the closet his smile was kind.
“Why,” he said, “this is an important occasion for my little niece. But I no longer regard you as my niece, Mary my dear. From now on you are my daughter.”
Mary knew that she should have expressed gratitude for these gracious sentiments but when she opened her mouth to speak, her sobs prevented her.
Charles patted her shoulder, as the door of the closet was thrown open and William was brought in.
“Ah, nephew, you are indeed welcome,” said the King. “Now it is not good for man to live alone, so the Scriptures tell us, and even kings should not argue with them. Therefore I have a helpmate for you.”