Jean Plaidy - The Princess of Celle

He travelled; he indulged in many a love affair; he had become as romantic a figure as the brother whom he had always tried to copy. He was the darling of his sisters; he had stepped into Carl John’s place at the head of the family. He became witty and gay and when he arrived at Saxony, the Prince Frederick Augustus became his friend and invited him to stay at his court as long as he cared to, for, Frederick Augustus told him, he would always be welcome there.

News came to Saxony of Hanover, and it was then that he heard gossip about the lecherous Ernest Augustus, the rapacious Clara von Platen, the boorish George Lewis and the sadly neglected but very beautiful Sophia Dorothea.

Sophia Dorothea! The dainty little girl he had known was it ten years ago? He had been enchanted with her, and she with him. And now, poor girl, it seemed she was being sadly treated by that uncouth husband of hers. No doubt she was in need of a little comfort. The Count Königsmarck was very capable of supplying comfort to ladies who did not find it in their married lives.

Sophia Dorothea, naturally, would be different from all the others. He knew that before he saw her again.

And when he did he was certain. On that night when he was presented to her and she stood before him in all her dainty femininity, she was the beautiful lady in distress calling on her knight-errant to rescue her.

She could rely on him; he would not fail her.

SOPHIA DOROTHEA HAD dismissed all her attendants with the exception of Eléonore von Knesebeck. The excitement of the last weeks was now tinged with apprehension and she wanted to talk about it.

Eléonore von Knesebeck was sitting on her stool, her hands clasped about her knees, staring ecstatically before her.

‘He was so handsome tonight. He is surely the most handsome man in Hanover.’

‘And like as not he knows it,’ retorted Sophia Dorothea.

‘He would be a fool if he did not, and would you want a fool for a lover?’

‘A lover! Don’t use that word.’ Sophia Dorothea looked over her shoulder. ‘How do we know who listens?’

Eléonore blew with her lips to denote contempt for the suggestion. ‘Everyone in Hanover is too concerned with their own affairs to bother with ours.’

‘I wish I could be sure of that.’

‘And if you were … would you say yes to Königsmarck?’

‘Yes … to what?’

‘Oh, come, Your Highness is coy. He is in love with you … and you …’

‘You talk nonsense,’ said Sophia Dorothea.

‘Why should it be nonsense for you to enjoy your life when others so blatantly do all about you?’

‘I have taken my marriage vows to George Lewis.’

‘And he to you. But he does not remember them, so …’

‘Eléonore von Knesebeck! You forget to whom you speak.’

Eléonore leapt up, knelt at the feet of Sophia Dorothea, took her hand and kissed it. ‘Your Highness,’ she murmured, raising her eyes in mock supplication.

‘Get up and don’t be foolish,’ said Sophia Dorothea with a laugh. They had been children together so how could she be taken seriously if she tried to play the haughty princess now? But Knesebeck did talk too much; and she was afraid. Afraid of herself?

She sat down suddenly and said in a melancholy voice: ‘I have never been happy since my sixteenth birthday.’

Eléonore von Knesebeck nodded.

‘And now?’ she asked.

‘I am still married to George Lewis.’

‘You must enjoy life as he does. You could be happy again. Why not? Should you be expected to shut yourself away … to look on at him and that Schulenburg woman …’

‘Hush.’

‘And why? The handsomest man in Hanover is in love with you. Why should you turn from him for the sake of that …’

‘You will be in trouble one day, Eléonore von Knesebeck, if you do not guard your tongue. I am the Crown Princess of Hanover. I have a son and a daughter. He can have as many mistresses as he likes. They say that is unimportant. But if I took a lover, what a scandal there would be! They would suspect the paternity of a child who might be the heir of Hanover.’

‘You have the heir to Hanover and none can doubt his parentage.’

‘If I took a lover the parentage of all my children would be suspected. They would say, “If she sins now why not before?”’

‘They would not dare.’

‘Are you urging me to take a lover? You are a wicked woman, Knesebeck.’

‘I’m a proud one and I hate to see you treated as you have been. Do you know that since Königsmarck came to Hanover you have been different … younger … more beautiful? I wonder everyone does not notice.’

‘I must not see him. It is too dangerous. I must make him understand that there can be nothing but friendship between us.’

‘You would be denying the truth.’

Sophia Dorothea gave her friend a little push. ‘I understand you. You want to be a go-between, to carry the notes between us, to arrange the clandestine meetings, to live in danger and fear of discovery. You would enjoy that, Knesebeck. You are bored and long for excitement. Well, you are not going to have your excitement over this.’

Eléonore von Knesebeck lowered her eyes but her lips were smiling. She was not so sure.

In his lodgings Königsmarck was thinking of Sophia Dorothea, and he could not resist talking of her to his secretary Hildebrand.

‘How strange it is that she is not appreciated here, Hildebrand. When I see the Crown Prince with that stupid looking girl I wonder whether he is in fact blind. Surely he must be.’

‘He has none of your finer feelings, my lord Count.’

‘And to think that they married her to him. I knew her, Hildebrand, when she was a child … a dainty fairy of a child. I never forgot her.’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Hildebrand, you are looking worried.’

‘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.