The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series) Read Online Free Page A

had been Queen of a Kingdom which quickly rejected her husband and made an exile of her. Sophia had been brought up with a great admiration for England and to hope that she might go there – as a Queen.
    It had not seemed an impossible dream. It was true that her uncle, Charles I, had been in conflict with his Parliament and as a result had lost his head, that Oliver Cromwell had set up a Commonwealth and that the son of Charles I, Prince Charles, was wandering from court to court on the Continent now, waiting and hoping for a chance to regain his kingdom. If ever he did, a bride would be very carefully chosen for him, but, while he was a wandering prince, he was not such a good proposition. That had seemed to be Sophia’s chance.
    He was a charming young man, this cousin of hers – witty, amusing, goodhearted, selfish perhaps – but what Prince was not? – gay and very licentious. She dreamed of him; so did her mother.
    ‘One of my dearest wishes, Sophia,’ her mother had said toher, ‘is to see you Queen of England.’
    ‘But there is no Queen of England,’ Sophia had replied, to which her mother had shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
    ‘Of course there will be a Queen of England. Charles will go back. Make no mistake about that. I believe the people would have him now – they are heartily sick of the Puritans already.’
    So the Queen had had her daughter brought up to speak English fluently; and she learned more about England than any other country; and although she had never seen it, her mother talked of it so intimately when they were together that Sophia saw it … saw Windsor Castle with its ancient walls, and the palace of St. James’s and Whitehall where her uncle Charles the Martyr had been cruelly murdered by Cromwell’s orders.
    Sophia had believed that England was important to her, but Cousin Charles made no effort to court her. One heard constant stories of his amatory exploits, but there was no marriage. He was waiting, said the Queen, until his throne was restored to him; and then what chance would his poor cousin Sophia have to marry him and become the Queen of England?
    So the years passed – and while Charles waited for his throne Sophia waited for a husband. There was the attack of smallpox from which she recovered, but it had left its mark on her, and her beauty was not improved.
    She was beginning to despair of ever marrying, which would mean living at the court of her brother the Elector Palatine where she was not wanted, listening and often forced to take part in the squabbles between him and his wife, the poor relation, the woman whose ambitions had gone sour, who had no fortune – nothing but her pride in her birth and a love for a far-off country which she had never seen and which was becoming a fetish with her.
    Thus Sophia – twenty-eight and desperate – prepared to offer a warm welcome to Duke George William when he came to Heidelberg to propose marriage to her.
    Her maid dressed her for the meeting. It was not a new gown; there was no money for new gowns. Her mother, wandering in exile through Europe, continually suffering poverty, short ofmoney, could not help; nor was her brother the Elector inclined to. She had her home at his court; she must be content with that. ‘Oh, rescue me soon, George William!’ murmured Sophia. And her eyes brightened at the prospect.
    While her maid was dressing her hair she studied her reflection. Her hair was rather pretty, falling in light brown natural curls about her shoulders; when she smiled she was not without charm despite the damage done to her skin by the accursed pox. It was a pity she were not a little taller, but she made up for that by carrying herself well and haughtily – as became a princess with English blood in her veins.
    She hoped George William would be pleased with her. Not that it should make any difference if he were not. This marriage had been arranged and he would have no more choice than she would. She hoped he had