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died.’

‘Where do you hear such wicked scandals?’ demanded the Duchess.

Caroline smiled demurely. ‘From you, Mamma.’

The Duchess made an impatient sound with her lips. ‘Oh, everything here is

so
drab
. So different from England. One must enliven the days if only with memories. I was a person of some account in England, Caroline.’

Caroline regarded her mother quizzically. Was she? Could she ever have

been? Caroline had a picture of her mother, the Princess Royal of England, vainly attempting to meddle in Court politics— ineffectually of course.

Caroline softened towards her mother then and hoped that she would never be

like her. Of course she would not. She would be like her father— a Brunswicker

with a lion in her heart.

‘Mamma,’ she said gently, ‘you were telling me about the Duke of York—’

‘Oh, yes, he is coming here to see us. He is a great soldier, you know, and has

been distinguishing himself on the Continent. He is a year younger than the

Prince of Wales and I have had letters from my brother about him.’

‘That, Mamma, must have made you very happy— to have letters from the

King of England.’

‘Very gratifying. It may well be, Caroline, that His Majesty is sending his son

here for a purpose.’

Caroline nodded. She was on her feet, parading about the room, and turning to

her mother she curtsied. Then she strolled about looking over her shoulder at the Duchess. ‘Will I suit, Sir Duke? Am I worthy to be the consort of a Duke?’ Then

with an English accent: ‘We will see. We will see. I am an English Duke, do not

forget. My brother is the Prince of Wales.’ She pretended to take a quizzing glass from her pocket and held it up continuing to make comments in that voice with

the ridiculous English accent.

Caroline was almost choking with laughter but the Duchess was not amused.

‘Stop it, Caroline. You are most— most— improper.’

But Caroline would not stop. She was carrying on with this ridiculous charade

in a manner which clearly showed her mounting hysteria.

Oh dear,
thought the Duchess.
I cannot manage her. If the Hertzfeldt woman
were here now what would she do?

‘Caroline,’ she said sharply, ‘stop it. If you go on like this, you will never get a man to marry you.’

It was evidently the right thing to have said for Caroline stopped and looked at

her mother, and seizing her opportunity the Duchess went on: ‘You are not so

very young now that you can afford to play these childish games. I think you

should be a little interested in your cousin’s visit.’

Caroline had suddenly seen herself growing old at the Court of Brunswick.

The eccentric Princess Caroline! And she was wise enough to know that those

antics which in the young could be viewed with tolerance and considered

amusing, in the middle-aged would be boring, eccentric and perhaps mad.

She did not want to stay at Brunswick all her life. She wanted to see the

world; and she would never do that if she remained unmarried living always in

her father’s Court.

Her mother was right. She should be interested in the arrival of the Duke of

York.

‘What do you know of him?’ she asked.

‘That he is very handsome and attractive, has distinguished himself on the

field of battle, is amusing, clever und witty.’

‘He sounds like a god rather than a cousin.’

‘I am sure you will think him so,’ said the Duchess triumphantly.

So it was what they wanted,
thought Caroline. They were hoping for a match.

Marriage with the Duke of York. One would go to England, her mother’s country

of which she talked as though it were some
El Dorado
— and yet her mother had not been nearly so happy living there as she had believed herself to be when she

left it. That’s natural enough, thought Caroline, for that’s how life always seems.

Yes, she would like to see England. She would like to see Uncle George, who

had always seemed to be led by the nose by his mother and that lover of hers—

and Aunt Charlotte who was the villainess because her sister-in-law, now

Duchess of Brunswick, had so disliked her.

‘Tell me about them, Mamma,’ she said. ‘Tell me about the King and the

Queen.’

‘It is long since I saw them,’ said the Duchess comfortably, because there was

nothing she enjoyed like a gossip and a gossip of the old days was the best kind.

‘George was really quite handsome— in his way. Fair hair, blue eyes— rather

heavy jaw and kind— very kind. He always wanted to please everyone. He was

very startled when he found himself King of England Grandpapa, of course, was

very old and Papa was dead so George was the next in the line of succession, of

course, but we all thought Grandpapa would go on and on. Then one day he went

into his closet and died instantly. And so George was king and he was exactly

twenty-two— not much older than you.’

‘Was he pleased do you think?’

‘Pleased! He was terrified! He wouldn’t move a step without Mamma and

Lord Bute. Of course there was a real scandal about that affair. They used to call him the Scotch Stallion. The people hated him. They jeered at him when he went

out in his carriage. In fact there was a time when they actually tried to do him a mischief. But Mamma was faithful to him for years—’

Caroline looked slyly at her, mother. Trust the Duchess to explain everything

which a moment before she had suggested it was improper to discuss. One could

wheedle anything out of Mamma, thought Caroline, provided one employed the

right tactics.

‘The Scotch Stallion,’ cried Caroline, suddenly unable to restrain her mirth. ‘I

like that. I like that very much.’

‘My dear Caroline, I beg of you! You should not speak of such things. What

next I wonder.’

‘And what of Queen Charlotte, Mamma? Tell me about her.’

‘A horrid creature. I disliked her on sight. Little and thin— very thin. Such a

flat nose— such a big mouth. Really, she looked like a crocodile. She should have been humble— very humble. To come from a little court like Mecklenburg-Strelitz to marry the King of England.’

‘ ‘It was rather like Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, I expect, was it not, Mamma?’

The Duchess looked cautiously at her daughter. ‘Yes, but smaller,’ she said.

‘Of less consequence. And we soon made her realize this. I reported her actions to my mother, and we soon put her in her place. I remember an occasion when she

did not want to wear her jewels to church and we made her. It was symbolic, you

see. If she had had her way about that, she would have tried to exert her power

over the King in more important ways. Sometimes I wondered whether it

wouldn’t have been better to have let him have Sarah Lennox after all. Oh dear,

he was mad for Sarah Lennox. You would call her a pretty creature. But flighty.

And that has been proved. She left Bunbury, you know. For she married Bunbury

when she knew she could not have George. And there was a child— not her

husband’s. Most scandalous. And that was Sarah Lennox for you. And meanwhile

everyone said Charlotte might be a dull, plain little German
hausfrau
, but she was fertile— oh, very fertile. Fifteen children. Just imagine! No sooner is one

delivered than she is pregnant again. Serve her right. It was all she was fit for.’

‘I should like to have fifteen children. I wonder if I ever shall―’

‘You will have to get married soon to have so many.’ The Duchess laughed

suddenly. ‘There has to be a small breathing space between, you know. Not that

Charlotte asked for much. Or perhaps George wouldn’t let her.’

They laughed together— the Duchess maliciously, Caroline wildly.

‘Thirteen of them left, because they lost Octavius and Alfred. Thirteen out of

fifteen is not a bad score though, is it? Thirteen. Very nice. Seven of them sons.

Oh, yes, Charlotte provided the right proportion. Nine boys there were and two

boys dead makes seven, does it not? Seven husbands for seven Princesses.’

‘So Queen Charlotte was a benefactor to mankind after all,’ commented

Caroline. ‘To royal mankind anyway. Just imagine all the princesses who would

have had to go without husbands if she had not so zealously done her duty.’

Caroline began to laugh; and the Duchess was always disconcerted— as

everyone else was— by that too wild laughter.

‘It is something for you to remember,’ said the Duchess severely, ‘And now

the second son is coming to see us— Frederick, Duke of York! I confess it is a

long time since I was so excited.’

‘How much more excited you would have been, Mamma, if it had been the

first son, the Prince of Wales?’

‘Well, my daughter, we cannot hope for miracles. The Prince of Wales would

never be allowed to leave England. If ever it should come to pass—’

‘You mean if a miracle should come to pass, Mamma?’

The Duchess looked sternly at her daughter. ‘When the Prince of Wales

decides to marry, it will be the King’s envoy who conveys the news to his chosen

bride’s family.’

Again that demure look crossed Caroline’s features. ‘Well, Mamma, I will

endeavour to be duly excited by the proposed visit— but not too excited because

it is only Uncle George’s second son, and he is coming himself. Now if it were

Uncle George’s envoy instead of his son, I should be capering with glee, should I not?’

‘Caroline, sometimes your talk is most improper!’

‘I own it.’ said Caroline. She wanted to add:
It is a trait I have inherited from
my dear Mamma.
But that would be unwise. To let the Duchess know how

indiscreet she was might put a curb on conversations such as this which could

mean that Caroline might become far less knowledgeable about the scandals of

Europe.

The Duchess looked pleased. ‘Remember it,’ she said sternly. ‘And as soon as

the Duke of York arrives you should greet him with charm and— propriety.’

Caroline was thoughtful when she left the Duchess. A possible suitor? This

was clearly what her parents and Madame de Hertzfeldt had in mind. Well, she

would inspect the young man and if she did not like him she would not have him.

Had not her father said that she would never be forced into marriage?

Crossing the courtyard she paused to watch the soldiers on duty. How smart

they looked in their uniforms. She was sure Cousin Frederick of York would not

be half as handsome as the soldier who was now coming towards her.

He saluted.

‘Good day,’ said Caroline in the familiar manner in which she spoke to

everyone.

‘Good day, Your Highness.’

‘It is a good day.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Are you often on duty here, er— ”

‘I am Major von Töbingen at Your Highness’s Service.’

‘At my service, that is nice; and a little reckless Major von Töbingen, for what

if I should
ask
a service of you?’

‘It would be the greatest pleasure of my life to render it.’

What charm! thought Caroline. And he looked so earnest, as though he really

meant it.

‘I shall remember that,’ she told him; and she walked on, but when she had

gone a few paces she paused to look over her shoulder. He was looking after her.

She laughed and ran into the palace.

‘Major von Töbingen,’ she said aloud. ‘A delightful man. I’ll swear he’s far

more handsome than the Duke of York.’

————————

When the Duke arrived Caroline continued to think so. By that time she had

had many conversations with Major von Töbingen. In fact she was beginning to

make plans which included him. She thought what delightful children he would

have that was if they grew up to look and behave as he did.

The Duke of York was a tolerably good looking young man, a little arrogant.

Were all the English arrogant? she wondered. He was light-hearted, gay and ready

for a flirtation with his cousin Caroline, but she suspected that he might not wish it to go beyond that.

She liked him moderately. Perhaps if she did not constantly compare him with

Major von Töbingen she might have considered him as a husband, for after all if

she were going to get her big family, as her mother said, she must not delay too

long.

When he found that she was not prepared to treat him as a potential lover, the

Duke was philosophically resigned, one might say relieved. His cousin Caroline

was not ill-looking; she was bright enough; but she did not appeal to him as a

wife or mistress. He was longing to get back to England; he had been away a long

time but when he thought of Englishwomen they seemed so much more desirable

than any he had met on his travels.

He had clear memory of Mrs. Robinson, the very handsome young actress

with whom his brother, George, had been in love. What a goddess she had

seemed! And he had left England before that affair had come to its conclusion.

He often laughed to think of George in love, for when George fell in love, he

did so wholeheartedly. He remembered how he had accompanied his brother out

into the gardens at Kew to that spot where Essex— who was then Malden— had

brought the beautiful actress, George’s Perdita. And there George and she had

embraced under the trees while he kept watch on one side and Malden and

Perdita’s lady’s maid on the other.

What a creature Mrs. Robinson was! He had not seen anyone to touch her for

beauty since he had left England. And the lady’s maid was a beauty too.