Jean Plaidy: The Third George

And although Ida did her best to comfort her, Charlotte could not rid herself of the idea that there was something strange about this good fortune which had been thrust upon her so unexpectedly and the speedy manner in which affairs were being hurried to their climax.

Christina was heartbroken; there was no comforting her. She walked up and down Charlotte's bedroom, her eyes wide with misery. "There's nothing to be done," she said. "No, Charlotte ... I know you would do anything, but there is nothing to be done.”

"Oh, Christina, that it should be due to me!”

"It's not your fault. It has to be. I've had a feeling lately that we were doomed.”

"It's so foolish. Because I am to marry the King of England you may not marry an Englishman!

Why? Why?”

"It's in the contract. No other member of the family must marry into England. They have their reasons.”

"There seems no sense in their reasons.”

"Charlotte, you don't realize what this means. You will be the Queen of England.”

"Why should my sister not be Duchess of Roxburgh?”

"It is in the contract. Our brother has signed it ... eagerly. You can guess why. His sister will be Queen of England. Think of that. He would sacrifice a great deal to bring about that state of affairs, and all he has to sacrifice is me.”

"Oh, Christina, I wish this had not happened.”

"Wished this piece of luck had passed you by? Don't let anyone hear you say that! They will say you are mad. The King of England might hear of it and decide not to marry you after all. Do you want to break our brother's heart... and our mother's? Oh, no, Charlotte, be content with mine.”

What could she say to Christina? If she could have made the sacrifice she would most willingly.

She was afraid when she thought of going to England. The monotonous routine of her days had become precious; she did not want to leave it... for the unknown. But both she and Christina knew that it was not for her to make momentous decisions. When she offered to give up her marriage that Christina might have hers, Christina only laughed with the new bitterness which had crept into her voice.

"Do you want them to marry you by force?" she asked. "Make no mistake, Charlotte. It is not what you want or I want. This is a brilliant marriage. Mecklenburg will be allied with England.

We are of no importance. Don't forget it." No, there was no comforting Christina.

Lord Harcourt had arrived at the schloss. He was a handsome man in his late forties, extremely courteous, and he behaved towards Charlotte as though she were already the Queen of England.

Before his arrival the activity in the schloss had reached a feverish pitch; the Dowager Duchess had gone through her trunks and produced dresses which she had been saving for very special occasions. There could not be a more worthy occasion than this. The gowns were altered to fit little Charlotte and she stood patiently while velvets such as she had never worn before were fitted.

Every jewel in the schloss must be produced to adorn her for the ceremonies which must take place; but her mother had said that as it was her simplicity which had charmed Colonel Graeme she must be as she was and not pretend she lived less simply than was actually the fact.

Therefore when Lord Harcourt arrived she was seated in the schoolroom darning a stocking and his lordship was conducted to her there.

Lord Harcourt bowed low over her hand and told her that he came on his king's most happy business and that his maker was impatient for that business to be concluded and to see his bride in England. She wanted to ask why his master was so impatient. He was after all only twenty-two years of age. Why the need for such haste? But she did no such thing and modestly lowering her eyes remarked that it gave her great pleasure to welcome Lord Harcourt.

"I have a gift from His Majesty with the instructions that I am to put it into no hands but yours.”

She received it with exclamations of pleasure. It was a miniature a picture of a handsome young man with flaxen hair and candid blue eyes set with diamonds.

"It is beautiful," she said. "I beg of you convey my thanks to His Majesty.”

"It is something Your Serene Highness will be able to do yourself," Lord Harcourt told her; then she understood that her days at Strelitz were indeed almost over. The proxy ceremony would take place and she would leave without delay with Lord Harcourt.

"The ... diamonds are so brilliant," she stammered.

"And the picture of His Majesty I see delights you.”

"He is very handsome," she said; and her voice trembled on a note of enquiry, but Lord Harcourt did not understand that she was wondering how such a handsome young king could be so eager to make a homely and insignificant girl his queen.

Christina walked about the schloss like a grey ghost. There was nothing to be done about Christina. The Duke of Roxburgh stayed on in Mecklenburg, hoping, always hoping that something would happen to make his marriage with Christina possible. But Charlotte's brother was eager for her wedding to take place. He summoned her and told her that the proxy marriage would be performed in a few weeks' time and then there would be no reason why her departure should be delayed.

Her departure to a strange land! Charlotte thought about it with mingling dismay and excitement.

It would be like being born again. An entirely new life in a strange country with a husband whom she had never seen. She would have liked to confide in Christina, but how could she talk of marriage to her poor heartbroken sister. If only something would happen to allow Christina to marry. But how could that be unless something happened to stop Charlotte's marriage? Charlotte knew that every day Christina was hoping for the miracle.

And then something did happen. The Grand Duchess's attendants went to her room to rouse her one morning and found her unwell. Before the day was out she was dead. This was bewildering.

Events were happening too fast. Christina had been plunged from the heights of delight to the lowest despair; Charlotte was to leave home and go to a strange husband; and this had all taken place in a few weeks after years of monotonous existence. And now change had come from an unexpected quarter. The mother who had governed their lives was dead, and there could be no talk of weddings for a while.

Charlotte, standing by her mother's coffin, looking down into that autocratic face now so white and still and oddly enough younger than Charlotte had ever known her, was suddenly overcome by a fear of the future. Life was ironic, mocking almost. Here you are fussing about weddings, so I will give you a funeral. How can we know from one moment to another, thought Charlotte, what will become of any of us? One must be strong; one must be prepared.

Throughout the schloss they were saying: "This will delay the wedding. The Princess Charlotte cannot think of marriage so soon after her mother's death.”

New hope was springing up in Christina's eyes. Delay meant hope. Often that which was postponed never took place at all.

The King of England was perplexed. It was less than a year ago when his grandfather, George II, had arisen as usual, taken his dish of chocolate, asked, as he did every morning, which way the wind was blowing, announced his intention of taking a walk in Kensington Gardens, gone into his closet in his dressing room and fallen dead. The old king had been in his seventy-seventh year so his death was not unexpected; all the same George, his grandson, had found the mantle of kingship oppressive.

The shock had not been so great as that he had suffered nine years before at the death of his father. That had been unexpected. Frederick Prince of Wales had seemed a normal healthy man until a blow from a tennis ball had triggered off a series of illnesses and at the age of forty-five he had died leaving his widow, the Princess Augusta, pregnant and already the mother of a large family to support her claims to importance in the country and to make her a formidable figure in the eyes of her father-in-law, King George II. She was the mother of this George who had become Prince of Wales on his father's death; her dear George, her meek and malleable George through whom she intended to govern England, although at this time none was aware of the fact.