bastard or not – would inherit all this wealth which could be put to good use in Wolfenbüttel. Moreover, it wasalways advantageous when principalities were joined, and even the estates which remained George William’s allied with theirs would make one very powerful unit.
The table talk was elegant and although the German dishes were served there were others – rather mysterious but far more pleasant to look at than sauerkraut and smoked sausages and the usual red cabbage, ginger and onions. There was wine – French wines too – as well as the cloudy beer they drank so much in Germany.
And after the banquet there was a theatrical performance in which the Lady and her sister took parts – as did the enchanting little Sophia Dorothea. A precocious child, Anton Ulrich noted, as children were apt to be who were very certain that they were doted on.
‘An excellent entertainment,’ he said. ‘Why, cousin, you’re a regular little King in this court here in Celle.’
‘It’s a good life,’ admitted George William, ‘and I ask no other.’
When Anton Ulrich found himself alone with George William and Eléonore he came to the point of his visit.
‘Your daughter is a child as yet but you will wish her to marry early. I thought we might consider the advantages of a match between our children.’
‘Augustus Frederick is ten years older than Sophia Dorothea,’ pointed out Eléonore.
‘A mere nothing, my dear cousin. She is bright and intelligent beyond her years. She will be ready for early marriage.’
‘You suggest that we should examine the advantages,’ went on Eléonore. ‘There is no harm in doing that.’
Anton Ulrich glanced at George William. Did he then allow his wife to manage his affairs? It seemed that he did for he was nodding his assent to all that Eléonore said.
‘It would please me very much to see a marriage between our houses. Your daughter would acquire rank and I’ll be perfectly frank, cousin, I doubt not that she would bring with her a good dowry.’
‘All that we have will be hers one day,’ admitted George William solemnly.
‘Well then, let us consider these matters.’
As they talked a flush appeared beneath Eléonore’s smooth skin. This could mean only one thing. Duke Anton Ulrich did not regard Sophia Dorothea as illegitimate, for by the German law a prince of a sovereign family could only marry a princess or a countess.
Did this mean that this was how Sophia Dorothea was regarded throughout Germany? Did it mean that the morganatic marriage was regarded as a true one?
It was too much to hope for. Anton Ulrich needed the wealth Sophia Dorothea would bring. But the betrothal must be accepted, Eléonore decided; and it must be soon, for the future of Sophia Dorothea depended on it.
When they were alone in their bedchamber she spoke to George William about the importance of this.
‘I believe,’ she said, ‘that Anton Ulrich expects us to do something about having our daughter legitimized. Augustus Frederick could not marry her unless she were. I fancy he was telling us that by the time she is marriageable this must be done.’
‘If only I had not been such a fool …’ sighed George William, sitting on the bed and staring at the tips of his boots.
Eléonore sat beside him and slipped her arm through his. How often had she heard him say those words! He meant them sincerely; but this situation demanded more than words.
‘There is one who, would he but give his word, could make it possible for us to marry.’
‘You mean …’
‘Your brother Ernest Augustus.’
‘But …’
‘We would take nothing from him. We might even pay for his consent. That should attract him. If he would release you from your promise not to marry, that is all we would ask – and if he did release you, then nothing would stand in our way. We could marry, Sophia Dorothea would be legitimized … and that is all we would ask.’
‘You think he would?’
‘Not easily. He would
The table talk was elegant and although the German dishes were served there were others – rather mysterious but far more pleasant to look at than sauerkraut and smoked sausages and the usual red cabbage, ginger and onions. There was wine – French wines too – as well as the cloudy beer they drank so much in Germany.
And after the banquet there was a theatrical performance in which the Lady and her sister took parts – as did the enchanting little Sophia Dorothea. A precocious child, Anton Ulrich noted, as children were apt to be who were very certain that they were doted on.
‘An excellent entertainment,’ he said. ‘Why, cousin, you’re a regular little King in this court here in Celle.’
‘It’s a good life,’ admitted George William, ‘and I ask no other.’
When Anton Ulrich found himself alone with George William and Eléonore he came to the point of his visit.
‘Your daughter is a child as yet but you will wish her to marry early. I thought we might consider the advantages of a match between our children.’
‘Augustus Frederick is ten years older than Sophia Dorothea,’ pointed out Eléonore.
‘A mere nothing, my dear cousin. She is bright and intelligent beyond her years. She will be ready for early marriage.’
‘You suggest that we should examine the advantages,’ went on Eléonore. ‘There is no harm in doing that.’
Anton Ulrich glanced at George William. Did he then allow his wife to manage his affairs? It seemed that he did for he was nodding his assent to all that Eléonore said.
‘It would please me very much to see a marriage between our houses. Your daughter would acquire rank and I’ll be perfectly frank, cousin, I doubt not that she would bring with her a good dowry.’
‘All that we have will be hers one day,’ admitted George William solemnly.
‘Well then, let us consider these matters.’
As they talked a flush appeared beneath Eléonore’s smooth skin. This could mean only one thing. Duke Anton Ulrich did not regard Sophia Dorothea as illegitimate, for by the German law a prince of a sovereign family could only marry a princess or a countess.
Did this mean that this was how Sophia Dorothea was regarded throughout Germany? Did it mean that the morganatic marriage was regarded as a true one?
It was too much to hope for. Anton Ulrich needed the wealth Sophia Dorothea would bring. But the betrothal must be accepted, Eléonore decided; and it must be soon, for the future of Sophia Dorothea depended on it.
When they were alone in their bedchamber she spoke to George William about the importance of this.
‘I believe,’ she said, ‘that Anton Ulrich expects us to do something about having our daughter legitimized. Augustus Frederick could not marry her unless she were. I fancy he was telling us that by the time she is marriageable this must be done.’
‘If only I had not been such a fool …’ sighed George William, sitting on the bed and staring at the tips of his boots.
Eléonore sat beside him and slipped her arm through his. How often had she heard him say those words! He meant them sincerely; but this situation demanded more than words.
‘There is one who, would he but give his word, could make it possible for us to marry.’
‘You mean …’
‘Your brother Ernest Augustus.’
‘But …’
‘We would take nothing from him. We might even pay for his consent. That should attract him. If he would release you from your promise not to marry, that is all we would ask – and if he did release you, then nothing would stand in our way. We could marry, Sophia Dorothea would be legitimized … and that is all we would ask.’
‘You think he would?’
‘Not easily. He would
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