No reason at all, agreed Bernstorff, rubbing his hands together and smiling at his master as though by so doing he could delude him into believing that they had come well out of the matter.

When Eléonore heard the terms of the marriage settlement she was astounded.

‘It seems to me,’ she told George William, ‘that you are bewitched.’

‘Nonsense,’ retorted George William. ‘You have worked yourself into such a passion over this marriage that you condemn every part of it.’

‘You give away one hundred thousand thalers and all she will have if she becomes a widow is twelve!’

‘She will always live in accordance with her rank, naturally.’

‘In accordance with her rank!’ repeated Eléonore bitterly. ‘He has a mistress at Hanover. At least she should be dismissed from Hanover before Sophia Dorothea enters the palace there.’

George William was silent.

‘Well?’ said Eléonore. ‘Do you agree with me?’

‘Naturally he will not need a mistress now that he has a wife.’

‘Your brother has a wife but that does not prevent his having many mistresses, headed by that Platen woman.’

‘My dear, you are becoming hysterical.’

Eléonore stamped her foot. ‘I insist that Marie von dem Bussche be dismissed from Hanover before my daughter arrives there.’

‘I will mention the matter,’ said George William.

‘I will be present when you do, to add my voice to yours,’ she replied firmly.

The Duchess Sophia emitted a harsh laugh. ‘My dear Duchess,’ she said, ‘this woman is of no importance.’

‘She is George Lewis’s mistress and has succeeded in making a scandal of her name.’

‘You have odd ideas,’ replied Sophia. ‘Men will have their mistresses. As long as their wives lose nothing by it, what matter?’

‘How could their wives fail to lose love … companionship?’

‘Such strange fancies! As you know the Duke of Hanover has his mistresses but I never allow them to interfere with me.’

‘My daughter has been brought up to respect the sanctity of marriage.’

‘A strange upbringing indeed! Why, as long as she sees enough of her husband to get herself children, what complaint could she have? She should be pleased rather that there are some who can amuse him from time to time. It will give her a little respite.’

‘You have cynical ideas of marriage.’

‘Worldly ones if you like. Perhaps at Hanover we are more worldly than you are at Celle. But I assure you that your daughter will have nothing to fear from her husband’s mistresses.’

‘She has not yet signed the marriage agreement, nor given her written consent to the marriage. I have accepted much so far, but I shall stand against this. She shall not go to Hanover as George Lewis’s wife while he keeps a mistress there.’

‘I think you are a little … unreasonable.’

‘There are many matters on which we do not agree,’ replied Eléonore.

What a tiresome woman she was! said Sophia to Platen and Bernstorff. There they were with everything agreed upon and now Madame Eléonore was making difficulties over Marie von dem Bussche.

Ernest Augustus said: ‘Well, it is understandable. She is a fine woman and I admire the manner in which she is facing this. As for the girl … she’s pretty and should be enough for George Lewis until she is with child. I think we should concede this request.’

Bernstorff added that the Duchess of Celle had spent a long time arguing with her husband on this point and that George William from sheer habit, was turning to her way of thinking.

‘Perhaps,’ suggested Bernstorff, ‘it would be wise to give way on this point.’

‘George Lewis will be furious if we do,’ put in Platen.

‘I think,’ said Ernest Augustus, ‘that George Lewis’s wishes must be ignored in this instance. If we give way, and we had better, for if we do not the Duchess may start working on her husband’s resistance, then it will seem that we have granted a great concession. We shall say that we are ready to grant any reasonable request. Moreover I agree that George Lewis should not expect his wife to accept a mistress at this time. Mistresses will be for later. At the moment he must content himself with his wife.’

‘Then,’ said Bernstorff, ‘let us give way to the Duchess’s request and the papers can go forward for signature without delay.’

So, while George Lewis fumed in his apartment against the silly little girl he must take in place of his voluptuous Marie, Sophia Dorothea was writing the letter which, now that her mother had achieved the dismissal of the bridegroom’s mistress, could be put off no longer.

It was addressed to the Duchess Sophia of Hanover and ran:

Madam,

I have so much respect for my lord the Duke your husband, and for my lord my own father, that in whatever manner they may act on my behalf I shall always be very content. Your Highness will do me, I know, the justice to believe that no one can be more sensible than I am of the many marks of your goodness. I will carefully endeavour all my life to deserve the same, and to make it evident to Your Highness by my respect and very humble service that you could not choose as a daughter one who knew better than myself how to pay to you what is due. In which duty I shall feel very great pleasure, and also in showing you by submission that I am,

Madam,

Your Highness’s very humble and Obedient servant

Sophia Dorothea

From Celle, October 21st, 1682.’

‘It is false, so false!’ cried Sophia Dorothea; but she had written and signed it.

It was taken from her and delivered; and after that there was no need to delay further. Plans for the wedding went on with all possible speed.

All through the day the trumpeter on the tower was announcing the arrival of important guests. The townsfolk ran from their houses or leaned from their windows to watch the carriages rattle by. Every distinguished family was coming to the wedding, the notable exception being the Wolfenbüttels.

In the castle there was dancing and feasting and the gaiety contrasted with the misty dampness outside. Sophia Dorothea spent a long time sitting in her apartments alone, looking out at the trees and the grey water of the moat. She kept reminding herself that there was little time left; the day was fast approaching when this dear castle would no longer be her home. Instead of a castle she would live in the Alte Palais at Hanover where everything would be different; her mother, now quiet and reconciled, had tried to learn what she could of life at the court of Hanover so that her daughter might be prepared. ‘Keep your dignity. Remember you are a Princess and none will dare treat you with anything but respect. Perhaps you will learn to be fond of your husband.’ Sophia Dorothea had nodded because she could not bear to grieve her mother by letting her know the full extent of her wretchedness. They were both acting for each other; and Sophia Dorothea knew that in the last weeks she had been sharply jolted out of childhood forever.

Eléonore von Knesebeck was with her – a great comfort, for there was one friend from whom she would not be parted. The little Knesebeck was fiercely determined to fight her mistress’s battles.

One must begin to count the advantages. ‘I shall be the wife of the heir to Hanover,’ Sophia Dorothea told herself. ‘I shall not be far from home. The Duke smiles at me kindly. I think he will be my friend.’

It was only thus that she could live through the days.

They had made her the most beautiful gown she had ever possessed; jewels were brought for her selection. She looked over them with her mother and they pretended to be interested.

If we do not pretend, thought Sophia Dorothea, we should be tempted to go out to the moat or the river and lie down there together while the waters made a covering over our heads.

Those were thoughts which brought a queer sort of comfort; but one knew all the time in one’s heart that one would never reach that point. Life was there – and one kept a hold of it, desperately clinging to it, whatever happened.

The 21st November – two months since that nightmare day when everything had changed in the castle of Celle – was her wedding day.

The bells were ringing out; the streets of the town were decorated and the sounds of laughter and music filled the castle; but the laughter was not that of the bride or the bridegroom.

In his apartments the bridegroom sullenly kicked at a stool thinking of Marie whom these people had insisted on his giving up. How dared they presume to rule him! He would show them and their precious Sophia Dorothea that they could not do that for long. Marriage – a painful necessity. Oh well, he would get her with child quickly and his duty would be done.

In her apartments Sophia Dorothea was dressed in her wedding gown – a beautiful figure sparkling with jewels which were gifts from her father and the uncle who would soon be her father-in-law. But as she looked at her scintillating reflection she saw only her woebegone face. The candles were still burning although it was morning, so dark was that day and at least the weather was in tune with her mood.

She wanted to hold back time, to say: Now I am in Celle. Now I am merely the Princess Sophia Dorothea. Something will happen and this dreadful thing will not come to pass after all.

But the hours slipped by and no miracle came to Celle that morning.

Into the chapel she went just as the first rumble of thunder was heard in the distance and the rain began to hit the castle walls, and there was gloom outside and gloom in the hearts of the bride and her mother.

Sophia Dorothea looked at Eléonore, calm, restrained yet tragic. Their eyes met and her mother smiled as though she were saying: ‘I shall always love you, darling. You will always be the dearest in my life; and we shall never be far apart. You are marrying this man, but his home is only twenty miles from Celle. Remember that.’ ‘Oh, Maman, Maman,’ whispered Sophia Dorothea to herself, ‘I will remember. It is all I want to think of now.’