I sensed his irritation and that what had to be done was no more agreeable to him than it was to me. What he did was a necessary duty. He despised me and I was in great fear of him.

I kept asking myself, is this how it will be every night? Then I prayed in my foolish childish way that night would never come.

I lay still for a while, bruised, hurting and feeling unclean.

My attendants came in. Elizabeth Villiers and her sister Anne and my dear Anne Trelawny, who looked at me anxiously and compassionately. She put her arms round me and kissed me tenderly.

“I shall be with you in Holland,” she reminded me.

That was like a faint glimmer of pleasure in a dark, dark world.

“You have been crying again, my lady princess,” said Anne Villiers.

Elizabeth looked amused, and I hated her. I wondered if I should ask my father to stop her coming with me. It seemed a trivial matter in the midst of all my misery.

“I will bathe Your Highness’s eyes,” said Elizabeth, practically. “They are rather swollen.”

I was dressed. I did not know whether the Prince would come again. I prayed not. I did not want to see him.

A visitor did arrive. It was William Bentinck, and the sight of the man set me shivering, for I knew he was the most favored of my husband’s attendants and that there was a very close friendship between them. I gathered that there must be something very unusual about this man, for the Prince was not one to show affection for the people around him — and he undoubtedly did show some regard for this man.

Bentinck said: “I come from His Highness the Prince of Orange. He has asked me to bring this to you.”

With that he bowed and put a casket into my hands and, with the air of a man who has completed a mission, he begged leave to retire, bowed deeply and was gone.

I was left holding the casket. Elizabeth was staring at it with curiosity.

“Is Your Highness going to see what it contains?” she asked.

The two Annes showed a curiosity to match Elizabeth’s, yet I stared at the casket with repulsion, as though I expected venomous snakes to emerge, because it came from him, that man who struck fear into me such as I had never known before, who in a few weeks had ruined my happy and peaceful existence.

Trembling, I opened the casket. Therein lay several jewels, among them a pendant of rubies and diamonds on a golden chain.

Elizabeth held her breath in admiration.

“They are beautiful!” cried her sister.

“You must try on the pendant,” said Anne Trelawny.

“It is the custom to send jewels on the morning after the wedding,” said Elizabeth.

I felt the cold jewel on my neck as Anne fastened the chain. I was thinking, I shall never be able to forget. And this is only the beginning.

“Is it not beautiful?” cried Elizabeth. “Think what it costs!” Her eyes squinted. I thought, she is envying me. Oh, if only she were in my place and I in hers!

I said: “Take it off and put it back in the casket.”

They looked surprised, all of them. Even Anne Trelawny did not understand. They were all overwhelmed by the beauty and costliness of the jewels.

I saw him briefly the next day. He hardly looked at me. I think that night of horror had not pleased him either. My hopes rose at the thought that perhaps it would not be repeated.

The day was taken up with receiving deputations and congratulations. It seemed that everyone was pleased about the wedding except my father and stepmother and, of course, the married pair.

That night I lay in my marriage bed and waited. For a long time I lay there, listening for his footsteps. Once I dozed and awoke with a start. It was well into the night before I could believe, with an overwhelming joy, that he was not coming to me.


* * *

I WAS AT ST. JAMES’S, our dear home. It was some days since I had seen my sister Anne. She had been too ill to be visited, they said. She must rest. I wanted to talk to her and I was sure, however ill she was, she would want to see me.

My ladies were all talking about the Prince of Orange. I knew they thought he was very strange. They were saying that there was nothing of the ardent lover about him. He did not spend any time alone with me and when it was necessary for us to be together, he hardly looked at me; he never seemed to show the least sign of affection for me.

He was eager for all ceremonies to be over. I expected he was as bored with the continual congratulations as I was, but I felt that if he kept away from me it was the best thing that could be hoped for in a situation which would have been more intolerable if it were the reverse.

Two days after the wedding Mary Beatrice’s baby was born.

My father came to see me and I could see at once that he was very pleased, though he embraced me with an expression of mingled anxiety, commiseration, understanding and self-reproach for what had been done to me, and tenderness. I wanted to tell him of my miseries and let him know that I was aware that what had come about was due to no fault of his.

“My dear,” he said, “I have come to tell you that I have a son.”

My first thought was: how cruel that it should be now instead of a week before when he might not have married me.

“A son,” he repeated. “Yes, a son.”

“And the Duchess?”

“She is well and overjoyed, of course.”

“And the child?”

“He will survive.”

“Dear Father . . .”

“Dearest daughter, if only . . .”

It was no use talking of it, but it was comforting to know that he understood.

“The Prince, your husband, will not be pleased,” he said.

I shook my head. “He should have been born before . . .” I did not finish, and my father took me into his arms and held me against him.

I said I wanted to see the Duchess and he told me she was very tired just now, but soon she would be receiving visitors and I should be the first.

When he had left me, I felt a certain pleasure because my husband would be cheated of his hopes. He had married me because there was a fair chance that one day I should inherit the throne. In spite of his love of his country, which was the most stable Protestant state in Europe, he longed for the crown of England, and to obtain it he was ready to marry the girl whom he despised and now he was saddled with her and his hopes of the crown were fading fast. It was his just desert.

I wanted to see my sister, but they continued to say she must not be disturbed. I could not bear to be parted from her any longer. I decided I would insist on seeing her.

When I went to her apartments, Dr. Lake appeared, as he had before.

I said firmly: “I have come to see my sister.”

“Pardon me, Your Highness, but you cannot do that. The Lady Anne is very ill and it is the Duke’s order that you shall not visit her.”

“Are you saying that my father has given orders that I shall not see her?”

“That is indeed so. Your Highness, I have to tell you that the Lady Anne is suffering from smallpox and your father is anxious that you shall run no risk of being infected.”

“Oh no ... no,” I cried. “And ... er ... Lady Frances?”

“Lady Frances is also suffering from the same, Your Highness.”

I was horrified, but I said: “I want to see my sister.”

“That is not possible,” replied Dr. Lake. “The Duke’s orders were very firm on that point.”

I knew that this was another example of my father’s love and care for me.

He had his son now, his little heir to the throne, but I believed he loved his daughters as he could never love any other of his children. And one was stricken with the dreaded disease which was very often fatal and he was going to lose the other to a man for whom he could not care.


* * *

MY MISERY on account of my own desperate situation was overshadowed by my fear for my sister. I shuddered to think of her suffering from that affliction from which few survived, and if they did escape there was often a lifelong reminder in those ugly pockmarks which marred the complexion. The Prince of Orange had such marks on his face.

I had seen very little of him since the wedding night. I fancied he must have felt as ashamed as I did. He was only doing his duty, of course. That was how he would see it. How different he was from the King and his courtiers, who sinned so joyously! There was no joy in my husband.

He came to St. James’s and I was in a panic when Elizabeth Villiers told me he was on his way to see me. She hovered very respectfully in the background. When he entered, she curtsied and lowered her eyes. His gaze lingered on her for a few seconds before he turned to me.

There was no love in his eyes; there was nothing but that coldness. I believed he was already deeply regretting the marriage, the importance of which had been so greatly lessened.

He said: “Prepare to leave for Whitehall at once.”

Leave my sister! I would not do it. I felt stubborn and angry. I loved my sister deeply. I knew I should have to go very soon, leaving all that I loved and cared for, but until that moment I would not leave the place where she was. Suppose she called for me? I had to be there.

I heard myself say, “No!” in a voice which surprised me by its firmness.

He stared at me incredulously. He had told me what I should do and I had refused without preamble. I could see that he was convincing himself that he had not heard right.

He said: “You will leave at once.”