She shuddered even now to recall the storm that arose when it was discovered that she had married. She had brought about a coolness between England and Prussia because she had jilted a son of the King of England; she had married unsuitably and behaved in a manner which could only bring discredit to herself and the family.

She did not want to think of the years that had followed when she learned slowly and bitterly what a fool she had been. Being banished from the Court meant that she had lost Louise, and Frederick William was soon showing himself for what he was – a bully even capable of physical violence towards her. What unhappiness for herself and for Louise! And of course there was the war. Nowhere was safe from Napoleon’s troops; and soon she was pregnant and her daughter was born. She called the child Louise – which seemed some consolation.

She could not bear to think of that time, although there was reconciliation and she and Louise were allowed to be together again. But the disaster of war threatened continually and when peace came Louise was about to bear her tenth child; and soon after that …

No, she would not think of it. It was over. She now had Ernest and although they had lost their first child there would be others.

She had sat by Louise’s bed; she was the one who was with her to the end. She could feel the pain in her heart now. ‘Louise, Louise, we were to have been together for the rest of our lives. And now you are leaving me.’

But Louise had gone and she had been alone in a world of hostility, dominated by a husband whom she had come to hate; but she was not the woman to sit down and cry over her troubles. Instead she snapped her fingers at Fate and sought a way out of them. She had lost Louise, the one she loved best in the world, and she was left with a husband whom she had grown to hate. She took one lover, two lovers. Her reputation was becoming tarnished – even worse, for there were many who remembered what had happened to her first husband; but she did not care.

And then she met Ernest.

What was there to attract her so strongly in the brother of that Adolphus whom she had so shamelessly jilted? He was scarcely handsome – at least he was not to others; but to her there was something completely fascinating in his somewhat sinister face. He had lost an eye at the battle of Tournay and his expression was sardonic. One could believe the stories that were told of him. His reputation matched her own. He was said to have murdered his valet who discovering his master in bed with his wife had attacked him with the Duke’s own sword. Ernest’s retaliation – so it was said – was to cut the valet’s throat. Was Ernest a murderer? It was a question which was constantly asked.

It was said of Ernest that there was no vice which he had not practised and looking at him one could believe this. He had lived as dangerously as she had herself; she was immediately attracted by him and he by her. They were of a kind – different from other people. They took what they wanted from life and were prepared to pay for it.

A new excitement had come into her life such as no man had ever given her before. It was inevitable that they should become lovers. Inevitable too that the Prince of Solms-Braunfels should discover this. How indignant unfaithful husbands could be when they learned that their wives were playing the same game! This amused her; she laughed at him.

‘I will divorce you,’ he had cried.

‘Nothing would please me more,’ she retorted.

‘Do you realize you will be an outcast in Europe?’

‘I realize that I shall be free of you, which gives me so much pleasure that I can think of nothing else.’

In a fury he set divorce proceedings in motion; he produced evidence of her adultery; she did not deny it and the divorce was granted.

Immediately afterwards he died … mysteriously.

She laughed now remembering the storm. To have one husband who had died of an unidentifiable fever was scandalous enough, but when a second did the same, then conjecture must become a certainty.

‘How strange that he should die at that time,’ it was said.

‘Of course she had her divorce but it would have been awkward having him alive if she planned to marry again. Did she arrange for him to die?’

‘Did I?’ she asked of Ernest. ‘You were suspected of murder once, my love. From the moment I met you I wanted to share our experiences. I had to be your equal, you know.’

He was amused. He did not ask her if she had murdered her husbands; she did not ask him if he had murdered his valet. Each liked the aura of mystery which surrounded the other. They knew that they were two strong-minded people, that they were capable of murder. That was all they wished to know.

They delighted in each other. The passion between them was unquenchable.

‘I always meant to marry you,’ she told him. ‘I was determined on that.’

‘Not more determined than I.’

Her delight in the death of her husband, her pleasure in her approaching nuptials with Ernest set the gossips talking. It was said that there was only one other with a reputation evil enough to be compared with that of the Duke of Cumberland and that was his future wife, Frederica, recently Princess of Solms-Braunfels.

Shortly after the divorce Frederica gave birth to a son, Frederick William; he was reputed to be the child of the Prince of Solms-Braunfels but that, said rumour, was a matter of which only Frederica could be sure.

She laughed now thinking of Queen Charlotte’s welcoming her into the English royal family. Charlotte had always wanted to get one of her nieces married to one of her sons. She was not aware, at first, of the shocking history of Frederica though she did know that she had been widowed twice; but since the lady’s birth was acceptable so was she.

It was only natural that the old Queen should want detailed reports of her prospective daughter-in-law, and when Charlotte’s envoys returned to her with these what a different picture she was presented with! Frederica had been giddy in her manners and light in her morals before the death of her first husband … somewhat mysteriously. And then she had not been faithful to the second husband who had divorced her for immorality and then had died … also mysteriously.

Frederica could imagine how her Aunt Charlotte would have received the news. She would not have raged and stormed; it was not in her nature to do that. Her anger would have shown itself in the tight lips and the cold snake-like eyes. Poor old Charlotte, thought Frederica almost indulgently, she came to power too late not to want to enjoy every minute of it.

Frederica might be a niece of hers but she was not the kind of woman she would choose for one of her sons and Charlotte wished to make it clear that the marriage would not have her approval.

Ernest laughed. His mother was far away; and nothing was going to stop his marrying Frederica. They had had a brilliant wedding in Strelitz, her father, old Charlotte’s brother, gave her away, and for the first time in her life she had been happy – happy with Ernest of the evil reputation, who looked as though he were capable of anything for not only had he lost an eye but his face had been badly scarred in battle which added a malevolent touch to his features. His appearance gave credence to that rumour that he was capable of all and every vice.

We are a pair, she thought.

But how interesting he was! His mind was sharp and probing; he was the most intelligent man she had ever met; she admired him as she could admire no one else; and he was the only person in the world who could make up to her for the loss of Louise.

She was happy. She could say: To hell with Queen Charlotte. To hell with the world – while I have Ernest.

He had taken her to England soon after the marriage. He wanted to make sure of the allowance which Parliament granted to the sons of the King when they married, and that the Queen did not poison the Regent’s mind against Frederica. The Regent was charming to her, but the Queen refused to see her; and the Parliament refused to increase Ernest’s allowance. Frederica had created trouble in the royal family because while the Regent received her and the Duchess of York entertained her at Oatlands, the Queen refused to and forbade her daughters the Princesses to.

There had only been one dignified thing to do. She and Ernest returned to Berlin.

And here they were.

Ernest came into her bedroom and sat on the bed; he was holding a letter in his hand and she knew that it contained news of a startling nature.

‘News from England,’ he told her.

‘Yes, Ernest?’

‘Charlotte …’

‘A son or a daughter?’

Ernest shook his head. ‘A boy born dead. But, Frederica, that’s not all. Charlotte herself …’

‘Dead?’

He nodded.

‘My God, think what this will mean?’

‘I am thinking.’

‘If our daughter had lived she could very likely have been a Queen of England.’

Ernest said: ‘You know what this will mean.’

‘It means that my dear mother-in-law and aunt, Queen Charlotte, is very busy making plans.’

He nodded. ‘There’ll be marriages now, you see. Clarence and Kent will have to get busy.’

‘Busy breeding!’ said Frederica with a laugh. ‘But the gentlemen have left it a little late. And you come next, Ernest. Our sons and daughters …’

‘Yes,’ he said, his eyes gleaming so that he looked like a satyr.

‘You look adorably wicked at this moment,’ she told him. ‘I believe you’re ambitious.’

‘Wouldn’t you like to see your son King of England?’

‘I would, and the thought that perhaps I shall, fills me with exultation. If it were only to have my revenge on Aunt Charlotte … but it’s more than that. Yes, I should love to see our son a King of England, Ernest. That would be good for England … if he were like you. Tell me about those who stand between.’