Free The Third George: (Georgian Series) by Jean Plaidy

Stade are determined to give Your Majesty a good welcome,’ said Harcourt.
    She frowned a little. ‘Am I worthy of all these honours?’ she asked.
    Lord Harcourt bowed and murmured: ‘Your Majesty is the Queen of England.’
    *
    At Cuxhaven, when the royal party arrived, the wind washowling and the rain was pelting down. Lord Harcourt was anxious; so, Charlotte noticed, were the beautiful women who now rode beside her and were threatening to put Schwellenburg’s nose out of joint.
    They were a little mischievous, Charlotte felt, despising Schwellenburg and Haggerdorn for two frumps; Charlotte would be the first to admit that they were dowdy and no beauties; but at least she felt more at home with them in spite of Schwellenburg’s domineering ways.
    There was no help for it, they must go aboard. The ship was rocking uncomfortably and everyone except Charlotte was unhappily aware of this. Charlotte had never been to sea; therefore she had no notion what seasickness was. She had come to a decision; if the King did not like her then he must needs make the best of her. She had not asked for this marriage – although her brother had been more than eager for it. She would do her duty and if the King was not prepared to do his, she would try to shrug her shoulders and not care. After all, these two Englishwomen might be beautiful, but they were not Princesses, so what she lacked in beauty she made up for in rank … even though in that she was not of such a high standard.
    Lady Lorne came to stand beside her at the rail as she stood watching, that she might see the last of her native land.
    ‘Your Majesty seems unaffected by the rocking of the ship.’
    ‘Should I be affected by it?’
    ‘Most of us are.’
    ‘And you?’
    ‘Not yet. But with Your Majesty’s permission if it becomes more uncomfortable I shall retire to my cabin.’
    ‘Pray do so. But you did not answer my question about the women of England. Are they all as beautiful as you and the Duchess of Ancaster?’
    ‘I trust Your Majesty will not consider me unduly conceited when I tell you that we are both known as two of the outstanding beauties of the Court.’
    Charlotte’s relief was obvious.
    ‘I had imagined a Court of goddesses,’ she said.
    ‘Your Majesty is too gracious.’
    ‘I don’t mean to be … only truthful. You are without doubt very handsome, both of you. Tell me about your life at Court.’
    The Marchioness replied that she had first come to Court as Elizabeth Gunning some ten years before from Ireland – she and her sister and her mother.
    ‘We came to seek our fortunes.’
    ‘And you found them?’
    The Marchioness was silent for a few moments. ‘I suppose some would say we had. A year after we arrived I was married to the Duke of Hamilton.’
    ‘And you were happy?’
    She smiled sadly. ‘It was a runaway marriage of a sort, Your Majesty. We were married in a Mayfair chapel at half past twelve at night; and as the Duke had not thought to provide a wedding ring we used a curtain ring.’
    ‘It sounds … romantic,’ said Charlotte wistfully. ‘He must have been very much in love with you.’
    ‘That was true, Your Majesty. Then I was presented to the King and that was a great occasion.’
    ‘That would be … my husband’s grandfather.’
    ‘Yes, Madam. He was most kind to me … but he was not considered as kind generally as his present Majesty.’
    ‘So you find the King … kind?’
    ‘The King would never, I believe, be unkind to any. He is very different from his grandfather, who was inclined to be irascible, constantly flying into rages. Forgive me, Your Majesty, my tongue runs away with me.’
    ‘I have asked you to be frank. And so the King is different from his grandfather, then?’
    ‘Very different. The King is tall and handsome and there is a charm about him … a gentleness …’
    Charlotte was beginning to feel better. It was pleasant to chat with a woman like this and so get an idea of what was waiting