He was vindictive as his wife had discovered to her cost; his manners were coarse; he had no refinements; and the only artistic pleasure he ever received was from music. As a result his Opera House was as fine as anything they had in Vienna.
He made his way to that wing of the house which he had assigned to his mother, and when he threw open the door her attendants scattered; he did not have to speak to them, only to frown and they were gone.
He did not kiss his mother's hand; he merely nodded to her and sprawled in the chair by her bed, his legs thrust out, his heels resting on her carpet, while he studied the tops of his boots as though he found them more interesting than her.
How did we manage to get this one? Sophia wondered, as she had many times before. If I hadn't borne him myself I'd say he had been foisted on us. How did we allow him to be brought up without grace, without charm, without manners? Yet he had excelled as a soldier and now was showing he could rule.
"It was good of you to come, George Lewis," she said a trifle acidly, "good of you to call on your mother when she asked you to."
"I had nothing important to do today."
"Then I must be grateful for that," she retorted ironically.
He grunted. "What's your business?" he asked.
"You don't ask how I am?"
"Well, you're better, aren't you? You wouldn't have asked me to come if you were ill. So what point in asking I "
"As a matter of courtesy perhaps."
He puffed contemptuously. So they might do in the stables. And he in the presence of the granddaughter of a King of England! What would they think of him in England if he ever went there? And go there he must ... a King. She thought of Charles, her cousin, roaming the Continent before his Restoration. He had had all the charm of the Stuarts. Who would believe that this heavy jowled awkward Hanoverian was in any way connected with the Royal Stuarts. What would the English think of him!
"No sense in asking questions when you know the answer."
"You've too much sense perhaps and not enough sensibility."
"Eh?"
My son! she thought. This is my son!
She must get down to the matter in hand before he rudely told her he had no time to waste.
"I wanted to see you about George Augustus."
The scowl deepened. George Lewis had no love for his son. His marriage had gone sour very quickly and how could it have been otherwise with such a man? Though in his way he was faithful enough to his mistresses and kept them in favour even when they lost their looks.
"What about him?"
"He's no longer a boy."
"I know his age very well."
"It is time he was married."
"Married?"
"Why not. He needs a wife. He needs to get sons."
George Lewis was silent thinking of the boy. He could not bear the sight of him. Perhaps because he reminded him of his mother. He was almost pretty and although he was fair and his mother was dark the resemblance was strong. He was small— too small for a boy, neat and willowy, as she had been; and he had a way of gesticulating which was rather French. George Lewis liked the gardens to be laid out in a French style but he did not like French manners in his son. They were clearly inherited from his mother who was half French; perhaps that was why he was constantly reminded.
It was not that he regretted what he had done to his wife. In his opinion she deserved her fate and he didn't think of her unless her name was mentioned and on those rare occasions when his son or daughter reminded him of her by their looks.
"You've someone in mind," asked George Lewis.
"Yes. Caroline of Ansbach."
"What! My sister's adopted girl?"
"Why not? We should have to act quickly for the Archduke Charles is in the field."
"You mean he's asked for her?"
"She is considering whether she will accept him."
"Then she must be a fool."
"Why?"
"She won't get another such chance."
"How do you know? Austria considered her worthy, why not Hanover?"
"The boy's not ready for marriage."
"He's nearly twenty-one."
"He seems retarded. More like a child than a man."
"How can you say that, George Lewis?"
"Posturing! Dressing himself up! Throwing his hands about."
"He is certainly more gracious than his father."
"And you think that makes a man of him?"
"I say he's old enough for marriage and I think Caroline would make him a good wife. What do you say? I tell you we should act without delay."
George Lewis grunted.
"I wish you wouldn't make those animal noises," she said sharply. "They may be intelligible to your soldiers but they're not to me."
"I've other matters to think of."
"This happens to involve the succession."
"The succession! With you it's an obsession."
"Surely you must admit that to be King of England would be a more inviting prospect than Elector of Hanover?"
"No! No. I don't/'
"I marvel at you. Have you no ambition?"
"I'm content where I am."
"Content! To go off and fight periodically and live like a common soldier? Yes, I can see you would be well content with that. What will you do when the Spanish Succession has been settled? What will you do for fighting then? To fight ... and then come home and rule your little state and bestow your favours in turn on your three favourites! Even your choice of mistresses is laughable. Schulemburg is well past her youth— she's lost any beauty she ever had and she never did have any brains to lose. Kielmansegge-Clara von Platen's daughter! She might very likely be your own sister. When I come to think of it she's not unlike you. And the young Countess von Platen— she's the only one with any pretensions to looks. But I hear she doesn't get the opportunities the other two do to amuse Your Highness."
This was foolish. Sophia knew it as soon as she had spoken; but she was not herself and the sight of George Lewis lolling in his chair was more irritating than usual. A great bitterness was in her heart because she had lost her beloved daughter.
Why did she have to die and this one be left to her? Why had she lost the children she loved best and been left with those she cared little for.
George Lewis appeared to be unmoved by these reproaches. He yawned.
"I've work to do," he said.
"But this project of a wife for George Augustus?"
"It'll be taken care of when I'm ready."
He caught his foot in a stool and kicked it aside. The door shut behind with a bang.
She should have waited, Sophia reproached herself. She had been too upset as yet.
There was no time to be lost, and she feared her reckless handling of the situation had spoilt any hope there might have been.
George Augustus was in his apartments in the Leine Schloss trying on a wig while his servants fluttered round him.
"This is most becoming, Your Highness. The colour is your own."
"Yes ... yes..." muttered George Augustus, looking at his neat, almost pretty face. "That is good." He fondled the tight curls of the wig. It gave him height. One of the great disappointments of his life was his lack of inches. "Another four and I'd be passable; another four on top of that and I'd be tall," he often thought. As it was, it could only be exasperating that the heir of Hanover was so much shorter than most other men about him. More so was the fact that he was not allowed to do anything that a man of his age should be doing. His father went off to the wars every year, but was George Augustus allowed to go? Certainly not. One day he would be the Elector of Hanover. But would his father allow him to take part in government and prepare himself? No! He hated his father and he was sure his father hated him.