King George V
Part Three, Chapter Twenty Five: A Lady of Letters
In the mid-19th century, European royalties were prolific letter writers. Their frenetic flurry of correspondence could see as many as twenty or thirty missives dashed off per day to parents, siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins across the continent and special post bags had to be manufactured to accommodate the bulk of this which would be more easily recognisable as “priority mail” when it was loaded aboard a packet steamer bound for its destination [1]. This being said, whilst we may think today that a delay of a week to receive a letter sent from a friend is unacceptably inefficient, such delays were part and parcel of New Georgian communications and when a letter was dispatched from London, it was fully expected that the recipient in Berlin would not get to devour the intriguing contents for at least two weeks or more. George V never embraced letter writing as a hobby, though he became a keen diarist. He sent regular letters to his sister in St Petersburg and to a handful of friends who lived throughout Germany but when it came to his extended family, his dedication to maintaining regular correspondence slipped fairly early on. By contrast, his cousin Victoria, Princess of Orange, sent an enormous quantity of mail which led to George to nickname her “The Old Scribe” in later years. But this was not entirely an affectionate moniker. Victoria adored gossip and never passed up an opportunity to convey a whisper of some rumour or other she had half-heard, embroidering the story for full effect as it was committed to paper. But she also had a tendency to offer unsolicited advice or to pass judgement on situations she knew little about and to send these assessments to her myriad of relations without a single thought as to the trouble they may cause. And in September 1844, Victoria’s haughty scribblings did exactly that.
Victoria, Princess of Orange, 1844.
Princess Victoria was the King’s first cousin but they represented two very different sides of the European family tree. Victoria was an only child and as the result of her unconventional upbringing, the only relations she could consider close ones by birth were her half-siblings in Leiningen (born of Victoria’s mother’s first marriage) and her British first cousins; King George V, the Tsarevna of Russia, the Hereditary Grand Duchess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, Princess Mary Adelaide of Cambridge, the Earl of Tipperary and the Earl of Armagh. Her childhood playmates had been George V, Maria Georgievna and on occasion, the Cambridge children, but she hardly ever saw her Leiningen relations and only became close to her half-sister Feodora after Victoria married and settled in the Netherlands [2]. It was expected at the time that Victoria would adopt her Dutch relations as her own but she failed to build the same close friendships as her cousin Maria Georgievna had when she arrived in Russia. By contrast, King George V could claim descent from the Hesse-Kassels and he married into the Mecklenburg-Strelitzes, two dominant families in Europe which could boast illustrious relations in almost every corner of the continent. As a result, his circle was much wider than Victoria’s and as the loneliness of her marriage and her self-imposed seclusion at Het Loo continued, she came to see the King’s extended family as her own despite the fact that her blood ties were nowhere near as close – if they existed at all [3].
This often-inspired Victoria to involve herself in matters which didn’t really affect her but which she felt most important to comment upon. In September 1844, Het Loo had been flung into an unexpected (and somewhat macabre) form of mourning which saw Victoria howl herself hoarse with tears each day for the tragic loss of a Russian Grand Duchess she had only actually met once. The poor soul in question was the Grand Duchess Alexandra Nikolaevna, known to European royalty as
Adini. Readers may remember at this stage that it was Adini to whom the Tsarevna Maria Georgievna became especially close after she married into the Russian Imperial Family in 1840 (
“Where you find Adini, you will find Lotye”) and indeed, Adini had stood as godmother to the Tsarevna’s eldest child the Grand Duchess Alexandra Alexandrovna (Sashenka) for whom she was named. Adini was the youngest daughter of Tsar Nicholas I and the niece of the Dutch Queen Anna. In January 1844, St Petersburg was shocked when Hereditary Prince Friedrich Wilhelm of Hesse-Kassel (a first cousin to the Tsarevna) arrived in the Russian capital and far from courting the Grand Duchess Olga whom he had been invited to meet, pursued the 18-year-old Adini with whom he fell head over heels in love [4]. The Tsar gave his consent and the couple were quickly engaged but then the Grand Duchess Alexandra suddenly fell ill. She had contracted tuberculosis.
Adini’s doctors declared her fully recovered but those closest to her knew that all was not well. Maria Georgievna makes frequent reference to “poor Adini” in her diaries at this time and notes that she was consistently afflicted with prolonged bouts of exhaustion well after she was said to have overcome TB. Nonetheless, Adini was so in love with Fritz that she readily accepted him and the pair were married. Within a few months, there was happy news that the Grand Duchess was expecting her first child and this was a great cause of celebration for the Romanovs, Hesse-Kassels and their extended family in Neustrelitz, Herrenhausen, London, Berlin, The Hague etc. Yet suddenly, all turned to ashes. Three months before she was due to give birth, Adini went into an extremely arduous labour and delivered her child prematurely. Mother and child died within hours. The loss was so deeply felt across Europe that many declared court mourning be observed for Adini, just as they had for the late Queen Louise in England in 1842. When news reached George V of the Grand Duchess’ death shortly after he returned from Hanover, three days of court mourning were observed – though it has been unkindly suggested that this was more to court the Tsar with whom Metternich had suggested the King meet as soon as possible if Britain wanted to reach any sort of agreement on the Straits Pact. This is a rather uncharitable observation however as whilst George did not know Adini, he was fond of his first cousin Fritz and he would have known how deeply Adini’s death would have affected his sister to whom he was always so devoted.
Grand Duchess Alexandra Nikolaevna - 'Adini' - painted in 1843.
But whilst Queen Anna naturally mourned the loss of her niece and the Prince of Orange of a first cousin, Victoria took Adini’s death particularly hard. She wore black for months after official court morning at The Hague had ended and she had a copy of a portrait of the Grand Duchess placed in the entrance of Het Loo draped in purple velvet and surrounded by white roses. Guests were “invited” to offer prayers for Adini before they were received only to be told that Victoria was far too overcome with sorrow to see them after all. We have explored Victoria’s relationship with grief before and it is true that she always welcomed an opportunity to adopt mourning as a way of life. However, on this particular occasion it is entirely possible she was motivated by something far more personal and which makes her reaction more understandable. Since the birth of her second child and eldest son Prince William in 1843, Victoria had refused to leave Het Loo because of a desperate need to be close to him. The baby had displayed signs of bruising and seizures and whilst doctors had tried to examine the child (offering a rudimentary diagnosis of epilepsy), Victoria would now allow them to examine him further. Today, we know that Prince William was suffering from haemophilia and indeed, this was later formally diagnosed. But as her infant son lay in his crib suffering from a serious illness which had convinced Victoria that he may die at any moment, news from Russia that the Grand Duchess’ new-born had died could only serve to heighten that fear in Victoria. Sadly, her relations were not quite so tolerant. They had seen Victoria’s excessive displays of grief before and most found it performative given that “she never really knew the Grand Duchess anyway”.
The Princess of Orange began to write to the Tsarevna of Russia daily. She consoled her with pages and pages of platitudes, prayers and promises to hold the memory of the Grand Duchess dear forevermore. But she also wrote to others, expressing that she was “so desolate and so lost in grief for poor darling Adini”. Indeed, when news reached her from Hanover that her cousin the Earl of Armagh had welcomed his first child, Victoria’s response was hardly one of profuse congratulation and instead focused more on the death of Grand Duchess Alexandra. The first child of the Earl and Countess of Armagh arrived on the 2nd of September 1844 and was named George Augustus. As he was the first member of the British Royal Family to be born after the introduction of the Royal House Act, he was styled
His Highness Prince George Augustus of Hanover, though in the fullness of time he would naturally succeed his father as Duke of Cumberland. George and Auguste were delighted with their new-born son and though they too were in court mourning (Adini was Auguste’s sister-in-law, a much closer link than Victoria could claim), they relaxed it somewhat so that guests at Prince George Augustus’ baptism in the Royal Guelphic Chapel would not be required to wear black. King George V was a godparent to the little Prince (with Sir Michael Reith, the Earl of Armagh’s ADC standing proxy) whilst Victoria too served as a godmother (Lady Reith likewise standing proxy for her at the ceremony). But in thanking the Armaghs for the honour they had done her by asking Victoria to be a godmother to their son, they must have been perplexed when Victoria explained she had sent no gift to the new-born because “nothing I see gives me any pleasure in these very sad times”.
Victoria went on to say how brave she thought the Countess was “for your own sorrow must be so very deep and yet you have done all good things to welcome your child into the world as poor Adini’s was so cruelly taken out of it”. Her letter then goes on to give the first indication of the difficulties Victoria was about to cause King George V too. Though news of the King’s engagement to Princess Agnes of Anhalt-Dessau was not yet public, the intricate network of family ties made it impossible to keep the news to the confines of the immediate families of the bride and groom and by late September 1844, Victoria had heard that her cousin had proposed to Princess Agnes of Anhalt-Dessau a few weeks earlier via her aunt, the Duchess of Cambridge. Sworn to secrecy, Victoria supposed the Earl of Armagh knew what had transpired (he did) and took this opportunity to express her feelings on the matter – they did not make for pleasant reading and are reproduced here:
Poor Aunt Augusta is so very sad at this Dessau business for it has upset Aunt Marie dreadfully and it is not difficult to see why. I do not recall a time in which I have received the Dessau girl and though by all accounts she is very charming, her arrival into our family cannot be met with any real celebration for what else can recent events remind us of but the loss of our poor darling Sunny. I imagine she is much in Aunt Marie’s thoughts these days, especially with the tragedy in Russia, and I am told that Georgie has really been so very indifferent to her in failing to consider her feelings when he set about proposing marriage to the Dessau princess. I do wonder if he really has given every consideration to all this for, however lovely he may feel her to be, that girl will never – could never! - take the place of our beloved Sunny, neither in the family, nor in the country.
I tell you my dear cousin, I still grieve so for Louise, whom I loved so very dearly, and I assumed that Georgie was equal to the feeling – it has only been two years when all is said and done – but to think that he should press ahead so eagerly…it does not look well on him. I should have advised him to wait a time but I have well-accepted by now that I count for little in the family these days. O! It is all so very sad isn’t it? I am put in a horrible predicament myself for how can I do other than support Aunt Marie in all this? I feel it is what Sunny would expect of me and whilst I love Georgie more than I can express, I sincerely hope that this engagement will not be paraded about too much for there are many of us who cannot welcome it - especially at such a sad time for you and dear Guste.
Needless to say, the Earl of Armagh did not share Victoria’s feelings. He knew and liked Princess Agnes and he was delighted to see the King so happy in love once more. But Victoria was not the only one who despaired at news that the King was to be married again.
Upon their return from Hanover to Dessau, Princess Agnes and her aunt the Dowager Princess Caroline found a very frosty reception awaiting them as Agnes had presented her engagement as an accomplished fact rather than a proposal that needed careful thought and discussion. Duke Leopold was happy for his daughter. She was of marriageable age and seemed to have found in George V that rare combination of pedigree and love. Regardless of his own position, alliances or even sentiments on the matter, Leopold could hardly deny that his daughter had bagged quite the trophy in the King and his first response upon receiving Agnes’ letter relaying this news was to remark quietly “My little Nessa…Queen of England…”. He was somewhat hurt that his future son-in-law had not consulted him first, though a letter from George inviting the Dessaus to England (and which did not mention the engagement) coupled with the Dowager Princess Caroline’s account of events at Herrenhausen soothed his disappointment. He understood that his daughter had, understandably, been a little too enthusiastic and very quickly he decided to forget the unconventional circumstances of the engagement and do all he could to support his daughter in her decision. However, the same could not be said for Leopold’s wife.
Duchess Frederica was a snob of the highest order and on paper, one might have assumed she would have been delighted to see her daughter (whose prospects might have been considered limited) set course for a new life as a Queen in one of the greatest courts in the world. But as we have explored previously, Frederica had a strong dislike of the British Royal Family and she wasted no time in expressing how horrified she was at what had transpired in Hanover. Indeed, she fired off a lengthy missive to her half-brother the Earl of Armagh at Herrenhausen in which she accused him of “betraying our darling Mama’s memory by encouraging this match which is built on nothing more than childish infatuation”. The Duchess demanded that the Earl speak with the King “at the earliest convenience to press upon him the unsuitability of this dreadful notion for I am confident that no good shall come of it”. Inevitably she criticised the King as a “petulant and arrogant young man” for his failure to consult the Dessaus before he asked their daughter to marry him and she deemed her daughter Agnes to be “a foolish, silly little girl who has quite abandoned her reason”. Notably, Frederica made no mention of the birth of Prince George Augustus - she was far too wrapped up in her own predicament to welcome her new nephew to the world.
Of course, none of this was known to King George who, now being resolved to marry Agnes, had settled himself at Buckingham Palace with his Aunt Mary to discuss how best Agnes could be helped to settle into her new life. George hoped that Princess Mary would serve as a kind of tutor to Agnes, a practical decision given that Mary had effectively governed the Royal Household for the past two years. Mary proposed that Agnes come to live in England before her marriage just after the engagement was made public but she deemed it “quite unsuitable” for the Princess to stay at any of the Royal residences before she was married. The King did not share this rather archaic view but conceded that some who shared Mary’s traditional views might not take Agnes’ presence at Buckingham Palace before her wedding in the right spirit. To that end, the King suggested that, for the first time since the death of his first wife, he might reopen Hanover House in Dorset where Agnes could settle with her family for a few months and from there, begin to acquaint herself with the duties and responsibilities expected of her. This met with Princess Mary’s approval as Hanover House was conveniently located near to her seaside residence in Weymouth and would allow Mary to “train” Agnes far away from the prying eyes of the court at Windsor or St James’.
But this also raised the question of where Agnes would live after her marriage. Since the death of Queen Louise in 1842, the apartments she had used at Buckingham Palace and at Windsor had been sealed shut. The bedroom in which she died had remained untouched, her personal belongings set exactly where she had left them whilst her dressing room still filled with her clothes. George accepted that his new bride would expect to inhabit the rooms reserved for the Queen consort (in fact, Agnes had no such expectation and had not even considered it) and so, reluctant as he still may have been, he asked Princess Mary to open the apartments and to carefully remove Louise’s personal effects which were placed into large wooden trunks and then stored in the Round Tower at Windsor. Sadly, they were badly stored and so when they were uncovered some years later, many of the pieces Mary placed in the trunks were badly damaged but today two dresses worn by the late Queen can be seen on permanent display at Hanover House after being painstakingly restored to their former glory.
The Queen's Apartments, Buckingham Palace, as they were in Queen Agnes' later years.
There were other considerations beyond where the new Queen consort would live which went far beyond the bed she would sleep in or the jewels she might wear. As soon as the Prime Minister was informed that the King intended to marry again, an audience was given to the Comptroller of the Household, Benjamin Disraeli, to discuss the important matter of what the Queen’s Household might look like. It was still the custom for the Prime Minister of the day to appoint the offices which would serve this new household, a tradition designed to curb allegations of political partisanship or undue influence but which had been deeply unpopular with some of Agnes’ predecessors, most famously her would-be mother-in-law at Kew. But when the King met with Disraeli to discuss this, neither could not avoid the elephant in the room – whilst it was well within Sir James Graham’s privilege as Prime Minister to make such appointments, it was looking increasingly likely that by the time the King married, the United Kingdom would have a new government and these appointments would be consigned to the rubbish bin without ever having been promulgated. Nonetheless, the two men had to go through the pantomime of drawing up a list of suitable candidates for the posts of Lord Chamberlain, a Treasurer, a Comptroller, a Private Secretary, an Assistant Private Secretary, three Lords-in-waiting, six Ladies of the Bedchamber (including the most senior, the Mistress of the Robes), two equerries, a Chaplin-in-Ordinary and a Physician in Waiting. All would have to be drawn from Tory families (or at least, families without obvious political leanings) and must be of good social standing, free from scandal and keen to serve the Crown above all else. But on a personal level, these were to become the new Queen’s inner circle, a group dedicated to helping her settle into her new role. One addition was perhaps obvious to the King even if it wasn’t to Disraeli.
It was the King’s considered opinion that one of the six Ladies of the Bedchamber to serve the new Queen consort should be Rosalinde Wiedl. After all, Wiedl was integral to the way George and Agnes’ relationship had progressed and His Majesty believed that she should become just as much a friend to Agnes as she had been to the late Queen Louise. Disraeli was not surprised at this request but it did pose a problem. Firstly, Rosalinde Wiedl had no social rank and ladies of the bedchamber were traditionally drawn from the ranks of the aristocracy – no woman below the rank of Duchess had held the post of Mistress of the Robes since 1808, for example. Then there was the question of politics. Though she was not herself a daughter of a great political dynasty, she was well known in society as a Whig hostess. Disraeli was far too much of a gentleman to mention it but it was true that at that very moment Frau Wiedl was in France expecting the baby of her lover, a prominent Whig MP expected to gain Cabinet rank if the Tories were ousted from government. But the King was insistent. He argued that Frau Wiedl entertained just as many Tories as she did Whigs and that she could not be accused of having any political leanings herself as “she is a foreigner”. As for social rank, the King had an easy solution – he would elevate Wiedl to the rank of a Baroness in the peerage of Hanover [5]. Whilst she could not serve as Mistress of the Robes, plenty of Baronesses had served as Ladies of the Bedchamber and he believed both Sir James Graham (who had met Wiedl many times and liked her) and Lord Melbury (Graham’s potential successor) would agree to having her serve in the Queen’s Household as His Majesty wished. Disraeli promised to put the matter before the Prime Minister, adding Frau Wiedl’s name to a list which included the wives of prominent Tory politicians and peers. Ironically, none on the list would be appointed with the exception of Frau Wiedl, created Baroness Wiedl in January 1845.
The United Kingdom went to the polls once more on the 21st of October 1844 after a fraught campaign which one Whig MP described as “trying to swim upstream in a river of treacle”. Election day itself was controversial when many Chartist supporters formed polling stations demanding to vote even though they did not meet the criteria, a reminder that at this time only men over the age of 21 who owned property or had enough capital to pay certain taxes which served as a qualification for the ballot. But the process of voting itself was not yet secret either. Though some moves had been made which offered concessions to the Chartists (such as paying MPs an annual salary), and whilst the Whigs had committed themselves to exploring further constitutional and electoral reforms, many found themselves turned away with clashes up and down the country as the would-be electors of constituencies throughout England raised merry hell in protest that they could not exercise their democratic right to choose their own representatives in the House of Commons. The Home Office had to provide additional peace-keeping forces and magistrates were told to read aloud a proclamation that reminded the populace that attempting to vote when one was not qualified to do so was considered a very serious offence indeed.
Unlike today, it took some time for the ballots cast across the country to be collected, counted and the results verified and announced. Whilst this was perhaps more dignified than incumbent MPs being ousted live on television in the small hours of the morning, it did lead to stalemate as candidates were forced to wait at home, pacing the floor nervously awaiting a formal summons by the returning officer to hear the result proclaimed in the market square. Old hands confident of their re-election rarely bothered to attend the declaration, preferring instead to make their way to London ahead of parliament sitting once more. In some cases, election agents read the acceptance speech of a candidate despite the fact that the newly elected MP hadn’t even seen the speech in question. Increasingly nervous as the tally of declarations came in, Sir James Graham considered leaving the capital for his country estate. His aides and advisors pressed upon him the negative impression that may give and Graham managed to steady himself enough, braced for what may come. His hat and topcoat were brushed and to hand, his coach on standby. The moment the final result was in, and whatever that result may be, the Prime Minister would travel to Buckingham Palace to meet with the King – either to be invited to continue in his office or to offer his resignation.
At the Palace, the King was kept informed of the declarations as each constituency reported but this was a long and arduous process over three or four days and so it was very much business as usual. He met with Bishops, he received government deputations and Ambassadors and he accepted an invitation to become the patron of the British Archaeological Association which was granted a royal charter to become the Royal Archaeological Institute with its headquarters at Burlington House in Mayfair. On the afternoon of the 26th of October 1844, the King received Sebastien Garrard, the Crown Jeweller. As yet, His Majesty had not presented a ring to his intended and now that the Duke of Anhalt-Dessau had accepted the King’s invitation to come to London ahead of Christmas with his family, George wanted to find the perfect piece to present to his fiancée to seal their engagement. Garrard brought with him a large selection of rings with extremely beautiful stones in a variety of exquisite settings but none pleased the King. Instead, George gave Garrard a commission of his own design inspired by a French fashion which began in 1796 when Napoleon Bonaparte proposed marriage to Josephine de Beauharnais with a ring known as a “Toi et Moi” – the complimentary close George V always used in his correspondence with Princess Agnes and which translates simply as “You and Me”.
Queen Agnes' 'Toi et Moi' engagement ring.
‘Toi et Moi’ rings had become just as fashionable in London in the 1830s and 40s as they had become in Paris in the early 1800s and the style had become traditionalised as two different stones in matching sizes and cuts set into a by-pass band that coils around the finger. Handing Garrard a sketch to illustrate exactly what he wanted, the result was a beautiful example of a ‘Toi et Moi’ band which features a 2-carat Burmese ruby alongside a 2-carat diamond set in an 18-carat gold setting. Four single carat old cut European diamonds stud the band itself with silver set topped gold. As the ring would be given at Christmas time, the King asked Garrard to find an accompanying piece which might serve as a Christmas Eve gift to pair with Agnes’ engagement ring. George eventually selected a simple but beautifully executed design of a cross formed of Calibré cut rubies framing a diamond set foliate. Naturally Garrard was not told who the pieces were for, or why they were being given, though he may have suspected because ‘Toi et Moi’ rings were only ever purchased to be given as engagement rings and the jeweller had already produced a piece (an enamel brooch) for Princess Agnes the previous year. Nonetheless, discretion was Garrards’ watch word and he dutifully set about producing the pieces which are still in the possession of the British Royal Family today. As Garrard left the Palace, he noticed a messenger dashing inside, rather indecorously leaping the stairs so as to find his way to his destination as quickly as possible. The election result was now confirmed.
The Tories had gone into the general election with their nerves jangled and their prospects looking decidedly grim. It must be remembered that the Unionists had rejected Sir James’ offer of an electoral pact which would see candidates stood down in seats where the Conservative or Unionist candidate might see their vote split in favour of the Whigs – and it is also worthy of note that the campaign that followed saw the Unionists attack the Tories just as much as they did the Whigs. The Prime Minister himself predicted he may soon become “yesterday’s man” and Lord Melbury was said to have ordered himself a new beaver fur collar to wear when he strolled along Downing Street for the first time as Graham’s successor. Talk of the “Great Decline” had come to define the campaign and many expected a Whig landslide, ousting the Tories from government with a sizeable majority with which to change Britain forever. Yet it was not to be that simple. In the overall horse-trading of independent seats, former radical strongholds, Tory safe seats and Whig marginals, the electorate of Britain served up a surprising result.
The Whigs were undoubtedly the winning party, increasing their number in the Commons by 63 seats. The Unionists gained 20 seats but lost 11 – Bernard Jallick was heard to remark that Winchelsea had doomed the party’s fortunes when he rejected Graham’s offer of a pact – whilst the Repeal Association’s presence dipped slightly by 8 seats. But the most intriguing story of the 1844 general election campaign was the so-called “Independent Retreat” whereby the larger parties gained seats which had traditionally not been held by one side or the other. This was perhaps to be expected as British politics was becoming more tribal and people felt compelled to pick between the larger two parties against independent candidates. That said, a handful of radicals retained their seats and to the shock – and concern – of many in the establishment, two Chartist candidates were elected in Wales, the very first under the Chartist banner to be elected to the House of Commons. But the Tory losses were not quite so severe as had been predicted. From 240 seats, they dwindled to 222 giving the Whigs a majority over the Tories of 34.
Before the 1844 election, and despite Lord Winchelsea’s refusal to form an electoral pact with Sir James, the Unionists had (almost) always voted with the Tory government. How could they not when the party itself was comprised mostly of former Tory MPs? The problem now was that if the Tories and Unionists continued to vote together in a bloc (as they undoubtedly would), the Whigs would have to rely on radical, independent and Repeal Association votes to pass anything in the Commons. It must also be remembered that Sir James had packed the House of Lords with Tory peers to “rebalance” the red benches – and these were not likely to go along with the progressive platform the Whigs had in mind without a fight. In other words, Lord Melbury’s Whigs had won a pyrrhic victory. Convention dictated that the King must summon his old friend to the Palace to invite him to form a government because he led the largest party in the Commons and so in this way, the Whigs had successfully ousted the Tories from office. Yet as to how long this government could last and what it might achieve? Only time would tell. The King was discussing this unexpected turn of events with Charlie Phipps ahead of Sir James' arrival at the Palace to offer his resignation when a letter arrived.
The King ran his paper knife through the seal and opened it, his face suddenly flushing red as he made his way to the second page. Phipps did his best not to try and peek at the letter but he knew it could not be good news. Eventually he broke the silence and asked, "Is everything quite alright Your Majesty?"
George placed the letter on his desk and scowled at it. He did not reply, his cheeks now crimson. Without warning, he slammed his palms down onto his desk and fumed silently. Phipps allowed his eyes to fall upon the paper. He could just make out the signature.
Your Ever Loving Cousin,
Victoria.
Notes
[1] It’s estimated that Victoria produced (on average) 2,500 words a day in both letters and in her journals. From the letters she sent to her daughter Vicky in the OTL, we see that she would often send two or three a day to the same recipient – usually to berate them for not replying quickly enough. We also know that Victoria
loved to gossip and frequently caused problems as a result. Only in the OTL, nobody dared tell her off for it…
[2] Different from the OTL because we removed the Duchess of Kent extremely early.
[3] Without delving into the complexity of the tree too much, our George V could claim a closer link to the Hesse-Kassels than Victoria who was only related to them by marriage – Augusta of Hesse-Kassel being her aunt by virtue of her marriage to the Duke of Cambridge. In TTL, Augusta is George’s aunt twice over and her sister Marie is not only his aunt but his (almost) former mother-in-law.
[4] As in the OTL, this leaves Olga free to marry. Metternich had proposed her as a bride for Pedro II of Brazil, etc etc.
[5] This was often done at court to raise the rank of an individual who didn’t come to royal service in the usual way – such as with Baroness Lehzen in the OTL.
And so
Crown Imperial is back underway!
I've been updating notes and planning out some new plot points over the last few days so in the spirit of housekeeping, I just wanted to mention that Part Three will end with the marriage of the King and Princess Agnes in 1845 - roughly equivalent to the same number of chapters in Parts One and Two.
We've covered less ground in terms of actual time in Part Three but it was a particularly important few years for George V and I felt we needed to detail the aftermath of Louise's death and Agnes' arrival a little more intensely otherwise it would feel that Louise was thrown away and Agnes introduced without any real impact.
We've still a few more chapters before we reach Part Four of course and I'm going to try and include two appendices as I did for Prince Albert giving an update on what's been happening to Victoria and Charlotte Louise in a little more detail than recent instalments have allowed before moving on from 1845 into Part Four.
As ever, many thanks for reading and for your continued support!
