Crown Imperial: An Alt British Monarchy

I’d recommend picking up a copy of Wellingtons Scum by Charles River and All the Kings Men by Saul David it gives so great background on the British army from the War of Spanish Succession to Napoleonic War not really the time period we are in but it gives a lot of build up and background detail. Also From the Arquebus to the Breechloader: How Firearms Influenced Early Infantry Tactics By Piers Platt gives a good overview on infantry tactics and strategy of the period.

Not sure if what I have put up will help.
Exactly what I was hoping for! I'll see if I can grab copies of these, many thanks!
 
GV: Part Three, Chapter Thirty-One: Peace from Panic
King George V

Part Three, Chapter Thirty-One: Peace from Panic

At Gloucester House in Weymouth, Princess Mary was enjoying a much-needed period of rest and recuperation. So content was she in her seaside residence that she had asked to be excused from the Easter celebrations at Windsor so that she might stay a little longer. It appeared that she too was feeling a little frustrated by prolonged exposure to Princess Agnes’ effervescent personality and so she hid way in Dorset, ensconced in her salon, wrapped in a fur blanket and engaged in her favourite pastime – eating. She was just working her way through a second plate of toasted crumpets topped with thick slices of Irish cheddar when her rather creaky butler announced that she had a visitor.

“That is incorrect”, Mary declared, “Calling hours are not upon us. What I have is an intruder. See them off at once Ives”.

Ives stood stock still. A wiry relic with a slight hunch, his face rather resembled a sheep asleep.

“IVES”, Mary bellowed, in accommodation of the old man’s deafness, “SEND THEM AWAY”

“Can’t Mum”, Ives replied sadly, “Is the King’s man”. [1]

“What?”, Mary quibbled impatiently, “Who is Mr Kingsman?”

“King’s Secretary Mum”, Ives explained, “Outside he is. Wants to see you”.

Mary lowered her plate and wiped her buttery fingers on her blanket.

“Phipps?!”, she called out, “Phipps, is that you out there?”

“Yes it is Your Royal Highness”, Phipps called back through the wall.

“Merciful heavens”, Mary cried, rolling her eyes, “Show him in Ives…SHOW - HIM - IN!”

Phipps walked in unprompted and made his way over to Princess Mary offering a little bow. The Princess extended her hand, which he kissed, and then waived him to a chair opposite her.

“Phipps, Mum”, Ives intoned gravely.

“He is already IN”, Mary shouted.

“Beg pardon Mum?”, Ives replied.

“HE IS ALREADY – oh it doesn’t matter Ives, leave us. YOU MAY LEAVE US”

Ives shuffled silently from the room. Phipps stifled a giggle.

“The burden of servants”, Mary sighed, “And what brings you here? I doubt it is the sea air”.

Phipps nodded. In truth, he had acted entirely on impulse after a sleepless night, asking Major Smith to cover for him with a tale of a stomach ailment before Phipps dashed to Paddington Station bound for Bristol before a long carriage ride to Weymouth. Exhausted and a little shaken, now he had arrived at his destination he was somewhat unsure as to where he should begin. Though he was not technically a servant, it was equally not his affair to involve himself in the private affairs of the King or of his family. Yet as many before him, he believed his duty went far beyond the constitutional role of the Crown he was engaged to support, especially if that role may be hampered by a degree of personal unhappiness on the part of the Sovereign. Phipps was discretion personified and it is testament to his understanding of the limitations of his role that he did not seek to try and rectify the disagreements between George V and Princess Agnes personally – that would have been overstepping the social and professional boundaries that must always be recognised and respected.

Yet Phipps knew there was one person he could discuss the worrying developments at the Palace with who would not reproach his interest but who was also far better placed than he to try and resolve matters – that person was Princess Mary. She listened studiously as Phipps recounted what had occurred between the King and his intended, he explained what the Duchess of Anhalt-Dessau had told her daughter about George’s relationship with Baroness Wiedl and he recounted the ordeal of the ill-fated dinner party at Buckingham Palace which left the King in a very sour mood indeed. Patiently, Mary waited until Phipps was done and then, she held up her hand and rang a small bell. This time, a house parlour maid appeared suitably attired in a black dress with white lace apron and cap.

“Your Royal Highness, Ma’am”, the young girl said as she bobbed politely. Mary narrowed her eyes.

“Which one are you?”, she barked from across the room, squinting, “Ethel, is it?”

“Enid, Ma’am”, the poor girl replied.

“What peculiar names girls have these days”, Mary said incredulously, “Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully child. I am to go to Windsor first thing in the morning. Have my trunk prepared and my carriage called”.

“Yes Ma’am”, Enid replied.

“And tell Ives he is to go and stay with his sister whilst I am away”, Mary added, heaving herself up from her chair on two sticks, the fur blanket tumbling to the ground, “And may the Lord have mercy on her soul…”

Meanwhile at Windsor, totally unaware of his aunt’s impending arrival, the King was doing his best to avoid his fiancée in her wing of the castle, the pair having travelled together but in a distinctly cold atmosphere where the couple barely exchanged two words. Once arrived, the King’s Household separated from that of the Princess with Major Smith and Lord Beauclerk accompanying George to the Augusta Tower and Colonel Arbuthnot and Bessie Knollys lodged with Agnes in the State Apartments – though here there was a clear indication that Agnes was not Queen yet. Rather than use the apartments reserved for the Queen consort, she was instead accommodated in the Cornwall Tower which hadn’t been used for years. Agnes thought the Cornwall Tower small, old fashioned and uncomfortable but she seemed to sense that perhaps she had gone too far in asserting her independence with George and made no complaint. Though in time, Agnes would certainly never shy away from making her views on her surroundings known even if they did cause unpleasantness and upheaval. When she became Queen Dowager some forty years later, it was expected that Agnes would leave the “big house” at Lisson and vacate the private apartments at Buckingham Palace in favour of Marlborough House. Agnes refused to budge from either royal residence, much to the irritation of her stepson. [2]

The King’s guests at Windsor that Easter included Lord Melbury, the Maynards, the Earl of Burlington and his sister Lady Fanny Howard, Admiral John Colville (known as Jock, he was also 9th Lord of Culross) and his wife Lady Anne Colville, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, Princess Mary Adelaide of Cambridge, the Dowager Duchess of Clarence and the Dowager Duchess of Sussex. Amid all the traditions associated with Easter, the Royal Family observed a unique one – tolerating the endless complaints of the King. Every year as clockwork, George would become sullen in the immediate days before the celebrations began and was only truly cheered when it was all over. Traditionally the Royal Family spent Easter at Windsor but tradition also dictated there should be no blood sports on Easter Sunday – this meant there would be no shooting and as a result, George regarded Easter weekend as “a horrible waste of a good house party”. [3]

Fortunately the ladies of the family were far more cheerful as they didn’t shoot anyway and instead they happily gathered to crochet lace or to settle at bead work – traditional English Easter observances. There was one custom however, which George absolutely adored in spite of himself and which marked the high point of the holiday: the annual Windsor Egg Roll. Egg rolling, a German tradition, was first introduced in Britain in the early 1800s, though not by Queen Charlotte as urban legend has it. Though the late Queen did not bring the Easter Egg Roll to Britain’s shores however, it was certainly embraced with enthusiasm at Windsor. George V had enjoyed the game as a child and now, his own children threw themselves into with great gusto, much to the King’s delight. Special eggs painted with “M-L”, “V” and “W” were provided for the Princess Royal, Princess Victoria and the Prince of Wales – the latter’s egg decorated with the Prince of Wales’ feathers on the reverse – and the King wrapped each of these in a ribbon so that he could present them to his children ahead of the race. However, the day before the egg roll, news came from the Nursery Floor at Windsor which stopped the King dead in his tracks and rocked him to his core.

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Winterhalter's portrait of the Prince of Wales, painted in late 1845.

Lady Maria Beauclerk, Governess to the Royal Nursery, sent an urgent message to the King asking him to come to the nursery floor at once. The Prince of Wales was unwell. The royal physician, Dr Alison, had been called to assess the situation and when George dashed to his son’s bedside, he found Alison mid-examination. The little Prince, now three years old, had a barking cough, a high temperature and cried out constantly causing him to descend once more into a fit of prolonged hacking. Alison diagnosed croup. The very word acted like a jolt to the King’s chest.

“I know croup”, he said quietly, “Eddy had croup”.

In 1825, the King’s younger brother had indeed been diagnosed with croup, though doctors at the time were seriously concerned the little Prince was suffering from diphtheria. Prince Edward recovered from his illness (though he tragically died in an accident at Buckingham Palace a short time later) but in 1845, many considered croup to be just as deadly as diphtheria because the more severe forms had yet to be curtailed by vaccination. But equally as dangerous as the croup itself was the standard treatment given by New Georgian doctors. The first course of action was to employ the use of a croup kettle which spouted steam into the room for hours at a time so that the moist air could relieve mucus. But in some children, this was not enough and doctors might then consider a course of emetics, the idea being that if they vomited the mucus (as much as half a dozen times a day), their breathing would be improved. This often led to dehydration which made the situation worse and thus, many children died from the very medical intervention which was supposed to save them.

But there were more severe – and far more dangerous - treatments than purging. Some children who did not respond to the use of a kettle or emetics were given mercury or opium and in very rare and desperate cases, tracheotomies were regarded as a last resort. By 1832, French physician Pierre Bretonneau was endorsing the use of tracheotomies for diphtheria and by 1845, his student and assistant Armand Trousseau had performed hundreds in trying to save children from the severest cases of croup. Not only was the operation incredibly stressful to small children, but it also opened the door to other infections as a result of surgery. In other words, a diagnosis of croup was extremely frightening to any parent in the 1840s, just as it was to George V that Easter weekend. All celebrations were cancelled with the exception of a private church service on Easter Sunday morning where prayers for the Prince of Wales were to be added to the liturgy. Estate employees and members of the general public were not to be welcomed into the castle environs to greet the Royal Family and the traditional luncheon held for nearly 150 in St George’s Hall was abandoned. Those who were not related to the King left Windsor with only members of the Royal Family remaining behind, all suspended in a state of anguish and worry as they awaited news from the nursery floor. [4]

George was beside himself and as he knelt by his son’s bed, he wept and prayed aloud. He thought of his younger brother. Had Eddy lived, he would have celebrated his 20th birthday a month earlier. The King’s thoughts wandered to the kind of young man the Prince might have been. Would he have had the army career denied to George? No. He would no doubt have followed Uncle William into the navy. Water. The King shuddered. Then his mind was filled with images of Sunny, how she’d been so terribly pale and exhausted as she held the little Prince now breathing heavily and looking just as drained as Louise had been in those final hours. He could almost feel Sunny’s presence in that room. George remembered how he’d walked from her death bed to the nursery, to see their new-born child. He had made a promise to himself then that he would do all he could to protect little William from harm, to ensure he thrived and lived the long and happy life denied to Sunny…and to Eddy. And yet now, as his son lay gravely ill, he could do nothing. Once again, the King faced the horrifying thought that another of those he loved most was about to be cruelly taken from him. Tears splashed down his cheeks as he became lost in memory and then suddenly...

Princess Agnes had been out walking in the Great Park when a footman rushed to her to tell her of the Prince’s condition. Without a word, Agnes ran across the sodden grass, the bottom of her skirts soaked through and her boots caked in mud. Her bonnet came loose and fell to the ground as she dashed along the South Terrace and darted toward the Nursery Floor as fast as her legs could carry her. She burst into the room where the Prince lay, the King by his side, Agnes’ hair was loose, her brow was pouring with sweat and her clothes were crumpled and wet. Without a word to George or Dr Alison, she flung open the windows and then seized the Prince of Wales from his bed, placing him on her lap and leaning him forward, gently rubbing his back with her hand. She began to sing softly. Wide-eyed, the King went to admonish her but Dr Alison gently placed his arm on George’s shoulder as the Prince of Wales stopped screaming. [5]

“Do not worry Sir”, Alison whispered, “His Royal Highness is in the best of hands”.

For the next two days, Agnes refused to leave the nursery. Though the King had to concede defeat and retire to his bed for a few hours, the Princess quickly silenced any who suggested she might do the same, “I am where I should be”, she said, “And here I stay”. The nursery nurses looked on as Agnes bathed the little Prince, swirling menthol into the water which released a strong aroma of peppermint and beeswax into the room. Every hour, on the hour, Agnes filled the croup kettle herself from the nursery pantry and as the water boiled, she scooped out a cup or two to brew weak tea for William to drink when it had cooled. Slowly but surely, the rasp in the Prince’s breathing left him. His cough slowed. His temperature came down. After a few hours rest, the King returned to the nursery and was amazed by what he saw. There was the Prince of Wales, sitting on the floor, chortling and chuckling as he and Agnes played with some wooden blocks. Alison examined the Prince. He was fully recovered. The King was left speechless. Lady Maria Beauclerk took her charge and Dr Alison followed her out, leaving George and Agnes alone together in the nursery. Agnes must have been exhausted yet she did not show it.

For a moment they stood in silence, avoiding eye contact. Then, the King rushed toward Agnes and embraced her, holding her tightly as he wept; “You saved my boy. You saved him”.

Agnes comforted the King. She made to speak but she now became acutely aware of just how tired she really was.

“Look at you”, the King said kindly, “You’re exhausted, come my darling, let me take you to rest”.

And so, the King helped his fiancée along the corridors until they reached the Queen’s Private Apartments. He laid her on a settee in the morning room and covered her with a woollen blanket. Then, he sat beside her and held her hand tightly.

“Nessa…I…I wish to apologise…”

Agnes nodded slowly.

“The fault was mine Georgie”, she said softly, “I’ve behaved so very badly, I really do feel very wretched about everything. But I…I believed something terrible and perhaps I was wrong to do so…”

“I know what you believed”, George replied, stroking her hair, “But you must believe me when I tell you that there is no truth to it, to any of it, none whatsoever. It’s simply that…”

“Yes?”

“I have thought much these past few days about those I have lost”, George said, his voice breaking a little, “My poor brother, Eddy. Dear Uncle William, such a wonderful old man, you would have liked him very much I think. And Lottie…well, I lost her in a different way…but Sunny…well…Sunny….they all left me quite alone you see. And I really didn’t have anyone to confide in or to rely upon, to listen to my troubles…to tell me when I was wrong…”

“Oh Georgie”

“Rosa is as dear to me as a sister”, the King said quietly, finally broaching the issue once and for all, “And I know that others, those with poisonous minds, seek to betray that friendship and offer it as something which it never was and which it never shall be. Rosa is my friend. But you…you are to be my wife…and I love you in a way I have never, and will never, love her. I want you to remember that Nessa. Promise me you shall remember that?”

Agnes smiled gently.

“I already knew it my darling. Deep down”, she replied, “I just…needed to hear you say it…”

The King kissed her and continued to stroke her hair as she drifted off to sleep. That night, Agnes slept soundly and the King had much to be grateful for.

So it was that Princess Mary’s mercy dash to Windsor was in vain, though she was glad to see that amends had been made and that the King and the Princess were “as sympatico as two turtledoves”. Once again, George and Agnes walked the corridors of Windsor hand in hand and to celebrate their good fortune, the King decided to throw an impromptu gala at the castle the following weekend so as to allow their guests to return and enjoy royal hospitality at its best.

Some 500 miles away in Hanover, the Armaghs had much to celebrate too. That Easter marked their first at Herrenhausen as the Viceregal couple and there was the added joy of it being the first Easter they celebrated as a family with their infant son Prince George Augustus. They attended a church service at the Royal Guelphic Chapel before a public parade, the Countess handing out small wooden hand painted eggs to the children whilst the Earl handed out ribbons to young debutantes who affixed them to their straw bonnets. There were military bands and pony rides and the atmosphere was one of great enjoyment, the engravings from the day proving very popular in England where all could congratulate the new Viceroy of Hanover for settling into his new position so well. However, this snapshot of a Kingdom at play belied the stirrings of something that was about to shatter the image of Hanover as a Ruritanian paradise. [6]

After the Easter celebrations, the Hanoverian parliament sat once more and after 6 months of backroom discussions, a private member’s bill was introduced by Emil Tebbel, a liberal from Bothfeld. The Viceroyalty Act 1845 had the support of 23 members – though not from the ruling party - and came as a huge shock to the conservative establishment. The bill opened with a loyal address to His Majesty King George V (thereby avoiding any accusations of causing insult to the Sovereign) but what followed sought to curtail the monarch’s powers in his “Other Kingdom”. The Act sought to amend the 1819 constitution of Hanover which gave the Sovereign the ultimate authority to appoint a Viceroy for Hanover and instead, demanded that in the future such an appointment be considered a “nomination” instead. Thereafter, parliament would vote on the candidate who could only be appointed as Viceroy if he won two-thirds support of its members. Furthermore, and wishing to avoid a repeat of the lengthy tenure of the Duke of Cambridge, term limits were to be imposed with a Viceroy only eligible to hold office for two terms of five years, either consecutively or non-consecutively. Those in favour insisted that Hanover must evolve her system of government to reflect the will of the people for though Hanover’s constitution had been modelled on that of England, in practise the Kingdom was administered more as an absolute monarchy than a constitutional one.

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The Earl of Armagh.

The proposed reform to the Viceroyalty was not intended as an assault on royal authority, indeed, when the bill reached the ears of the Earl of Armagh he said he believed the bill was practical and that he welcomed the notion of his appointment being approved by the people’s representatives. [7] But the vast majority of the Hanoverian parliament did not feel the same way and the bill was howled down in a flurry of angry roars. Needless to say, it did not proceed to a vote but the Tebbelites (as they became known) had the backing of very prominent liberal figures, such as William Albrecht. Albrecht was well known to George V as in 1840 he had caused outrage when he appeared to criticise the King for failing to visit Hanover when he paid a trip to Germany with Queen Louise at that time. Initially furious with Albrecht, the King relented, saw that he was reinstated to the University at Göttingen and then embarked on the creation of Hanover Week to repair the estranged relationship with his Hanoverian subjects which the Professor had highlighted. Now, Albrecht signed his name to a letter endorsing Tebbel’s 1845 bill.

But this time, rather than being ostracised by his colleagues, six other Professors at Göttingen followed Albrecht’s example. These were Friedrich Christian Dahlmann (a liberal reformist from Wismar), Georg Gottfried Gervinus (a historian from Darmstadt), Wilhelm Weber (a physicist from Wittenberg), Heinrich Ewald (an orientalist from Gottingen) and Wilhelm and Jacob Grimm (better known to history as the Brothers Grimm, the popular storytellers of folk tales). Though the Earl of Armagh had sympathy with their cause, there was very little he could do if the Hanoverian parliament did not adopt and approve the bill Emil Tebbel and his supporters had introduced. However, as the debate spilled out onto the streets, a huge number of Hanoverians came out in support of Tebbel and his proposals. They felt it high time that they had a say in their system of government and whilst nobody wished to dispense with the monarchy, or indeed the Viceroy, the idea that the King could simply install a family member to the highest position in the land to serve as long as he liked without recourse to their parliament seemed incredible. But it also spoke to the fact that Hanover’s constitution had only ever been brushed up a little since the first was granted in 1819. The changes since did little to improve things in the Kingdom and those of a more liberal view felt that if that approach didn’t change, Hanover might one day find itself in a position where the personal union with the British Crown was no longer tenable. As Wilhelm Weber put it; “Why should it be that the King’s subjects in England enjoy a better system of government than the King’s subjects in Hanover, for are we not equal in our loyalty to His Majesty?”.

In London, the Hanoverian Chancery received word of the rumblings in George V’s “Other Kingdom” at the worst possible time [8]. The Head of the Chancery, Count von Ompteda, was now over 70 years old and had served in his post for almost 15 years. It had never been an office he had aspired to but his loyalty to the Crown demanded he accept it. Just as the Duke of Cambridge had stepped back from his role in the Hanoverian government, so too was Count von Ompteda casting an eye to his future. Whatever time he had left to him, he wished to spend it at his home in Celle which for many years he had only ever been able to visit for a few months of the year. Before he could retire however, Ompteda had to recommend a successor to the King. Whilst the Count longed to end his tenure as Head of the Chancery, he had no choice but to delay for he could not bring himself to nominate the successor the Hanoverian parliament had made clear it wanted. As with the Viceroy, the parliament in Hanover had no constitutional role to play in the appointment of the Head of the Chancery but there was no doubt in the minds of the ruling conservatives that there could be only one candidate for the position they could accept. His name was Count George zu Münster. Münster was born in London in 1820 during his father’s tenure as Hanoverian minister to the Court of St James’. Having studied at the University of Göttingen with the sons of George III, Ernst zu Münster entered the public service of the Electorate of Hanover and rose through the ranks until he was appointed Head of the Chancery. In this role, Münster was charged with overseeing the fortunes of the German assets of the House of Hanover and was most successful in promoting them at the Congress of Vienna in 18115 which saw the Electorate elevated to a Kingdom. His son, George zu Münster, had followed in his father’s footsteps by studying at Göttingen but when George was just 18, his father died and George inherited the family estates as well as a hereditary seat in the Hanoverian parliament. From that time on, Münster continued the family tradition and joined the Hanoverian diplomatic service but he also upheld the family’s politics. He held strong Guelph sympathies and was known to be a passionate conservative, far more reactionary perhaps than Ompteda but very much in the model of his illustrious father.

It may be for this reason that Ompteda did not consider Münster a suitable successor for the post of Head of the Chancery. This was not the reason he gave to Münster’s supporters of course, rather he said that Münster was still very young and had little experience of the Chancery in London in adulthood. Ompteda proposed his own candidate whom he felt was far more appropriate; his nephew, Count August Christian von Ompteda, then serving as an auditor in the Chancery. August Christian was twice Münster’s age, he had assisted his uncle well and he was moderate in his politics, though still aligned himself with the conservative majority. This suggestion did not go down well with the ruling class in Hanover. Though they objected on the grounds of nepotism (somewhat hypocritically), their real opposition to Ompteda’s nephew taking the post was that they wanted a strong, conservative voice in the Chancery who could react with force and authority when confronted with liberal calls for reforms such as the Viceroyalty Act. The conservatives did not believe August Christian had the determination – or even the conviction – needed to do so and they threw their weight entirely behind Münster. Yet Ompteda feared that far from holding back the liberal surge in Hanover, Münster’s brand of conservatism would only serve to exacerbate tensions and risk plunging Hanover into crisis. Ahead of a private audience with George V to inform him of the situation regarding the Viceroyalty Act, Ompteda finally made his decision – he would do nothing. If his retirement, which he had already indicated to the King was forthcoming, was mentioned, Ompteda would simply defer and say he had not yet considered it enough to submit his resignation. It bought time. But that was all.

At Windsor, George V knew nothing of the stirrings in Hanover as he and Princess Agnes (ably assisted by Princess Mary) began to put the finishing touches to their wedding plans. The date was finally set for Friday the 11th of July 1845 – nearly two months after the King’s preferred date of the 2nd of May. This delay had nothing to do with the couple themselves or even the availability of the Abbey, rather it was to accommodate one guest whom the King was determined would attend his wedding – the Tsarevna of Russia. Maria Georgievna had been reunited with her brother in Germany and the Netherlands but she had not returned to England since her marriage five years earlier. At that time, it was made clear that the public animosity toward Russia may cause unpleasantness for the Tsarevna if she visited England too regularly but nobody could have imagined that she would stay away from her birth country for quite so long. Simply put, two pregnancies and a complex new role to adopt had left Maria Georgievna with no real inclination to return to London even though she always considered herself to be thoroughly English. Before the May date was proposed, word came from St Petersburg informing George V that, with regret, the Tsarevna could not possibly leave Russia for the next three months.

The Russian Court was once again in mourning. Grand Duchess Mikhailovna, the daughter of Grand Duke Michael Pavlovich to whom the Tsarevich was so close, died at the end of January 1845. The Grand Duchess had married Adolf, Duke of Nassau in 1844 but just as with the poor Grand Duchess Alexandra Nikolaevna (known as Adini) less than six months earlier, Elizabeth died shortly after giving birth to a stillborn chill. Court mourning in St Petersburg had been declared in the first week of February and would last for 90 days after the funeral, so neither the Tsarevich nor his wife could even think of leaving Russia until that concluded – which it would in the first week of May when the King hoped to marry Princess Agnes. The King was frustrated but as no invitations had been sent out and as no wedding date had been made public, the wedding date was pushed back so as to allow his sister and her husband to attend. Having settled this with the Archbishop of Canterbury, the King remarked (rather insensitively), “Now let us hope we shall see no more Grand Duchesses go to their eternal reward before we walk up the aisle or else we shan’t be married until we are eighty in the shade” [9].

The King and Princess Agnes now engaged in a tradition well known to many couples – opening the can of worms on whom they should invite to their wedding and whom should be left out. Swallowing his pride, George accepted that he must invite his cousin Victoria. Though he had ignored her fervent apologies since that letter had been received, he knew the public would expect to see her in the procession and besides, it was a state occasion to which the Dutch would naturally expect an invitation. He was adamant however that Victoria and her husband could not be accommodated at Buckingham Palace and would have to go elsewhere. In the end, they were pushed into the Dutch Embassy in South Kensington which appalled Victoria and which she complained about for months thereafter. Meanwhile, the Anhalt-Dessaus had problem relations of their own.

The Duchess of Anhalt-Dessau was insistent that her erstwhile stepfather, the Duke of Cumberland, should be invited. She was not particularly close to him but she knew the King loathed him. Frederica was livid when the King said if the Duke of Cumberland came to the wedding, he would not. But she won out on other demands. Just as George V threatened to boycott his own wedding if his uncle was present, so did Frederica insist that she would stay at home if two of her brothers-in-law were invited. These were Prince George Bernard and Prince William Waldemar. Both had married morganatically, George Bernhard to a woman of lesser nobility and William Waldemar to a commoner. They were never to be received in Dessau when the Duchess was present and they could only visit their brother Leopold IV when Frederica was in Berlin visiting her Prussian relations. Agnes was not particularly close to either of her uncles and agreed to her mother’s wishes but in doing so, she also unwittingly approved the remainder of her mother’s list which saw nine Prussian families invited who would vastly outnumber the Anhalts. On the groom’s side, the Hesse-Kassels were also invited but there remained the question of the Mecklenburg-Strelitzes. George dearly wanted his former parents-in-law to attend his wedding but Grand Duchess Marie refused to consider it and so even though an invitation was sent to Neustrelitz, only the King’s cousin Augusta and her husband Hereditary Grand Duke Frederick William came to London for the occasion.

Princess Agnes had, until now, been kept away from making any decisions concerning her own wedding but there were certain things only a bride could choose. These included her wedding gown, her bouquet and how she might wear her hair but she was also allowed to select her own bridal party. When she presented her list of bridesmaids to Princess Mary, the old girl looked up at Agnes sternly and said, “My dear, this is not a bridal party – this is a regiment”. Agnes had selected the Princess Royal, Princess Victoria, Princess Maria Anna of Anhalt Dessau, Princesses Adelaide Marie, Bathildis and Hilda of Anhalt-Dessau and Princesses Marie Louise and Maria Anna of Prussia. The eldest was to be Princess Mary Adelaide of Cambridge (at 12 years old) and the youngest was to be Princess Anna of Hesse and by Rhine (at just 2 years old). Agnes insisted that she had only added to the British representation to the names which her mother had sent her and keen to avoid a dispute, Princess Mary sighed and agreed. Therefore, Princess Agnes would be marched to the aisle accompanied by no less than ten bridesmaids – all wearing the same shade of lavender, which Agnes declared delightful and which Princess Mary said would give them the appearance of “a troop of plums waddling through the Abbey”. Mary was particularly concerned about Princess Mary Adelaide of Cambridge; “for she is so very enormous for her age, she is bound to look quite ridiculous in such a colour” [10]. Agnes suggested the bridesmaids might wear cream-coloured sashes to break up the lilac hue she favoured but Mary vetoed this on the grounds that “they shall probably get them doused in custard or something similarly unpleasant at the wedding breakfast”.

The wedding breakfast itself was to be held at Buckingham Palace directly after the wedding but then came the question of the honeymoon. The King proposed two weeks be allocated to the couple which Agnes suggested they might spend at Burg Rheinstein where they first met. But George had other ideas. Following his trip to Scotland, he had met with Lord Aberdeen to discuss the possibility of his acquiring the remaining lease on Balmoral. Aberdeen was only too pleased to accept this, the house being vacant and in need of a reliable tenant – and who could be better suited to that task than His Majesty the King? But George also wanted something else – Birkhall. Lord Aberdeen had never resided there and instead, had opened Birkhall to private tenants. Sir Reginald and Lady Isabella Crosbie, now in their 60s, had lived at Birkhall for thirty years on a gentleman’s agreement but now, the King wished to acquire Birkhall along with the remaining lease on Balmoral. It was agreed that the King would pay £20,000 (the equivalent to £1.2m today) to Lord Aberdeen to secure a lease of 5 years on Balmoral and to buy Birkhall outright. When the lease on Balmoral expired, the King would pay Aberdeen another £20,000 to buy Balmoral outright and link the two estates. Sir Reginald and Lady Crosbie were rather unfairly evicted from Birkhall and unbeknown to anybody, the King sent a team to Scotland to give the house a much needed facelift. [11]

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The Birkhall Estate, 1845.

Birkhall was to be Agnes’ wedding gift from the King and though he made mention only of honeymooning in Scotland (which Agnes was only too happy to agree to), the Princess could have no idea that she was about to visit a property which would become her favourite of all royal residences, so much so that when George V died he bequeathed Birkhall to Agnes in her own right so that she might always have use of it. From the moment she arrived, Agnes fell in love with Birkhall and said that the surrounding estate reminded her of her home in Dessau. Over the years, she would extend and remodel Birkhall and though the King spent time with her there on occasion, it was understood from the very start that Birkhall was a place for Agnes to be as independent as she wished. The house was very much her private fiefdom and she was under no obligation to receive anybody there she did not wish. When the King was away for extended periods of time or during the summer months when her diary allowed, Queen Agnes would retreat to Birkhall, a place she always called “my darling little house”. Of course, Princess Mary knew that the King had it in mind to take Balmoral as a house in Scotland and news that the royal couple would honeymoon there did not surprise her. But she urged a word of caution at the same time; “Wasn’t that a little expensive Georgie?”, she asked soberly, “After all, you still have so much to do at the Park…and what of the house in Dorset?”. The King told his aunt not to be such an old hen. He could easily afford Balmoral and after all, the government agreed it was advantageous for the Sovereign to have a permanent residence in Scotland. Mary remained unconvinced.

There was one final set of arrangements to be made ahead of the King’s marriage but this had nothing to do with gowns, bridesmaids or Scottish estates, neither was something the King or his intended could settle. Now that the government had survived a confidence vote, the King formally asked his Prime Minister to appoint six ladies of the bedchamber to the soon to be established Queen’s Household. Such appointments often took time to confirm and it was hoped that (the bridesmaids being purely for show), these ladies might serve as attendants to Princess Agnes on her wedding day. Lord Melbury agreed, though we might wonder if he ever thought his appointments would take up their roles given that his government could fall at any time. Still, after careful thought, he sent his list to the King. The most senior appointment would be that of the Mistress of the Robes who by convention was to be a Duchess. It was privately communicated to the Prime Minister that he should not consider the Duchess of Sutherland who had previously held the role as she had served the late Queen – and had been present when she died. Also vetoed was the Duchess of Argyll because her husband had been divorced and that would never do. The honour of serving the new Queen consort as Mistress of the Robes was therefore offered to Mary FitzRoy, Duchess of Grafton, wife of the 5th Duke, a former Whig MP and who now sat on the government benches of the House of Lords.

The remaining five ladies were not required to be of ducal rank but Melbury was advised he should not choose only those ladies married to incumbent members of the Cabinet as Prime Ministers were wont to do. To this end, Melbury’s final choices were:
  • Katherine Villiers, Countess of Clarendon (wife of the Lord Privy Seal)
  • Mary Pelham, Countess of Chichester (wife of the Postmaster General)
  • Mary Brougham, Baroness Brougham and Vaux (wife of the former Lord Chancellor)
  • Mary Fox, Baroness Holland (wife of the former Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster)
  • Lady Harriet Anson, daughter of the 1st Earl of Lichfield and sister of Anne Anson, the former lady in waiting of Maria Georgievna who married the Earl of Wemyss in 1843.
When this list was given to Princess Agnes, she laughed “Goodness me, what a lot of Marys I have!” and this inspired her to give each of her ladies a nickname as she considering using their surnames or territorial designations to be unfeminine. The Duchess of Grafton therefore became May, whilst the Countess of Chichester was known as Jilly (taken from her middle name, Juliana). Mary Brougham was Daisy, whilst Mary Fox became Gussie (for her middle name, Augusta). The remaining ladies were also given nicknames so that they did not feel left out of the future Queen’s affections. Katherine Villiers became Katy whilst Harriet Anson became known as Shula – though nobody, even Lady Harriet, could understand why. With these offers extended and accepted, the ladies of the future Queen consort were to assemble at Marlborough House for a tea party so that they could get to know their charge a little better. But as they gathered, there was one more to their number who was finally well enough to return to society.

Walking behind Lady Anson in a bright green satin gown and a matching hat trimmed with ostrich feathers stood Baroness Wiedl. She sank into a low curtsey before the Princess who paused for a moment before extending her hand. Rosa dutifully kissed it.

“My dear Rosa”, Agnes said calmly, “How wonderful it is to see you again…”

In a hushed whisper in the back row of the assembled ladies, Lady Holland leaned in toward Lady Anson.

"Do you suppose it is a truce, then?", she said with a naughty smile.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean...", Lady Anson lied. She only hoped Lady Holland was right.

Notes

[1] ‘Mum’ for ‘Ma’am was quite common – in both senses of the word – and etiquette/housekeeping books from this time explicitly state that ladies of the house should discourage servants from calling them ‘Mum’ instead of ‘Ma’am’ or ‘Madam’. Here however, I think Mary has accepted this is a losing battle with poor Ives!

[2] In a similar way to Queen Alexandra in the OTL in 1910 when she point-blank refused to leave Sandringham House forcing her son and his family to live in a smaller cottage on the estate. This infuriated George V but despite being a King-Emperor, he could not shift “Mother Dear” from the home she loved.

[3] I believe this tradition is still observed today but certainly it was very much honoured in 1845.

[4] The croup treatments here are all researched from medical journals of the day and would have been known to Alison.

[5] This isn’t miraculous intuition on Agnes’ part. It was often felt prudent for young princesses at the German courts to learn a certain amount of nursing for common illnesses as they would most likely experience them in their children when they married. In the OTL, Agnes enjoyed this and for the rest of her life, she committed herself to nursing – the study of it and the foundation of hospitals etc. So again, we begin to see more of her character and interests which she might develop in TTL in her new role in England.

[6] This section is how I believe Hanover would have developed if it was still in personal union. I’ve invented this bill and those who proposed it but there’s inspiration here from the OTL Göttingen Seven (who make an appearance in this chapter) and from the clash which took place between the arch-Tory Duke of Cumberland as King Ernst Augustus and his more liberal subjects.

[7] We know that the OTL George V of Hanover was far more open to liberal reforms than his father had been.

[8] Again, entirely invented as the progression of the PoD where Hanover remains in personal union. In the OTL, Ompteda’s tenure as Head of the Chancery ended in 1837 when the personal union ended.

[9] A popular phrase of the period meaning when someone is in the twilight years of their life.

[10] Cruel but poor Mary Teck was always the butt of family jokes for her enormous size. Indeed, they called her “Fat Mary” – some of them to her face.

[11] Loosely based on the way Balmoral was acquired by Prince Albert in the OTL.
 
Dear Lord! What a scare! But little Willy is ok and this has brought Agnes and George closer than ever.

And let's hope that the act smooths relations with Hanover.
 
The King and Queen of France (Louis Philippe and Maria Amalia) sent a portrait of themselves,
Why does this not surprise me?
I can’t blame Agnes. Her fiancé keeps spending time with a woman that a lot of people think is his mistress. I just hope that they get over this barrier and this doesn’t put a damper on their marriage.
Great chapter
 
Also, is Christian VIII sending them a canoe based on something otl? Seems more like something his son would do hahah
Apparently Christian VIII sent the OTL Queen Victoria a canoe as a birthday gift around this time...quite what he thought she would do with it who knows (!) but the royal children enjoyed using it at Virginia Water. x'D
 
“That is incorrect”, Mary declared, “Calling hours are not upon us. What I have is an intruder. See them off at once Ives”.
Love this, made me laugh out loud. Pretty sure Mary will be a fan favourite in the inevitable tv series.

Really curious how the personal union with Hannover will affect German and European politics in the future. Provided it actually continues, of course. On the one hand, we know know George will be succeeded by his son, so Salic law should not create any issues. On the other hand, 1848 is approaching and who knows how German nationalism will affect the situation.
 
Thankyou! And my apologies if I made anyone extremely nervous with this chapter - I did consider a TLDR: Don't panic, Willy survives! x'D
You did already confirm that he’d survive at least another forty years earlier in the chapter:
When she became Queen Dowager some forty years later, it was expected that Agnes would leave the “big house” at Lisson and vacate the private apartments at Buckingham Palace in favour of Marlborough House. Agnes refused to budge from either royal residence, much to the irritation of her stepson.
 
Love this, made me laugh out loud. Pretty sure Mary will be a fan favourite in the inevitable tv series.

Really curious how the personal union with Hannover will affect German and European politics in the future. Provided it actually continues, of course. On the one hand, we know know George will be succeeded by his son, so Salic law should not create any issues. On the other hand, 1848 is approaching and who knows how German nationalism will affect the situation.
Thankyou so much! I suddenly thought we hadn't really had a "Mary moment" for a while and they're always such fun to right. I'm glad you enjoyed it!

Where Hanover is concerned, I've definitely been planning out our story there with 1848 in mind which isn't far off so I hope that'll be an interesting theme to explore.
You did already confirm that he’d survive at least another forty years earlier in the chapter:
Ah yes! And I think I've mentioned William IV before in previous chapters. Phew.
 

Hoyahoo9

Donor
“Phipps, Mum”, Ives intoned gravely.

“He is already IN”, Mary shouted.

“Beg pardon Mum?”, Ives replied.

“HE IS ALREADY – oh it doesn’t matter Ives, leave us. YOU MAY LEAVE US”

Ives shuffled silently from the room. Phipps stifled a giggle.
This was hilarious . . .
 
I’m happy that William survived that croup attack. I feel like George and Agnes’s interaction will basically sum up what their relationship will be like in the future. Agnes will say or do something that offends George who gets angry and the two don’t talk to each other until they make up and reaffirm their love and then the cycle starts all over again.
Also, Princess Mary was great as usual in this chapter.
 
I’m happy that William survived that croup attack. I feel like George and Agnes’s interaction will basically sum up what their relationship will be like in the future. Agnes will say or do something that offends George who gets angry and the two don’t talk to each other until they make up and reaffirm their love and then the cycle starts all over again.
Also, Princess Mary was great as usual in this chapter.
I'm kinda hoping that George eventually grows to appreciate Agnes' strong willed-ness (even if ettiqute demands he reprimand her for it sometimes in public settings)
 
This was hilarious . . .
I'm so glad you enjoyed it!
I’m happy that William survived that croup attack. I feel like George and Agnes’s interaction will basically sum up what their relationship will be like in the future. Agnes will say or do something that offends George who gets angry and the two don’t talk to each other until they make up and reaffirm their love and then the cycle starts all over again.
Also, Princess Mary was great as usual in this chapter.
Thank you so much! And yes, I think that's a fair assessment of what we can expect from George and Agnes' relationship - at least for a while. This is going to be a learning curve for both of them and what George must remember is that Agnes isn't and can't be Louise. She's going to have her own interests and causes, her own way of doing things. It may be difficult for a time but that sometimes brings a couple closer in the end.
I'm kinda hoping that George eventually grows to appreciate Agnes' strong willed-ness (even if ettiqute demands he reprimand her for it sometimes in public settings)
I think that's a great point! Certainly Agnes has the opportunity to make a name for herself in the history books here and it'd be a shame if George didn't see that she's quite capable of doing that for entirely right reasons.

Just as a heads up, I'm currently posting the next chapter which will be the last of Part Three. However, it is a little longer than usual so:

The format of the last chapter in Part Three tells the story of three brides.

If you're only really interested in George, Agnes and the British themes in TTL, you could get away with reading the first story and the post-script.

The other two stories take us to Brazil and to Hanover. That said, I hope you'll enjoy all three tales which will be posted very shortly!
 
Just as a heads up, I'm currently posting the next chapter which will be the last of Part Three. However, it is a little longer than usual so:

The format of the last chapter in Part Three tells the story of three brides.

If you're only really interested in George, Agnes and the British themes in TTL, you could get away with reading the first story and the post-script.

The other two stories take us to Brazil and to Hanover. That said, I hope you'll enjoy all three tales which will be posted very shortly!
I'm interested in all of it, but I must say, I'd love to see more of Russia if you can fit it in. I miss Charlotte Louise. She was my favourite of the royal children when they were little. :)
 
GV: Part Three, Chapter Thirty-Two: Three Brides
King George V

Part Three, Chapter Thirty-Two: Three Brides


Agnes

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Though King George V was initially frustrated that his preferred wedding date of the 2nd of May 1845 had to be changed to accommodate the travel arrangements of his sister, the Tsarevna of Russia, the events of that particular day gave all at Buckingham Palace pause for thought as they pondered what might have been. In the seaside town of Great Yarmouth in Norfolk, Cooke’s Royal Circus (which had received the patronage of the late Duke of Clarence in 1830) was staging a series of stunts on the River Bure. Led by their star turn, a clown named Arthur Nelson, the highlight of the performance was “Nelson’s Flagship”, a trick in which a bathtub (attached to a rowboat by an underwater line) sailed on the river, apparently pulled by four geese. Naturally the best vantage point to witness this absurd but enjoyable feat was on the suspension bridge over the Bure and so it was that around three to four hundred people amassed on the bridge, standing around 4-5 deep on the southern footway. Just half an hour after the crowds arrived, one spectator noticed that one of the eyebars in the southern suspension chain broke. Yet he didn't raise the alarm, nor did he attempt to evacuate the bridge. Less than five minutes later, the second eyebar failed. The south side of the bridge gave an almighty groan and collapsed into the river, tipping the majority of the crowd into the water below. A parapet railing swung forward, crushing those who had managed to hold on to the remaining structure as those on the banks of the Bure watched on aghast. 79 lives were lost that day – 58 of them were children. [1]

The Yarmouth Disaster saw a wide outpouring of sympathy across the United Kingdom. Though many people could not place the town on a map, heart-breaking stories from survivors (mostly parents who had seen their children drowned) appeared in national newspapers and prompted the country to expressing collective grief in the form of church services and two minute silences. A fund was established to raise money for the survivors, to which the King gave a personal donation of £100 (£6,000 today). Had His Majesty insisted on his wedding taking place that day, the celebrations would have (quite rightly) been entirely overshadowed by the news from Yarmouth but it may even have been taken as an omen of bad fortune for the newlyweds. Whilst this might sound like suspicious nonsense, a similar event in Darmstadt in 1861 gave rise to precisely these claims and the unfortunate events which plagued the family in later years later were always related back to the tragic events that took place in the market square in the Grand Duchy on a royal wedding day, events we shall revisit in detail in the future. [2]

As her wedding approached, Princess Agnes set about finding a couturier to supply her gown. Upon her arrival in England, Agnes quickly realised that her meagre wardrobe was drawing unwanted attention at court. As her parents had little money, she had become used to rotating the two or three dresses she had but mostly she wore the same white jacket with a selection of skirts to give the impression that she had a far more extensive collection of clothes than she really did. However, all that changed after her engagement when the King ordered Phipps to open an account for Agnes with a dressmaker. It must be remembered that when the late Queen Louise arrived in England, women were eager to copy what become known as the Mecklenburg Style whereby corsetry was relaxed and the skirts brought in (and off hoops) to provide a more natural silhouette. With the exception of her evening wear, Louise had favoured light materials such as cottons and muslins and this simpler style was not only easily replicated but was also affordable to women outside the court – something quite novel in 1838. The Mecklenburg Style was still very popular in England in 1845 and this was in part thanks to the former Dress Maker Extraordinary, Mary Bettans, who helped to introduce it to a wider audience.

Bettans had a long association with the British Royal Family having not only supplied them with day and evening wear but she was also responsible for creating the wedding gown of Princess Victoria of Kent in 1837. She was denied the chance to do likewise for the late Queen as the King’s mother much preferred the fashions of the Knightsbridge-based dressmaker Madame Yvonne (better known as Elsie Fitch). After her marriage, Queen Louise promoted Bettans to Dress Maker Extraordinary to the Court and relied entirely on her workshop for all her garments but the two women frequently clashed as Bettans tried to pull Louise away from her simple Mecklenburg style and push her instead toward French fashions. Nonetheless, Bettans was proud to serve as couturière to the Queen, eventually embraced her simple commissions and was devastated when Queen Louise died in 1842. Bettans role as Dress Maker to the Court had come to a sudden end but she was still a popular purveyor of fashions in high society. She was overjoyed when Phipps visited her shop in Jermyn Street to ask if she might take on royal commissions once again and a week later, she travelled to Marlborough House. Bettans was delighted to find that Princess Agnes “has a taste for heavier fabrics in bold prints and colours, and that she is in agreement with me that the latest Parisian styles are far superior to anything produced in Knightsbridge today”. [3]

The French style was far more extravagant than the Mecklenburg in that it still favoured a more traditional silhouette. Crinolines were de rigeuer as they were needed to support stiff, voluminous, wide sweeping skirts which made the corseted torso look even slimmer. Jackets and skirts were preferred for day wear as opposed to dresses and these were often fitted at the waist to hip-length and heavily decorated with embroidery. Poke bonnets were extremely popular with high crowns, broad brims and ribbons tied under the chin in a bow whereas the standard English cap was seen as servant’s wear and dispensed with. As well it may be for French ladies spent hours having their hair dressed in the latest fashion which was far more feminine and romantic than the English penchant for neat waves tied in a bun at the back of the head. The beauties of Paris had built on this with a neat braid woven around the bun but with loose curls falling on either side of the face, which was regarded to be far more genteel and so much softer than the severe and flat London fashion. Mary Bettans was tasked with producing a whole new wardrobe based on these trends and created day and evening wear in a variety of bold jewel tones which Agnes favoured thereafter. Gone were muslins and cottons and in their place came duchess satins, silks and taffetas in brilliant shades of emerald green, shocking pink and even electric blue. [4]

The ladies of the bedchamber appointed to the future Queen Agnes in 1845 were horrified when they first saw these creations for it was expected that they would follow whichever trend the Queen preferred. Whilst they had become used to less whalebone and more cotton, now it appeared they would be clad in garish shades in crisp fabrics which did not offer the same comfort (or the same cost-efficiency) as the Mecklenburg style had. But one thing that shocked them more than the Queen’s penchant for lively Parisian fashions was her use of makeup [5]. New Georgian women took their lead on the use of makeup from the churchmen of the day who regarded any cosmetic which altered the appearance to be “a most deceitful and vain practise which is only engaged by prostitutes and dandies”. Much was made of the infamous Beau Brummel dying in a lunatic asylum in Caen in 1840, a certain sign “that a life of vanity produces a sickness in the brain which is so easily avoided by foregoing the use of powders, paints and other ointments which twist the fine, natural appearance of God’s perfect design”. However, it would be wrong to say that British women in the 1840s did not use makeup – they did – the trick however was to use such it with subtlety that it was almost undetectable.

Princess Agnes had never worn makeup in Dessau, she simply would not have dared. But with her new independence came a curiosity and she discretely obtained several products which became essential to her daily toilette. The beauty ideal of the early New Georgians was for a smooth complexion which should be untanned and unblemished with a natural rosy glow. One way to achieve this was the liberal use of something called Crème Céleste – a homemade concoction classed as an ointment and not a cosmetic – which was created from a mixture of oil, water and wax which was then whipped together and applied to cleanse the skin. To make the application more pleasant, rosewater or almond oils were added to give a pleasant smell. But then came the problem of a greasy, shiny appearance. To offset this, women frequently used powder applied with a puff (usually made of chamois) to apply either rice powder, French chalk, or even powder of pearl, which covered the greasy after-effects of the Crème Céleste but had the unfortunate side-effect of making ladies look extremely pale. Princess Agnes was about to change that.

Soon after her arrival in Britain, Agnes began to experiment with the use of makeup – though never in public. This is not to say that she used actual “greasepaint”, this being the reserve of actresses and “ladies of the night” (which in the 1840s amounted to the same thing in the minds of the general public) but she did apply subtle embellishments to ensure she always looked bright and well-groomed. She applied a lightly tinted salve to her lips which gave them a very delicate pink hue (previously only plain waxes were used) whilst she also engaged something called bugloss stirred into beeswax to provide that much sought after rosy glow beneath the powder of pearl. Whilst eyeliners and mascaras were absolutely verboten, Agnes did use a black powder created from burnt cherrywood to slightly darken her eyebrows and she used a very delicate brush to apply castor oil to her eyelashes to make them look thick and healthy, ending the popular practise of trimming the lashes to encourage fuller growth – which never had the effects the ladies home journals promised anyway. Thankfully, Agnes never went too far in her use of cosmetics and reasoned that, because everything she made use of was entirely natural, it could not be at all wicked. Whilst some of her ladies were reluctant to follow her example, the King (if he noticed Agnes was wearing makeup) did not object and thus Agnes’ toilette was deemed not only appropriate and proper but desirable too. [6]

With her new coiffure and visage widely admired, Agnes perhaps felt a certain amount of pressure to impress with her choice of wedding gown. Mary Bettans was tasked with this important endeavour and produced a series of sketches based on wedding dresses she had previously created or those she had seen in books of fashion plates. The last royal wedding dress Bettans had created was for the Princess of Orange in 1837 and at the time, Victoria had put aside the trend for silver and gold for a cream-coloured satin gown embellished with deep flounces of lace. This decision had encouraged other young ladies to followed suit and now, the traditional colour for brides in England was white or cream. Agnes bent to this relatively new custom, though she (rather insensitively) said that she thought Victoria’s gown was “so very horrid in shape” and instead Bettans ( who had designed Victoria's dress) was asked to apply Agnes’ enthusiasm for the Parisian to her design. The end result was a long-waisted, form fitting gown with narrow sleeves trimmed with gathered tulle. The same was applied to the skirt along with strips of braid and buttons and the silk satin itself was figured with flower baskets and sprays, a nod to the heavy embroidery so beloved in France. The neckline was kept deliberately low but still modest to accommodate Agnes’ jewels and the sleeves were flounced with lace and net at the elbow so as to allow the shoulders to be framed by the veil which, as was traditional for English royal brides, was fashioned from Honiton lace.

Of course, there was the question of jewellery and under the watchful gaze of Princess Mary, the Royal Vaults were opened wide and their contents laid out on a blue velvet cloth strung across a billiard table so that Agnes could select the pieces she wanted to wear. In the usual way of things, the bride’s family would have provided a tiara but the Anhalt-Dessaus were not forthcoming in this – presumably because the Duchess didn’t have much in her collection and wanted to keep her best pieces for herself. But though the British collection of jewels was substantial, Agnes would have to be diplomatic in her choices. Of the pieces assembled, most had either been acquired or worn by Queen Louise, the Queen Mother or the late Queen Louise during her tenure as the consort of King George V. Yet from the moment she married, the entire assemblage of tiaras, diadems, earrings and necklaces would become Agnes’ to use as she saw fit and though Princess Mary made her aware of which pieces had belonged to which member of the Royal Family, she intended to select those items which she felt suited her best. Fortunately, none of the pieces closely associated with either of the two Louises took Agnes’ fancy and instead, she selected items which had been deposited in the vault by the Dowager Duchess of Clarence. Adelaide had no need of them as she now lived the quiet life of an invalid and was rarely at court and it was with her blessing therefore that Agnes wore a diamond fringe tiara given to Adelaide on her wedding day by her husband William, and a diamond necklace which had belonged to the late Queen Charlotte.

In the week proceeding the wedding of King George V and Princess Agnes, London was transformed into a vast parade ground, so extensive and illustrious were the guests who filled the Thames with their yachts as they arrived for the festivities. Though he was now enjoying his retirement at Kew, the Duke of Cambridge was appointed to greet each delegation as it arrived but so numerous were the invited royalties that three reception marquees had to be erected at different points throughout the city so as to offer a formal welcome. The first was at St Katharine Dock, the second at Horse Guards Parade and the third in Hyde Park. All were identical with a raised dais covered in red carpet, the “walls” banked with bunting fashioned from alternating Union flags and those of Anhalt-Dessau. Each guest and their party were brought to their particular reception point where a small honour guard stood watch and a military band played the national anthem of the country they represented. Luckily, the Earl of Armagh arrived in enough time to help the Duke of Cambridge and spare him the arduous task of dashing between the marquees and so in this way, no guest arrived at his final destination (whether that be St James’, Clarence House, Marlborough House or his nation’s embassy) without the proper etiquette being observed. On the evening before the wedding, a gala ball was staged at Buckingham Palace where a glittering assemblage of European royalties gathered to toast the fortunes of the couple who would the very next day be married.

For the King, there was only one guest who took his interest that evening: his sister, the Tsarevna of Russia. This marked the first occasion on which Maria Georgievna had returned to England in five long years and there were some who worried what kind of reception she may get as the wife of the Russian heir as her carriage passed through London’s streets. They needn’t have doubted the goodwill of the British public. The crowds which formed to see the great and the good descend on the capital for the royal wedding were delighted to see the Princess they had always held such great affection for and there were cries of “Welcome home!” and “God Bless Princess Charlotte!” as she acknowledged their warmth with a regal wave of the hand. At the gala that night, Maria Georgievna (wearing her Oak Leaf parure gifted to her by Princess Mary) had her first meeting with Princess Agnes, the girl who would now become Queen but would also become her new sister-in-law. The Tsarevna thought Agnes “a very pretty girl, quite enthusiastic and a little unpolished but quite the match for our Georgie”. George complained that it had been far too long since he had seen his sister and jokingly berated Sasha for “keeping her all to yourself”. Sasha replied that the King was welcome to visit them in Russia any time he liked, indeed, nothing would please the couple more. George was sure to pass this comment to the Foreign Secretary a few days later for it must be remembered that the relationship between Britain and Russia was experiencing some degree of strain regarding access to the Dardanelles. Prince Metternich had proposed George go to Russia to see the Tsar personally but the Tory-led Foreign Office had poo-pooed the suggestion. The King hoped the new Whig incumbent would be far more positive about the possibility, if only because it meant he could see Lottie again.

The Princess of Orange behaved well, though she and her husband left the ball so early as to make it noticeable. The King had given her a kind word or two upon their arrival but Victoria was keen to return to the Dutch Embassy where her son, Prince William, lay sleeping. Princess Victoria Paulina was not with the Prince and Princess of Orange and instead remained at Het Loo with her governess. When Princess Mary asked why, Victoria rather cattily replied “Well she was not asked to serve as a bridesmaid so I did not think it necessary to bring her”. In reality, Victoria had no intention of bringing her daughter to England in the first place – unsurprisingly, considering that she barely included her in things at Het Loo, let alone in the country of Victoria’s birth. The Duchess of Anhalt-Dessau was remarkably well behaved too, even jolly, though many felt this was because she had successfully ensured that her Prussian relations outnumbered her husband’s Anhalt relations. So content was the Duchess that she forgot that she was supposed to be upset that the Duke of Cumberland was not present, though as we shall soon see, he was far too busy with his own affairs to miss the party he was not invited to.

The following morning on the 11th of July 1845, Princess Agnes awoke at Marlborough House and was bathed, coiffed and dressed by her ladies in waiting, presided over by the Duchess of Grafton. The procession amassed outside was formed of the Household Division led by the 1st Regiment of Life Guards which it was announced from Buckingham Palace that morning had been renamed The Queen’s Own Life Guards in Agnes’ honour. Agnes was helped into her carriage, her ladies and bridesmaids travelling in a fleet of six further carriages behind her and as she was driven through the streets of London to Westminster Abbey, thousands seemed to line the route cheering, waving and clutching handfuls of rice which they intended to let loose on Agnes’ return journey to the Palace. At the Abbey itself, the King had arrived dressed in military uniform, his uncle the Duke of Cambridge and his cousin the Earl of Armagh acting as his supporters as he stood nervously before the Archbishop of Canterbury, William Howley. As the Abbey bells rang out at 11am precisely, Agnes took her last steps as a Princess and led by her father, Duke Leopold, slowly processed along the aisle up to the High Altar. She was the first royal bride to be wed at the royal peculiar since the 13th century when in 1290, Princess Margaret of England, daughter of King Edward I, married John of Brabant. As she approached her husband to be, her father lifted her veil and kissed her cheek, then her hand which he placed carefully in the King’s. Then, the assembled guests stood at the Archbishop began the ceremony. 53 minutes later, King George V emerged from the Great West Door with his wife by his side. It was said that the roar of the crowd was so loud that birds shot out of the trees in St James’ Park in such huge numbers that it appeared “they too were celebrating this most happy occasion”.

Agnes smiled, overawed but steady, as she stepped into the carriage alongside her husband. The young woman from a small and rather unremarkable German Duchy now travelled through the streets of London, a Princess no longer - but a Queen.

Luise

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In 1701, a treaty was signed in Hamburg which sought to settle a family dispute. Duke Christian Louis of Mecklenburg (1623 – 1692) had been married twice, yet neither union had produced children and thus the House of Mecklenburg was divided as to whom should assume the headship of their family. Some backed Christian Louis’ brother, Adolphus Frederick, but others felt Christian Louis’ nephew, Frederick William had the stronger claim. The matter was put to the Lantag and with the endorsement of the Imperial state of the Lower Saxon Circle, Mecklenburg was divided; Frederick William received Mecklenburg-Strelitz, the line from which the first wife of King George V, Queen Louise, descended. The other half of Christian Louis’ territory, Mecklenburg-Schwerin, was given to Adolphus Frederick and from this line came another Louise destined to serve as a royal consort.

She was the daughter of Grand Duke Paul Frederick, head of the House of Mecklenburg-Schwerin from 1837 until 1842. His people did not think much of Grand Duke Paul Frederick, a man consumed by his love of the military but also by his mistress, leaving very little time for him to build a relationship with the subjects he ruled over. His reputation was restored at the last when in 1842, a fire broke out in the capital and Paul Frederick bravely rushed to assist in putting it out. The fire was extinguished, Paul Frederick returned to his palace, developed a cold and then dropped dead at just 41. By his wife Princess Alexandrine of Prussia (the daughter of King Frederick William III of Prussia and his wife Louise of Mecklenburg-Strelitz), Paul Frederick left behind two sons, the eldest of whom succeeded him as Grand Duke Frederick Franz II, and a daughter Luise. Born in 1824, Luise was pretty and intelligent, artistic and bright and by the time she turned 18 in the year her father died, many of the Royal Houses of Europe were looking to her to join their ranks as a bride for one of their sons. Luise’s pedigree was impressive even though she came from a relatively small court. She was not only the granddaughter of the King of Prussia but she was also a great-granddaughter of Tsar Paul of Russia and his wife, Maria Feodorovna (born Sophia Dorothea, the daughter of the Duke of Württemberg).

When Luise’s father died in 1842, her mother (the Dowager Grand Duchess Alexandrine) was overwhelmed by the flurry of interest that suddenly came regarding the prospects of her only daughter. Alexandrine was a remote consort but a devoted mother and she wanted the very best for her children. This was particularly important to her where marriage was concerned as her own had not been a very happy one. She knew that Luise would be the focus of much attention in the courts of Europe but she also believed that Luise should hold out for a love match, rather than one simply contracted for dynastic purposes as Alexandrine had entered into. However, this could only go so far. Shortly after her father died, Luise fell hopelessly in love with a 23-year-old cavalry officer in Schwerin and declared to her mother that she had found her future husband. Alexandrine was horrified and immediately packed her daughter off to Paris to stay with her aunt Helene, recently widowed when her husband, Prince Ferdinand Philippe, Duke of Orléans was killed in a tragic carriage accident.

Luise proved a great success at the French court and immediately caught the eye of King Louis Philippe’s son, the Prince de Joinville, who wasted no time in asking his sister-in-law if he might ask for Luise’s hand in marriage. Sadly, Luise was not impressed with François in the least – he was 6 years older, quite deaf and a little too serious. The Prince was disappointed but did not linger for long. Six months later, he headed to Brazil and by 1843, had found a love match in Princess Francisca, the younger sister of Emperor Pedro II and Princess Januária of Brazil. It was then the Duke of Aumaule who turned his attention to Luise, encouraged by King Louis Phillipe who thought Luise quite a prize. But Aumaule found Luise far too intellectual and in 1844, he married Princess Maria Carolina of the Two-Sicilies instead. Here readers may recall that Maria Carolina was very reluctant indeed to marry Aumaule because she had her heart set on marrying the brother of the Duke’s sister-in-law Francisca, Emperor Pedro II of Brazil. In 1844, Prince Albert, Duke of Paraiba, was sent on a mission to Europe from Rio to find the Emperor a bride and though he favoured Maria Carolina, Prince Metternich did not. Albert had no choice to return to Coburg empty handed, awaiting news from Rio as to what he should do next. [7]

In their meeting, Metternich had proposed that Albert go to St Petersburg and seek out Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna, the daughter of Tsar Nicholas I. Olga was undoubtedly beautiful and renowned all over Europe for her many talents which included composing music, painting landscapes and mastering several languages – but she was also Russian Orthodox. For one so devout as the Tsar, the idea that any of his daughters would change their religion was unthinkable. Indeed, when his eldest daughter Maria sought to marry the nephew of King Ludwig of Bavaria, the Duke of Leuchtenberg, the Tsar was prepared to overlook his relatively junior rank but not his Catholicism. Mindful of the teachings of the Russian Orthodox Church which governed his every decision, Nicholas I decreed that Maria could marry for love but that the Duke of Leuchtenberg would have to convert. He did so and was given the title of Imperial Highness for his troubles. With this in mind, the idea that the Tsar would allow Olga to convert from Orthodoxy to Catholicism, even to marry an Emperor, was inconceivable and as a result, Albert did not act on Metternich’s advice, returning to Coburg instead.

Though Albert had kept the true cause for his visit to Europe from his uncle, King Leopold of the Belgians, once Metternich had brought the curtain down on a Habsburg match he no longer had reason to maintain this secrecy. Had there been an available Coburg princess, Albert might well have thought better of approaching his uncle who was a well-known matchmaker and sought to see his dynasty spread it’s roots further in the royal family tree that connected the great reigning houses of Europe. Yet the last Coburg princess who could have possibly been a good match for Emperor Pedro was Leopold’s niece Victoria and she had already married the Duke of Nemours – again, a marriage arranged by King Leopold to see the Coburg genes reach as far as Paris. However, this did not fail to deter Leopold from interfering in Albert’s problem and naturally, the formidable Baron Stockmar who had played such an integral role in Albert’s own marriage was called to Brussels to discuss the matter. As they struggled to find a suitable bride for Pedro in the Almanac de Gotha with a direct line to the Coburgs, there was one match they overlooked until Queen Louise, King Leopold’s wife, reminded her husband that her sister Helene, Dowager Duchess of Orléans would be visiting them at Laeken in a few days’ time. Stockmar looked at Leopold, Leopold grinned. Whilst Helene herself was too old for Pedro, she would bring with her the very beautiful, very eligible Princess Luise of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, niece to both the Dowager Duchess and to King Leopold’s wife.

A marriage between Pedro and Luise had many advantages on paper. Firstly, she was the right age and secondly, she came from a good family but a relatively small nation – which meant there could be no demands on Brazil’s military from the Great Powers. That said, she could still claim some connection to the ruling families of Russia, Prussia, France and Belgium and that in itself was quite the feat. Of course, she was Lutheran but just as this had been overcome for Albert to marry the Emperor’s sister Januária, so too could Luise cross the Tiber in order to meet the credentials expected of a Brazilian Empress consort by the government in Rio. King Leopold urged Albert not to delay. A profile of the girl and a recent portrait were quickly acquired and dispatched to Rio by Prince Albert, who could not deny that Luise certainly struck him as an interesting candidate. But he was insistent that he would not force any bride on his brother-in-law. Only if Pedro himself wished to meet Luise would Albert pursue her on his behalf, though as he himself remarked upon seeing Luise’s portrait “He should have to be mad, blind or both not to see her charms”. Albert was right. When Pedro was shown a picture of Luise by his sister Januária, he immediately asked when he could meet her. With her mother’s consent, Luisa, accompanied by her Aunt Helene, travelled to Brazil where she stayed with the Prince and Princess de Joinville. Albert looked on as Pedro was introduced to Luise and whispered to his wife, “I believe we have just acquired an Empress”.

Whilst the vast majority of European royalties therefore gathered in London in July 1845 for the wedding of King George V and Princess Agnes of Anhalt-Dessau, others were making their way to Rio for the wedding of Emperor Pedro II and Princess Luise of Mecklenburg-Schwerin which took place just 6 days later. The new Empress consort of Brazil (who adopted the name Maria Luisa) was cheered by the crowds as she departed the Igreja de Nossa Senhora do Monte do Carmo da antiga Sé and the young Emperor proclaimed to his family that he could never have wished for a more beautiful bride than Luise. Albert contented himself that he had performed his task well, further proof to the Brazilian government that Princess Januaria had found a most unique husband who was quickly proving himself a true asset to the Brazilian monarchy. Though the British sent no representation to the wedding beyond their Minister Plenipotentiary, King George V did dispatch a letter of congratulation to his Brazilian counterpart – but he also sent one to Prince Albert. He closed this note with the following invitation; “I ask that you should know that you are welcome to visit us here at any time you should wish, for it has been too long since we have enjoyed your company”. A similar note from the Tsarevna, sent to the Emperor, included the words “With my very best wishes to your dear sister and her husband”. It appeared that the past had truly been forgotten and perhaps, with wedding fever in the air, those friendships which had broken down previously might well be recovered in the near future.

Edith

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The Duke of Cumberland had not been invited to his nephew’s wedding for reasons well known to us by now. Never a popular figure in England, either with his own family or with the general public, he had truly blotted his copy book once and for all by trying to exploit his sister Princess Sophia in order to grab a hefty pay out from the sale of the Arcot diamonds – which he intended to see sold by forcing the matter in court. George V had put the issue of the diamonds to the former Attorney General, Sir Frederick Pollock, who advised that Cumberland had no case because his claim to the diamonds was a fairly vague one. It was simple enough for Princess Sophia to retract the affidavit the Duke had forced her to sign in 1843 stating that she wished to see the Arcot diamonds sold and this Sophia did weeks after her brother’s deception was made clear to her. But Pollock encouraged the King to go into a process of arbitration with the Duke nonetheless as he feared Cumberland may find other ways of bringing the case without Sophia’s input. Therefore, in January 1845, both parties signed a private agreement in which the Duke relinquished any claim he might have to the Arcot diamonds in exchange for an increase in his annuity. The King agreed, though he refused to raise the allowance to the £20,000 from £10,000 the Duke petitioned for and instead, agreed to increase it by £5,000 for the period of five years, after which time, the King would only pay an increase of £2,500.

With this new cash injection, Cumberland was finally able to finish the renovations he wanted to make to his home at Schloss Elze in Hildesheim. He was now 74 years old and had been a widower for four years. He could claim no fondness or friendship with his siblings, nieces or nephews but what hurt him most was that, even with his son now resident in Hanover as Viceroy, he was never invited to Herrenhausen. Prince George was not unkind however. He did allow the Countess of Armagh to take the Duke’s grandson, Prince George August, to see Cumberland once a fortnight at Schloss Elze – though the Countess was frequently exhausted by the old man’s endless complaints. But it was during these visits to her father-in-law that Auguste became aware of a possible problem lurking on the horizon. Since his effective exile from England, both in Berlin and in Hanover, the Duke had relied on the services of Joachim Holzinger, a solicitor he met in Berlin and whom cared for the Duke’s financial and legal affairs. In 1844, Holzinger died leaving behind a daughter, Edith. She was 50 years old, had formerly been married to a member of the Hanoverian parliament and had a reputation for being extremely plain, extremely fat and extremely bossy. When her husband died in 1839, she moved to Hildesheim to care for her father. When he died, the Duke of Cumberland claimed he felt he had a responsibility to look out for Edith’s interests…a duty he seems to have taken very seriously indeed. On the last of her visits to Schloss Elze, the Countess of Armagh noticed that Edith was becoming increasingly familiar with the Duke and that rather than admonish her, the Duke seemed to be enjoying this attention. He even appeared to encourage it.

The Countess of Armagh was right to be concerned. On the 1st of August 1845, the Duke of Cumberland married Edith Wegener at Schloss Elze. He did not tell his son of his intentions and the only two witnesses to the ceremony were friends of Edith’s, who stayed just long enough to see the exchange of vows before they departed without so much as a glass of champagne. Historians speculate as to how and why the Duke came to his decision to marry Edith. It has been suggested that he was lonely, saw Edith as a suitable companion and after being frozen out by his family, did what any forlorn old widower would do and reached out for affection from a younger woman. Others suggest it was motivated by spite, retaliation for not being invited to his nephew’s wedding when so many of his relations were fortunate enough to join in the festivities. The truth is possibly somewhere in between. When news reached London that the Duke of Cumberland had married, George V was stunned and referred the matter to the new Attorney General, Sir John Jervis. It was Jervis who communicated the King’s formal reaction to the Duke’s marriage to Schloss Elze in late August 1845.

Whereas in days of old the Cumberland-Wegener marriage might have come under the purview of the Royal Marriages Act of 1772, this had been repealed and replaced with the Succession to the Crown Act. Under the terms of this legislation, the law of the land expected the first twelve in the line of succession to the British throne to seek the Sovereign’s permission before they married. If they did not, the Succession to the Crown Act allowed their marriages to be considered valid (a departure from the old legislation) but the individuals in question forfeited their succession rights. The eldest surviving son of King George III had now lost his birth right. But there was more. Whilst the Duke’s marriage was valid, and whilst he might retain his peerage, by contracting a marriage in violation of the Succession to the Crown Act, the Duke of Cumberland forfeited his styles of His Royal Highness and Prince of the United Kingdom. He was now in exactly the same position as his nephew, George Cambridge.

However, unlike George Cambridge, Ernest Augustus had a safety net. The Royal House Act, passed alongside the Succession to the Crown Act, allowed for the Duke to assume the style of His Highness Prince Ernest Augustus of Hanover. Consequently, by his own arrogance or stupidity depending on your point of view, Cumberland had demoted himself spectacularly. The Attorney General explained that the King, in his generosity, wished to remind the Duke that the Royal House Act did allow for his new wife to style herself as Her Highness Princess Ernest Augustus of Hanover and that it was entirely appropriate that she should also use the courtesy title Duchess of Cumberland. But this was not enough. Ernest Augustus was furious and in a letter to his brother the Duke of Cambridge, he insisted that he would never, could never, be denied his birth right as both a Royal Highness and a Prince of the United Kingdom. He intended to challenge the law and was preparing to come to England at once to reclaim what was rightfully his. Except…he didn’t.

Just six weeks after Edith Wegener married the Duke of Cumberland, she claimed an elderly aunt had been taken ill in Berlin and that she must go to her. Cumberland offered to accompany Edith to Berlin but she declined on the grounds that she could not know when she might be back and that the Duke needed the peace and quiet of his estate at Hildesheim. She would not return for another two months and when she did, it was to collect her remaining possessions and inform Cumberland that she had a made a terrible mistake and would be seeking an annulment. Thereafter, she vanished. Tracing her movements today, we can see that she reappeared in Berlin in 1849 when she applied for financial aid from her parish church. She listed her marital status as a widower and made no mention of her marriage to the Duke of Cumberland giving her name as Edith Marie Holzinger Wegener. Thereafter, she vanishes once more until we find a record of her death in 1880 in the archives of a parish church in Bonn.

It is likely that Wegener left and sought to dissolve her marriage to the Duke because she simply could not bear his company, though more unkind theories propose she wanted to be a member of the Royal Family (which she was denied), that she thought the Duke was richer than he was (he was still a wealthy man) or that she was paid a sum of money by the Earl of Armagh to leave (unlikely given that she was claiming poor relief just a few years later). Whatever her reasoning, the Duke thereafter blamed Wegener for his misfortunes. Now, he was lonelier than ever as his extended family reacted to his folly. His son took a stand and refused to allow the Duke access to his grandchild for almost two years, only relenting when the Duke begged to see the little boy. Even Cumberland’s remaining supporters in his extended family frowned upon his recent behaviour so much that they pretended he no longer existed. One of these was none other than the Duchess of Anhalt-Dessau. She now insisted that she had never liked her stepfather and considered him “a beastly, wicked old man for betraying the memory of my darling Mama with that awful, common creature”.

Cumberland sent one last petition to England in February 1846 when he finally obtained an annulment of his marriage to Edith Wegener. In light of this, he expected that his succession rights and royal styles be returned to him. Neither the Succession to the Crown Act nor the Royal House Act made provision for an individual to “return” to their former privileges if their marriage was annulled or dissolved by divorce. This had been a deliberate decision when the bill was written, specifically because the King wished to discourage his family from believing they could marry on a whim with a buffer of dissolution to return them to their previous state – especially if they dared ever consider a divorce which the Royal House Act took an extremely firm stance against. The King could not do anything about Cumberland’s succession rights, those were indeed now lost to time barring an act of parliament but the old man could not seriously believe he had an earthly chance of ever taking advantage of them anyway. However George V could, if he so wished, issue Letters Patent which restored the use of Royal Highness to his uncle – indeed, we know he was considering a similar course of action ahead of the birth of Prince George Augustus of Hanover to elevate his status but was discouraged from doing so by Sir James Graham.

The King had very little cause to take any action that might benefit his uncle. Firstly, the Duke had spent the last two decades causing untold misery for his nephew. From the Cumberland Plot to the row over the Arcot diamonds, Ernest Augustus had been a thorn in George’s side for years and had brought nothing but disagreements, problems and trials to the Royal Family, even when he was young. It is little surprise therefore that when Sir John Jervis went to see the King to ask him what his decision was on reinstating Cumberland’s style of Royal Highness, George fell silent and asked for a day or two to consider it. Jervis waited for the inevitable. The King withdrew to his study and began to write a letter to his uncle. “It is with regret Sir…”

Then, George paused. He stood up from his desk and began to pace the floor. His eyes settled on the portrait of his father that had, for the last 7 years, overseen his every decision as Sovereign. And in that moment, the King knew exactly what he must do...

Post-Script

His Royal Highness the Duke of Cumberland died on the 18th of November 1851 at Schloss Elze. He was 80 years old. Try as he might, George V could not bring himself to deny his uncle the royal style he had enjoyed for so many years. To do so would have made George petty and vindictive and whatever the provocation – or even justification – he simply could take no joy in treating his father’s brother with such spite. Very few in the family discussed the matter openly. Princess Mary simply nodded when she heard of the King’s decision. She saw it as a sign of the King’s growing maturity. Conversely, the Duchess of Cambridge was furious. She could not understand why her son was continually denied any royal rank at all, especially when he had not caused nearly as much scandal and heartache as the Duke of Cumberland. It cannot have helped matters from Augusta's point of view that the King also sent a private letter to the Earl and Countess of Armagh in February 1846 informing them that it was his intention, when their son turned 18 years old, to grant him the use of the style Royal Highness in expectation that he would follow in the footsteps of his father as Viceroy of Hanover. The Armaghs were deeply touched and it did much for the King personally to ease the nagging feeling in his stomach that he had taken the wrong decision when it came to the Duke of Cumberland.

At 25 years old, George had reigned for 18 years. In that time, he had seen the older generation depart and a new generation arrive. He had lost those he loved and he had found unexpected successors. But he had also risen to his role as Sovereign, he had begun to carve out his own style, a way of Kingship that met the expectation established by his predecessors but which also restored public interest in, and even affection for, the Crown. In February 1846, Dr Alison confirmed that Queen Agnes was expecting her first child. The King was overjoyed, yet it prompted him to draw a line in the sand – the past was the past, the future just beginning. In the coming years, Europe would be gripped by those who sought to uphold the old ideals and those who wished to wash them away entirely. The old guard of Europe had successfully recovered from earlier challenges to their authority and had found a way to hold the balance firmly in their favour. But now there were new ideas to be heard…and the voices calling for them were growing louder by the day.

By the end of the decade, who knew what fate might have in store – for the World, for Europe or for King George V.

Notes

[1] Sadly this is a real event which took place on the 2nd of May 1845 in the OTL.

[2] Hold that thought until we get there.

[3] We’re revisiting Mary Bettans who was Dress Maker to Queen Victoria in the OTL.

[4] Taken from French fashion plates of the 1840s.

[5] The use of makeup was growing in popularity (for men and women) from the late 1790s to the late 1830s. However, then Queen Victoria arrived and decried it as something sinful and to be abhorred. For that reason, English ladies had to be extremely subtle in the cosmetics they used until Princess Alexandra adopted the use of bolder paints in the 1890s. When she was criticised for this Alexandra explained that it helped her to be seen from afar but of course, the criticism didn’t come from the women of high society who had been desperate to experiment with new makeup for decades – and so the commonplace use of makeup began, the styles getting bigger and bolder with each decade.

[6] Forgive this indulgence but I just loved these little details and how I might subtly change them and couldn’t resist including them in this chapter!

[7] Here we pick up on our previous Appendix: A Brief Trip to Rio

And so we reach the end of Part Three!

Firstly, a huge thankyou to everyone who has stuck with Crown Imperial for so long. It's still so much fun to write and research and I'm always grateful for your feedback which helps me tailor the story to include the things I know people might like to see. I'm aware that we spent quite a long time covering just a few years in Part Three but I really felt this was necessary as I hated the idea of simply dropping such a popular character as Queen Louise and suddenly unleashing Queen Agnes on us all. I needed her introduction to be slow so as to accommodate the feelings of all parties and I hope I've achieved that.

Secondly, I did say before that when we reach the end of Part Three, I would do two Albert-style catch ups for Victoria and Lottie (@FalconHonour!) because I know readers who have followed TTL from the beginning have an interest in what their lives have been like and we only get the brief glimpse of them here or there at the moment. So expect those this week. I've some housekeeping to do - I must finish the catch up for TTL so far for new readers - and I'll also be adding some finishing details to my plans for the next ten years of our story which will form Part Four - and naturally this will be heavily influenced by the OTL events of 1848 and TTL's version of those events...

Also, we won't be hurtling into March 1846 and we will pick up where we left off in Part Three so don't worry, we will see Agnes' first pregnancy and the first months of her new role as Queen consort.

So once again, many many thanks for supporting TTL as you all do and I hope you'll join me when we begin Part Four which I'm hoping to bring you in the latter half of next week!
 
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A Quick Note on Feedback

I forgot to add this into my post and didn't want to edit it in to make the last even longer! Usually when we come to the end of a part in the story I ask you guys what you'd like to see more of, less of or even if there are any questions you have regarding things that may not have been picked up on yet.

As this is a story with so many characters, I try and plate spin as best I can but if I have forgotten to pick anything up you're waiting on, please don't hesitate to ask me and all feedback is welcome! Thankyou again. :happyblush
 
YAY! Agnes and George are at last married!

Albert found a worthy bride for Pedro! Not only that i see a full reconciliation in the near future with georgie!
 
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