GLORIANA
prologue
prologue
4th June 1738
The beautiful tapestries did not shield the light gasping of the weak princess. Her face shone with sweat and was illuminated by the burning fire that made the uncomfortably stale room from where the windows had been shut and strictly covered with cloth even more dire. Clutched in Princess Augusta’s hand was a prayer roll and she was whispering devotions to God. There were eighty-four witnesses surrounding the daybed, and Mary, Augusta's lady-in-waiting was at the forefront of them with a downturn to her lip. Pity almost took flight within her as she stared at Augusta, but disdain was reserved at those who stared with fervent, feverish eyes that were locked in between her quivering legs.
Four hours later, two children had been born to their weak, delirious mother, Augusta, who reached out a hand to touch one of her children.
“It is a girl, Your Royal Highness.” A wet-nurse quietly said and Augusta ripped her hand away from the girl as though burned. Mary peered at the child, who had a small, tiny nose, and anxiously turned her head to the other nurse who smiled with relief and confirmed the gender of her other child as male. However, Mary could see the fragility of the son, the younger child, and only walked away when Augusta slumped into her bed.
Some hours later, Prince Frederick stormed into Norfolk House with Secker by his side, demanding to see his wife. The children had been born two months prematurely and he had rushed as soon as he heard the news to come for a potential heir, for a potential son. There was his wife, but her fair skin was waxy, and although the windows had been opened to let in the summer breeze, she was dead. A strange feeling enveloped him, and he stared at her unbound, scandalously down hair that moved in the wind. He swallowed noisily, and turned for his children who were placed in the nursery, their pure white christening gowns arranged over them. He looked at the larger child and sighed.
“Sir, the Prince…” Secker trailed off, his eyes worried and cast over both tiny, premature children, but his eye was critical on the boy. The babe was tiny and wrinkled, and Frederick knew he had to be christened immediately. He did not dare hope for the Prince’s survival, and he felt a blackness settle within his mind at once. Oh, his boy, and his wife!
His son was christened George at 12pm, and his sister Elizabeth Sophia at 12:30pm. At 4:00pm, George died from a chill. Elizabeth was now third-in-line to the throne, after her older sister Augusta, and her father, Frederick, the Prince of Wales.
4th July 1738
The official christening had just taken place for Elizabeth Sophia and her godparents were King Frederick of Sweden, her Uncle Frederick III of Saxe-Gotha-Alternburg and Queen Sophia Dorothea of Hanover. A moroseness had settled over Frederick, the Prince of Wales, and was glad the service was over. The King had crowed in his condescending, gloating nature when Princess Augusta was proclaimed dead and a deep fury had settled over Frederick. He wanted to crush his father's head between his grasp. He would not cry when his father was incinerated.
21st December 1738
The wind tickled Frederick's face and the champagne fizzled warmly in his stomach. He was laughing beneath the starry sky, and his court was gathered around him. Smoke billowed from his mouth, and his cigar had burned his fingers quite a few times. There was a woman sitting upon his lap, pressing her red lips against his powdered hair, against his face where stubble threatened to grow. He took a blurred glance at her - she had curls sat on top of her head, and her heaving chest attracted his attention, almost forcing its way from her French red silks and lace.
One of his friends mentioned something about the whores to him, and he laughed, the whores obligingly tittering as well. Intoxication fuelled boldness that whimpered its way to his set lips that captured the woman's, so malleable and so submissive. She was cold and unfeeling and Frederick got to his feet with annoyance cascading through his bloodstream.
Everyone stood up at once, and he almost blundered and swore at them but a servant hurriedly slipped him another glass of champagne which he guzzled down, another smile dancing to his face and his court almost sighing with relief.
The silhouette of a woman accompanied by music from the ballroom drew his attention, and he walked with his drink from the balcony inside where he was followed. There was a beautiful nymph of a woman who looked deceptively innocent, standing with a red decadent smile on her dimpled, freckled face, and she pressed a hand into her done up hair, curling her fingers into it and then letting her hair scandalously curl over the swell of her breasts. Frederick's breath hitched, not just from lust, but from memories (he could remember what his wife looked like on her deathbed, waxy in skin, with her hair slick to her face yet the wind tickled her hair) and when she began to unclasp her outerwear, his hand tightened on the grip of the glass. He drank more and more, laughing again freely with his friends and when the musk of midnight settled over her naked clavicles, he was spellbound.
Passionate kissing ensued that was followed by a blurring of the sight, caressing a silky leg, pulling on that hair and touching her curvaceous figure with sizzling, electrifying and impassioned intent.
19th January 1739
Frederick took a glance at himself in his hand mirror, his eyes constantly tracing the creases that appeared deeper every single day. A sallowness of the skin had engulfed him, and when painful pus came out when tried to urinate. Chancres had appeared on his scrotum, and rashes consumed his lower regions. He was constantly in a state of agony and pain.
25th August 1739
Frederick frowned through bleary eyes as he failed to focus on the letter in front of him. One of them was worse than the other, and a shout of frustration angrily left him. The lady who sat in her chair who he was supposed to be courting flinched away, but sweetly offered: “my Lord, I could read that for you?”
Frederick nodded and passed the scroll to her, drumming agitated fingers across his brow.
“Sir, the Russians have won against the Turkish and the Crimean’s!” Exclaimed Therese of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel-Bevern with much excitement, but Frederick only turned his cloudy gaze out of the window.
23rd October 1739
George II leaped from his throne almost foaming from the mouth, an exclamation of delight tearing through him as he stalked over to his mistress and grasped her forearms with both hands, exhilaration pumping through his blood. Eagerness and anticipation had led him to this very moment. They would win this war!
“Summon Walpole!” He barked.
7th January 1740
Frederick had gone blind in one eye. Though he returned triumphant with a wife who was newly pregnant, he worried after his own health and after his wife’s, who had begun to develop the same symptoms as he did. A doctor was summoned and when the page announced him, Frederick turned round at once and straightened his collar.
“Leave us,” Frederick snapped to the page who bowed lowly and left. He turned his patchy gaze onto the doctor and offered him a glass of wine which the doctor took. “Well?”
“Your Royal Highness…” The doctor licked his lips nervously and wiped a hand over tied back, long black hair which had bald patches throughout it. “It’s...”
He shook his head. Frederick’s hand tightened over the glass. It shattered.
16th March 1740
The whore was brought in and there was no night to conceal her now. No red paint was painted over her pink lips and her curls were bound over her head (not rustling in the wind with a seductive look gleaming in her eyes) and Frederick fumed at the lack of yellowing to her skin and slammed down his fist.
“Syphilis!” He screamed and although his blurred sight could not focus on the features of her face, he could clearly see her flinch and adrenaline sent pleasure up the hairs of his back. He moved closer to her where she shook like a leaf under his milky glare, and he brushed one of his dirty fingers over her cheekbone and over her brow.
“You will turn to ashes for this.” Frederick murmured softly as he forcefully pulled down her hair to roll over her collarbones and past her breast. He wanted to --- He breathed in forcefully and then exhaled through his nostril and a smile pulled at his chapped lips as he turned away. “My wife and my unborn child!”
He squeezed his fists and his nails tore vermillion from his flesh, but it didn’t relieve his anger, not at all and he clapped his hands twice for his guards.
“Take her away.” He whispered.
2nd April 1740
Frederick II had come to power after the death of Frederick William I, and Frederick, Prince of Wales only sighed as he heard the news. He just wanted seclusion, and even his wife wasn’t allowed access to his bedchambers. His eyes looked at the green gardens, and he only felt misery.
20th November 1740
King George II could not stop the tears from flowing over his painted white face and he placed his head within his hands.His newly wed son was dead, but this was not why he cried. All chances of a male heir had dwindled. Augusta was now the heiress presumptive followed by her sister Elizabeth, then by the new child Caroline Mary “Charlotte”. A headache began to pound at the forefront of his mind as he thought of marriage.
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(same as how William IV attempted to have Victoria brought to court and the duchess of Kent and Conroy blocked it). Of course, the suitable marriage was to mend fences with the Brunswick-Wolfenbuttel branch of the Guelphs, and would've seen Georgie married either to the girl who was OTL margravine of Bayreuth or OTL princess of Prussia (Elisabeth Christine). Of course, Georgie refused saying "I won't be be-Wolfenbutteled" and Grandpa King boxed his ears for him (in public!, which caused several tongues at court to wag about the king's mistreatment of his heir, and probably brought to mind of more than one the mistreatment between Friedrich the Great and his father, or George I and II). The embarassment caused Georgie's hatred for Hampton Court (where the incident occurred), and he resolved never to darken the doorway of that palace again. And George went onto tack #2 which was to wed the hereditary prince of Wolfenbuttel to his granddaughter. It should be noted that Augusta disliked Queen Charlotte as well. Which seems to me to indicate that it was the usual, slightly overbearing mother-child relationship: she's unwilling to acknowledge that he's grown up and married, and still tries to push in as though nothing's changed; and he starts to resent her for what he sees as her refusing to let him be his own person/being overprotective etc.