The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series) by Jean Plaidy Page B

carriage; and she explained when there were others present: ‘You see, my dear, you are not the Duchess of Celle; and therefore the people would not expect to see you ride with us. I am sure you will understand.’
    Eléonore, whose pride was great, was beginning to resent Sophia’s allusions and to wonder whether she was after all the good friend she had once pretended to be. George William was growing more and more devoted as the weeks passed, but he still believed that they should continue at Osnabrück for a while. In fact, when he remembered how antagonistic his subjects had been when he had brought home his Venetian servants,he felt very uneasy as to how they would receive his French wife. It was so much better, he pointed out to Eléonore, that they remain under the protection of Ernest Augustus for as long as possible.
    Eléonore yearned to have her own household. She found the manners of this court crude; she could not bear the smell of the food they ate and when the bowls of greasy sausages were served on masses of red cabbage she felt nauseated. She turned from the cloudy ale which they so much enjoyed and as a compromise she had set up a little kitchen in her own apartments where she and Angelique cooked some dainty dishes.
    Even so she must appear at meals and as she listened to the champing of jaws and saw the eyes alight with greed and the grease running down the chins of the eaters she turned away in disgust.
    Sophia had pointed out to her, most graciously, that they could not sit at the table with herself, Ernest Augustus and George William, for naturally the people would object.
    ‘You and your little sister will sit at another table. I am sure you will understand.’
    Eléonore was inwardly incensed, but she said nothing and agreed to sit at the table indicated.
    Sophia had made one special concession. ‘You may remain seated while we eat,’ she had said. ‘The rest of the company must stand and not eat until we have finished. But in view of the great esteem in which we all hold you, we should not expect you to stand.’
    Eléonore often wondered afterwards how she endured such slights. George William would watch her unhappily, and she knew that never had he regretted so much his folly in signing away his birthright. She had no wish to make him more unhappy on that score, so she pretended that this treatment did not upset her as much as it did.
    Sophia came to her apartment after having eaten sausages and red cabbage to inspect the dishes which Angelique was cooking.
    She sniffed with amusement. ‘So that, I suppose, is what you call French cooking.’
    ‘It is French cooking, Madame,’ answered Eléonore with dignity.
    ‘And you are going to eat that!’
    ‘To us it seems as good as greasy sausages do to you.’
    ‘French tastes!’ laughed Sophia; and ever afterwards when she had finished eating she would nod in Eléonore’s direction and cry: ‘Now, my dear, you may be off to help your little sister with the saucepans.’
    Several months passed and the vague slights which were heaped upon Eléonore were bearable only because she was beginning to know her husband better than ever and what she discovered delighted her.
    There came the day when she was certain that she was pregnant.
    Everything seemed to change for her then. She had accepted insults for herself, but she never would for her child. She had changed; she had not become less proud but far more shrewd and she knew these people were her enemies – and George William’s. They gloated over their triumph. They were determined that she should remain a woman without status, her child illegitimate; and she was going to fight with all her might for the sake of this unborn child.
    ‘George William,’ she said, ‘our child must not be born here. That would be an evil omen. He must be born under his own roof. I have heard the Castle of Celle is very beautiful. Take me there. Let me be in my own home for these months of waiting.’
    George