A Very Naughty Angel E-Book

Barbara Cartland

• Herausgeber: Barbara Cartland Ebooks Ltd
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Eternal Collection
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 241

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

Small and slight with fair hair the colour of Spring sunshine and china-blue eyes, young Tilda is dismayed that by command of Queen Victoria, because of her Royal connections, she is to marry the Prince of a distant country called Obernia. Not only has she never met the Prince, she does not want to marry him, as she wishes to marry for love one day and certainly not for political convenience. In Munich on her way to meet her Prince, Tilda insists on attending a rowdy Beer hall and becomes embroiled in a violent student riot. But luckily she is rescued by Rudolph, an impossibly handsome dashing stranger, who she had spied on when walking in the woods near King Ludwig's beautiful Palace, the Linderhof. In their flight from the riots, he is shot by the Police and they take refuge in the home of Frau Sturdel, a local midwife, who helps Tilda to nurse the young man back to health. Soon Tilda has fallen head over heels in love with Rudolph – and he with her. But surely their love is doomed unless, somehow, she can extricate herself from her impending Royal mariage de convenance.

Leseprobe

Author’s Note

Obernia is a fictitious country but the Linderhof when I visited it some year ago was as mystical, exciting and beautiful as Tilda found it.

For the purpose of my story I have made Munich a little nearer to King Ludwig’s dream Palace than it is in actual fact.

Chapter One 1879

The train puffed slowly into Windsor.

Although the station was not cleared as it was when Queen Victoria travelled, there were several resplendent officials in lavishly gold-braided uniforms to meet the Princess Priscilla, Duchess of Forthampton, and her daughter.

A Royal carriage was waiting outside the station, the ladies were helped into it and they drove off towards Windsor Castle.

“Do remember, Tilda,” Princess Priscilla said, “that you do not speak to the Queen until she speaks to you.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“And remember, take Her Majesty’s hand, curtsey right to the ground, then kiss her hand and afterwards her cheek.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“And listen attentively, Tilda, to everything she says.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Promise me, Tilda, that you will not ask questions. You are far too fond of asking questions. I have told you that before.”

“How can one learn the answers, Mama, unless one asks the questions?”

“That is the sort of comment I would expect you to make. Oh, dear, I wish your Papa could have come with us! I feel you always behave in a more circumspect manner when he is present.”

There was no answer.

Lady Victoria Matilda Tetherton-Smythe had heard her mother say all these things not once but hundreds of times since the invitation to Windsor Castle had arrived.

She had learnt from long experience that it was much the best policy to agree to everything anyone said to her and to let her thoughts follow their own course.

She was thrilled at the thought of seeing Windsor Castle and she craned her neck to peep through the carriage windows.

At the moment, however, there were only houses to be seen on either side of them and she had not yet had a glimpse of the massive structure whose history had excited her imagination.

Her teachers had taught her that Windsor Castle had been built first by William I.

He had been attracted by the position of a steep hill high above a river so that a subject and unfriendly people could constantly be reminded of their intimidating Norman conquerors.

‘They must have hated him!’ Tilda said to herself.

“You are not attending to me, Tilda!” her mother said. “What did I say?”

“I am sorry, Mama, I was thinking of something else.”

“You are always thinking of something else!” Princess Priscilla snapped. “Do listen, Tilda.”

“I am listening, Mama.”

“I told you to remember that from now on you will be called ‘Victoria’ by everyone. You were christened after the Queen and it was obvious that that was what you must be called as she was your Godmother.”

“I hate the name Victoria!” Tilda replied.

“Your father does not like it either,” Princess Priscilla said, “which was why we started to call you ‘Matilda’. Of course it became abbreviated to the rather common ‘Tilda’.”

“I like it, Mama.”

“Your likes and dislikes are not of the slightest consequence. Til – I mean, Victoria.”

“It’s no use, Mama,” Tilda smiled, “you will never remember to call me Victoria, whatever they may do in Obernia.”

“You will certainly be Victoria to the Obernians,” Princess Priscilla replied, “and, Tilda, do remember that the Queen herself has arranged your marriage.”

“I have not forgotten, Mama.”

“It is a great honour. You should be very proud.”

Tilda did not answer and after a moment her mother went on,

“Not many girls of your age have the chance of being the reigning Princess over a country of some considerable importance in Europe.”

“It is a long way – away,” Tilda murmured.

She would have said more, but at that moment she had a view of Windsor Castle and she found that it was just as impressive and splendid as she had expected it would be.

She found herself thinking of the Knights of old who had taken part in jousting tournaments.

She could almost imagine that she could see them with their specially painted shields and richly embroidered saddles and swords whose pummels and hilts were gilded with pure gold.

‘I wish I could have been here then,’ Tilda thought.

Each Knight had a fair lady whom he esteemed as a paragon of beauty and to whom he paid his vows and addressed himself on the day when the mock battles proved both his gallantry and his manhood.

The horses were climbing the steep incline up to The Castle door and Tilda found herself thinking that she was following the route taken so often by Queen Elizabeth.

How magnificent she had been with her fragile figure and her strong will, her graciousness and her robust beer-drinking.

She had liked to hunt in the Park and was capable of killing a ‘great and fat stag with her own hand’.

Everyone had acclaimed her majesty and her greatness, and yet she had never married.

‘Perhaps she did not wish to have a husband chosen for her,’ Tilda thought to herself.

The carriage came to a stop outside the front door.

“Now remember, Tilda, everything I have told you,” Princess Priscilla said in an agitated tone. “The Queen has not seen you for years. You must make a good impression on her.”

“I will do my best, Mama.”

They walked into the fourteenth century Gothic entrance hall and moved along the passages, which seemed dark but had, Tilda recognised, richly carved cornices and frames by Grinling Gibbons.

She did not know why, but his carvings always excited her.

The leaves, the fruit, the fish and game had a graceful symmetry and at the same time they seemed to evoke some personal response that she could not understand.

She always felt the same about anything that was very beautiful and it was a feeling of excitement deep inside herself.

On they went led by a solemn-faced Major Domo and Tilda knew that her mother was feeling nervous.

Princess Priscilla had a habit of drawing in her lips and pressing them together when she was agitated.

She also fidgeted with her scarf, her handbag and the front of her gown.

‘It’s all right, Mama. The Queen cannot eat you!’ Tilda longed to say.

But she knew that such a remark would only upset her mother even more than she was already.

It was, she had learnt, surprising that the Queen should be at Windsor.

For years she had refused to leave Osborne where she preferred to be and where she had stayed in seclusion unseen by the public since the Prince Consort’s death.

But the political events of last year and the tense situation with Russia had brought her a new vitality and what her statesmen averred was a rejuvenation.

It was difficult for them to understand that the perpetual strain of the political situation and its constant calls on her judgement were precisely the tonic she needed.

Hitherto Her Majesty had wailed and protested at the cruel way in which she was overworked, at the callousness of those who teased and tormented her to make exertions she was incapable of.

She had been full of self-pity for the lonely lot of the ‘poor Queen’, but now there was an end to that.

Instead of insisting on remaining at Osborne or fleeing to Balmoral in Scotland to the great inconvenience of the members of the Government, she had moved into Windsor Castle.

Instead of having to be urged by her Ministers to greater activity, it was now she who hustled and spurred them on.

No doubt the fact that she was working with Mr. Benjamin Disraeli, a Prime Minister whom she liked and trusted, was one very important reason for the change.

As Mr. Disraeli himself put it later,

“She gave her Prime Minister inspiration and he gave herdevotion!”

Whatever the reasons, it was a considerable convenience for Statesmen, politicians and relations to have the Queen at Windsor.

Coming down on the train Princess Priscilla had said to her daughter,

“It is a wearisome journey to Osborne and I should have hated to leave your Papa for so long.”

The Duke of Forthampton, who had been uniquely honoured in being allowed, as a commoner, to marry a Royal Princess and a great-niece of the Queen, was in ill health.

Doubtless the distinction he had been accorded in marriage was due to the fact that he was one of the richest men in England.

Yet, while the marriage had been arranged, it had undoubtedly, from everybody’s point of view, been a success.

The only tragedy was that as the Duke was considerably older than his wife – and there might have been other reasons as well – there had been only one child of the marriage, Victoria Matilda.

This meant that regrettably there was no direct heir to the Dukedom.

It was a surprise when the Queen remembered her Godchild when she was furthering her matchmaking plans for the eligible crowned heads of Europe.

“How like Great-Aunt Victoria!” Princess Priscilla had exclaimed to her husband when they received a letter informing them that the Queen was arranging for Victoria Matilda to become the wife of Prince Maximilian of Obernia.

“What do you mean by that?” the Duke enquired.

“I thought the Queen had completely forgotten Tilda’s existence,” Princess Priscilla answered. “Last time we were at Osborne she never even referred to her and now out of the blue she arranges her marriage.”

“It is an honour, my dear,” the Duke remarked.

Princess Priscilla sighed.

“I only hope that Tilda will think so too.”

Tilda, as it happened had taken the news with some surprise, but she did not protest as her mother had half-feared she might.

Tilda was always unpredictable.

What her mother did not realise was that Tilda at the age of eighteen was finding the Forthampton estate in Worcestershire where she was incarcerated year after year exceedingly dull.

It was not that she did not have plenty to occupy her mind. There were Governesses, Tutors, hobbies and crafts in which she interested herself.

She also liked riding and, although she was not allowed to hunt, her father had given her two horses of her own which were spirited, quite unlike the quiet lazy animals that most girls of her age were mounted upon.

Because of the Duke of Forthampton’s arthritis, which almost completely crippled him, there was no suggestion that Tilda should take part in the London Season or have a ball given for her debut as she might have expected.

She was, it is true, taken to London to be presented and to make her curtsey in the Throne Room at Buckingham Palace.

The Queen had been present during the first hour before she handed over such an arduous duty to her son, the Prince of Wales and his beautiful Danish wife, Alexandra.

Tilda had made her curtsey amongst the first group of Royals, after which she had found the proceedings over-formal and just as boring as she had expected.

It seemed to her that people spoke in a different voice to Royalty from that which they used to more ordinary folk.

Because her mother came into the first category, there was no doubt that conversation with those who approached the Princess was stilted and not particularly interesting.

*

The Major Domo leading them through The Castle now paused.

They had reached the Queen’s apartments and, after a short wait, they were shown into the drawing room where the Queen was seated in an armchair, the table beside her covered with a fringed cloth.

In her shapeless but expensive black satin dress, shining black boots with elastic tops and widow’s cap, she looked, as Tilda had expected, old and rather awe-inspiring.

It was difficult to realise that this little woman was the ruler of an immense Empire and that practically every Monarch in Europe was related to her.

Princess Priscilla had told her daughter that the four rooms the Queen used contained almost two hundred pictures as well as many photographs of her relations.

They were carried from Windsor to Balmoral or Osborne every time she moved.

Tilda saw them now on a desk and on tables by the heavy damask curtains of crimson red.

They stood amongst a profusion of bundles of letters, sheets of music, paperweights, inkstands, old penknives and the ‘Queen’s Birthday Book’.

This was full of the signatures of her visitors, which she took with her wherever she went, so that it was sometimes mistaken for a Bible.

It was difficult for Tilda to take in many details of the room or indeed of the Queen herself, for she was trying to remember all the instructions her mother had given her.

The Princess was already in front of Her Majesty sweeping down to the ground in a deep curtsey and then rising to kiss the Queen’s hand and then her cheek.

“So this is Victoria!”

The voice sounded unexpectedly high.

The Queen’s eyes were perceptive and searching as Tilda curtseyed as she had been instructed to do, touching the pale soft cheek with her lips, then kissing the blue-veined hand.

“Yes, this is Victoria, ma’am,” Princess Priscilla said a little breathlessly.

“I want to talk to you, Victoria!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tilda thought that whenever people said that they wanted to talk to you, it usually meant they were going to scold or tell you something unpleasant, but the Queen continued,

“Your mother will have told you that you are to marry Prince Maximilian of Obernia?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It is a position of great importance for several reasons.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The first is because I consider Prince Maximilian worthy of having an English bride and someone who is one of my relatives.”

“I am sure he esteems it a great honour, ma’am,” Princess Priscilla interposed.

The Queen did not take her eyes from Tilda’s face.

“The second reason,” she went on as if the Princess had not spoken, “Is that Obernia occupies a very important place in our political strategy concerning Europe.”

Tilda raised her blue eyes to the Queen’s.

This, she thought, was quite interesting.

“You must understand,” Queen Victoria went on, “that Obernia, as it borders on Bavaria, Austria and Wurttemberg, is a very significant factor in the balance of power in that it remains independent.”

The Queen paused, but did not seem to expect a reply and went on,

“Prussia, by making William Emperor and swallowing up many of the smaller states, has created a situation of which we are somewhat apprehensive.”

The Queen’s voice was sharp and there was no doubt at all that her disapproval was strong.

The Princess knew it was not only the transformation of the former German Federation into an Empire that was upsetting the Queen, but the behaviour of her grandson, Prince William of Prussia.

All the family knew that Willy’s pride, fostered by Bismarck and his grandparents, was making him intolerably arrogant.

The Queen had been informed that he even listened with approval to insulting remarks about his English mother, her eldest daughter Vicky.

“Why Bavaria ever agreed in the first place to Prince Bismarck’s proposals, I shall never know!” the Queen went on as if speaking to herself.

“I have always heard, ma’am,” Princess Priscilla said, “that it was because King Ludwig had toothache!”

It had been suggested that a Prussian or a Bavarian Monarch might rule either jointly or alternately over the German Federation, but the King of Bavaria, rather than argue on such a vital point when he was in pain, conceded the position to Prussia.

“I am aware of the circumstances in which this regrettable decision was made,” the Queen said crushingly.

Princess Priscilla flushed.

“Whatever happened eight years ago, the fact remains,” the Queen continued, “that Bavaria is now part of the German Federation, although I believe King Ludwig is allowed more licence than the other members.”

She paused to say emphatically,

“What is obvious is that Obernia must at all costs remain independent.”

Her Majesty now switched her attention from Princess Priscilla.

“Do you understand, Victoria?” she asked. “You will, in an indirect capacity, be an Ambassador for England. You must influence your husband to realise that co-operation with us rather than with Germany will be always to his advantage.”

The Queen spoke forcefully and then, looking at her Godchild, she said unexpectedly,

“You look very young!”

Her Majesty was speaking nothing but the truth for Tilda in fact appeared to be hardly more than a child.

Small and slight with fair hair the colour of spring sunshine and china-blue eyes which seemed to fill her little flower-like face, she looked absurdly immature, far too young to be married.

“Victoria is eighteen, ma’am,” Princess Priscilla said nervously.

“That is the age I became Queen and I also looked young.”

“Were you frightened, ma’am, when you were told you were to be Queen?” Tilda asked.

Princess Priscilla drew in her breath.

This was just the type of question that she had warned her daughter against making, for it was a presumption that would undoubtedly annoy the Queen.

To her surprise, however, after a pause the Queen answered,

“It was frightening when I was awoken at six o’clock in the morning by my Mama to be told that the Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Conyngham wished to see me.”

“That must have been a surprise!” Tilda murmured.

Her eyes were on the Queen and they were full of interest.

“I got out of bed,” the Queen went on, “and went into my sitting room alone wearing only my dressing gown. Lord Conyngham, the Lord Chamberlain, then acquainted me with the fact that my poor uncle, the King, was no more and consequently I was the Queen.”

Tilda drew in her breath.

“It must have been a shock, ma’am!”

“It was!” the Queen answered, “but I was determined that I would be good!”

As if suddenly she realised that she had been almost too familiar in her reminiscing she added sharply,

“And that is what you must be, Victoria – good! And always loyal to your country. Remember whatever name you have, however important your position, there is English blood – my blood – running through your veins!”

“I will remember, ma’am.”

There was little more conversation before Princess Priscilla and Tilda were dismissed from the Royal presence.

They partook of a light meal with two of the Queen’s Ladies-in-Waiting before the carriage carried them to the station and they were once again on the train travelling back to London.

“Well, that is over!” Princess Priscilla exclaimed.

She settled herself comfortably in the corner of their reserved carriage and let out a sigh of relief.

“You are scared of her, Mama,” Tilda said. “I cannot think why.”

“Everyone is frightened of her,” Princess Priscilla answered. “You were lucky. She was charming to you. She can be very awe-inspiring.”

“That is what a Queen should be,” Tilda said, then laughed, “but I doubt, Mama, if anyone would be scared of me!”

“You will not be a Queen, Tilda, only a reigning Princess,” Princess Priscilla corrected. “Although I cannot understand why with so many Kings and Grand Dukes in Europe, Obernia has never had a King.”

“I expect it is too small,” Tilda suggested.

“You sound very disparaging about the country that is soon to be yours,” Princess Priscilla remarked reprovingly.

“It is small, Mama.”

“But of great significance and the Queen told you why.”

“Papa had already said much the same,” Tilda said. “What I really wanted to ask was whether amongst all those photographs and pictures on the desk there was one of Prince Maximilian.”

“I have already told you, Tilda, there are no photographs of him. He does not like being photographed. He will not permit it.”

“Why?”

“I am sure that he has a very good reason for his reluctance to be portrayed in the modern fashion for all and sundry to see,” Princess Priscilla answered.

“But you don’t know the real reason,” Tilda persisted.

“I am sure when you meet the Prince he will tell you about it himself,” Princess Priscilla replied.

Her tone told her daughter all too clearly that she had her own ideas as to why the Prince had no wish to have his features immortalised by the camera.

It seemed strange to Tilda when everyone else was fascinated by their own likeness.

In every house photographs like the Queen’s stood in silver frames on grand pianos, on small tables, on mantelshelves and cluttered writing desks until it was almost impossible to find room for pens and paper.

“I should like at least to have some idea of what he looks like,” Tilda persisted.

“I have not seen him since he was a boy,” Princess Priscilla said quickly. “But then he was very good-looking and I believe from all reports he is considered extremely handsome.”

‘If he is,’ Tilda thought to herself, ‘why should he be so shy and reserved about letting other people look at him?’

There was silence for the moment except for the noise of the railway wheels and the hoot of the engine.

Then Tilda asked,

“Has the Prince seen a photograph of me?”

“Your father enquired when the arrangements for your marriage were first discussed if there was to be an exchange of portraits,” her mother replied, “but, when he was told the Prince had never been painted or photographed, he thought it would be embarrassing if he sent him those photographs that were taken of you in January.”

“You mean then that like me the Prince is buying a ‘pig in a poke’?” Tilda remarked.

Her mother sat up sharply.

“Really Tilda, that is an extremely vulgar and unseemly expression. I cannot think where you have heard it!”

“It is very apposite all the same, Mama, is it not?”

“I am not going to discuss the subject any further,” Princess Priscilla said firmly, “If you want to talk about your marriage, Tilda, we can go over the lists of items for your trousseau, which is not yet completed.”

“I certainly do not wish to do that!” Tilda answered. “I have so many clothes, far too many already. They will last for years and years and years!”

She sighed.

“Can you imagine anything more dismal, Mama, than to think that ten years from now I shall still be trying to wear out my out-dated unfashionable garments?”

Princess Priscilla drew in her lips.

“I cannot think what has happened to you lately, Tilda,” she said, “You have become almost revolutionary. I only hope that your Papa will not hear you speak like this. It would annoy him.”

“Tell me, Mama.” Tilda said, “did you ever when you were young feel like doing something quite different from what people expected you to do?”

Her mother did not reply and she went on,

“Did you ever want to run away for instance when you were told that you had to marry Papa? Did you ever want to stop being yourself and be someone quite different for a change?”

“No, Tilda!” Princess Priscilla said firmly. “I was very grateful and very happy to marry your father. Unlike you I had five sisters and my father and mother continually worried as to where they could find suitable husbands for us all.”

Her voice softened as she continued,

“I was twenty-five before I was permitted to make a marriage that did not involve my wearing a crown and I was very lucky indeed that I could become the wife of such a kind and good man as your Papa.”

“Not one little thought of rebellion, Mama?” Tilda coaxed.

“Not one!” Princess Priscilla responded firmly, “and you must promise me, Tilda, that you will not allow yourself to even think of such outrageous and wicked ideas.”

Tilda did not reply and she went on,

“You have no idea how fortunate you are in being married so young and to a Royal Head of State.”

“Do you think that Prince Maximilian wants to marry me?” Tilda asked.

“It is the ambition of every small state in Europe to have one of our Queen’s relatives as the wife of their reigning Sovereign. England is a great power in the world, Tilda, as you well know. Every country wants our goodwill, our friendship and, if necessary, our financial aid,”

“Even Germany?” Tilda asked.

“Even Germany!” Princess Priscilla replied, but her tone did not sound quite so positive.

“Prince Bismarck must be a very exceptional man,” Tilda went on. “He has formed the Federation of Germany and now Hanover is no longer independent, nor Hesse-Kassel, Bavaria or Brunswick.”

“I am glad to see you are so well read,” the Princess remarked.

“It is what the Professor has been teaching me,” Tilda answered. “You told him to instruct me about the history of Europe and he has been stuffing me with information like a Strasbourg goose!”

“I have the greatest respect for Professor Schiller,” her mother replied, “and I intend that he shall travel with you on your journey to Obernia.”

“Oh no, Mama! I don’t want to spend the whole journey doing lessons!”

“It will be to your advantage, Tilda, and your Papa has asked the Dowager Lady Crewkerne to act as your chaperone and Lady-in-Waiting until you reach Obernia.”

“Not Lady Crewkerne!” Tilda cried plaintively. “She is old and dull and disapproves of everything. I have never heard her say a kind word about anybody.”

“But she is well-travelled, Tilda. Her husband was at one time our Ambassador in Vienna. She knows all the protocol which is so essential for you to learn so that you do not make any mistakes when you reach the Principality over which you are to reign.”

“Lady Crewkerne and Professor Schiller!” Tilda exclaimed. “Well it will certainly be a dull journey. Whatever he is like, I shall jump into Prince Maximilian’s arms with joy!”

“I hope you will do that, Tilda, and I am sure you will be very happy,” Princess Priscilla said.

She gave a deep sigh.

“I only wish I could accompany you myself, but you know I cannot leave your Papa.”

“No, of course not, Mama. At the same time it would be very much more amusing for me than travelling with the two companions you have chosen for me.”

“It is very important that you should arrive with a respectable and respected entourage,” Princess Priscilla said. “But you do appreciate, Tilda, that a journey such as you are about to embark on is very expensive.”

She sighed again.

“We really cannot afford at this moment to send more people with you than is absolutely necessary. As it is, two coaches each with six horses will involve a considerable amount of money.”

Although he was extremely rich, the Duke was well known to be parsimonious and close-fisted when it came to spending money outside his estates.

The Princess had experienced some difficulty in extracting from him what she considered enough money for Tilda’s trousseau.

“Two coaches, Mama?” Tilda asked.

“There will be a coach for the maids and your luggage and apart from your trousseau you will receive many wedding presents which will have to be conveyed somehow to Obernia.”

She held up her hand and started to count on her fingers and then continued,

“So that involves – two coaches each with two coachmen and two footmen. That makes eight servants. You will also require four outriders. Even in this enlightened age, travellers can be held up and robbed by bandits on the roads.”

“That sounds exciting!” Tilda said, a sudden light in her eyes.

“It is an excitement that I hope you will not experience,” her mother replied. “The outriders that your father will send with you are experienced pistol shots and will ensure that you reach your destination in safety.”

“I do indeed have a long way to go.”

“That is true,” the Princess answered, “but you will break your journey by visiting various of our relatives en route, starting in the Netherlands where you will disembark. After a visit to King Ludwig of Bavaria, you will cross the border into Obernia.”

“He is the one person I have always wanted to meet,” Tilda enthused. “He sounds fascinating!”

Princess Priscilla started to speak and then pressed her lips together, which told Tilda all too clearly that her mother disapproved of King Ludwig II.

Tilda had always been fascinated by hearing about him, his passion for music and the theatre he had built for Wagner.

She had seen portraits of him looking pale and handsome and rather ethereal, as if, she thought, he was a being from another world.

To stay in one of his castles about which there had been so much talk and so much criticism would, Tilda thought, be almost as thrilling as seeing the Palace that would be her home, and more important, her future husband.

“I do hope, Tilda, that you will remember to behave properly!” Princess Priscilla exclaimed. “You heard what the Queen said. You are an Ambassador for England and only by keeping yourself strictly under control will you ever be able to fulfil all our hopes of you.”

She looked at her daughter and thought that it would be far more suitable to be planning a school treat for her or a picnic by the river rather than a Royal marriage.