The Three Crowns epub (15 page)

Imagine this delicate—and surprisingly passionate—creature in his hands!

For the first time in her life the Duchess wavered. The honor of union with England should not be missed, but for Mary Beatrice, no. It was too much.

Perhaps the attention of the Duke of York could be diverted to one of the other princesses of Modena, someone older, more knowledgeable in the ways of the World.

The Duchess would try it before she forced her innocent young daughter into the arms of the over-amorous and, by reputation, even lascivious Duke of York.

During the next
days Mary Beatrice grew so pale and despairing that her uncle Rinaldo d’Esté conferred with the Duchess concerning the proposed marriage, and when they called in the Duchess’s confessor, Father Garimbert, they all agreed that, while the immensely influential union could not be abandoned, they must try to find another bride for the Duke of York.

“Twenty-five years her senior,” mused Rinaldo, shaking his head.

“That will be less noticeable as she grows older,” put in the Duchess, “and he is more likely to cherish a young girl than an ageing woman.”

“The Princess should never be allowed to mate outside her religion,” added Garimbert.

“Nor would she,” was the Duchess’s answer, “for the Duke of York is known to be a Catholic.”

“A secret Catholic. I like that not,” replied Garimbert, whose views always carried great weight with the Duchess. The outcome of these interviews was that the Earl of Peterborough should be invited to the Court; that he should be asked to suggest another Princess of Modena to his master; and that failing that Mary Beatrice might be persuaded to change her mind.

Immediately Secretary of State Nardi was dispatched to the lodgings of the Earl of Peterborough to invite him to the Court.

The Earl of
Peterborough was delighted to receive an invitation from the Duchess and confidently set out for the Modena Palace. When he arrived he was taken at once to the presence of the Duchess who greeted him with warmth and respect, although it was obvious that she was a little uneasy.

“My lord Earl,” she told him after the formal greeting, and when she had bade him sit down at his ease, “while being deeply conscious of the honor your great country does mine, I have to tell you that my daughter’s wish is to become a nun and that she has no desire for the married state.”

“Your Highness, the Princess is young as yet. She can have little knowledge of the happiness this marriage could bring her. Nor, if I may say so, can she understand all that is entailed in the life of a recluse.”

“You speak truth, my lord. But she is of a delicate constitution and I do not know how she would fare in a colder climate than that in which she has lived her life.”

“Our climate is temperate, Your Highness; and although we do not enjoy great warmth neither do we suffer from excessive cold. It would be the desire of the Duke of York to give his wife every comfort.”

“Of that I am sure. But then shall we say that the main objection to this marriage is the fact that although I am told the Duke of York is a Catholic, he has not openly declared his faith. Before this marriage could take place it would be necessary to procure a dispensation from the Pope.”

“And, Your Highness, if this dispensation were procured, there would be no further obstacles to the marriage?”

The Duchess hesitated. “As I told you, my daughter is very young. There are other members of my family who might be more suitable for His Grace of York.”

“Madame, the Duke of York has set his heart on marriage with your daughter. This is the alliance which is acceptable to him.”

The two regarded each other in silence for a few seconds; and during them the Duchess weighed up all that this alliance would mean to Modena; she knew also that it would be an alliance with Mary Beatrice or none at all.

“Yes,” she said decisively, “if there is a dispensation, then I am of the opinion that the affair could be happily concluded.”

“I should esteem it a favor if I might meet the Princess.”

The Duchess bowed her head in assent.

When the Duchess
led her daughter to the Earl, he could scarcely hide the effect her beauty had upon him. She was startlingly lovely—even more than her picture had led him to believe, and in that moment he had decided that, however difficult this task, he was going to succeed and take this strikingly beautiful girl home to his master. Her jet black hair fell about her shoulders, simply dressed as was becoming to one so young; but her lovely dark eyes were deeply troubled and he wanted very much to reassure her that she would have nothing to fear from his master who was the kindest man he had ever met.

The girl eyed him warily and it was clear that she, knowing his mission, was not very pleased to see him.

“My lady Princess,” said the old Earl, when he had bowed over her hand, “I ask you to forgive me if I have in any way disturbed your tranquillity, but I have come to ask your hand for the Prince who is my master and to assure you that if you will consent to be his wife you will be one of the happiest women in the world, for he is a Prince of such geniality and kindness that you cannot fail to love him.”

Mary Beatrice did not look at her mother as she began to speak quickly. “I am obliged to the King of England and his brother for this great honor, but I wonder why they chose me when there are so many Princesses more worthy than I …”

“There could be none more worthy.”

She silenced him with an imperious wave of the hand. “If I am forced to accept this proposal when I have vowed myself to another sort of life, I do not see how I can ever be happy.”

“Your Highness is mistaken. I who well know my master can assure you of that.”

“You know him well and mayhap have influence with him. Then if you would be of service to me, I beg of you dissuade him from this marriage and beg him to look elsewhere.”

The Earl was exasperated. Glancing at the girl’s mother and seeing the sadness in her stern face, he felt depressed. The girl had too much spirit. If he were not careful this attempt to bring her home to James was going to fail. And having seen her, having written to his master of her incomparable beauty, how was James going to content himself with any other?

The interview was unsatisfactorily ended and the Earl continued in his despondency.

Mary Beatrice was
exultant when she heard the Pope had refused to grant the dispensation. She embraced her seventeen-year-old friend and attendant Senorina Molza, and declared herself happier than she had been since this horrible proposition was made to her.

Senorina Molza, a little older and more experienced than the Princess, was more moderate in her joy. She had seen the comings and goings to the Duchess’s apartments and guessed that the matter would not be allowed to end there.

The Duchess was being told how foolish she would be to pass over this chance of alliance with a great and powerful country. It would be pointed out to her that her daughter might well one day be the Queen of that country. All knew the value of these alliances.

“They can do nothing … nothing since the Pope refuses,” declared Mary Beatrice. “Why are you so glum?”

“I am just praying that they will heed His Holiness,” answered her friend.

“But of course they will. My mother is a good Catholic. How could she possibly go against the Pope’s wishes?”

“How could she indeed?” murmured the Senorina Molza.

“Then cheer up. I should like to sing. I feel in the mood for singing.”

But Mary Beatrice’s joy did not last. The Cardinal Barberini, the Duchess’s most trusted adviser, was at that moment closeted with her, explaining to her that to lose this great opportunity would be a folly which she would never cease to regret, and if the marriage took place, it would not be difficult to obtain papal forgiveness. The Duke of York was at heart a Catholic, and it was possible that His Holiness would come to regard the marriage as good for the Catholic world. It might well be that Mary Beatrice would influence her husband to become a declared Catholic and if it happened that James should one day take the throne, it would be almost a certainty that he would bring Britain back to Rome.

The Duchess was persuaded. Even without the dispensation, the marriage should take place.

When the news was brought to Mary Beatrice she was stunned; her women, the little Molza and Anna Montecuculi tended her; they bathed her tear-stained cheeks; they knelt beside her and told her that perhaps she would come to love England and her husband; they tried to make pictures of the glories of Court life in England. But poor Mary Beatrice could not be comforted. She declared that her heart was broken and that the only state she could pray for was death.

On a bright
September day the Earl of Peterborough, who was to stand proxy for his master, was taken from his lodgings by young Francisco, Duke of Modena, and the Prince Rinaldo, to a chapel in the Ducal palace, and there he was married in the name of the Duke of York to Mary Beatrice of Modena.

An obscure priest married them, because no other would agree to do so, since the marriage was taking place without the dispensation from His Holiness. The bride’s eyes were swollen with weeping and she walked like one in a dream. Her ladies stood about her ready to support her should she faint, which they expected, for she had taken very little food since she had known this marriage was to take place.

There could never have been a more reluctant bride.

The Earl was angry. This was he believed the greatest honor that had ever come to Modena and the girl was receiving it as though she were a beast being taken to the slaughterhouse. The Duchess was uneasy; as for the proxy bridegroom, he was afraid that something was going to prevent the marriage at the last moment.

But nothing did, and the ceremony proceeded. The Duke of York was married by proxy to Mary Beatrice and not until the diamond ring, the outward symbol of union was put on to that white and reluctant finger, was the Earl’s relief apparent. Now he could prepare to take home to his master the one whom he believed to be the most beautiful girl in the world.

When James in
London heard the news he was delighted. A wife, at last! And, if Peterborough could be believed, a beauty.

His eyes grew misty at the thought. He saw the years ahead, the children they would have—lots of them, girls as well as boys. He would spend much time with them. He remembered that period when he and Anne had lived with their children in Richmond Palace … those months when they had both been ill and had believed themselves to be not long for the world. Anne had been right regarding herself; but he, by the blessing of the Virgin, had recovered his strength. They had been wonderful years—lived in the shadow of death it was true; but he would find even greater happiness when the sense of urgency was removed! With this young girl from Modena he would recover conjugal happiness. She and their children all about them. What greater joy could there be on earth?