Epilogue
To the crowds lining London’s streets, the royal wedding was a triumph for the houses of Hanover and Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld. To the historians who would one day record it, perhaps it would be only a footnote in the long succession of royal marriages. But as Leopold’s hand slipped into hers—a touch so brief she almost mistook it for a dream—Princess Charlotte knew the wedding was not merely a state event.
It was an escape.
She surveyed the sea of courtiers, their polished smiles and watchful eyes. Only months ago, the world had seemed to narrow around her, closing in on a betrothal to the Hereditary Prince of Orange. She had nearly walked a different aisle toward a life she dreaded. Now Leopold stood beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his hand through her glove. As King George III’s only legitimate grandchild, Charlotte knew she would one day follow him and her father as Queen regnant of the United Kingdom and Ireland, and Leopold would help her secure England’s future by having children with her.
Candlelight shimmered across the silver embroidery on her gown. Little shells and flowers decorated the net, as if the sea itself had been caught in the threads. The shell-shaped edging at her sleeves brushed her wrists whenever she moved. Beneath the voices and music, Leopold’s fingers rested lightly against hers. Charlotte turned her hand and held on. This time, she knew she hadn’t imagined it.
“You may kiss the bride,” said the priest.
Leopold’s brown eyes stayed on her blue ones as he drew her close. His kiss was brief. Around them, applause burst through the room, rising beneath the glittering chandeliers and rolling against the walls. Charlotte heard it as if from a distance. She was still holding Leopold’s hand. For that moment, amid the ceremony and the watching crowd, she was not the heir to the throne. She was simply Charlotte, and she had chosen to stay beside him.
Charlotte gathered her skirts with one hand and Leopold held out his arm. She took it, and together they crossed the room of spectators, passing through a pair of brown doors. A thousand voices greeted them, hands waving above the throng. Charlotte tightened her fingers around Leopold’s arm and smiled at him. As they walked to the carriage, the people began to shout, “We love you, Charlotte and Leopold!” and “God bless you both!”
The carriage was red with two horses attached to it. Leopold turned to help his wife get inside.
“Where to?” asked the driver, an old man with blonde hair.
“Oatlands,” said Charlotte, happily. “My uncle’s estate,”
The cheers dimmed behind the carriage door. For the first time that day, Charlotte could hear the soft creak of the leather seats and the shift of the horses outside. She watched the sea of people as they rode by. Parents held their young children by the hand, and a handful of others proudly showed Charlotte their little dogs.
“Are you tired?” Leopold asked with his natural German accent.
“A little,” she said. “But I love being here,”
He smiled, and Charlotte rested her head on his shoulder. As the carriage swayed beneath them, she closed her eyes and began to imagine their life together: a house filled with children—seven, perhaps—quiet meals without an audience, and mornings when she could leave her hair loose and linger over breakfast. She pictured Leopold teasing her across the table, and herself answering with a smile meant for him alone. There would be no fathers commanding her, and all of their servants would be treated with the utmost respect.
Outside, the couple heard the potter-patter of the horses' hooves tapping cobblestone streets until they reached Weybridge. Outlandish was owned by Charlotte’s uncle, Frederick, who was known for his love of dogs and breeding them. Every day, Frederick made sure that the dogs were fed and had plenty of water to drink as well as time to spend outside. However, he and his staff frequently forgot to bathe them. So, the place stunk like a pigsty. Neither Leopold nor Charlotte minded though. All that mattered was that they had a few days to themselves.
As Charlotte was lying in bed that night, she thought once again of the quiet house and children. A pang of envy infiltrated her heart. Leopold had grown up with good parents who loved each other dearly, plenty of siblings, and a loving home. He was from a small duchy, and while he could have been with anyone else, he chose her for her kindness, humor, and beauty. Charlotte was born to a “good” family, one in which her father had fourteen younger siblings by the time he was twenty-one, but that was it. Thanks to them, Charlotte might have died of loneliness and boredom. They taught her what a family should be like; however, nobody is perfect not even a princess. Leopold’s family must be imperfect, too, Charlotte thought.
This was followed by thoughts of the Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld’s farting and swearing at each other. Charlotte laughed. She envisioned the faces of the many stuffy courtiers she had come to know over the years. Were the men and ladies at her in-law’s court the same way? Or were they more relaxed? Again, Charlotte didn’t know, but instead, let her imagination run wild with assumptions and the fact that she would not know everything.
What she did know was that love is not just an emotion. If it was, then everybody would be miserable as they looked for that next fix to hell them fill the void in their hearts. It is what connects every person on Earth. It’s not abuse, like her father had shown to her mother; rather, love is showing respect to each other, even when people disagree. Surely, most of the common people she would one day rule over knew it, too.
Only Charlotte would never rule over the United Kingdom and Ireland. Freedom can sometimes lead to unintended consequences. As Charlotte drifted off to sleep, her thoughts turned to her father, who at that time, was Prince Regent because his father had gone insane again. She figured that he must have known about having too much freedom, too.
And indeed, he did, to an extent.
