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exile at the court of the Princess of Orange, and how my father had fallen in love with my mother and proposed marriage to her. Then there came the Restoration and the Duke of York was no longer a wandering exile, and the marriage, which might have been acceptable when he had been, was no longer suitable for the brother of the King. There had been opposition, but my father had remained true to his word. I had liked that story. It fitted in with the image of him which I had created for myself.
    And now he was going to marry again, so that he could get an heir to the throne because, although he already had my sister and me, boys were preferable.
    â€œSo you see, my dearest,” he was saying, “your father must do his duty. I hope you will like your new mother.”
    â€œI could not have another mother,” I said. “I had one and I have lost her.”
    He nodded and looked mournful again. Perhaps I was growing cynical, but I fancied he was not displeased at the prospect of having a new wife.
    It might be that she would be young and beautiful, so that he would not have need of those others.

    EVERYONE WAS TALKING about the proposed marriage of the Duke of York. It was freely discussed by the girls. There seemed to be no reason to be discreet about it, even though he was the father of Anne and me, since it was being spoken of throughout the court.
    The Duchess of Guise was highly suitable. Would it be the Duchess? Then there was the Princess of Wirtemburg. There was also Mademoiselle de Rais.
    â€œI wonder which one it will be,” said Elizabeth Villiers. I imagined she did not want it to be any of them. Or if there had to be a marriage that the bride would be ugly and barren. I imagined she was hoping that one day—some time ahead maybe—I was going to be Queen of England.
    To me it seemed preposterous and I could not conceive its ever coming to pass. The idea filled me with dismay. But if my father married and there was a son, the household at Richmond would sink into insignificance.
    Poor Elizabeth! How sad that would be for her!
    Then there suddenly appeared another candidate for marriage into the House of York. This was Princess Mary Beatrice of Modena.
    My father had sent the Earl of Peterborough to the Continent. It was said he was to spy on these ladies and to report secretly on them in such a way that none should know the true verdict but the Duke of York himself. But by some means we heard of the reports.
    The Duchess of Guise was very short and not elegantly shaped; nor did she appear over-strong and it seemed unlikely that she would produce the much-desired heir. Mademoiselle de Rais? The Princess of Wirtemburg? Fair enough, but in the meantime my father had seen a portrait of the young Mary Beatrice of Modena.
    I like to remember that when he made his choice he came first to me.
    â€œShe will be your companion,” he said. “Peterborough sent home such a report to me. She is of middle height, which is good, for although I would not choose one who was low in stature, I would not care to have a wife look down on me. Her eyes are gray and she moves with grace. She has a sweet innocence, for she is but a child yet. She is strong and very young. She would bear sons, this little lady. Peterbor-ough reports that, although she is gentle and of great modesty, yet she discourses with spirit. Methinks you will like my little bride from Modena.”
    â€œIt is not for me but for you to like her,” I said.
    â€œYou are right, but I should like to have my dearest daughter’s approval. She will give it, I know, when she knows that is what I wish. My dearest child, I am going to bring you a little playfellow.”

    SHE WAS YOUNG and very frightened. I liked her from the moment we met. My father was proud of her and must have thought himself very lucky to have such a beautiful bride.
    There was, of course, a faction who were against the match. They called it the Papist Marriage