princess-augusta

Portrait of Princess Augusta (1782). Thomas Gainsborough (English, 1727-1788). Oil on canvas. Royal Collection.

This portrait of Princess Augusta, then aged 13,  forms part of the series of fifteen portraits probably commissioned by Queen Charlotte of the royal family. The Morning Herald reported that Gainsborough “has just completed his painting of the whole Royal Family, at Windsor… all of which are spoken of as highly-finished characteristic portraits of the illustrious personages who sat to him.”

Charlotte did not have an easy death; she could not lie down, and remained propped upright in a chair, gasping for breath. One of her legs ruptured, and she was in great pain. She wanted, more than anything, to see her husband one last time. ‘I wish I was with the King. I ought to be at dear, dear Windsor.’ In the midst of her final suffering, she still hoped this might be achieved, explaining pathetically to Halford: 'I own, sir, that it is very near my heart to be removed to Windsor before - before -…’ She must have known this was impossible. She died on 17 November 1818, with her eldest son holding her hand. The Duke of York was there too, as were Augusta and Mary. 'We had the consolation of seeing her expire without a pang, and with a sweet smile on her face,’ Mary recalled. Between them they had 'nearly received her last breath.’
— 

The Strangest Family by Janice Hadlow

Charlotte during her final .
I’ve always really respected and loved her; she was thrown into a position of constant suppression of her own wishes and resignation, though George III never intended to act cruelly. She was certainly really brave in her circumstances, facing so many things calmly and without fear.

| Captive | King George III

*Princess Augusta, King George III’s mother, died three years before the start of the American Revolution, but events have been changed to match the oneshot.

*Also, this is the first time I realized King George and Washingdad have the same name as I was writing. I’m an idiot.


“You have a letter Mr. President.”

“What?” George’s tone was harsh, unforgiving. The man delivering said letter jumped in alarm and George sighed, calming himself down.

“I’m sorry,” His voice was tired, dark purple bags lining themselves underneath his eyelids. He brushed a hand up his face, sighing deeply. The man had been having the worst few months in his existence. His daughter, his precious girl, had disappeared right under his nose. There was a full watch sent out, a large sum of money being given to anyone who could bring you home.

Of course many people had tried to bring forth people who looked similar to you and get the reward, but George wasn’t an idiot. He knew his daughter down to the very quirk of your lips.

But it had just passed the benchmark of three months. Rumors had started to brew in the streets. What if you had simply run away? George had dismissed such claims  at the beginning but now he began to worry. Had he been hard on you? Was it the revolution? Did you truly feel suppressed enough to run away from him?

“Well?” He asked, becoming irritated again at the man who had hesitated to step forward.

“Ah…we haven’t opened it out of respect for your privacy but…” He bit his lip.

“Be curt young man!” George pursed his lips. The man winced.

“It is signed from King George III,” The man swallowed.

George felt his world stop.

What.

“And? Bring it forward,” He reigned in his absolute shock in mind of his company. The man placed the letter on his desk before saluting and exiting the room on rushed legs.

“Poor lad,” George muttered, trailing the edges of the letter with his fingers. Such an innocent envelope, yet looking to hold the weight of the world.

He took in a deep breath to steel himself and opened it slowly, unfolding the paper.

Washy!

Hello old pal! It has come to my knowledge that you are growing funnier than ever, rounding up that little army of yours. I have no doubts in who will win this petty little war you’ve started, but I suppose it would be good to have a few cards to deal with on my side in case of any surprising and impossible forth-comings.  

I looked into every corner of your life, and I came to find something I never noticed before. It was too interesting for me to simply put aside, and so I’m afraid I had to take it. What was the little thing’s name? Ah yes! Y/N was it?

Don’t worry about her. I delayed this letter to give you ample time to lose your wits in search for her in a land where she no longer stands, and so by the time this arrives I am confident you would be quite hysterical. Delightful isn’t it?

So yes, I have her, she’s my hostage, blah blah blah. I’ll be keeping her I’m afraid until I have you successfully back under my colonial rule. She misses you terribly I think, won’t stop blabbing. Although she did become rather quiet of late….do you suppose I’ve broken her?

Anywho, I give my utmost preeminent regards!

Toodledoo!

Your loving ruler,

King George III

George stared. He let his eyes roam over the ink twice, five times, ten, till every word had been memorized, till he was sure he hadn’t let anything go by.

His hand holding the parchment shook, something burning in his nose and wetly behind his eyes. Intense worry and despair flooded his senses before it was replaced by a burning anger that made his vision go red.

His fingers tightened into a fist, crushing the letter with one action, now shaking for another reason entirely.

“General?” A commander knocked briefly before entering. “The ranks would like to know if- General?”

George’s eyes were covered by the shadow of his own face before he looked up, and the commander stiffened, feeling ice cold fear run through him at the bloodthirsty fire encompassing those usual warm brown orbs.

George smiled, and it was feral. “Gather the men.”


Your nail scratched down the wall.

The coarse, uncomfortable feeling no longer bothered you as it had the first time, and you gazed blankly at the tally mark finishing the five. The entire east corner of the room’s wall had been covered in similar tallies, one each day, leading up to where you now stood.

“Day 120,” You murmured, not bothering to push back a lock of hair than invaded your line of sight. One more day, and you would have been here four months.

Four months.

Four months without the American soil beneath your feet. Four months without so much as a glimpse at the blue sky. Four months without your father’s gummy smile.

At first you’d been thrown into a cell. After being drugged and carted over the sea for days, you awoke to captivity. You had been provided little food, no warmth, staying in the same dirty clothes for weeks. You had freaked out more or less, keeping yourself sane with delusions that someone would be coming to save you.

But nobody came.

And soon logic overtook your emotions. Why would they? No one knew where you were, so how could they possibly rescue you? And even if King George - you thought the name in disgust - sent word over to the west, it would be at least 4-6 weeks before a letter could even travel that far.

So you stopped your sniveling, put your chin high, and reminded yourself that you were the daughter of the goddamn general of America and you would not break.

The moment you’d stopped being overly sentimental, you were transferred to this room. It was utterly different than the dank, dark tomb of a cell you’d been objected to for weeks. It was prim, proper, had a king sized bed, fitted with a dresser and mirrors and curtains that looked to be more expensive than your life. Servants came in and dressed you in magnificent gowns, complete with makeup and the standard white wig on top your head. The minute they left you tore it off.

What almost made you shatter was the shower that you’d been able to take. You vowed to not give in to whatever game he was playing, but didn’t object to taking an hour long bath with the lavender soap in the cubicle.

They had hot water. Hot water. Was this a magical kingdom?

You digress.

Of course you knew what was happening. He must have wanted you to develop some kind on Stockholm Syndrome towards him, where you’d be lathered in positive attention after dark treatment and grow an attachment to him.

Yeah right.

You might be a woman, but you weren’t an idiot, no matter what majority of men may believe about your gender.

Y/N~”

There he was.

You had heard the calling so many times now that you could distinguish it from five miles away. The amount of loathing that came over you was enough for you to want to change your name just so that you wouldn’t have to hear it ever again in that doting tone.

The door creaked open, but you didn’t turn around.

“Y/N~!” The voice was more crisp, clear, endeared with a British accent you had been taught to despise. “I see you’re still marking the walls!”

You didn’t open your mouth.

“The silent treatment again?” You could practically hear the pout in his voice. “It’s gotten old now, dear. What must I do to get you to talk?”

The bed creaked and you knew he had fallen down languidly on the mattress, but you kept your vision aligned with the wall.

“Should I pry that pretty little mouth open?” He mused. You shivered at his words. Your father had had you at a  young age, barely nineteen. He had described you as a ‘miracle baby’, but all that meant was that he hadn’t expected to have you, and you knew it. You didn’t even know who your real mother was, but you had long since forgiven him for that. He was young and made a mistake. At least he didn’t abandon you.

Added to the fact that King George was almost ten years younger than your father, the king was actually not lengths away from your own age, which disturbed you on too many levels to comprehend.

“Or maybe cut those fingers off till you scream?” He continued, now talking to himself, unaware of the effect it had on you. Or was he? “Anything would be better than this annoying childish behaviour.”

Childish? Childish?

You had to restrain yourself to not pounce on him the instant.

“Though I guess I could just send word to old Washy that I killed you. That would surely send him to his grave with worry.”

You broke.

“Don’t you dare,” Your voice was heavy with anger as you whipped around. Widened chocolate eyes regarded you in surprise, a grin stretching across flawless skin.

“Ah so she speaks” He exclaimed giddily. You immediately wanted to calm up again, but it was of no use. You had already given him his victory.

“What are you here for today?” You asked, even though you knew. Its what he came for everyday. As a King you would think he had his schedule full, but he somehow made time every single day to come and pester you for the same thing.

“Oh you already know darling. So why don’t we make this easier on both of us?”

“I’m not becoming a spy for you,” You muttered, voice robotic. You had repeated the words so many times it was second nature. “I will not become a prostitute or anything of the matter. I definitely will not give you any information regarding the plans of my father for the war-”

“-and I will not succumb to any of your wishes,” He finished for you, rolling his eyes, and lolling his head back, shifting into a more comfortable position in which he could still see your face. “I know the drill princess. Then what good are you for?”

Your mouth shut. The playful tone had been sucked out of his atmosphere entirely at the last sentence, his eyes alight with something hypnotic, menacing, intimidation slamming over your head so quickly you froze up entirely. You were sure you were about to be sentenced to death then and there, but then he was back and the monster was gone, a smile lighting up his face, forming tiny dimples along his cheeks and crinkles around his eyes.

“I’m just messing with you!” He said, getting up from the sheets and patting your back roughly. You flinched at the touch, deciding to scrub extra hard in the tub today. “I do hope you change your mind tomorrow! My patience does have a limit.”

You were given a glimpse at the insanity that lay beneath the surface of the cheer and exuberance as his gaze flashed something predatory before he was literally prancing out of the room, humming a catchy tune underneath his breath.

You collapsed onto the wall as soon as he left, your mask gone as you put your face in your hands. A shaking sigh left your mouth as you shuddered, biting your lip to prevent the oncoming onslaught of moisture that flooded your eyes.

Dad, please come quick.


The door opened.

You glared at the recent tally mark of 130. “You’re here early today. What? Got bored with terrorizing innocent subjects?” You could be killed for your talk to such an important figure, but you knew he wouldn’t harm you, and frankly you didn’t care. You knew he needed you as a ransom.

There was no answer, and you turned around in confusion, just in time for him to wrap his arms around you.

Panic flared within you but only skyrocketed as he dragged you down to the mattress. You kicked at him frantically, assuming the worst. No no you weren’t ready, you weren’t for use, he couldn’t take this from you you wouldn’t let him-

Confusion sprouted next as he didn’t lay any perverted touches on you, simply keeping you tight in his hold and burying his head into your hair. The soft but ragged breathing told you he was awake, but you didn’t dare move if he was unstable. You’d witnessed his absolute insanity before, and you didn’t feel like being at the end of it.

But why was he doing this? Was this another tactic?

But then why was he shaking?

So you stayed still, highly attentive, until he relaxed against you and his breaths evened out. Against everything you were, you let him hold you, ignoring the waves of revulsion rolling on your skin. You absentmindedly eyed a pair of scissors on the dressing table. You could easily slip out of his hold and stab him before anyone knew, take the life of the man who had ruined yours.

The thought ran through your mind another time before you disregarded it. Not now. Not only did you think you wouldn’t have the ability to actually bring yourself to commit the act, but killing someone in their sleep was probably the most cowardly of cowardly acts.

Does cowardice really matter when you are a prisoner? A voice whispered temptingly from the dark abyss of your mind. You crushed it.

You were not that type of person.

It was only later when you had been left alone again without a word from the king, that you discovered what had happened. There were hushed talks among the servants, the nobles outside your door.

The king’s sick and weak mother had finally died of laryngeal cancer in her sleep.

You were unsure how to feel.

At one end you absolutely wanted to have no feelings of remorse or pity towards George. But on the other you were far more concerned of why exactly he had come to you for comfort.

Why you? Were you not a mere captive?  A hostage?

Then you looked back. Every day.  He had visited you every day. You couldn’t bear to admit it, but even you grew used to his visits, and came to expect them with some anticipation. (If only to imagine ripping those pretty eyes from his skull). He must have grown attached to you at some point as well.

Could he have possibly grown a….liking towards you?

The thought was ridiculous but the evidence proved otherwise. And if so…if so…

You grinned slowly at your reflection in the mirror.

Maybe you weren’t the hostage anymore.


He continued to come. Earlier and earlier every day. You didn’t change your attitude towards him too quickly, knowing that you had to concoct your plan slowly in order for there to be no suspicion whatsoever.

But you ever so slowly changed the game. You began to face him when he came in instead of away. You let your hand ‘accidentally’ brush against his side. You made an effort to look presentable when he came in.

You even ripped a small piece of your mask away to allow yourself to give him a real smile once.

And you could feel him beginning to turn into putty in your hand. Your father would be proud of you, you thought. For tricking the enemy so well.

(Or would he? Allowing yourself to manipulate another so easily?)

And one fateful night, when George was tired, and it had been a hard day on him, and your eyes had been shining so brilliantly in the light of the candle-

You did nothing when his lips came down on yours, merely tightened a fist behind your back and brought the other to gently touch his cheek.

Hook, line, and sinker.

You had turned the tables successfully. You had him under just as much control as he thought he still had you under.

It was funny really.

You began to think of ways to escape. It had taken you so long to get him to trust you, but maybe a few more months and he would let you go outside, and then from there you could begin putting out plans to get back home.

Home.

The word seemed so far away, and yet so close.

America, wait for me.


One evening you were sitting upright the headrest on the bed, George’s head on your shoulder, the room silent. It was the rare occasion his customary royalty wig wasn’t on, and his soft brown curls brushed against your cheek.

He looked much better in your opinion. Not that you cared.

“Y/N?”

“mm?”

His eyes stared into space, as if he was seeing something you weren’t.

“Why are you doing this?”

For a minute you felt dread tinge your tongue. He hadn’t figured you out had he? You forced yourself to calm down. “Doing what?”

“This,” He shifted his eyes so that they were boring into yours, and it was as if he was unraveling your very soul. “I thought you had accepted this to ask of something of me, or try and grasp your freedom, but you’ve done nothing of the sort. What do you hope to accomplish?”

He must have been really tired if he was spilling his guts to you. Hopefully he wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning.

“Do I need to accomplish something?” Answer another question with a question, your dad’s voice lectured in your mind. Don’t ever let them see weakness.

“I would think so,” His voice was silk, rushing over your ears, causing you to relax your own guard much more than you wanted. “Unless you are idiotic enough to gain romantic inhibitions to your captor.”

“Well then I shall say the same to you,” You countered. “How does one gain such feelings toward their captive?”

“Touche,” He laughed before regaining his quiet. You grew worried. He had never been this sober before. Was there something seriously wrong?

“I am never letting you go,” He said suddenly. You blinked, but didn’t reply. His grip on your hand grew slightly tighter. “My sweet, submissive subject.”

You couldn’t help the adamant scowl that pulled your lips. Submissive??

“But you’re not,” He amended, watching the change in your face, eyebrows furrowing in uncertainty. “You have fire. And intelligence, almost. You are the strangest woman I have ever met.”

You stared back, struck speechless by his gaze. And for the first time, you found yourself leaning forward as well when he captured your lips with his, deepening the embrace till you grew hot with passion and thoughtless as you were pressed down into the mattress.


A knock on the door.

“George,” you said immediately. “Yo-”

An unfamiliar man stood there instead, a complacent smile on his face. You cleared your throat after staring in surprise.

“Ah, hello,” The man said, voice a deep richness, lines between his eyes that betrayed the amount of times he smiled.

There was a certain twinkle in those eyes as he walked towards you, his steps kept together and his back straight. He lifted a tape measure. “I am merely your new tailor, madame. Please let down your guard.”

You vaguely wondered what had happened to the other woman but nodded, loosening the tightness in your shoulders.

He was gentle as he lifted your arms and zipped around you, wrapping the measure around your waist and up your side. As he lifted your hair to stretch the surface of the material against you neck, he began to speak again.

“May I ask you your name, miss?”

“Y/N,” You said quietly.

“Lovely,” he complimented, and it wasn’t sleazy in any way, but completely genuine.

“Thank you,” A heat flushed up your neck and pooled in your cheeks at the gesture.

“Where did you get it?”

“My…father said it was the first thing he thought of when he gazed at my eyes,” You murmured, mood dampened extremely.

He hummed. “Interesting. I’m sure Washington wouldn’t like to hear you sound so downcast speaking of it though.”

You tensed. “What?” You tried to get away from the man but his hold on your shoulder increased so that you couldn’t - yet it was still somehow gentle.

“I mean what I said.” Then his voice dropped even lower, and he was whispering in your ear, even as he continued to look to an outsider as if he were taking your measurements. “Your father has sent for you. I will leave the door open when I leave, and you must follow my instructions.”

You nodded, befuddled, but feeling hope bubble up in your chest.

“Good. Now go left, and continue for about fifty feet before making a right then immediate right again. You will run into a baker, who is not one at all, and he will lead you out of the castle and to the harbour where a ship awaits to take you back to the mainland. Keep your head down, and your face hidden. Walk as if you have a destination, but do not stand out.”

You could only nod again, overwhelmed but committing every word to your memory.

“Oh and,” He straightened, hanging the measure around his neck once more. A wink was sent your way, a cheeky grin making it onto his handsome face. “Good luck.”

He went to walk out the door but you stopped him.

“W-Wait!” You said. He stopped and you stammered. “May I have your name?”

He contemplated for a second before smirking. “Mulligan. Hercules Mulligan. Now make haste Y/N Washington.”

With that he had swept out like he was never there, footsteps light and making no sound.

You stood there, watching the indeed open door, mind racing a mile a minute.

A tailor spying on the British government? Was this a trick? Was George seeing if you would run away given the chance? Or was this real? Were you really being rescued?

You turmoil-ed over the notion for several more seconds but every moment that grew on had you looking at the sliver of light shining in from the open door..

You made your choice.

And with that you slipped out the door.


“Ready, Madame?”

You jumped. “Huh? Ah yes…”

The baker-but-not-really, held out a hand, the sea-spray of the harbour assaulting your nose, and the wind whipping your hair. He had a foot aboard the plank of the ship, but you were still on the ground. You rose one foot but were confused when you paused. What were you waiting for? Wasn’t this freedom?

Brown eyes, and a childish grin, feet skipping out of the room.

No.

No.

You didn’t - you couldn’t -

Please no, you thought. I couldn’t possibly be…

The smell of his skin, incense and mint, the sensation of his mouth on yours.

You wanted to rip your hair out. NO. This wasn’t happening.

You blamed the salty air for your eyes tearing up as you accepted your helper’s hand and stepped up onto the ship.

You blamed the rocking of the boat and sea sickness for the lurching of your heart as England’s harbour grew further away.

You closed your eyes and thought of your father’s smile, drowning out everything else.

You were going home.


Where is she?!”

The adviser grimaced as another vase crashed to the floor.

“Sir-” Another crash, this time the desk against the wall, broken and tumbling to the ground. The sheets were torn, curtains ripped apart. “We can only assume she is back in the west. She was seen by a witness with a man in a baker’s attire, heading towards the harbour.”

King George grew unnaturally calm. “The harbour? Was she struggling? Putting up a fight?”

The adviser stepped back, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. “N-No sir. It is most probable she simply fled. She was a prisoner after all.”

“Fled…She fled…” King George mumbled, chuckling. The adviser swallowed, bowing slightly and excusing himself from the room in rightful fear of his life for delivering the news.

King George was a mess, hair in chaos, his crown on the floor, his whole body quivering in mad laughter.

An image of you smiling back home and expressing your freedom, taunted him. Betrayal and anger stirred deep in his chest but all he did was laugh.

His palm covered his face as he trembled, now bellowing full rolls of hysterics. “She fled!

The laughs simmered down to giggles as he braced himself against a wall, smiling through the spaces of his fingers.

“Y/N…oh Y/N…” A psychotic glint passed his eyes, white teeth splitting his lips in a grin. “You think you’ve escaped…”

You jumped into your father’s arms, feeling yourself encased in his strong hold as he kissed you all over, warm in his embrace. Yet you felt as if something was incomplete, apprehension still hanging over you as a tension you couldn’t shake.

This is just the beginning.”


[MasterList]

2

Princess Augusta Viktoria of Schleswig Holstein, later Kaiserin of Prussia (middle) with sisters,Louise Sophie , later Princess of Prussia (left) and Caroline Mathilde aka “Calma”. Circa 1877.

anonymous asked:

Hello, I hope this question isn't too much- Who were the siblings of King George III and what were they like? Who was the eldest? Im sorry if this is a bit of a hassle to answer-

Ah no don’t worry! I love talking about George III and his family, so ask away! George himself was the second oldest, so this will go from oldest sibling, missing out him, then continuing from oldest to youngest!

Princess Augusta Frederica, Duchess of Brunswick.

Princess Augusta was born in 1737, on the 31 July. Though she was initially born as second in line to the throne after her father, that position was taken by her younger brother, later George III, born the following year. She was given a careful education, in an attempt to prevent her from becoming like her grandmother, Queen Caroline. Some subjects were avoided, some toned down, but her education was still completed, and considered so. Still, that did not stop her from being interested in and meddling with the private politics of the court. Augusta was never really seen as a beauty, as it was said that she had protuberant eyes, a large mouth and long face.

When marriage arrangements were being made to marry her to the hereditary Prince of Brunswick, they were initially delayed by her mother, whom strongly disliked the House of Brunswick. A house Queen Charlotte hated when she became Queen too. However, with Augusta’s lively nature and but also her indolence, she resolved to tell her grandmother about what was going on. Eventually, the Princess of Wales agreed to the marriage, deciding to rid herself of her “troublesome daughter”.

However, she never fully adapted to life in Brunswick, for she was too disregarding of ‘everything east of the Rhine’, as well as her prevailing British patriotism. She had strong British tastes, and was described to have a 'cynical independence’. To add to this, she was never much liked in Brunswick either. And this dislike got worse when her two eldest sons were born with handicaps. She never truly got on with Queen Charlotte either, and blamed this dislike on their initial meeting in 1764.

Augusta did not discipline her children, nor did their father. This is sometimes blamed on her laziness amd “carelessness”. One of her daughters, Caroline, would become the Princess of Wales later on, and she would be described as having been almost perfect, had her education been what it ought. Augusta, much like her mother, did not lay too much attention to her children’s educations, apart from religious studies, but she most certainly showed more affection towards them.

However, when her husband was wounded while fighting Napoleon’s army as commander-in-chief of the Prussians, Augusta fled with her two sons and daughter in law to Altona. She stayed there at the side of her dying husband with her daughter in law, Marie of Baden, but once again they had to flee. They were offered refuge in Sweden by Marie’s brother in law, but only Marie accepted. Instead, Augusta fled to Augustenborg, where she stayed with another of her daughters in law until her brother finally allowed her to return to London. There she stayed with her daughter, Caroline for a while, but the too fell out and Augusta purchased her own house next door, renaming it Brunswick House. She died in 1813, aged 75.


Next up is Prince Edward Augustus, Duke of York.

Edward was born on the 25th March, 1739. He was educated alongside his elder and much more timid, shy and simplistic brother, in long hours of arithmetic, Latin, Geometry, Literacy, Religion (which was later taught mainly by their mother, whom enforced a perception that the outside world was dark and corrupt, effectively keeping George III dependant on her and causing him to have some degree of that belief himself), French, German, Greek and they were even taught to dance properly. For George III, Edward was the only constant companion, spending many hours a day with him and generally relying on him a lot. However, the two were drastically different. Not only was Prince Edward their mother’s favourite, but he was also confident, loved being in company, drank, chatted an awful lot, and was described as rather “silly, frivolous, and someone who loved a good practical joke. He became a popular figure in London, attracting large numbers of company.

He also became very interested in the navy, and sought permission to join. He was later made Captain in 1759 (June 14th), Rear-Admiral-of-the-Blue in 1761 and just a year later the Vice-Admiral-of-the-Blue. The only battle he fought in during the Seven Years’ War was the Battle of Saint Cast. When his brother was raised to the throne, Edward become second in line to the throne. His brother also appointed him as a privy councillor, having trusted him for so long and at first during his reign being highly dependable on others. However, Edward no longer was second in line to the throne when Prinny (George IV) was born in 1762.
While he was on his way to Genoa, in 1767, Edward fell incredibly ill, and had to land in Monaco instead. However, despite the help, care and attention he was given there, Edward could not be saved, and he died, on September 17th. The room he died in was named 'the York room’. George III was absolutely distraught after his death, and Edward’s body was transported back to England, where it was buried at Westminster Abbey.

Princess Elizabeth is next!!

Elizabeth was born on January 10, 1741. I absolutely adore Princess Elizabeth, despite the fact not much is known about her.
From what I can gather, Elizabeth was educated like every other of her sisters, kept in the dark on some things to prevent her from becoming like her grandmother, but she was also supervised by doctors almost constantly. She had not ever been in really good health, always quite sickly and usually the first to catch the cold. She was described and kind and passionate, liked by all of her siblings. However, there is so little information on her, that not much is known of her life. There is however, a fragment of a letter from Horace Walpole which described Elizabeth a bit more:

"We have lost another Princess, Lady Elizabeth. She died of an inflammation in her bowels [inflammatory bowl disease] in two days. Her figure was so very unfortunate, that it would have been difficult for her to be happy, but her parts and application were extraordinary. I saw her act in "Cato” at eight years old, (when she could not stand alone, but was forced to lean against the side-scene,) better than any of her brothers and sisters. She had been so unhealthy, that at that age she had not been taught to read, but had learned the part of Lucia by hearing the others study their parts. She went to her father and mother, and begged she might act. They put her off as gently as they could—she desired leave to repeat her part, and when she did, it was with so much sense, that there was no denying her.“

Elizabeth died aged just 18, on September 4th, 1759.

William Henry follows on.

Prince William Henry was born on the 25th November, 1743. Not much is known about William’s early life and education, but we can infer that his education had been incomplete, since he was declined active service in the military as his intelligence proved "insufficient”.
William also courted Maria Walpole, whom was the dowager Countess of Waldegrave. However, he knew well that his brother would not allow the marriage, as Maria was a commoner, and also happened to be an illegitimate child, while he was a royal.

Though this continued in secret, kept from his brother. At the same time, William was continuing his search of a place in the army, and was finally appointed as colonel of the 13th Regiment of Foot in 1766. This proved to be an eventful year for him, for it was also in 1766 that he married Maria in secret in his home. However, George soon found out about the marriage, and he put in place the Royal Marriages Act of 1772, which meant that royals of Great Britain could not marry commoners, or without the King’s approval. But, if the Royal Family was above the age of 25, they could apply to be allowed to marry without seeking the King’s permission of having to follow the Act.
William and Maria lived near Windsor, in St. Leonard’s Hill, Clewer. They were to have three children; Princess Sophia, Princess Caroline and Prince William Frederick. Caroline however did not last long, dying of smallpox aged just 9 months from the inoculation that was supposed to protect her against it.
However, our good old William had another illegitimate child, this time by Lady Almeria Carpenter, his mistress. This child was called Louisa Maria La Coast.

In 1767, William was promoted to Major-General and made a Colonel of the 3rd Regiment of Foot Guards.
When the American Revolution kicked off, William hoped for a chance to be allowed to lead a field command, but George refused him the position. Still desperate, he requested to be allowed to serve under Prince Frederick of Prussia in the War of Bavarian Succession, and though George consented, Prince Frederick declined. Having been declined twice, William later transferred to the 1st Regiment of Foot Guards, becoming a Field Marshall on October 18th, 1793. William the became promoted to General Officer Commanding Northern District in 1796, which was a post that he proudly  held until 1802.

William died in 1805, August 25th, aged 61. His only son would succeed him as the Duke of Gloucester.

Prince Henry, Duke of Cumberland.

Henry was born on 7th November, 1745. Again, a sibling with a seemingly plain white canvas, as nothing is known of his early life or education, little of his childhood. He was brought up after his father’s death, which tells us that his studies were quite neglected, since Augusta the Princess Dowager did not pay much attention to the studies of her children, nor did she show much affection.

He was the second of George’s siblings to marry in secret and to a commoner, Olivia Wilmot. The relationship was short-lived however, and only one child was produced, another Olivia Wilmot, though Henry’s paternity has not been proven.

Henry, much unlike the rest of his brothers, began an interest in military quite late in life, at the age of 22. He entered the Royal Navy, and was appointed as a Midshipmen, sailing to Corsica. However, when the French invaded the Corsican Republic, the ship returned and so did Henry, in September. Still, Henry was promoted to Rear-Admiral, and the next year to Vice-Admiral.

On 2 October 1771 the Duke married Anne Horton. This marriage to a commoner caused a rift with the King, as George was outraged and distraught that two brothers had at this point married commoners, without his permission. And so, the Horton marriage was the catalyst for the Royal Marriages Act 1772, which forbade any descendant of George II to marry without George’s permission. There were no children from this marriage, though Henry did supposedly truly love Anne, who was known well for her beauty.

Henry died in London on 18 September 1790, aged 44, the rift between and his brother unhealed.

Princess Louisa Anne.

Yet another short lived sibling of George’s, and another to have her life be largely unknown. She was born in 1749, March 19th, and was yet another example of her mother keeping her daughters in the dark, though Caroline had been dead for over a decade. Louisa was really close to her sister, Caroline Matilda, and remained so until her death. The two girls were educated together, and rarely spent time apart.

Louisa was also quite fragile, much like Elizabeth, and spent a lot of her time in her room. According to Walpole, she “never appeared more than an unhealthy child of thirteen or fourteen”.
When marriage arrangements were being made with a Protestant Danish royal house, Louisa was the first choice of bride, being described and gentle and pretty. However, when the Danish ambassador reported Louisa’s fragile condition and the possibility that she would not survive the ship journey, the choice of bride fell onto her sister, Caroline Matilda.

However, Louisa was not yet a played card. She received another marriage proposal, from her brother-in-law, Adolf Frederick of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, but the offer was yet again declined for the reasons of her poor and delicate health.

Princess Louisa, though proposed to twice, died unmarried and without issue on May 13th, 1768, aged 19.

Prince Frederick.

Prince Frederick William was born on May 13th, 1750. Another fragile and delicate child, he died at a younger age than both of his delicate sisters, Elizabeth and Louisa. However, literally nothing is known about him, or at least I have no resources whatsoever that could shine some light on the enigma that is the life of the youngest of George’s brothers. The poor boy died age 15 in 1765, December 29th.

Queen Caroline Matilda of Denmark and Norway.

Caroline was born on July 22, 1751, 3 after her father’s death. She was the youngest of all George III’s siblings, as well as part of the reason he was so reluctant to marry of his daughters.
Caroline was educated and raised in the secluded and informal nature that the Princess Dowager kept all of her children in, and this later caused Caroline to have very, very little interest or care about politics and the court as an adult and Queen. She enjoyed riding and outdoor life, and when she was older, Caroline even sometimes wore male attire in private. Though her education was quite patchy, Caroline was the most musically gifted out of the nine children, having a beautiful voice, though that was not the end. The Princess could also speak French, German and Italian.

When she was just 15, Caroline Matilda was married off to King Christian VII. The Danish described her as particularly temperamental, vivid and charming, though did say she was a little to weighty to be considered a beauty, but she was agreed to be rather pretty. However, her natural and unaffected, and careless personality was not received well at the strict Danish court, no matter how well she was received in Copenhagen.
The man she had married was self-centred and weak willed, as well as mentally ill, treating Caroline Matilda rather coldly and potentially abusively throughout the course of their marriage. (This is part of the reason as to which George III was extremely reluctant to marrying off his daughters, hoping to prevent them from the same fate as his sister.) This also meant he was in no hurry to consummate the marriage. The reason for this attitude towards his wife could be because the King was actually forced to marry by the court, who believed that with this, his mental problems would improve; in addition, part of the court felt that Christian VII preferred the company of men to women. However, despite rumors of his supposed homosexuality, the King had a mistress with whom he began a relationship in Holstein in the summer of 1766, and often visited courtesans in Copenhagen, of which the most famous was Anna Katrina Bentgagen.
She became particularly close to Louise von Plessen, who remained a trusted friend and advisor through her life. The two attempted to bring Christian and Caroline closer together, but most of the time these attempts failed terribly, the King only distancing himself even further from Caroline. Plessen was later exiled, which isolated Caroline further. Eventually Christian VII consummated the marriage for the sake of succession, and a son, Prince Frederick, was born. After that Caroline possibly never saw intimacy from Christian again.

When her husband’s mental illness got worse, the Royal Physician, Johann Friedrich Struensee was brought in. He at first suggested that the King become even closer to a woman he was attracted to, believing that he would be mire manageable with an intelligent woman at his side. However, this made Caroline Matilda hostile towards him.

So, instead, Struensee suggested to Christian that he become closer to his wife, and Christian showed her the attention by celebrating a three day birthday party for her. Caroline, guessing that Struensee was behind the improvements, warmed up to him.
When she herself fell ill and was sent to the him by her husband, Caroline grew even closer to him, and by 1770, he was her lover. Many rumours were made about this, some suggesting that Caroline and Struensee wanted to overthrow the King, and it created enemies against Caroline, one of which was her son. During the time of Struensee’s time in power as the King’s most trusted advisor, Caroline gave birth to Princess Louise Augusta, whom was quite possibly Struensee’s child. The affair became a turning point for both of them, as it led to Struensee being executed in 1772, and Caroline Matilda divorced and exiled.
While exiled to Celle, Caroline received visitors, such as Princess August of Brunswick, which may have also been a way to watch over her. She lived a peaceful existence in Celle, reunited with her closest friend, Louise von Plessen.

Caroline Matilda died suddenly of scarlet fever on 10 May, 1775, aged 23. On her deathbed, she wrote a letter to her brother, George III in which she claimed her innocence.

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Princess Charlotte of Wales and Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, were married on this day, May 2nd, in 1816.

Princess Charlotte was, at the time, the only legitimate grandchild of George III. She was the daughter of the Prince of Wales (The future George IV) and his long estranged wife, Caroline of Brunswick. Prince Leopold had been her choice of a groom; her father had been pushing her to marry William, Prince of Orange. Charlotte said of Leopold before their marriage that:

I find him charming, and go to bed happier than I have ever done yet in my life … I am certainly a very fortunate creature, & have to bless God. A Princess never, I believe, set out in life (or married) with such prospects of happiness, real domestic ones like other people.

The couple were married at 9 o'clock at night, inside the Crimson Drawing Room at Carlton House. Leopold dressed as a British General, and Charlotte wore a delicate silver empire style gown, decorated with silver embroidery.

The couple were devoted to one another, with Leopold proving to be a calming influence on the wild and rambunctious Charlotte. Sadly, their happiness was not to last long. After suffering a miscarriage early in the marriage, Charlotte died giving birth to a stillborn son, on November 5th, 1817.

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Gathering in Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen. Early 1910s

*1.- Crownprincess Marie of Romania, Princess Henriette, Duchesse d´Vendome and Princess Josephine of Hohenzollern Sigmaringen (both neé Princess of Belgium)

*2.-Princess Elisabeth of Romania (later Queen of Greece) with cousin Augusta Viktoria of Hohenzollern Sigmaringen (later Queen of Portugal) and uncle, Prince Wilhelm of Hohenzollern Sigmaringen

*3.-Prince Karl of Hohenzollern Sigmaringen (right) fooling around with brother, Crownprince Ferdinand of Romania.

On September 22nd, 1840, Princess Augusta Sophia died at Clarence House.

But now Augusta was in dreadful pain. Moore, the royal apothecary, was at Clarence House all day–and he stayed the night, too, so as to administer the opiates and other drugs he had brought. Prince Albert went up by train to see the Princess, and she was unconscious. The Duke of Sussex, looking ahead now, sais that when his sister died word must be sent immediately to the King of Hanover. Ernest would take it ill if he did not hear it “directly,” and Queen Victoria passed the comment to Melbourne on 21 September.

The Queen told her uncle Leopold, “Almost the last thing she said, when she was still conscious, the day before she died, was to Mr.Moore (the apothecary), who wrote me every morning a report: ‘Have you written to my darling?’ Is this not touching?” Victoria was overcome, when she received that report, and told Lord Melbourne on 22 September, “It is wonderful that she even struggles so long.” But she had heard from Sir Henry that afternoon that her aunt could not live more than a few hours, “and that probably before the evening closed in, all would be over.” Victoria wrote in her diary that she talked over that evening after dinner with “Lord M” her aunt’s “dying condition, her having no will, and uncle Sussex likely to mix himself up in everything.”

At Clarence House in London, meanwhile, and oblivous of such worldly considerations, Princess Augusta Sophia of England had died at twenty past nine that evening. Her sister-in-law and friend Queen Adelaide held her hands while her sisters Mary and Sophia and her brother Adolphus looked on. And then the Queen Dowager closed the dead Princess’s eyes.

Augusta, as a child and later, had greatly valued her family and had delighted in her hours with them at the Queen’s House, at Kew and at Windsor. But at Frogmore and in her London homes after her parents’ deaths she had also been able to enjoy the hours alone without which, as she had said as a young girl, she was not fit for company. Her faith, her duties and works in the parish, and her attentions to the brothers and sisters she “doted on” kept her busy. For recreation she had gardening, walking in the grounds she laid out, and in the evening playing duets with Lady Mary Taylor while the shadows thickened over the lake. In many ways Princess Augusta’s life recalls that of the medieval English gentlewoman, her private passions–for General Spencer and perhaps others–occluded from view. But her lively wit and sense of the ridiculous moor her firmly in the Georgian age, where for some, this reserved Princess was, as King Leopold wrote from Wiesbaden on 1 October 1840, “certainly the best of the whole family.” Joining those members of her family whom she had most loved, her father, her mother, her brothers George IV and William IV, and her sister Princess Amelia, she was buried in the vault under St. George’s Chapel at Windsor.

Princesses: The Six Daughters of George III  – Flora Fraser