Gustav snorted. “You can keep England. There is nothing of value for me there.”
Erika took her father’s offered arm and they headed toward the gangplank of the Northern Lion. Gustav released his hold on Christian, then stood with his hands behind his back. Christian glanced across at his brother, unable to fathom his cool, almost detained demeanor.
Gustav clearly thought Erika was a sure thing—a done deal. He had turned away and was headed toward his carriage before she and the count had even made it on board.
Here was the woman Gustav intended to marry, leaving on a ship—a woman he wouldn’t be seeing for another four years—and yet he had put as much effort into his goodbyes as if she had been going away for a few days.
Christian, however, remained by the dockside, feeling every inch of guilt and sympathy as Erika struggled up the narrow wooden plank. He let out a sigh of relief when a burly sailor lifted her over the side of the ship and set her carefully on the deck.
Count Jansson disappeared from sight, leaving his daughter alone.
Turn around. Look at me. Let me see your face one last time.
His silent entreaty was rewarded when Erika stopped and looked back. Her gaze fell firstly on Gustav’s carriage as it moved away. A frown sat on her face. That expression quickly disappeared when her eyes then locked with Christian’s.
He offered a wave.
If he wasn’t forbidden to travel without the King of Sweden’s express permission, Christian would have raced up the gangplank and leapt onto the ship. Instead he stood and watched with a sinking heart as the last of the chests were loaded on board and the crew began to untie the dock lines.
She was leaving.
Erika waved, then put a hand to her face and wiped at her eyes. She was crying.
“Promise you will write!” she cried over the bellowing of the ship’s first mate.
He nodded. “Yes, I will!”
Without fail, Erika would receive a letter from him in the diplomatic pouch every month when it left Stockholm—of that he was most determined.
As they both waved their final farewells and the ship drew away from the dock, Christian made a vow. By the time Erika returned to Sweden, her heart would belong to him.
Chapter Four
Two months later
March 1813
* * *
The letter landed with a loud smack in the middle of the table. Christian reared back in his chair. He had been daydreaming, staring out the window of the sitting room at the snow falling in the central courtyard of Stockholm Palace.
“What is this?” demanded Prince Stefan.
Christian frowned. It was the letter he had written to Erika and placed into the diplomatic pouch bound for London.
“It’s a letter to Countess Erika. How did you come by it?” he replied.
His father picked up the letter and ripped it clear in two before throwing it back down. He motioned for Christian to rise from his seat.
“I took it out of the bag. What do you think you are doing, writing to Countess Erika Jansson?”
Christian got to his feet and faced his father. He had done nothing wrong—simply written a short letter informing Erika of the goings-on at the palace. His note included details of a recent ball and who had danced with whom at it—things hopefully she would find of interest. He had also made mention of the birth of his sister Anna’s baby.
There was nothing in the letter that could be construed as secret or against the interests of his family. “I told her before she left that I would write to her. I waited until now to let her get settled in England. What is the problem?”
Prince Stefan huffed. “Gustav is going to marry Erika once she returns to Sweden. You shouldn’t be sending her letters. It is not proper.”
“But I promised . . .”
His father’s hand, held out in warning, cut off the rest of Christian’s protest.
And just so there could be no further doubt about the matter, Prince Stefan scooped up the pieces of the letter and threw them in the fire. Christian turned away, not wishing to see his innocent overtures turned to ashes.
“No letters. Only Gustav has permission to write to Countess Erika. If I find you have been trying to circumvent my order, I shall be most displeased. Have I made myself clear?”
Christian nodded. “I understand. I will not disobey you, Pappa.”
Only after his father had left him alone in the sitting room did he dare to risk letting out a long stream of curses. Damn. If only he had waited until the day the bag was due to leave Stockholm and then slipped the letter in, he could have got away with it.
“But no, you had to make sure you put it in there as soon as the pouch was on the desk of the King’s private secretary. You really are a foolish boy,” he muttered.
The secretary would no doubt have made mention of the letter to the King, who then would have spoken to his younger brother. At which point Prince Stefan would have stepped in and seized it. And all of Christian’s plans had been laid to waste.
“Well done, Christian.”
How was he supposed to woo Erika from afar if he couldn’t communicate with her?
His problem was further compounded by the knowledge that Gustav would be sending a letter this month. Who knew what he would be telling her in his correspondence? There was a chance that he may decide to sprinkle in some sweet words in amongst his notes of guidance.
He crossed to the window, tracking his father’s progress across the courtyard to the private apartments of the King.
Think. Think. What to do.
He couldn’t write. He couldn’t visit. For Christian to receive the King’s permission to leave Sweden, Prince Stefan would have to support his request which was most unlikely.
But four years was too long a time to wait. He would have to attempt to play catch-up when the Janssens eventually returned to Sweden. And Christian dared not risk hoping that his brother wouldn’t move and seek to secure Erika’s hand the moment she stepped off the boat.
There must be something he could do.
But what if he could make the journey to London? If he was able to secure King Charles’ permission to travel abroad, to serve king and country?
If he couldn’t send messages to Erika via diplomatic channels, he would work those routes himself.
Christian stepped back from the window as the seed of a plan began to form in his mind. He was a minor member of the Swedish royal family, but a prince, nonetheless. Establishing a worthwhile career would solve a great many of his life’s problems. It would end his constant feeling of being nothing more than an afterthought at most public events. Have people view him as a valued member of the King’s household, and finally give him a sense of belonging.
He crossed the floor to the writing desk in the far corner and took a seat. With pen in hand Christian began to put his quickly growing ideas onto paper. Within minutes he had filled several sheets.
It would take work and he would have to prove himself to the members of the royal court. He may well have an impetuous nature, but he did have a sharp mind. Learning had never been a problem when something held his interest.
A diplomatic career could be a life’s work, an endeavor worth putting his heart and soul into and which would further the future of his country.
Christian grinned. He could just imagine being presented at the Court of St James’s in London. His Royal Highness, Prince Christian Lind, Swedish diplomat.
And Erika would be standing alongside him.
“Yes. I can do this—I know I can.”
In the meantime, he still faced the problem of being able to send Erika at least a reminder of home. Something which was not obviously from him.
The memory of his mother sending care packages to his older brothers while they were on military service slipped into his mind. Princess Olga had sent boxes each month with sweets, vodka, and long-lasting oat biscuits, all of which had been gratefully received.
A box of treats fr
om home included with the diplomatic mail wouldn’t raise any questions. If he couldn’t write to Erika, perhaps he could still touch her heart by way of small, thoughtful presents. His gift would be a fond reminder of her homeland, of the people she had left behind and those who waited for her eventual return.
From this day on, he would set to work on finding a way to make the journey to England and win Erika’s love.
Chapter Five
July 1815
* * *
A ripple of applause passed through the gathering. A beaming Prince Gustav shook King Charles’s hand.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I shall do all I can to serve you and our country,” he said.
Standing on the sidelines, Christian applauded his brother. They might not see eye to eye on many things, but he was still proud. Gustav had worked hard for his success.
Christian was also grateful.
With Gustav now being promoted to the rank of Överste, he would no longer be wandering around the palace and making Christian’s life a misery. Instead he would be out in the field leading men. His rise through the ranks of the Swedish military had been steady but sure.
Gustav made his way over to his family. Prince Stefan saluted, while Princess Olga wiped away tears. “My son. You do us proud,” she said.
Christian was about to congratulate his brother when one of King Charles’s advisors tapped him on the shoulder. “Please excuse me, Your Highness. His Majesty would like to speak to you.”
“Of course,” he replied.
He bowed to his parents and family, then followed the man over to where the elderly monarch stood. Christian dipped into a low bow before the partly bald, white-haired King of Sweden. He had finally secured an audience with him.
“Christian, I understand you have been wishing to speak with me,” said the King.
“Yes, Your Majesty. I have.”
King Charles nodded in the direction of where Gustav stood, talking to Prince Stefan. “Your brother is a man who will go far in the military. I expect he will be a brigadier in a year or so.”
The King met Christian’s gaze. “From what I have heard, you too are forging your own career in the world of politics and diplomacy. I am pleased to see that you have grown into a sensible and responsible young man. A credit to your family. Have you considered how best to make further use of your talents? I am assuming you do not wish to remain as a minor player in the world.”
Over the past two years, Christian had worked hard to establish himself within the royal court. He was now seen as someone who could be relied upon. It was testament to his hard work that Charles XIII was even asking him questions regarding his future.
“I would love to serve you and our country in some larger capacity. At the moment I am still seeking the right opportunity, which is why I asked for an audience with Your Majesty,” replied Christian.
He had taken up a post within the royal court acting as a junior assistant to one of the government advisory councils. What Christian had thought might be tedious work had actually captured his imagination and filled him with a real sense of purpose. His flair and talent for influencing people had helped enable the council to secure a new trade deal with Denmark, one which would see viable economic growth for Sweden.
A slow, knowing smile crept to King Charles’s lips. He placed a hand on Christian’s shoulder and gave it a firm pat. “Ah, so may I take it that you have heard whispers of my wishes to secure a trade deal for Swedish metals and fishing rights with the English?”
Christian’s heart leapt at the King’s words. He took a slow deep breath in, trying to dampen his excitement. Diplomats were meant to be stoic, not giddy children.
Christian cleared his throat. “Yes, I have heard those whispers. And that is why I am putting myself forward to go to England and assist in whatever capacity I can to help with negotiations and anything beyond. London is an important global center. It is somewhere that Sweden needs to have strong representation to ensure that our interests are best served both now and into the future.”
The King’s face lit up. “An excellent and well-considered response, Prince Christian. You will be pleased to know that I share your thoughts about your ability to help further my interests. What you might not have heard is that the Russians have also decided that they want a trade agreement. Tsar Alexander is sending a trade delegation to England. Time is now of the essence. I need you to go to London and work alongside my envoy, Baron von Rehausen, and the attaché, Count Jansson. Between the three of you, I expect a favorable agreement to be secured. But just remember, if you don’t get it signed before the Russians arrive, you are likely to be left scrambling for the scraps.”
Christian’s mind began to race. He had been hoping to go to England and learn the ropes; now it appeared he was going to have to do that at a fast clip as well as help land a trade agreement. London was a huge career opportunity. It was also the chance for him to see Erika once more.
His heart swelled with pride at being given such an honor, at being able to represent both his king and his country. He would go to England, work alongside his fellow Swedes and make a success of himself.
And perhaps win Erika’s heart.
Excitement bubbled in his stomach.
“How long will I be in England?” he asked.
“Baron von Rehausen has written and asked that I find a suitable replacement for him. He has a large family and wants to return to Stockholm once the new envoy has got settled in well enough. Count Jansson is in England under his own terms, but I expect he and his daughter will return to Sweden in the next couple of years. The role of understudy to the envoy and his attaché will present you with an opportunity to learn. And if a young man such as yourself is determined to make his mark, then you could be there for some time. Perhaps even years.”
The envoy’s role. If I play this right and learn all that I can, I could be Sweden’s representative at the English court. And with a smart and beautiful woman by my side . . .
This was an exceptional piece of luck.
Christian bowed. “I serve at Your Majesty’s pleasure.”
“How soon do you think you could be ready to leave?” asked King Charles.
Christian considered the question for a moment. He was all for racing to his family’s private apartments within the royal palace, packing, and heading straight for the docks. But an invisible line had been drawn under his life the day Erika left for England, and he would not undo all his hard work. If he was going to succeed as a world-class diplomat, there could be no room for his old impetuous ways. “That would depend on what you and probably my father feel I need to master before I am ready to take up the post,” he replied seriously.
Prince Stefan appeared at his side. He bowed to the King. “Is there anything I can assist Your Majesty with?”
“Prince Christian wishes to do his duty as a loyal subject of the Swedish crown. All he needs now is his father’s blessing and guidance as to when he should leave,” said the King.
Christian bowed his head and prayed quietly for divine intervention. Since the day of the accident with Erika, he had put all his efforts into becoming a worthy member of the Lind family, to changing his father’s opinion of him. Everything he had done over the past two years now gathered at this one moment.
“To where?” replied Prince Stefan.
Shoulders set firmly back and with a steady voice, Christian replied, “Father, His Majesty is sending me to England.”
A slow, pleased smile came to Prince Stefan’s lips. “That is a great honor. Christian, I am proud of you. I know you will do everything to make your time in England a success. You have my blessing.”
“Thank you, Pappa. I promise to do my very best.”
After paying King Charles and Prince Stefan his respectful leave-taking, Christian hurried back to where his mother and Gustav stood. As he reached his brother’s side, Gustav gave him a hard look. “What was that all about?” he asked.
Christi
an met Gustav’s steely gaze, making sure not to show any sign of the excitement which bubbled inside him. “It was a private discussion between His Majesty and myself, but since Pappa has given me his blessing, I suppose I can tell you. I am to be sent to England to help Baron von Rehausen and Count Jansson with some trade negotiations. Apparently, the Russians are looking to get in ahead of us and so I will have to leave soon.”
The anger which flashed across his brother’s face was deeply satisfying. While Gustav was off marshalling troops and deciding on battle strategies, his youngest brother would be heading to London. In a matter of weeks, Christian and Erika would once more be in the same city.
He held back on telling them that his stay in England may be a lengthy one. This was a night of triumph for Christian, not one for starting a row with his older sibling.
“That is wonderful news.” His mother gifted him a kiss on the cheek. The smile on her face was a stark contrast to the hard anger which shone in Gustav’s eyes.
“Yes, congratulations,” ground out Gustav.
“You will be able to see Countess Erika—how delightful. I do so miss her,” said Princess Olga.
Christian barely raised an eyebrow, doing his utmost to appear surprised at the mention of Erika. “Oh yes, I had almost forgotten about her also being in London. Though I am not sure how often I shall see Countess Erika, if at all. I expect I shall be in residence at the envoy’s home, and also very busy.”
The hard set of Gustav’s jaw had him wondering just how long it would be before his brother cornered him.
You may say all that you will, but just remember it is I who will soon be many hundreds of miles away in England, and there is not a damn thing you can do about it.
Christian would dearly love to rub his brother’s nose in it, but his diplomatic skills were stronger than his need to cause annoyance. Gustav had the temper of a Swedish wild boar, and he was not one to be poked at with a stick.
Promised to the Swedish Prince Page 3
