“Well, you must take Magnus and Erika a gift from our family when you leave,” said the princess.
Gustav’s face immediately changed. Christian could almost hear the cogs in his brain turning. “Yes, you should. And a gift from me as well. It would gladden my heart if you could grant me this favor.”
Gladden your heart? It would gladden my heart to tell you to go to the devil, but we both know that there is no chance of me being allowed to say that.
Princess Olga smiled from son to son. Christian nodded. There would be no getting out of granting Gustav his request. “It would be my pleasure to take any gifts from our family to Erika and Magnus. Now if you would please excuse me, I need to go and start making preparations for my departure,” he said.
As he crossed the highly polished parquetry floor, Christian softly whistled to himself. It was all he could do not to break into a happy little dance.
Soon he would be bound for London—and Erika.
Chapter Six
London 1815
Mid-August
* * *
Erika picked up her father’s boots, tossed them under his bed and growled. “Will you ever learn to put your things away, Pappa?”
Count Magnus Jansson had never been one for tidiness. When they had lived in their own palatial home in Stockholm with plenty of servants, it had not been a problem. But in the small house in Duke Street, it most certainly was an issue.
London was a big city. An expensive one. Real estate was at a premium, especially in the streets close to where most foreign embassies and envoys were situated. It had taken some getting used to, living in such cramped quarters and only having a handful of servants, most of whom did not reside in the house.
“Förlät. I thought I had moved them,” he replied from his study next door.
“Apology accepted, but you do need to look where you leave your clothes.”
And books, papers, cups etc.
Two years of living in the English capital and Erika was still getting used to the idea of having to do much of the work herself and run a household with only a small retinue of servants. Even staff cost a great deal more than what they did in Sweden.
Early on in their stay, she had developed a simple system for managing the household budget. Take whatever price she would expect to pay for something, double it and add a bit more. Only then would she be within range of what it would actually cost.
She had just picked up Magnus’s dressing gown and moved to hang it in the closet, when her father’s head suddenly appeared around the door.
“It is Thursday, is it not?” he asked.
Well, yesterday she had visited the fish monger at Covent Garden market, and she always went on Wednesday. Wednesday’s fish was the freshest of the week. “Yes, today is Thursday. Why do you ask?”
He raised an eyebrow. “The Northern Lion is due in port this morning. And you know what that means.”
Erika chuckled. Her father was a messy, at times muddleheaded man, but he loved getting parcels from home.
Every month when the ship from Sweden arrived at London docks, there would be a slew of diplomatic papers and letters for Count Jansson. Along with them would be a box of treats—baked pies, pickled herrings in jars, and several bottles of potato vodka were usually included. There would also be a bunch of semi-dried flowers tied with a pretty ribbon.
The flowers, often wild Swedish twinflowers or arctic starflowers almost always made Erika cry. She would place them in a vase by her bedroom window, only taking them down when the next box arrived.
Someone in Stockholm had started sending them these wonderful gifts not long after they had arrived in England and had kept doing it ever since. The odd thing was that they always arrived without a card, a note, or anything that would give an indication as to the identity of the sender. It was touching to think somebody made the effort to send such a personalized gift every month, especially the flowers.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the same thing for the letter which Prince Gustav regularly sent. Her name would be in large, bold letters on the front, his personal stamp marked in the wax seal on the back.
“I shall head down to the dockside today and greet the boat as it comes in. I can meet you at Baron von Rehausen’s home and give him the diplomatic bag. After that we can come back here, and you can open the box and enjoy a glass of Brännvin with your supper,” she said.
“That sounds like an excellent idea, Erika my dear. Let me go and get my papers and then we can leave.”
Erika turned back into the hallway and headed to her room. She had sensibly not made mention of Prince Gustav’s monthly letter of instruction. If her father was ever to discover that after receiving the first few of them, she had stopped opening the dry, boring tomes, he would have a fit.
Stepping into her bedroom, Erika smiled at the sight of the vase of Swedish wildflowers which sat on a table in front of the window. She quickly crossed the floor and picked it up. The beautiful bluish-purple harebells with their delicate cups spoke of long summer days walking the paths around the palace gardens, and of nights spent laughing with friends. Friends she hadn’t seen for several years.
She missed home. Whoever had sent this precious gift knew exactly how to touch her heart. The day when the Northern Lion arrived into London dock was always a day of celebration in the Jansson household.
I wonder what flowers our mysterious benefactor will send me this time.
London docks
* * *
Christian could smell London long before he caught sight of the docks. When he turned his face up at the stench, one of the other passengers laughed. “Welcome to England and the biggest, dirtiest city in Europe. Prepare to have more than just your delicate nose assailed.”
The thick grey blanket of tainted air which hung over the city was like nothing Christian had ever seen before. The pale morning sun was mostly hidden behind clouds and haze. When he was a young boy, he had seen the forests burning around the iron mines of northern Sweden, but even the smoke from those fires hadn’t blocked out the sun.
His first view of London was not favorable; rather it left him with the opinion that the English capital was an unholy, disgusting city. He dreaded to think what it would be like when he actually set foot ashore.
He gave an unsure smile to his fellow traveler. “I can see it is going to be an interesting place.”
At least his English was improving. On the journey from Sweden via Denmark, he had spent days studying and practicing, but he was still uncertain as to how well he would be able to converse with the locals. As soon as he got settled, he would engage the services of a language tutor and set to work on making sure his English was up to the mark.
The only consolation to the long sea voyage and disappointing initial thoughts of England was the prospect of seeing Erika again. Two and a half years had felt like an eternity. He had only glimpsed a snippet of a rare letter from Erika to his mother in all that time. While she had politely mentioned Gustav and his letters in that correspondence, Erika hadn’t spoken of him at all. Her thoughts and best wishes had been sent to the whole Lind family.
He couldn’t blame her for not mentioning him. He hadn’t kept his promise to write. The gift boxes which had gone to London each month had been sent anonymously.
Apart from their long friendship and memories of her smile, the hope that he would see her again someday had been the only thing Christian had been able to use to keep his heart warm through that time.
I cannot wait to see Erika. Being able to talk to her will be wonderful.
Throughout the long sea voyage from Sweden, he had done his best not to think about what he would do if he discovered Erika had changed over the past years. That she no longer welcomed the idea of his affection. He couldn’t bring himself to even consider the notion that she may well have resigned herself to becoming Gustav’s wife.
His head and heart both refused the idea. It was impossible. It had to be.
As he stuffed his hands into his pockets, his fingers touched the edge of a piece of paper. He took the note out and unfolded it.
Baron Gotthard Mauritz von Rehausen.
17 Manchester Square
Marylebone, London, England
The Swedish envoy was hopefully going to be in for a pleasant surprise. A prince of the realm was shortly to arrive on his doorstep, official letters of introduction in hand. While King Charles had entrusted Christian with the task of securing the trade agreement with Britain, the baron and Count Jansson’s assistance would be crucial.
Christian let out a slow breath. He had left Stockholm with all manner of grand plans and intent, but now, seeing the sheer size of London, a sense of uncertainty threatened.
Trust in yourself but work closely with the others. You know the process of negotiations, and they know the English.
If only his father and brothers could see him now. Prince Stefan would scowl and command him to succeed for the sake of his family and his country. Gustav, no doubt, would sneer and say that his self-doubt was evidence enough that he was a silly little boy who should have stayed at home.
And miss this opportunity? Not a chance.
He slyly smiled, recalling the look of pure envy on his brother’s face when Christian had announced he was to leave for England. It had almost made up for all the years of enmity between them.
“Though I think she might like you better than whatever it is Gustav has sent in that heavy box in my cabin.” He bent and gave the black and white Swedish Lapphund he had brought with him a friendly scratch behind the ear.
“Look, Freya. We are in England—our new home.”
Freya nuzzled against the side of Christian’s coat. He chuckled. She knew exactly where he kept the spare pieces of dried deer meat. After pulling one out, he laid it flat in the palm of his hand. The dog lapped it up with one lick of her tongue. She chewed it with undisguised relish.
He picked Freya up in his arms and proceeded to point out some of the tall buildings which ran along the riverside to her. “Look at all those warehouses. According to my father, this is the busiest port in all of Europe. A very important place.”
A place where a young ambitious prince could make his mark.
What he had seen so far of London reinforced what he had read about it. It was a much bigger city than Stockholm. His hometown could fit inside it many times over. It would take some getting used to being in such an enormous and crowded place.
“Stockholm has a population of seventy-five thousand people, but London has almost one and a half million. Can you imagine it, Freya? I’m not sure if I can.”
The Lapphund stared out over the water. She appeared to be far more interested in the goings-on along the river than anything Christian had to say. He smiled knowingly as he stroked her fine, shiny fur coat.
In his cramped cabin was the solid wooden box which Gustav had entrusted to him to deliver to the countess. Christian had no idea what was inside the cleverly sealed gift, but he would bet the royal crown jewels that it wouldn’t be anything special. Or at least nothing that would win Erika’s love.
He had picked it up several times and noted its heavy weight. If Gustav was true to his usual self, there would be books inside. Heavy works which covered such riveting subjects as crop rotation and the management of estate tenants. His own gift had been strategically chosen.
Freya was his secret weapon in the fight for Erika’s heart.
Chapter Seven
Erika stepped down from the carriage as the Northern Lion drew alongside the huge dock at Wapping, East London. A wide grin sat on her lips. She loved to watch the ship arrive, to hear the laughter and chatter of the Swedish sailors as they threw out the ropes.
On the deck, the captain signaled a friendly wave to her.
“Välkommen!” she cried.
Another fair-haired figure standing next to him, turned and waved. Erika’s mouth opened on a small ‘O’ at the sight. She leaned forward, squinting to get a better look.
“No. It couldn’t be. Could it?” she muttered.
A familiar “Erika!” came over the din of the dockside workers and sailors.
It was Christian. And he was in England.
Oh Lord, he is here!
She hurried to the side of the ship, staring up in happy wonderment at him while waiting impatiently for the gangplank to be put into place. The captain bowed to him, and Christian offered the man his hand. Once they had shaken hands, he quickly made his way along the plank and down to her.
The moment his feet touched land; he threw out his arms. “Oh! How wonderful it is to be standing on dry ground again. My stomach may finally forgive me.”
Erika dipped into a low regal curtsey, which was interrupted by Christian as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her into his embrace. She squealed with delight as he swung her around, laughing and crying, “Hurra!”
“Christian Lind release me this instant,” she said.
“Never,” he replied.
When he finally did set her back on her feet, Erika winced only slightly as the familiar pain shot through her knee.
“Are you hurt? I didn’t think I set you down that heavily,” he said.
“It’s just my knee. Some days it is fine—others, a pain,” she replied.
The look of joy disappeared from his face and he frowned. “Not your injury from the sleigh accident? Oh no, please don’t tell me it never healed.”
Erika waved his concerns away. “Braces and liniments did little once the swelling had gone down. I can walk on it without the aid of a cane, so it is fine. But enough about me. What on earth are you doing in England?”
Those bright blue eyes with flecks of grey met her gaze, and for a moment they stood simply staring at one another. She was beyond being in her wildest dreams.
“Well, I couldn’t write, so I decided to get on board a ship and come to see you,” he said.
“What do you mean you couldn’t write? What happened?” she replied.
“My father intercepted the first letter I intended to send. Took it out of the diplomatic bag and tore it in two. Then he burned it for good measure. I haven’t been able to get near the pouch since.”
She had wondered why he hadn’t written. The complicated situation with Gustav had meant she herself was unable to send letters to Christian. Writing only to the one brother her father didn’t plan to marry her off to would have been impossible.
“And so, you decided to come all the way to England to visit?”
“It’s more than a visit.” Christian bowed low. “I have been sent to be an understudy for Baron von Rehausen and your father. I hope to eventually become an official diplomat for His Majesty King Charles. Obviously, I have a lot to learn, and London seems the best place to do that.”
Christian. Prince Christian Lind was actually standing before her in England. Erika was tempted to pinch herself. She had never dared to hope this miracle would happen. This was worth more than a thousand vases of Swedish wildflowers.
She glanced past him, back to the ship. For a horrid moment she feared Prince Gustav might suddenly appear behind his brother. “Are you alone?” she asked.
“If you were worried that I brought Gustav with me, no I didn’t. But I did bring someone.”
He stepped aside as a sailor from the ship guided a black and white dog down the gangplank. When he set foot on the stone walkway, the man handed the dog’s lead to Christian and gave a deep bow before heading back the way he had come.
Christian bent and patted the dog. “This is Freya, and she is my gift to you.”
The medium-sized ball of furry happiness wagged her tail in greeting, and Erika’s heart immediately melted. She dropped to her knees and petted it. The dog’s fur was soft, and as she leaned in close, Erika caught the scent of sea air. “She looks to be a purebred Lapphund. Oh, Christian, she is beautiful.”
“I got her from one of King Charles’s private estates near Örebro Ca
stle. I saw her and immediately thought she would make you happy,” he replied.
Erika raised an eyebrow. It was unusual for the King to part with an animal, let alone a purebred female. King Charles had a particular affinity with dogs.
“You must be in the King’s favor for him to have let you take her.” She rose, attempting to stand. Christian slipped an arm around her shoulders and helped Erika to her feet.
“I have worked hard on changing my wild ways to become a better man. The King has seen fit to encourage my career, for which I am grateful. But enough of that. Let’s away while they bring the rest of my luggage from the ship.”
While they waited, Erika let her gaze linger on Christian. During their time apart, she had kept the memory of him alive in her heart. But seeing him now, as the London sun shone on his blond hair, she was enthralled.
I still can’t get past the fact that he is really here. What a fabulous surprise.
She was certain that at any moment, he would disappear in a puff of smoke and she would wake from her daydream. Him being a figment of her imagination was the only rational explanation.
He met her gaze and a questioning look appeared on his face. “Are you alright, Erika?”
She nodded. “Yes, it’s just that I . . . I can’t believe you are here. The English have a saying that goes ‘you might have beat me down with a feather,’ which is exactly how I am feeling at this very moment. Shocked, but utterly delighted to see you.”
Her voice sounded different. There was a hint of something else in Erika’s accent. She spoke a lot faster than what Christian remembered her ever doing. He found himself struggling to keep up. His mind was awhirl with all the emotions that seeing her once more stirred within him.
Her long blonde hair. Blue eyes that made his knees go weak. And that smile.
So utterly captivating.
How many nights had he lain awake and thought of those lips? Of her soft gentle laughter? And now he was finally here, and she was right in front of him, and all he wanted to do was to haul her into his arms and kiss her senseless.
Promised to the Swedish Prince Page 4
