A chill of dread gripped her. If she went through with the scheme, she was in all likelihood agreeing to be condemned to either playing the jilt, or worse still—being jilted. Whatever tentative status she now held within the diplomatic community and the ton would forever be destroyed.
The bigger picture finally became clear in her mind. She would be betrothed to Christian and when the fake engagement eventually ended, which it probably would, the only option left for her would be to return to Sweden. Her self-sacrifice would be rewarded with being put on a boat and sailing away to a life of ignominy. The one ray of hope in all this was that Gustav wouldn’t want his brother’s secondhand fiancée.
Securing a major trade deal for her country was a glittering prize, worthy of martyrdom in the eyes of many. But not her. She needed to think about this carefully and the impact it would have on her future. Her life was the one which would be irrevocably changed if she agreed to the plan. “I want time to consider my response. It is not a mere trifle of a thing which you ask. Could you grant me the rest of the day? I promise you will have your answer by supper.”
Her father kissed her tenderly on the forehead. He leaned back and held her at arm’s length, reassurance written all over his face. “Of course. Take all the time you need to get used to the idea. You are a loyal and proud daughter of Sweden. I know you will do what is right.”
Erika left the room, not giving Christian a second glance. She didn’t want to look at him, to see those bright blue eyes silently pleading with her.
She was angry with him, and also with herself. He had charmed his way into her confidence, leading her to believe he was her friend. Someone she could trust.
Was this your plan all along? Lull me into a false sense of security, while all the time you were baiting a trap?
Nausea threatened. Her stomach roiled as she headed toward the narrow staircase which led to the third floor of the house.
Believing that Christian and her father were using her as a pawn in their game was bad enough. Wondering how she was going to be able to pretend to love him, when in fact she did, had her mind in a whirl.
One thing was certain, if she agreed to the plan, being engaged would be sheer torture for her. She dared not think what her heart would do the first time Christian professed his love for her in public. A declaration of affection that would be a lie.
Tears pricked her eyes as she closed the door of her bedroom. The walls of the tiny, cramped space seemed to be closing in on her.
Breathe. Slowly in and out.
Her harried mind wouldn’t settle. She was here to think things through logically and clearly. What she really wanted to do was open the window and scream to the street; not caring who saw or heard her.
If only she hadn’t been raised around the royal court, had it instilled deep within her that duty was above all else. Her country. Her king. These were her purpose in life, and that flowed through her veins.
Her father had given her time to consider her response. The choice was hers.
“And if you believe that, you are a fool,” she muttered.
Could she say no to Christian? Leave him to find his own way through the murky waters of the English capital on his own? Fail her father?
Erika slumped onto her bed. Freya stirred from sleep in the corner and stretched her hind legs. She ambled over to where her mistress sat, her tail wagging in happy greeting.
“Hello, my beautiful girl. What am I to do? Refuse my duty in order to save myself?”
Freya nuzzled against her leg and Erika patted the dog’s head. She would spend the next few hours in here considering her response, making it appear that she at least had some say in the outcome. But as she settled to scratch the soft fur behind Freya’s ear, Erika already knew the answer.
She just didn’t know how she was going to protect her heart.
Chapter Fifteen
“I am pleased that you have made the right decision. Just remember it is not real and you will only have to keep up the façade until we manage to secure the trade agreement,” said Count Jansson.
“What will happen to me after the ink has dried?” she replied.
Erika managed a smile for her father’s benefit. At least someone was happy with the betrothal. She had waited a few hours before coming out of her room and giving him her decision, but she still had serious reservations.
He let out a long, slow breath. “To be honest, I don’t know. Perhaps you and Prince Christian might decide to stay betrothed. He is, of course, not Prince Gustav, but he is still a member of the royal family. Speaking of Christian, have you spoken to him yet?”
“No. I assumed you would be doing that,” she replied.
Count Jansson frowned. He rose from his chair and came around to where Erika stood on the other side of his desk, then pulled her into his arms. With her head resting against his chest, she closed her eyes, praying that she wouldn’t start to cry.
“Erika, I don’t want you to feel that this arrangement is something over which you have no control. You are very much in partnership with Prince Christian in this endeavor, and your contribution will make the difference between success and failure. With that in mind, I would ask that you go and speak to him personally. Let him know of your decision.”
She drew back, out of her father’s embrace, wiping an unbidden tear away with the heel of her hand. Magnus hadn’t given her any comfort, just reinforced the idea that what she was doing was for the common good. “I am worried over what will happen to me when this is all over. When no one has any use for me.”
He held out a hand to her, but Erika shook her head. She didn’t want to be appeased. She wanted someone to tell her with absolute certainty that she would not be cast aside.
“I will always have a use for you. You are my daughter, and while you might not believe it, I do have your best interests at heart. Always,” he replied.
Erika let the matter drop. What Magnus thought was good for her wasn’t necessarily congruent with her opinion. But he was right in that the mission to secure the treaty was of the utmost importance. It would mean the difference between Sweden having a voice in the future or being forever sidelined.
What lay ahead for her in the future was something to consider at another time.
“I shall go and speak to Christian,” she said.
She was a daughter of Sweden, and her country had to come first. Erika just wished that fulfilling her duty didn’t have to come at the cost of her future happiness and her heart.
The Jansson home had two small balconies which overlooked Edward Street. Being on the corner of Duke Street had many disadvantages, especially when it came to noise, but at least the terrace afforded a place where Christian could sit and enjoy the rare moments of sunshine.
Anyone who passed by the open door of the main sitting room could see Christian outside working at the little table. They would also notice the pen in his hand as it hovered over a piece of paper. What was not clear from such a distance was the fact that he had barely written more than two words in the hour since he had started the letter to his sister Anna.
He couldn’t get the memory of Erika’s face out of his mind.
What he was asking of her was unfair in so many ways. His plans of coming to London and trying to subtly woo Erika had been thrown out the window. He was certain that if he looked over the balcony, he would be able to see them lying dashed to pieces on the footpath below.
He was caught in a mad scheme of his own making where she was going to have to pretend to love him. His urgent need to get the trade agreement signed threatened his chances of securing her heart for real. If she no longer trusted him, how was he going to make her see that they could have a future beyond a fake betrothal?
With a resigned huff, he set the pen back into the inkwell and raked his fingers through his hair. With the Russian delegation due in London by the end of the month, time was not something he had in abundance.
There is no other way I can think of t
hat will get me into those parties. I need Erika.
A shadow fell over the table. He didn’t need to lift his gaze to know who it was standing beside him.
“Can we talk?” she said.
Christian got to his feet and bowed. “Of course. Is here suitable?”
He went to offer her the chair, but she waved him away. “I’m quite happy to stand. I find at this time of the day that my knee begins to complain if I sit down for too long.”
She took up a spot with her back against the low wrought-iron balcony railing and met his gaze. Her usually sunny disposition was noticeably lacking.
“I have spoken to Pappa and let him know of my decision. He asked that I come and talk to you.”
Christian remained beside the chair, unsure as to whether he should approach Erika or not. There was a brittleness about her that called for him to close the distance between them and hold her in his arms. To offer the comfort that no matter what she had decided, he was there for her. And always would be. “I shall respect whatever you wish to do. None of this is easy. If it were, I would not have asked you to consider this ruse.”
“I know. Thank you. My answer is yes. You and I shall be betrothed for a time. During that period, I will do all I can to help you to secure the treaty. I do have one condition for our agreement—something which is non-negotiable,” she replied.
If that wasn’t an ominous statement, Christian didn’t know what one was. He was also not in a position to refuse Erika. He could only hope it was something minor—a matter easily overcome.
“And what is your condition?” he asked.
She pushed away from the railing and walked toward him, stopping only a foot away. When she raised her head and met his gaze, he could have sworn he saw tears.
“You are not to tell me that you love me.”
Chapter Sixteen
As King Charles’s official representative, it was Baron von Rehausen’s role to announce the betrothal of His Royal Highness Prince Christian and Countess Erika Jansson. A letter was sent to the Prince Regent at Carlton House. Count Jansson wrote to King Charles and Prince Stefan informing them of this latest development in the trade negotiations.
Later that week, the first of the invitations arrived at Duke street. A newly engaged couple was more interesting to the matrons of London society than two unconnected foreign dignitaries.
While their betrothal might well be a ruse, there was still the matter of the façade which had to be maintained. Erika quickly found herself in the center of a whirlwind. Baroness von Rehausen became the mastermind of countless modiste fittings for new gowns, as well as endless shopping trips. It was nice to have new clothes, but the fact that Christian was funding her new wardrobe left a bitter taste in Erika’s mouth.
I have been sold for the good of my country.
“You cannot just announce your engagement to Prince Christian. You must be seen about town making preparations for the wedding,” the baroness explained.
The fact that there was not going to be any nuptials didn’t seem to matter. All that did was the appearance of a future wedding. The Jansson home soon became full of boxes—items that a prospective bride would be expected to gather. What Erika was going to do with all the linen, fine china, and manchester when Christian officially broke off their betrothal, she had no idea.
Hopefully Pappa will let me take it all back to Sweden when I leave.
Returning home from yet another long morning of shopping with the baroness, an exhausted Erika retreated to her sitting room. She stood at the door, peering over the multitude of boxes.
Will I ever see my comfortable sofa again?
Along one side of the miniscule room were boxes stacked almost to the ceiling. Erika could manage to get to her writing desk if she squeezed between the low walnut coffee table that the Spanish ambassador had sent as an engagement gift, and the oak sideboard that may or may not have come from the United States Minister to Great Britain.
“Thank the lord the baroness is managing the gifts and the thank you cards,” she muttered.
She was grateful for the efforts of Baroness von Rehausen—the envoy’s wife had taken on the role of de-facto mother of the future bride and was doing an outstanding job. If they did succeed in securing the treaty, it would be in no small part down to her efforts.
Her other concern at this very moment was a familiar one. Erika’s knee hurt. If she could have punched Christian once for every time her injury gave her grief, he would never heal from the bruises.
“Erika? Oh good. I was wondering when you would be home.”
Speak of the devil. I wish that for one moment you would stop being so handsome. If you did, my heart might stand a chance of surviving this madness.
The tall fair-haired man of her secret dreams inched into her sitting room. There was not enough legroom for him to step, let alone stride. His gaze roamed the small space, over the boxes and gifted furniture. “I think you might have enough to set up a whole house in here,” he remarked.
Erika raised an eyebrow. He was probably right. She took a deep calming breath and did her best to ignore her ongoing pain. “What can I do for you, Prince Christian?”
The smile disappeared from his face. “Why so formal? Are you still mad at me over this whole betrothal business?”
There were one thousand ways she could answer that question—few of them would do her any good. “No, just tired.”
Christian held a letter in his hand. He grinned as he waved it in the air. “Success! We have been invited to dine with the Prince Regent and some select guests at a private dinner at Carlton House. This is exactly what we need.”
Erika may have been feeling a tad out of sorts, but she had to agree with Christian—this was what they had been hoping for following the announcement of their engagement. Entry to the rarified air of the Prince of Wales’s inner circle.
She mustered her own tight smile. “That is good news. Congratulations, Christian.”
“This belongs to both of us.” His head moved from side to side and she tracked his gaze. He appeared to be seeking a way through the maze over to where she stood.
“Can you and I please talk somewhere else? There is not enough room in here. If you like I can meet you in the dining room,” he said.
Erika followed Christian out of the cramped sitting room and down the hall. Once inside the relatively spacious dining room, she dropped into a chair. The instant she took the weight off her knee, she sighed with relief.
“Long day?” he enquired.
“Yes. The baroness is nothing if not thorough in her work. Of course, I am most appreciative to have someone to assist me, especially one who has married off her three eldest daughters and knows all the things that a future bride requires,” she replied.
She wasn’t going to make mention of the fact that no wedding was going to take place. In the days since their betrothal had been made public, Erika had decided it was wise to go along with the lie as best she could. At least when they were in public.
“I will write to King Charles and make sure that the baroness gets the recognition she deserves for her valuable contribution. But that is not why I wanted to speak to you,” said Christian.
He came and stood alongside where she sat at the table, then to her surprise he went down on one knee. She took his offered hand, perplexed as to what he was doing.
He can’t be asking me . . . no that’s silly.
“Erika, I know things are unconventional in this engagement, but there are some aspects of it which need to be kept proper.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small box. It was covered in dark blue velvet and bore the three gold crowns of Sweden’s royal insignia on the top.
From the box he produced a gold ring. In the center of the ring was an oval-shaped piece of tiger’s eye. Erika recognized the ring in an instant. It had once been worn by the Dowager Queen, Sophia Magdalena.
“I would like you to have this. Tiger’s eye is said to gift the weare
r with courage. I thought you might like it to remind you of just how brave you are, Erika,” he said.
She stared at the ring as he slipped it onto the fourth finger of her left hand. It was too big and slid back along her finger and onto his palm.
Erika picked the ring up and placed it on her middle finger, where it sat comfortably. “Thank you. It’s a thoughtful gift, Christian.”
He frowned. “I could have it resized so that it fits on your other finger. The English wear their rings like that.”
She shook her head. It wasn’t as if it was a betrothal ring. Just a kind trinket from a friend. “It’s fine where it is. It will serve as a reminder of what we are trying to achieve. As I recall, Queen Sophia went through enough challenges in her life. Besides, we are not English.”
She ignored the soft ‘oh’ of disappointment which escaped his lips. He couldn’t expect her to be acting the part of a lovestruck fiancée while she was at home.
“I was thinking I could go to one of the London jewelers and pick you out a better ring,” he said.
“This is fine, Christian . . . Just leave it as it is,” she replied.
He got to his feet. For a moment she thought he was going to say something more—he appeared to be having an argument with himself, but he turned away and started for the door.
She glanced down at the ring. It wasn’t the usual piece of jewelry for an engagement ring, but it was a family heirloom. A piece of their shared Swedish heritage.
Christian stopped in the doorway, then came back to Erika’s side. “I feel we should discuss some of the details of our arrangement. I mean, how we are to interact with one another in public? You have made it clear that I am not to offer up public declarations of love, and considering how staid the English are, that is probably not a bad thing. But if we are going to sell the story of us being a young, wonderful couple, we have to make people believe it.”
Promised to the Swedish Prince Page 8
