Christmas with the Duchess

by Tamara Lejeune

  “Your apartment? Does your highness mean to stay with us, then?”

  “Of course. You invited me, did you not?”

  “Yes,” Emma admitted. “Would your highness care for some chocolate?” she offered, brandishing the pot.

  Princess Elke tilted her golden head to one side. Coming across the room, she accepted the cup of chocolate, towering over Emma, who was obliged to lean back in her chair to look the other woman in the eye. “Ich verstehe nicht,” said the princess. “I do not understand. My rooms, they are not ready?”

  “If I’d known your highness was arriving today, everything would have been in readiness,” Emma assured her.

  “But I am to share my husband’s apartment, of course,” said Princess Elke, with a slight frown. “There is no need to prepare a separate apartment for me. We are man and wife, after all. We have been married since I was nine years old. Then I was too young to be a wife. Now I am prepared. Now is the time to consummate the marriage.”

  “Oh,” Emma said blankly. “I see. You’re here to—to—you mean to share your husband’s apartment. I had not anticipated that.”

  Princess Elke glared down at her sister-in-law. “Is it not the custom in England for husbands and wives to share the bedchamber?”

  “No! Oh, no,” said Emma, becoming rather flustered. “It’s—it’s quite unheard of, actually. Colin would never dream of—of invading your highness’s privacy, I’m sure.”

  “Then where do English babies come from?” Princess Elke demanded.

  “No one really knows,” Emma said, after a long, uncomfortable pause.

  Princess Elke clucked impatiently. “It is time for me to have a baby, you understand.”

  “I-is it?” Emma said faintly. “Is it really?”

  “Hindenburg must have an heir,” Princess Elke announced. “My brothers, my uncles, my father…All were killed in the war with the cursed French.”

  For emphasis, Princess Elke spat on the Aubusson rug. Emma stared at her in disbelief.

  “I am the last of my family,” Princess Elke continued, taking a seat. “It is my duty to breed an heir, you understand. I do not have time for this English prudery. Where is my husband?” she demanded. “We will begin at once. There is no more time to lose. Hindenburg must have an heir. You will fetch him. I will wait.”

  “I’m afraid my brother is not fetchable.” Emma snapped. “The men go out very early in the morning, riding and shooting, and all that sort of thing. I don’t expect to see Colin for hours and hours. It’s even possible that he has left Warwick entirely.”

  The words had hardly left her mouth when the door opened and Emma’s brother walked in. Monty shuffled into the room behind him, favoring one leg. Princess Elke sat up straight and looked at the new arrivals with scientific curiosity.

  “Ah, Colin!” Emma said, her voice bright with relief. “I thought you’d gone out shooting with the other men. I was just making your excuses to Princess Elke.”

  “You didn’t tell me she was a princess,” Monty complained staring at Elke indignantly. “You said she was a pig! You said she had a Hapsburg jaw and a Bourbon nose! She’s beautiful!”

  “She’s not beautiful,” Colin argued. “She’s a giantess. Look at those great big shoulders of hers. She’s built like a prizefighter.”

  “In Scotland, she would be considered a prize,” Monty informed him angrily.

  “Then by all means, take her to Scotland!” Colin retorted.

  “I think I will take myself to Scotland,” Monty shot back. “I’m leaving!”

  And, with a curt bow to Emma, he did just that, shutting the door with a loud crash that rattled the cups on Emma’s tray.

  Colin threw himself down into a chair. “Are you happy now?”

  “She spit on my rug,” Emma hissed at him.

  “My God! Where?” he said, lifting his feet.

  “Was that my husband?” Princess Elke cried in English, jumping up. “He is big and strong, like warrior. I will go after him!”

  “With any luck, she’ll follow him all the way to Scotland,” Colin said, when his wife had gone.

  “Aren’t you going to go after Monty?” Emma asked him.

  “I am Lord Colin Grey. I do not run after people.”

  “But did you explain to him that the marriage was arranged when you were only seventeen?” Emma pressed him. “Our father was going to cut off your allowance.”

  “I was young,” he agreed eagerly. “I needed the money.”

  “Did you tell Monty? I’m sure if you explained—”

  “No. Monty should trust me no matter what I do,” Colin said angrily. “I shouldn’t have to explain anything. I am married to a German princess. If he can’t accept that, then to hell with him, I say.”

  Princess Elke came back into the room and closed the door with a sharp bang. “Strong warrior says he is not Princess Elke’s husband.”

  “Er…no, your highness,” Emma told her. “I knew it would be useless to run after you, because you’re—you’re so athletic. This is your husband, my brother, Lord Colin Grey.”

  Princess Elke wrinkled her nose. “Er ist ein Schwachling!”

  Colin glared at her. “Who is she calling a weakling?” he asked Emma in English. “Why’s she looking me over like that? Like I’m a head of cattle or something? And tell her I’m no weakling; I’m delightfully slender. Tell her she is a Puddingbrumsel!”

  Emma set down her cup. “Tell her yourself. You speak perfect German.”

  Colin ignored her. “Tell her she can have her annulment on one condition: she goes back to Hassenpfeffer today, and I never have to see her again.”

  “I don’t think she wants an annulment,” Emma said slowly, looking down at her hands.

  Colin scowled. “Well, if she thinks she’s getting her dowry back, she can guess again!”

  “She hasn’t mentioned her dowry,” Emma told him. “But, apparently, Hassenpfeffer needs an heir. She seems to expect you to give her one.”

  Colin sat bolt upright in his chair. “Moi?” he cried, horrified.

  “Toi. You are her husband, after all,” Emma reminded him.

  “I’d rather eat my own liver,” said Colin. “I’d rather eat my own tongue! Scratch that; I shall never eat again.”

  Princess Elke stood up, her delft-blue eyes blazing. “You insult Princess Elke,” she announced in her heavily accented German. Slowly, she poured the contents of her cup onto Emma’s Aubusson rug. Then she dropped the cup and crushed it under the heel of her shiny black leather boot. Then she strode from the room.

  “Serves you right,” Colin snapped as his sister contemplated her ruined rug. “This is going to be the worst Christmas ever!” he shouted at her.

  He left the room at top speed, slamming the door.

  Emma rang the bell for the servant. “Don’t bother trying to clean it,” she instructed him wearily, showing him the spilled chocolate. “Just roll it up and take it away. Burn it.”

  With heavy steps, Colin dragged himself to the door of Lady Harriet’s sitting room. “Come in,” she said pleasantly, in response to his timid knock. “I’ve been expecting you,” she added sweetly, setting aside her racy French novel as Colin crept over to the mantelpiece and began rearranging her collection of china shepherdesses.

  “I understand your wife is here,” Lady Harriet said presently.

  “Good news travels fast,” he muttered glumly.

  “She wants to have sex with you, doesn’t she?” Lady Harriet said gleefully.

  “All she wants is a baby, an heir for Hoggle-poggleburg. I am nothing more to her than a stud boy.”

  “Oh, dear. And your Scotsman has left you…again?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “Monty is gone.”

  “Too bad. Well, you have your sister, anyway.”

  “Emma’s the one who invited the Hindenburg,” Colin complained.

  “Treachery! Why, you must feel like you haven’t a friend in the world.”

>   “I still have you, don’t I?” he said piteously. “Don’t I?”

  Lady Harriet laughed harshly.

  Colin’s hand twitched involuntarily, sending a shepherdess crashing to the floor.

  “You did that on purpose!” she accused him.

  “No, I didn’t,” he said, smashing another one. “I may have done that on purpose, but the other one—the first one—that was a complete accident.”

  Lady Harriet was on her feet. “How dare you!”

  Colin grabbed a shepherdess and ran to the window. Jumping up on the seat, he opened the casement. “Forgive me,” he said, dangling the china ornament. “I need you, after all, Aunt Harriet. You’re the mean old governess I never had, and I need that.”

  “You had governesses,” she said.

  “Yes, but they were all young and pretty.”

  Lady Harriet snorted. “That’s because they were all your father’s mistresses!”

  “What?” Colin was so surprised that he dropped Lady Harriet’s shepherdess. It plummeted to the terrace below, bouncing just once before it shivered to pieces.

  Colin was horrified. “Oh, Aunt Harriet!” he gasped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

  Lady Harriet calmly rang the bell. “That’s all right,” she said, taking her seat. “I never liked the bloody things. Susan gives me one every Christmas.”

  “Does this mean you forgive me?”

  Lady Harriet sighed. “I suppose,” she said grudgingly.

  Major von Schroeder returned to the house for dinner, but nothing, it seemed, could pry Emma’s two sons away from the herd they were stalking. Not even the possibility of seeing Julia was now enough to drag Harry away from the harbourer’s hut.

  Princess Elke arrived late, even later than Julia. Looking very stern and grand in a gown heavily embroidered in gold and a heavy diadem of wrought gold studded with fat pearls, she marched right up to the tallest, best-looking man in the room.

  “This one is not puny,” she announced in her native language, walking directly to him. “This one you may present to me,” she added, beckoning to Emma.

  Emma hurried over to make the introductions. “This is Lord Camford, your highness.”

  The princess was incredulous. “He is Englishman? Impossible. Such a tall, beautiful man must be German. He is fertile?”

  “What did you say?” Julia demanded, taking a firm hold of Nicholas’s arm.

  Emma quickly intervened. “Lord Camford, Lady Camford, allow me to make you known to my sister-in-law, her highness, the Princess Elke von Hindenburg. Her English is not—not very good, I’m afraid.”

  The princess never took her eyes off of Nicholas. “The female is of no consequence,” she said in German. “This one looks strong. He will give me a strong, fat baby, yes?”

  Reaching out, she gave Nicholas’s upper arm a squeeze, much to his surprise.

  “Nein!” cried Emma. “This one is married,” she said, forcibly removing the princess’s hand from the gentleman’s anatomy.

  Princess Elke shrugged. “So? There will be no complications when I take the child back to Hindenburg.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” Emma said irritably. “What would you talk about? He doesn’t speak a word of German.”

  Princess Elka snorted. “I do not want him for his ability to make conversation, you know,” she said.

  “I’m afraid Lord Camford has the pox,” Emma told her sharply.

  Princess Elke recoiled in horror. “Halt die Klappe!”

  “I’m sorry,” said Emma, leading the princess away. “But do please allow me to introduce you to someone—someone more deserving of your highness’s…ahem…favor. May I present my dear friend, Major Friedrich von Schroeder. Major von Schroeder is one of our great heroes from the battle of Waterloo.”

  As Emma had hoped, the princess was intrigued by the major’s soldierly bearing and black eyepatch. “Ah! He is Prussian, yes?”

  “Hanoverian,” Emma replied. “He fought with our King’s German Legion.”

  She presented the major to the princess. They immediately began to converse amiably in German. When Carstairs announced that dinner was served, the major escorted the princess to her seat at the head of the table.

  “She doesn’t look so bad,” Lady Harriet observed as Colin brought her to the table.

  “Then why don’t you have sex with her?”

  “Don’t be rude,” said Lady Harriet. “Haven’t you ever thought of it? Having a child, I mean? Someone to carry on your name when you die?”

  “I am immortal.”

  “I’m quite serious. You could be a father. Personally, I think it would be a terrible shame if you were to leave nothing behind when you go,” she told him.

  “When I go where?” he demanded. “I told you I’m immortal.”

  “If all the attractive people stop having children, we’ll soon find ourselves living in a world full of nothing but ugly people,” Lady Harriet pointed out.

  “It’s happening already,” Colin said gloomily.

  Outranked by her sister-in-law, Emma took her place at the foot of the table. To her annoyance, Lady Anne had contrived to place Nicholas between herself and the duchess. Emma avoided speaking to him as long as she possibly could, but it was inevitable that they should have some conversation. When she could not avoid it any longer, she turned to him with the idea of not letting him get a word in edgewise.

  “I’m so sorry you didn’t like the painting I sent you,” she said, when she had exhausted all other topics. “Do please allow me to apologize again. I did not anticipate that you would have changed so much in less than year!”

  “I have changed,” he interrupted. “You still think me the crude, unsophisticated sailor you met last year. You think me a man of no taste, no refinement. You look down your nose at me. But I am different now. I have spent some time educating myself. I am the Earl of Camford. I sit in the House of Lords. And I know the difference, madam, between a good painting and a bad joke.”

  “It wasn’t a joke,” she said irritably. “I thought you would appreciate it. That’s all. I never dreamed you would become so pompous so quickly. And to think I went all the way to Plymouth for that picture, and this is the thanks I get.”

  “Plymouth,” he repeated doubtfully. “Why should you go to Plymouth?”

  Emma stared at him. “Oh, Nicholas,” she said softly, after a moment. “You haven’t seen it at all, have you? I should have known.”

  “No, I haven’t seen it,” he admitted, “but Julia has told me about it.”

  “It is a rather gloomy picture,” said Emma. “I can see how your wife wouldn’t like it. But, then, I suppose it’s rather gloomy to be left behind on shore while someone you love sails away into the unknown in a leaky little boat. I got it at the Barking Crow, in Plymouth,” she told him gently. “It’s one of your father’s, the one you told me about, the one he gave to the landlady when he fell behind on his rent.”

  Nicholas’s face was ashen. “My father? Please excuse me,” he choked, leaving the table in a hurry.

  “Too much pepper in the chausseur,” Emma said quickly, as all eyes turned to her for an explanation.

  “For heaven’s sake, don’t anyone tell the chef,” Colin said lightly. “He’s French. He might commit suicide.”

  “Now we’re down to three men,” Lady Susan observed critically, sandwiched between Julia and Flavia. “Three men and nine women. It’s insupportable!”

  “Hadn’t you better go and check on your husband, Julia?” Octavia said sharply. She was seated on the opposite side of the table from her fiancé and her sister, between Major von Schroeder and Colin. With the major devoted to the princess, and Colin equally devoted to Lady Harriet, Octavia had nothing to do besides watch Julia flirt with Mr. Palafox.

  “Oh, Nicky’s always complaining about something,” Julia answered carelessly.

  “I—I will check on him,” said Lady Anne.

  She found Nicholas composing hims
elf in the lounge. “Are you all right, nephew?”

  “Yes, I think so, aunt,” he answered, red faced. “I choked on a small bone, I think, but I’m all right now. Just a little embarrassed.”

  “Oh, you mustn’t be embarrassed, Nicholas,” she told him gently. “When someone is as ignorant as you are, it’s a blessing to be able to receive instruction from one of the world’s foremost authorities. It was very kind of the duchess to offer to give you lessons.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Nicholas. “The duchess offered to give me lessons?”

  “I think she would like to make amends for all the terrible things she did to you last year,” said Lady Anne. “Were you not speaking of this before you left the table? I thought it was why you choked.”

  “No, I told you it was a bone. We were speaking of something else.”

  “Oh,” Lady Anne said faintly. “How silly of me. Well, when she does make you the offer, I hope you will not be too embarrassed to accept.”

  “No,” he said. “I would not be too embarrassed.”

  Satisfied, she brought him back to the table, and they resumed their seats. “Forgive me,” Nicholas said quietly to Emma, when he next had the opportunity to speak to her. “I was overwhelmed by my feelings. I should have guessed that it was my father’s painting. But that you should have gone to Plymouth—! I could not have imagined such a thing. You—”

  “Oh, but I didn’t go to Plymouth,” she said quickly. “Not on purpose, I mean. At least, not for the sole purpose of finding the painting. You mustn’t think that! I just happened to be near Plymouth.”

  “Oh, I see,” he said incredulously. “You just happened to be near Plymouth.”

  “Yes,” Emma said, becoming rather flustered. “I was looking at some houses in Devonshire—for my son Grey, you understand. Plymouth was not very far out of my way. I was curious to see this place of yours, the Barking Crow.”

  “And you bought the picture,” he prompted, “for me.”

  “Now, you mustn’t make too much of it,” Emma told him firmly. “I meant it as a kind gesture, that’s all. I know we did not part on very good terms last year, but I was—am—truly grateful for the help you gave me. The picture was just a token of thanks.”