“I’m dreadfully sorry, your highness,” Nicholas said, stumbling out of the bed as she threw herself down onto the spot where he had been. “You startled me. Obviously, there’s been some sort of dreadful mistake,” he added, edging to the door.
“No mistake,” she said stoutly, stomping toward him in all her naked glory. “Princess Elke has chosen you to be the father of my child.”
Nicholas began to stammer. “Thank you for the compliment, madam, but I—I’m a married man, you know. My wife—”
“But English husbands do not sleep with their wives! This I know already. You will make love to Princess Elke now,” she commanded.
“What about your husband?” cried Nicholas, grabbing a pillow to cover himself.
She snorted. “Er ist ein Schwul,” she said. “He does not make love to Princess Elke.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” said Nicholas. “But…I do not make love to Princess Elke, either. So sorry.”
“You English!” she spat. “You are all the same.”
Babbling angrily in German, she scooped up her clothes.
“I’ll wait for you outside while you dress,” Nicholas offered civilly.
Going out into the corridor, he came face-to-face with the duchess.
“Emma!” he exclaimed, startled.
Emma was equally startled. “You’re awake,” she murmured. “You’re naked,” she added.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, adjusting his pillow. “Were you—did you want to see me?”
“No, of course not,” she answered quickly.
“Oh,” he said. Taking another step into the hall, he closed the door behind him. “You look upset,” he said. “Has that gigolo done something to upset you?”
“No. No,” she repeated. “Nicholas, I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you.”
“What is the matter?” he asked sharply.
“It’s Julia,” Emma began, but before she could get any further, the door to Nicholas’s room opened. Princess Elke stood in the doorway wearing only her long honey-blond hair.
“You will dress Princess Elke now,” she commanded Nicholas. “Princess Elke does not dress herself.”
“Nicholas!” said Emma, shocked. “What is she doing in your room? Why is she naked? Why are you both naked?”
“I know how this looks,” Nicholas began.
“You told Princess Elke that Camfurt has the pox,” said the princess. “You lie to Princess Elke.”
“I don’t have the pox,” said Nicholas. “I never had the pox. You told her I have the pox?”
“Don’t you dare try to change the subject,” said Emma. “You were in bed with her, weren’t you?”
“What if I was?” he shot back. “What do you care? You have a lover. Where is your gigolo, by the way? I trust he got your billet-doux!”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” said Emma. “Major von Schroeder was never my lover. I only said that so you would go back to Julia. Instead, I find you with—with this bitch in heat! She’s desperate for an heir. Did she tell you that?”
“She mentioned it, yes.”
Princess Elke exploded. “Princess Elke thinks you are a bitch in heat, too!” she snapped, slapping Emma across the face. Focused on Nicholas, Emma hardly noticed.
“I don’t believe this,” said Emma, blinking back tears. “After all those things you said to me! You’ve broken my heart, Nicholas.”
She slapped him hard across the face.
“I did?” Nicholas said faintly. “Emma, what are you saying? Are you saying you love me?”
“I am not saying anything. I am not speaking to you.”
Princess Elke slapped Nicholas across the face. “Princess Elke is not speaking to you either!” She retreated back into the bedroom and slammed the door.
Carstairs appeared at the end of the hall. Colin pushed past him, followed closely by Lady Harriet. “Emma? What’s going on?”
“Julia has eloped with Mr. Palafox,” Emma answered dully. “I was just coming to tell Lord Camford the terrible news, and I found him in bed with Princess Elke!”
Colin heaved a huge sigh of relief. “Thank the gods! I am betrayed! With witnesses!”
“But nothing happened!” Nicholas protested. “Emma, please believe me. I never touched her.”
“Don’t say that,” Colin pleaded.
“I know what I saw, Nicholas,” Emma said wearily. “Are you going after Julia, or not?”
“Why should I?” said Nicholas. “Palafox is welcome to her. She can have an annulment any time she likes. Emma—”
“But Charles isn’t going to marry her,” Emma said impatiently. “Mrs. Allen only pretended to settle her fortune on him. When he finds out he’s as poor as he ever was, what do you think he will do?”
“I will make him take responsibility,” said Nicholas. “He will have to marry Julia.”
“You’d better get dressed,” Emma said tartly. “No one takes a naked man seriously, you know.”
“Yes,” said Nicholas. “I should get dressed. But I will speak to you another time, Emma. This conversation is not over.”
“Yes, it is,” she said, retreating back down the hall. “Good-bye, Nicholas.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
December 1816
The following year, Colin was three days late in arriving at Warwick Palace.
Shivering in the cold, Emma went out to scold him as he alighted from his carriage. In his coat of glossy brown otter fur, Colin looked as elegant as ever.
“You’re late,” his twin sister rebuked him. “I was worried you’d met with some accident. You could have sent word, you know.”
“Nag, nag, nag,” he growled at her, shaking out his stiff legs. “You never send word when you are late. Anyway, I have the most excellent excuse. I have been up all night with a colicky baby. I’m dead on my feet.”
“Baby!” Emma exclaimed, startled.
As she spoke, a nursemaid stepped out of her brother’s carriage. She carried a small bundle of fur in her arms. “Is that—is that a puppy or something?” Emma asked curiously. Colin was just absurd enough to hire a nursery maid for a puppy, she thought. Since being named Royal Consort of Hindenburg, he had become increasingly eccentric and self-important.
“A puppy!” Colin said indignantly. He snapped his fingers and the maid gave him the bundle. Marching up the steps, he dumped the bundle into Emma’s arms. “Call that a puppy, do you?”
Emma stared down at the tiny pink face of a baby in a brown rabbit fur bunting, complete with long, velvety soft ears. The infant could not have been more than a few months old. “I stand corrected,” she murmured. “It’s a rabbit, not a puppy. Colin, where did this baby come from?”
“Must I tell you indeed?” said Colin. “I should have thought you of all people would know where babies come from. May we go inside, please? This cold wind is not good for little Mimi. And it ain’t good for little Colin, either.”
The child in Emma’s arms began to cry. Hastily, Emma followed her brother into the house. She stood shushing the baby while a servant helped Colin out of his coat of glossy brown otter fur. “Mimi,” Emma repeated, looking at the babe curiously. “Is that her name?”
“Better give her back to me,” Colin said, reaching for the baby. “I seem to be the only one who can comfort her.”
Emma turned away from his grasping hands. “No, she’s settling down beautifully,” she protested. “I have had some experience with babies, you know.”
“Not like this one,” Colin retorted. “Mimi is quite unique. She listens to no one but me. She won’t even nurse if her Papa isn’t in the room. We have a special connection.”
Turning, he caught sight of himself in the gilt-framed hall mirror. There were dark circles under his steel-blue eyes. The sight of these imperfections caused him to grimace in pain.
“Papa?” Emma repeated incredulously. “You?”
Colin scarcely heard her. “Look at me,” he said brok
enly. “I haven’t slept in weeks, Emma. I stand before you in ruins and shambles. There are bags under my formerly sparkling eyes. My formerly rosy cheeks are sunken. Before the baby came, I was beautiful. Now I’ve gone all hollow. If this keeps up, I shall have to resort to rouge.”
“Colin! The baby?” Emma snapped.
“Oh, that’s right. You’ve not yet met your niece. You were too busy to come to Hindenburg for the christening,” he added coldly. “Your Highness, may I present my sister, the Duchess of Warwick. Emma, this is her royal highness, the Princess Wilhelmina.”
“This is Elke’s child?” Emma asked in surprise.
“Yes, but we don’t hold that against her, poor little thing,” Colin replied. “She comes from good stock, on her father’s side, after all. Now, where did I put her little silver rattle?” he went on, absently patting his pockets. “It sometimes amuses her.”
Looking down at the infant’s face, Emma caught her breath as she realized that she was holding Nicholas’s daughter, the product of his liaison with Princess Elke last Christmas Eve. She had already noticed that the baby had sparkling blue eyes and rosy cheeks. A few pale gold wisps of hair had slipped out from under the hooded bunting. She was perfect and beautiful, like her father.
“I had my reasons for staying away,” she said. “You call her Mimi, do you?”
Colin grimaced. “She was christened Wilhelmina Griselda Margarethe Ottilie, after her maternal grandfather—which, if you ask me, is a damned peculiar name for a grandfather, maternal or otherwise, and an even worse name for a princess. Of course, no one did ask me. I wanted to call her something cheerful like Robina or Iphigenia, but no one in Hindenberg ever listens to me.” Colin shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “To the Hindenburglars, I am a person of no importance whatsoever, merely the royal consort. They christened her out from under me, so to speak. But when we’re alone, I call her Mimi, and, thus far, she has not objected. She looks like a Mimi, too, don’t you think?”
“Yes. It must be the bunny ears.”
“Aren’t they adorable?” he said, his enthusiasm sparked. “A very clever young man in Drury Lane makes all her costumes for me. She has a little bear suit, an owl, a froggie, of course, and a badger, and, oh, all sorts of things. This is but one of several bunnies we own. I thought Brown Bunny looked the best with my otter coat.”
“Ah! Here you are!” Otto, Duke of Chilton came jogging down the stairs toward them. “Another day, and you would have missed me, Colin,” he added, embracing his younger brother.
“Yes, I thought you’d be at Chilton by now,” Colin replied.
“We meant to stop here but three days, but Cecily was feeling a little poorly, so we stayed longer than expected,” Otto explained. “Is that your baby?”
“Yes, this is Mimi,” Colin said proudly. “Hasn’t she grown?”
Otto glanced at the child in Emma’s arms. “Possibly. You should see my boy. He’s just starting to walk.” Beckoning to the nursemaid, he added, “Go and fetch Lord Scarlingford from the nursery.”
“Baby Otto couldn’t possibly compare with my beautiful little Mimi angel.”
“Not without a significant handicap,” Otto retorted. “My son is a gentleman, after all.”
“Gentlemen!” Emma rebuked them, laughing. “Boys! Children! It’s not a competition!”
Quickly, she led the way to the drawing room. As she had hoped, Colin was instantly distracted by the changes in the decor. “Emma!” he exclaimed in dismay. “What have you done? This used to be a very pretty yellow room. Now it’s all sad and dark. Who advised you on your colors?” he went on, glaring at the green-on-green damask panels that lined the walls. “Persephone? Hecate? Aunt Harriet?”
The green velvet curtains blocking most of the windows were so dark they looked almost black. The furniture was big and dark and overstuffed. The paintings were all of hunting scenes, dogs, and horses. Even the rugs were hunter green. The beautifully carved white mantelpieces had been replaced with black marble.
Emma shrugged helplessly. “Harry insisted,” she explained. “He wanted something more masculine, I suppose. I was doing so much work at Wingate this year, I could hardly refuse him. It is rather dreary, isn’t it?”
“It’s the smoking room at Brooks’s,” Otto complained.
“I was going to say waiting room at the undertaker’s,” Colin said, shuddering. “This isn’t masculine; it’s mausoleum. I’ll give you some names, Emma.”
Emma sighed. “Harry likes it. His friends like it, too. All seven of them,” she added resentfully as she rocked the baby in her arms. “The spotty little beasts. We’re overrun with Harrovians this year, I’m sorry to say.”
“Eight fifteen-year-old boys?” Colin was appalled. “Under one roof? Why, it must be pandemonium.” Quite overcome, he strode to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a large brandy. “It reminds me of the nightmare of my school days.”
“And four thirteen-year-olds,” Emma told him. “Grey has invited three friends to his first stag hunt. But, at least, they are staying with the harbourer at his hut. I don’t have to put up with them staring at me with their mouths open while I try to eat my dinner.”
“Well, that’s Harrow for you,” Otto sniffed. “No manners. You should have sent them to Eton,” he told his sister. “Young Etonians are taught not to stare freely at a woman’s breasts. At least not at dinner.”
“It’s been a challenge keeping them out of the wine cellar, too,” said Emma. “Mind you, ever since they knocked down poor Aunt Harriet and broke her arm, they have been slightly more civilized. So that’s good anyway.”
“Aunt Harriet!” Colin exclaimed. “Broken? I wondered why she did not come down to see me. I will go to her.”
“She’ll be down in a moment,” Emma assured him, settling onto the sofa with the baby in her arms. “Her legs are not broken. She was working in the garden when you arrived. She wanted to wash up. Sit down,” she urged him. “I haven’t seen you in almost a year. Not since Princess Elke bribed you not to divorce her. How do you like being a royal consort?”
“I am bearing it as best I can,” he replied, with a martyr’s sigh.
“Oh, I can see that. I must say, I’m amazed her highness let you bring her daughter to England for Christmas.”
Colin gaped at her. “Lord, don’t you read the newspapers? The political situation in Hindenburg is hardly stable. The economy’s in a shambles. The peasants are constantly on the verge of revolting. The Treasury is all but empty, and there are some very impertinent people who seem to resent the enormous allowance they are paying me. Austria’s moving to annex the whole sorry place. It has been decided that Princess Mimi will be better off with her papa in England. You’d know all this already if you took an interest,” he added.
“I’m glad you mean to stay in England,” Emma said quickly. “And Mimi is adorable. I’m sorry I did not meet her sooner. I’m afraid I’ve reached that age when I cannot hold a baby without wanting one of my own,” she added.
“Yes,” Colin said smugly. “Mimi does has that effect on people.”
“It’ll pass,” said Lady Harriet as two sturdy youths carried the chair in which she was seated into the room. Harry, Duke of Warwick, trotted behind the trio carrying a velvet cushion. “Easy now, boys!” she rasped, as her assistants cautiously lowered her chair to the floor. “You mustn’t jostle me! I’m an old woman!”
Harry gently positioned the cushion beneath his great-aunt’s right arm, which was in a sling. Lady Harriet groaned piteously.
“Sorry, Lady Harriet!” the boys chorused, wincing in sympathy.
“So I would think,” she barked at them. “You may go. I’ll call you if you are needed again.”
The two boys ran from the room.
“Ambrose and Carter really are sorry, Aunt Harriet,” Harry told her.
“They should be sorry,” she retorted. “Running through the house like a pack of wild Indians! I feel lucky to be alive. You might s
ay hello to your uncle, young man,” she added, glaring at him. “Duke of Warwick or not, you should show a little respect for your elders.”
“I’m not that much older,” Colin said indignantly.
“Hello, Uncle Colin,” Harry said obediently. “How are you, sir?”
“Not bad,” Colin answered, “for an elder, I suppose.”
Emma brought the baby for Harry to see. “And this is Princess Wilhelmina. Isn’t she pretty? Would you like to hold her?”
Harry backed away. “Must I?”
“No,” Colin said firmly. “And you needn’t hang about here with your elders either. Go and be with your friends.”
Harry did not have to be told twice. He darted from the room as if his feet were on fire.
“Would you like to hold the baby?” Emma asked Lady Harriet.
“Certainly not,” said Lady Harriet. “Can’t you see I have a badly sprained arm?”
“I thought you said it was broken,” said Emma.
“It isn’t. But they don’t have to know that,” Lady Harriet answered.
Emma bit back a laugh. “Aunt Harriet! That is horrible.”
“A bad sprain is quite painful, you know,” Lady Harriet said defensively. “It just doesn’t inspire as much guilt as a broken arm. And guilt is so very useful, you know.”
Lady Aleta Grey came into the room, leading her little brother, Lord Scarlingford, by the hand. Not quite twelve months old, Lord Scarlingford was already walking, and his father was justifiably proud of his tottering, wobbly steps. “Let him go, Aleta,” he commanded the girl. “He can walk on his own.”
After a brief struggle, Aleta managed to free her hand from the grip of Lord Scarlingford’s little fingers. “See how he grips her hand?” Otto said proudly. “He has the grip of a blacksmith. Look at that.”
“He must get it from Cecily,” said Colin. “That’s nothing. You should see Mimi with her rattle. Now there’s a grip!”
“Speaking of blacksmiths,” said Lady Harriet, turning to Colin as Lord Scarlingford staggered about the room at his father’s insistence. “Whatever happened to that big, ugly Scotsman of yours? I suppose he crawled off and died of a broken heart?”
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