It was silly, really, this indecisiveness over which gown to wear. Their guests were two unanticipated noblemen. She was acting like they were visitors of state. But she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit Monsieur de Busch raised a few flutters in her stomach. They’d spent the afternoon walking the grounds and talking as if they were old friends. Not once had the conversation lagged between them as it often did between strangers. Monsieur de Busch was charming as well as good-looking and they’d laughed together. The feel of her arm linked through his was natural, as if it belonged there, as if she belonged there. By the time she’d departed to make the arrangements for supper, she felt she’d known him far longer than the space of an afternoon.
That was why she was having trouble dressing for supper. She wanted to look her best. Caroline discarded the fifth gown on her wide bed before inspiration struck. She’d wear the rose silk trimmed in silver. That decided, Caroline sat still long enough for Fräulein von Genninggen to do her hair. For a finishing touch, Caroline added a tiny silver tiara to sit discreetly atop the elegantly arranged curls and one of her favourite necklaces, a cameo habille of coral on a matching ribbon. Despite her lingering toilette, Caroline made it to the drawing room promptly at seven o’clock.
‘There you are, my dear,’ her brother greeted her, drawing her into the little circle of conversation. Their guests were already there and she felt Monsieur de Busch’s eyes on her. If she’d entertained any worries that the delightful afternoon was an aberration, they were quickly dismissed. In evening attire, Monsieur de Busch was elegant charm itself.
‘Enchanté, vous êtes très belle.’ Monsieur de Busch bowed gallantly over her gloved hand, displaying courtly manners.
‘Merci.’ Caroline favoured him with a short curtsey and her brother tactfully moved away a slight distance, engaging Baron von Stede in a conversation about politics at Hanover.
‘Nous sommes seulement,’ Monsieur de Busch said in a low voice that hid a light smile at her brother’s kind manoeuvrings. ‘Perhaps you might tell me about the artwork in this room.’
‘Are you a student of art?’ Caroline asked, enjoying the chance to continue their conversation in French.
‘Why would you think that, ma chérie?’ Monsieur de Busch’s eyes twinkled.
‘You’ve made several enquiries about the artwork here.’
Monsieur de Busch leaned close and she could smell the clean scent of his evening toilette, herbs and a hint of sandalwood. It suited him. ‘You study the art, I study you,’ he flirted.
Caroline blushed but didn’t look away. ‘Are you trying to seduce me, sir?’
He placed a dramatic hand over his heart. ‘Do you think I would dare such a thing with your brother mere feet away?’
Caroline laughed. ‘I think you would dare a great many things, monsieur, if it suited your purposes.’
He drew her hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. ‘In this case, you are most certainly right. I bow to your superior wisdom, princess.’
Caroline shook her head in feigned exasperation, trying to ignore the jolt of awareness that shot up her arm at his touch. ‘You, sir, must be a sore trial to the ladies of Hanover.’
He winked. ‘They don’t have any complaints and, I wager, neither would you.’
Caroline cleared her throat and redirected the conversation to the art on the wall. ‘This painting is an original.’
‘Is it? I would say this room has quite a collection of originals. The thing about originals is that they can’t be found anywhere else in the world.’
Oh, this was bold and heady stuff indeed. She could debate the merits of physics and religion from dawn to dusk, but these flirty games of Monsieur de Busch’s were out of her depth. For all her academic worldliness she was well-aware he was out of her depth. She was not so naïve to think he spoke mere words. He found her attractive. Eyes that had been warm and mischievous this afternoon were hot and knowing this evening. There was no sense in pretending she did not understand what the veiled reference to ‘originals’ meant. ‘I am honoured, sir, by your compliment.’
‘As am I,’ Monsieur de Busch replied, the chocolate coals of his eyes burning hot with unmistakable desire of a man for a beautiful woman. Then he smiled, dispelling the moment before it could disintegrate into awkwardness.
Caroline toured him about the room, stopping to point out various paintings and mural work, speaking in French the whole time. At one point, Monsieur de Busch broke into fluent but heavily accented English.
‘Are you trying to impress me with your command of languages?’ Caroline laughed, responding in English herself. ‘We’ve spoken German, French and now English.’
Monsieur de Busch was all mock seriousness. ‘Hardly! If I was, I’d be telling you how lovely you are in Dutch and Spanish, not to mention Latin.’ He leaned closer in a conspiratorial fashion and whispered, ‘But usually women like jewels better than my flattery.’
They laughed over this and made light of it, but Caroline tucked the piece of knowledge away in her thoughts. This guest from Hanover was learned. While it was not uncommon for the nobility to be fluent in French and German, there were plenty who didn’t have more than a passing acquaintance with the other languages. She was suitably impressed.
Caroline was suitably impressed over dinner too. Monsieur de Busch and his companion comported themselves well. Talk was mainly social and political, an exchange of news from Hanover and the court at Berlin. Only one odd thing occurred during dinner and it was minor. Although the court at Berlin was the Prussian king’s court and admittedly the most glamorous of the German courts, Monsieur de Busch was eager to steer the conversation away from it. He commented instead on the musicians in the gallery. ‘Music during dinner is inspired. It makes the meal so soothing.’ He turned to Caroline specifically. ‘I’ve met the composer Handel. He’s quite talented. You should have him write a piece for your dinner parties.’
Caroline smiled. ‘I met him at Lutzenburg. He is indeed talented.’ But that was the wrong way to take the conversation for both of them. For Monsieur de Busch, it would only lead back to the Prussian court and for her it would dredge up painful memories of losing Sophia-Charlotte. Caroline took a sip of wine. ‘Tell me about the entertainments at Hanover? Are you at the elector’s court much?’
Monsieur de Busch merely shrugged. ‘The elector’s court is manageable but it lacks the grace of Ansbach.’ Caroline did not miss the compliment.
The meal passed amiably and there were cards to follow. As the evening turned late, Monsieur de Busch asked if she might accompany him on a short walk about the gardens before retiring.
‘The night air is revivifying.’ Monsieur de Busch breathed deeply as they stepped outdoors. He turned his head up to the sky. ‘Just look at those stars.’
Together, they sought out constellations, although Caroline noted his knowledge of astronomy was not nearly as developed as hers.
‘Well, not all of us can study with the great Leibniz. I assume that’s where you come by your vast knowledge of the skies,’ Monsieur de Busch said affably, not the least bit bothered that he’d been outpaced in this arena.
‘Yes, we are regular correspondents still. He’s been both friend and mentor to me through the years, although I do not know when I might see him again.…’
Monsieur de Busch’s hand closed warmly over her own, his voice soft. ‘I am sorry for your loss. I have gathered the queen was dear to you. I understand losing her meant much not only as the loss of a friend but the loss of access to another life, one that you enjoyed fully.’
In that moment, Caroline’s heart went out to the Hanoverian noble. He’d understood her loss in a way she’d not been able to convey since the queen’s death and she was moved beyond words he was the one to recognise it.
He stroked the tops of her knuckles with his thumb, a slow languid gesture that sent a lovely trill up her arm. ‘I did not come out here to conjure up sad memories, my dear. I’ve come out he
re because I find myself enraptured with the company of Ansbach and I am loath to leave. But I would not impose myself on you, if my company were not also to your liking.’
He was asking her permission to stay. Caroline saw the request and so much more in the carefully courtly worded statement. He wanted to stay, because of her. She wanted to dance about the garden and give an undignified yelp of delight. But he’d been so very gentlemanly in his request. She must respond in the same.
‘We would be delighted to entertain you here at Ansbach for as long as you wish,’ Caroline replied.
‘That would be eternity.’ Monsieur de Busch gave a wry smile and stepped forward, drawing her gently to him. ‘Let us seal our agreement with a kiss and the stars shall be our witness.’
His arm was about her waist, drawing her against him, his mouth taking hers in a soft kiss that deepened as it lingered. It was the perfect kiss to offer a lady who’d not been oft kissed in her lifetime—gentle and sensuous but not so arrogantly passionate to scare off an untried girl. Caroline sank into it, a breathy gasp of approval escaping her. She revelled in the feel of the hard planes of his body. Beneath the layers of coat, waistcoat and shirt, Monsieur de Busch was a well-made man. The King of Spain might send diplomats to woo on his behalf, but this man wooed for himself and that was a heady novelty indeed; to be drawn into a man’s embrace and kissed thusly without considerations for diplomatic agreements and political alliances was quite the elixir, and for the moment, Caroline gave herself to it beneath the stars of Ansbach.
Chapter Six
Her brother was waiting for them when they returned. Baron von Stede had already gone up to his rooms. Caroline gave a vague thought to whether or not one could look ‘kissed.’ She hoped not. Monsieur de Busch took very correct leave of her that belied no suggestion of the exchange that had taken place in the garden.
‘You like him,’ William commented once they were alone. He smiled as he said it. ‘It makes me glad to see you happy again.’
‘He has proven to be good company,’ Caroline offered, not wanting to give too much away, but inside she was a jumble of emotions, all of them good. ‘We’ve only just met. It is too soon to rush to any conclusions.’
It was the logical stance to take. They didn’t know anything about him beyond the introductory letter from Count Platen. They didn’t know his prospects, his family, nothing. Not that it necessarily mattered. Princesses of Ansbach could usually marry as they wished. They were not known for making grand alliances. But there was still the King of Prussia to consider. Not all princesses of Ansbach were wards to the king either. Nonetheless, Caroline hummed a little tune as she went upstairs. Against all rational thought, she couldn’t help but think Monsieur de Busch might be the one.
She might be the one, George thought as he prepared for bed. It would be hard to sleep. There was so much to contemplate. Princess Caroline had far exceeded his grandmother’s descriptions. She was beauty incarnate and had intelligence too. Even from their conversations today he could tell her education far outstripped his own. His education had not been neglected in the least, but while he knew things, she thought about things. He was not a thinker in that regard. He was a man of plans and actions.
Beautiful and intelligent, she graced her brother’s home with serenity. He’d noted the quick arrangements she’d made for dinner. He’d had only to mention the musicians and she’d seen it done, seemingly effortlessly. He could already imagine her gracing the tables of his state dinners, of her re-creating an intellectual circle like Lutzenburg in his own court when the time came.
It was also clear that she was kind and well-liked. Her brother held her in genuine affection. In short, Princess Caroline was a paragon. A passionate paragon if what had transpired in the garden was anything to go on. He was glad for it. It seemed, in coming to Ansbach, he had found what he was looking for—both a queen and companion. Even so, it surprised him mightily.
In all honesty, it had been the adventure which had appealed to him. He’d coached himself not to expect too much from Princess Caroline. Mutual respect had been the goal. Love at first sight was far beyond any expectation. He’d been wrong about that. Apparently it was possible after all.
But he’d been right about one thing. It was hard to sleep that night.
He allowed himself three more days in Ansbach. He counselled himself to seek a road of caution in spite of his early elation, a rare option for him. He did not view himself as a cautious fellow, nor did he hold the concept of caution in high esteem. If he saw something he liked, he went after it.
That was precisely what he did. He turned his three-day stay into a whirlwind courtship, spending every moment at Caroline’s side. They strolled the Hofgarten together. She toured him through the medieval streets of the town. They rode out into the countryside to picnic with von Eltz, her brother and other friends William invited.
During the day, he could touch her in small ways—a hand at her back, an arm to steady her across rocky terrain. But in the evenings he could kiss her beneath the stars in the garden. He revelled in the idea that he was the first to teach her the art of such intimacies. She was virtuous as a princess should be, but that did not stop her from taking pleasure in their garden interludes which she seemed to enjoy as much as he.
As much as he imagined himself in the role of chivalrous knight, it was not a role he’d lived out. Most of the women he associated with at Hanover’s court were happy to oblige him in all ways. Kisses always concluded in something more and usually in bed. But there was no question of that here. Princess Caroline was not a woman to be taken outside the benefit of marriage and that proved to be his greatest trial. As his time at Ansbach drew to a close, he was hard-pressed to exercise restraints on his ardour.
On his final evening, George presented her with a fine cameo necklace. They were alone in the garden. It had become their ritual.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Caroline murmured, her blue eyes filling with emotion. She drew a finger along the raised contours of the cameo’s silhouette. ‘How did you know?’
George smiled. ‘I noticed that you’ve worn a different one each day of our visit.’
‘I collect them.’
‘Then I am especially glad I chose it for you. I hope you will keep it as a token of my affections, and in appreciation for your hospitality to two strangers.’
‘Perhaps this is also a parting gift? Will I see you again?’ Caroline asked. It was a question they’d been dancing about all day. George could not answer the question without exposing himself and he did not want to spoil their remaining day with talk of farewell. He wanted to take the image of her laughing in the sun with him back to Hanover to sustain him until he did see her again.
‘Partings are not necessarily forever,’ George said softly. ‘I will see you again.’ But never as Monsieur de Busch. The next time they met, he would be the Hanoverian prince. When he’d donned this guise, he’d never thought he’d regret giving it up. It came as something of a surprise to find that he did. But when Caroline came into his arms, his worries were allayed. She cared for the man he was, not the king that would be revealed. She would not care if he turned out to be more than a charming man from Hanover.
Chapter Seven
George wasted no time in returning to Herrenhausen. He went straight to his father without bothering to change out of his travelling attire, relieved to find his father still at home and not yet departed for Pyrmont, where he liked to take the waters.
‘It was love at first sight. She was all grandmother said and more,’ George announced without preamble, standing in his father’s study.
‘The trip was good, then?’ his father enquired with good humour, laughing at his son’s high colour and apparent hurry. Part of George wanted to answer his father’s calm demeanour with a calmness of his own but he found he couldn’t.
He was probably smiling like an idiot. He didn’t care. It was a charmed life he was living these days. First, his father’s surpri
sing affability after years of a strained father-son relationship, and now having found Caroline. The Fates were certainly favouring him.
‘And for her?’ his father pressed, amused at his son’s high spirits but still possessed of a measure of caution. ‘It’s not enough for only one of you to love the other.’
‘For her as well. I think she will want to marry with all possible haste, as do I.’ George’s mind went back to their last private moments in the garden. She’d not wanted him to leave.
His father nodded. ‘Very well. We will see what can be done. But—’ he raised a cautioning finger ‘—we will need to proceed with prudence and always with an eye towards the Prussian king. If we are too hasty, it will look like we’re trying to steal a march on him and, of course, we’ll want to ascertain that the King of Spain has broken off his suit.’
His father was lost in thought for a moment, the mental wheels of his mind creating lists very different of the sort being created in George’s mind. ‘We’ll need to send a discreet envoy. The fewer people who know about this, the better, until things are officially settled.’
‘Send Baron von Eltz back in his guise as von Stede,’ George said abruptly. ‘She will recognise him and know that he speaks the truth.’ He was wishing he could go himself, wishing he could be there to allay any reactions Caroline might have.
‘That’s a good suggestion. He’s already familiar with everything we’ve done so far.’ His father shot him a humorous look. ‘You might be interested to know that people who noticed your absence are speculating as to the reason. Some suggest you’ve followed the entourage of the Princess of Hesse and her lovely companion.’
George laughed. ‘At least they acquit me with good taste. But they will be wrong. My intentions are firmly fixed on Caroline.’
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