Seducing the Princess

by Hart Perry, Mary

  “Mon dieu!” The young woman rolled her eyes. She turned and opened the door a crack, peering out as if she hoped the groom’s brother had tired of waiting and left. Apparently he had not.

  Henry Battenberg pushed wide the door, closing it quickly after himself, as if afraid someone might see him entering. Beatrice took in his worried expression and the mysterious dark glint in his eyes, and immediately wanted to send Marie away to leave them in privacy. But staying alone in any room with a man, even had it been one of her brothers, even had they been in a much more public space than her privy chamber, invited scandal. Her lady was at least right on that count.

  “Marie, s’il vous plait, help me off with my jewels. Then see they are packed away safely for the night, while I have a few words with Herr Battenberg.”

  Marie gave her a side-long look that said she knew exactly what the princess was doing—keeping her busy and at a distance. The heavy, brass-strapped trunk where her jewels were kept had been pushed into a niche on the far side of the room, almost a tiny room of its own. Marie unclasped the pearl necklace at Beatrice’s throat, slipped off her bracelets and rings, and disappeared to carry out her task.

  Satisfied, Beatrice turned to her caller. “I hope nothing sad or terribly upsetting has brought you here, Henry.”

  “My news may not be bad from the perspective of some individuals, but it is certain to prove unsettling to the queen.” Henry’s manner, though strong and outwardly calm, still hinted at urgency.

  “Oh dear.” Beatrice’s hands fluttered toward her chest and gripped the closure of her robe.

  “I’m so sorry. I don’t wish to distress you, Princess.” He stepped forward, reaching out for her but stopping short of touching her arm. As if he, too, were aware of their delicate circumstances. “But I could think of no other way of handling the pandemonium that will almost surely occur tomorrow.”

  “You needn’t apologize for coming to me. Please, go on,” she said. Despite his alarming words, all she could think was how terribly, heart-breakingly handsome he looked, standing here facing her, not more than six feet from her bed. A naughty thrill rushed through her.

  Henry looked away from her for a moment before turning back to meet her eyes. “Your brother came to me a short while ago. Bertie is most concerned, as he has learned that the Grand Duke intends to remarry.”

  Beatrice smiled. “Oh, but that’s wonderful. My brother-in-law is such a good man and deserves to be happy. He has suffered so from the loss of my dear sister.”

  Henry visibly winced. “I don’t think you understand, Your Highness.” He took a deep breath and stepped closer to her, as if to insure she would be the only one to hear his words. “The duke seems to have had a mistress for some time now. It is she that he intends to marry. Moreover, he plans to publicly announce their engagement tomorrow at family breakfast.”

  She still couldn’t quite understand why he looked so troubled, although this was more than a little irregular. “Is it that beautiful lady I saw in the church?”

  “Yes. Her name is Alexandrine. She is Polish, and yes, very beautiful, but not…of…royal…blood.”

  Beatrice frowned at the seriousness of his expression. Clearly, joy wasn’t the reaction he had expected from her. And now, slowly, she began to understand. Her mother, who cherished the memory of her daughter Alice, would never accept this woman. “I see. So you’ve come to warn me that tomorrow may be a time to steer clear of the queen?”

  “On the contrary. I’ve come to beg you to intercede on your brother-in-law’s behalf.”

  Beatrice bit down on her lower lip. “I’m confused. Henry, intercede in what way?”

  “Bertie is even now trying to dissuade the duke from his folly. If he will only agree to keep the lady as his mistress and handle their affair discretely, then we shall all survive the next few days. But if the duke refuses to be sensible and insists upon marrying the woman—”

  “You need say no more,” Beatrice said. “I understand. At first I was thinking only of the duke’s happiness. You’re right. Mama will make a most terrible scene.” Whatever joy these days of wedding celebration had brought to them all, it would surely be stifled under the virulent cloud of Victoria’s fury. Heads might not literally roll. But lives would be changed. And likely, not for the better.

  “But there is one thing I still don’t understand,” she whispered. “You say you’ve come to beg my help, but why? How can I do anything?” Standing so close to the young man, she became aware of his breathing, felt her own breath mystically alter to match his. She imagined their heartbeats taking up the same rhythm. Their thoughts running in parallel lines as they together took up the challenge of dealing with a family emergency. Her skin tingled in recognition of what Henry was telling her—he needed her. Perhaps not in a romantic way but as a co-conspirator of sorts, which seemed nearly as exciting and the most she could ever hope for.

  “I believe with all my heart,” Henry said, taking up her hands in his, “that you are the only person alive who can soften the blow for the queen. It is her feelings that Bertie is thinking of, I’m sure. Your brother believes this will be a terrible shock to Her Majesty. She may assume the duke has forgotten about her Alice. She must be convinced that the duke’s wish to remarry does not dishonor her deceased daughter or the family.”

  “But what can I possibly –”

  Henry leaned down over her, so near his warm breath swept across her cheek, so near the ribboned medals on his chest brushed the swell of her breast as he whispered in her ear. “Beatrice, no one is closer to the Queen than you. She will listen to you. You’re the duke’s only hope, even if he doesn’t know it. He refuses to listen to reason, and so he will proceed with his foolish plan. All we can do to save his skin and my brother’s wedding celebration is to soften the blow for Victoria.”

  Even as he continued speaking her head started involuntary shaking movements of denial. She’d spent all of her childhood, and her adult life to this very day, trying to avoid confrontations with her mother. He might as well ask her to step into a lioness’s den without a weapon. He must be mad if he thought anything she could ever say or do would change her mother’s mind. About anything!

  Good lord, this wasn’t as simple as the choice of a meal or deciding whether or not they should ride out across the Scottish moors in a chill rain. And she’d never once won either of those arguments.

  Beatrice stared at the floor, working up the courage to tell Henry this was just not possible. He must seek help elsewhere. But then she felt him squeeze her hands and draw them up between them in a gesture of supplication. Startled she looked up into his kind eyes, as blue as Crown Jewel’s star sapphire, as pleading as the gaze of a child.

  “Please, dear Beatrice, do this for all of us. Not just for your brother-in-law. We had such a happy time today, didn’t we? Riding together. And last night, dancing. I can’t bear to see it spoiled.”

  His eyes, his touch and sincerity mesmerized her. “Oh yes. It was lovely. All of it.” Particularly, the kisses.

  “Nothing would make me happier than to ride with you again. But I fear if your mother is taken by surprise tomorrow at the duke’s announcement of his engagement, she will order her party immediately back to London. And I will be robbed of the pleasure of spending more time with you.”

  Her knees suddenly felt spongy, her head floaty. He liked her. He wanted to be with her. She smiled at the thought. But how could he expect so much of her?

  And yet it was obvious, from his earnest expression and the honesty of his words, that he actually believed she could influence her mother. He was betting on her, in a battle of wits and will with the Queen of England. He thought she, Beatrice, actually had a chance of prevailing.

  How wonderfully sweet.

  “Henry?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll try. That’s all I can promise.”

  He squeezed her hands again, and she felt the warmth of her
blood traveling through her body. Giving her strength.

  “She’s asleep now,” she said. “If I wake her, she will be up all night fretting, and we will all be the worse for it. I promise to go to her, first thing in the morning, and tell her of the duke’s intentions. In the meantime, you must go to Bertie and have him impress upon my brother-in-law that he needs to delay his announcement for as long as possible. The more time she has to get used to this idea of his remarrying the better. If you can do that much, I will try to find distractions to keep her from dwelling on his plans.”

  Henry beamed at her. “Oh, you are a brave and clever girl.” He shot a quick glance toward the alcove where Marie could be heard latching the trunk lid. He planted a chaste kiss on Beatrice’s cheek then released her hands. “I go now to find Bertie and the duke. Send for me if you need me in the morning. And good luck.”

  He was across the room and out the door before she realized she probably should take a breath. Beatrice collapsed onto the tufted satin stool beside the four-poster bed. The room spun around her. She wasn’t sure whether she was more terrified of confronting her mother with the shocking news, or of the feelings she was beginning to have when she thought of Henry Battenberg touching her. Kissing her.

  9

  Beatrice slept barely an hour the entire night. Tossing and turning, she imagined the various ways she might break the news to her mother that Alice’s widower intended to remarry. She knew the way her mother’s mind worked, and apparently so did Henry. The queen would take the duke’s engagement as a sign of disrespect for her precious daughter’s memory, a personal attack on her family.

  Beatrice wished she might have an opportunity to speak with her brother-in-law before approaching her mother. But if Bertie had already failed at convincing the duke to wait for a less public moment to make his announcement then what were her chances of having any effect on the man?

  “Your Highness, do you wish anything to eat now, or will you wait for family breakfast?”

  Beatrice opened her eyes to find Marie standing over her bed, wearing a compassionate gaze. No doubt the woman had overheard most of her conversation with Henry the night before. Marie probably dreaded the day as much as she did.

  “I certainly can’t eat now. As to family breakfast, we shall see if I am able to choke down a bite or two.”

  Marie pursed her lips and lifted aside the coverlets for Beatrice to rise from bed. “Just because un monsieur asks the favor does not mean Her Highness must agree,” she said.

  Beatrice gave her lady-in-waiting a sideways glance. “I shall remember your advice. But now, you’d best get me dressed. I’ll go straight to my mother and, hopefully, reach her with the news before anyone else does.”

  “Oui, Princess.”

  Beatrice accomplished her toilette in record time. She let Marie choose a day dress for her. As if reading her mind and hoping to lighten her mood, the young woman selected the least severe of her dark-colored dresses with a pretty ecru lace collar.

  “I heard the queen’s lady moving about next door moments ago,” Marie said.

  “Then we’d best hurry.”

  “I will accompany you of course.”

  “No,” Beatrice said, “that isn’t necessary. Better you stay behind in the room and wait for me to return. I expect I shall need your soothing words when this is all over.”

  Stepping up to the door that separated the two chambers, Beatrice drew a breath for courage and knocked lightly. The vibration of the wood against her knuckles felt almost painful. She swallowed, closed her eyes briefly, knocked again. Her mother’s lady-of-the-bedchamber opened the door with a smile.

  “Good morning, Your Highness. I hope you have slept…um, well?” The look she gave Beatrice said she had only then noticed the circles beneath her eyes.

  “Not very well, but that’s beside the point. Will you and the queen’s other attendants leave my mother and me alone for just a few minutes?” The woman blinked at her, uncomprehending. “Please.”

  “Of course.” The woman curtsied then efficiently cleared the room.

  Beatrice stepped inside the queen’s bedroom as gingerly as if the floor had been made of tissue paper, and she might fall through it at any moment. Her gaze turned to Victoria, seated at a dressing table. She was consulting a silver-backed hand-mirror, touching the string of pearls at her throat as if trying to decide whether they were too pretty for a still-mourning widow to wear.

  She shifted her gaze upward to consult Beatrice’s reflection in the mirror. “Is something wrong, my dear?”

  “Not wrong, exactly.” The words barely escaped her tight throat. “Some information has come to my attention. Happy news, actually.” She might as well try to introduce the duke’s plans in as positive a light as possible. “I thought you might want to hear about it before word got around to the Court.”

  “What news is this?” Victoria turned to fully face her but did not rise from her seat.

  Beatrice took a hesitant step forward. “Mama, you know how very much I loved my sister Alice.”

  “Of course you did, my dear. We still do—as if she were here with us at this joyful time for her precious daughter.” Already her mother’s eyes glistened with emotion. Not a good sign.

  Beatrice swallowed. Twice. “And I’ve come to love my brother-in-law, as I do my own dear brothers,” she added. “The Duke is such a wonderful, deserving man. Is he not?”

  Victoria’s plump face wrinkled in puzzlement. “Yes, he is a good man, though not an angel. It troubles me, some of the things he does in his private life. But we will give him a good talking to, and I’m sure he’ll come around.” The royal we, that is. Oh, dear, another bad sign.

  Beatrice pictured Henry’s trusting gaze, drew a breath for strength, and took a leap of faith. “The thing of it is, Mama—as you yourself have so often stated—men are very different from women. Men think of love and romance in a less…” She paced the carpet, wishing the perfect word would come to her. “In a less enduring way. But that doesn’t mean they are disrespectful of the memory of a beloved wife.”

  “What in heaven’s name are you babbling on about, child?” Victoria’s face flushed with irritation.

  “I’m just trying to say that, often, when a gentleman is widowed, he chooses to remarry.

  This happens all the time.” She forced out the words, rushing for fear her mother would cut her off again. “And is it not better that a man remarry and be public about his affections than take as his company various ladies of poor reputation, thus invoking scandal, gossip, and ruin to his reputation, not to mention his family’s—”

  The queen rose to her feet, peering at Beatrice through narrowed eyes. Her regal chins trembled. “You are hiding something from me, child,” Victoria accused. “Say what you mean and stop this stuttering and stalling.”

  “Of course, Mama,” Beatrice murmured. “I was just trying to say—”

  “Speak up, Baby! No wonder everyone thinks you clumsy and poor social company. Nobody can understand a word you say when you mumble so.”

  Beatrice lifted her chin and forced herself to meet her mother’s turbulent glare. How her sisters had ever made a place for themselves in this world, despite the queen’s attempts to control every aspect of their lives, she’d never know. Now that she was the only daughter still at home with their mother, every ounce of the queen’s obsessive need to control her family had focused on her, the youngest child. The last princess.

  Beatrice very nearly gave up delivering the news of the duke’s intentions. But she’d promised Henry. She couldn’t let him down. She just couldn’t.

  With an effort, she kept her voice calm. “What I’m trying to say to you, Mama, is meant to save you from grief. If you’ll just give me a chance to shape the news in my own words, I believe you will be grateful to me.”

  Victoria raised an imperial brow. “I shall be the judge of whether or not to feel gratitude. Now out with it,
girl.”

  Oh Lord, Beatrice thought, there’s no hope now. But she plunged on.

  “It has come to my attention that the grand duke intends to announce his engagement to the woman he invited to the wedding yesterday.” She rushed to keep her mother from interrupting again. “Mama, the duke was a fine husband to my sister and has been a loving father to their children. He has deeply mourned Alice’s passing for almost six years. Now he deserves some happiness. If he is in love with this woman and truly cares for her, isn’t it a crime that they should be kept apart?”

  There. She’d finished. Beatrice stood gasping for breath, her hands trembling while she clutched the folds of her skirt, her stomach cramping.

  The queen stared at her, mouth agape, eyes as black as cinders.

  Say something, Beatrice thought. Please. Silence as a response was worse than a wail of sorrow, cursing, or even a thrown vase.

  Beatrice slid her tongue between dry lips. “Mama, I am sure he will ask for your blessing. As you so love your grandchildren, his and Alice’s sweet children, it would be a kindness to him and to the children to accept this woman into the family. I am told she is gracious, and one only has to look at her to see her beauty. What a lovely addition to your Court in London she would make, and—”

  “Enough!” The queen held up a hand, glowering at her. “We don’t know where you heard such vicious, evil gossip. But we do not want it repeated in our hearing. The grand duke would never be so foolish as to think he could marry that whore. And he certainly can’t expect me to ever speak to the woman, let alone accept her in my Court. She will never take my dear Alice’s place. Never be allowed anywhere near Alice’s children.”

  Beatrice clenched her hands until they ached. She must make her mother understand that she simply couldn’t dominate and control everything and everyone in her life. “But, Mama, if it is already a fait accompli? If the duke is determined to proceed and announces their engagement this very day—”