Seducing the Princess

by Hart Perry, Mary

  “No!” Victoria roared, her face a mask of rage. “It is unthinkable. I said to leave it, Baby.” She turned back to face the dressing table’s mirror. “Prepare for family breakfast. I will hear nothing more of this matter. Ever.”

  10

  Henry paced the corridor outside the breakfast room. This was to be a much more intimate meal than the wedding banquet—fewer than twenty-five at a cluster of round tables. Had Bertie not come begging him to intercede on behalf of the grand duke, he would have been looking forward to this meal as the perfect opportunity to spend time with Beatrice. Instead, all night long he’d worried about her.

  Was he asking too much of the princess? He should have insisted on accompanying her to speak with the queen. How could he have thought to send the poor young woman in to that dragon, alone? Although he’d expressed great confidence in Bea’s ability to help Victoria face the Duke’s announcement with equanimity, he’d begun to have second thoughts the moment he left her room. Didn’t foreign ministers tremble before the woman? Didn’t courtiers blanch at the prospect of delivering bad news?

  He turned and paced back the way he’d come and saw the Grand Duke of Hesse-Darmstadt approaching. Henry’s heart very nearly stopped. The man’s lovely mistress walked at his side, smiling, her hand resting on his arm. Apparently, they intended to make their announcement together. Oh God! This was far, far worse than he ever could have imagined.

  Not waiting for the couple to reach him, Henry darted inside the breakfast room and straight to Bertie. The Duke of Wales was seated beside his wife Alix, at one of four tables meant to cozily accommodate the royal clan.

  “He’s here,” Henry whispered, his voice hoarse. “And with the lady in question.”

  Bertie dropped his head into his hands. “Bollocks.”

  “What do we do?” Henry asked. “I see no sign yet of the queen or Beatrice. We don’t even know if she’s told her yet.”

  Bertie looked up at him. “My poor, poor little sister. She’s eaten Bea alive.”

  Henry studied the prince for any signs of humor but saw none. “I should have offered to go with her. Maybe—” Dare he hope? “—maybe the Queen will be so angry she simply will not come down to breakfast.”

  The prince’s eyes brightened. “That’s possible. Yes. It’s the best we can hope for. When my mother’s upset she cloisters herself and refuses to speak to anyone. She might choose to simply ignore the duke’s personal life, pretend he and it doesn’t exist.” Bertie took up his wife’s hand between his two and kissed her fingertips lightly when she smiled questioningly at him. “It wouldn’t be the first time she simply pretended whatever she found unpleasant didn’t exist.”

  But it was not to be. Just then, the duke and his mistress entered through the same door Henry had rushed through moments earlier. At the same time, through another door at the opposite end of the room, Victoria arrived with her small retinue.

  “Lord, help us,” Bertie breathed, coming to his feet and holding out a hand to help his wife rise to greet the queen.

  Henry gripped the back of the prince’s chair and tried to appear poised and assertive. He looked around for Beatrice. To his surprise, she followed far behind her mother, head meekly lowered, lips set in a firm line, sad eyes trailing the floor. When no acceptable gentleman was at hand to escort the queen, Victoria nearly always rested a hand for support on her youngest daughter’s arm as they walked companionably together. But this morning she had chosen one of her ladies as an escort, placing the princess in her wake as if to punish her.

  Henry caught Beatrice’s eyes for a brief moment and tried to silently convey his apologies for subjecting her to such humiliation. Beatrice blinked once then looked away again. She seemed so sad he wanted to rush up to her, throw his arms around her and comfort her. She must be thinking that she’d let him down. But he’d never have blamed her, of course.

  “Bloody hell,” Bertie cursed under his breath. “There’s nothing for it now but to wait for the fireworks, Liko. You, at least, are lucky. You’ve got the entire continent of Europe to hide in. I’m the one who must return to London with Mother.”

  The queen stopped at the largest table. On the far side of the room, the duke hesitated at the first table he reached, the one Henry would have chosen had he been in the queen’s disfavor—closest to the door for an easy escape and farthest from Victoria. But after a moment the man straightened his shoulders, walked on and indicated a chair to his mistress at the queen’s table.

  Everyone remained standing at their seats, waiting for the Queen to give her permission for them to sit. After another minute, it became clear to Henry that Victoria had no intention of sitting while the duke’s mistress remained in the room. The air vibrated with the electric tension that warns of a storm. As if the footmen spaced around the perimeter of the room sensed this too, they remained at attention, unmoving. No staff entered with food. Henry felt as if everyone in the room was posing in a formal tableau, waiting for an invisible painter to record the moment.

  Sweat trickled down his back beneath his shirt. Henry tried to unlatch his clenched teeth, but the muscles in his jaw refused to release. Pain shot up through his jaw.

  He was a military man. He’d experienced war. But facing an opponent on the field of battle had never torn at his nerves this fiercely.

  Then, as though Victoria had summoned them by a silent act of will, two guardsmen entered the dining room.

  “That woman,” she said, “is unwelcome in our company. Remove her.”

  The duke pounded his fists down on the table, shot to his feet and glowered at her. “Your Majesty!”

  Victoria held up a hand. “This is a family breakfast. That woman is not now, nor ever will be, part of my family. Guard, escort her out of the castle.”

  A rustle of silk and choking sobs accompanied the duke’s mistress from the room. The duke started to follow them, but then turned back again as if to say something more. After opening and closing his mouth twice, he seemed to think better of it and rushed after his mistress.

  The queen took her seat with a satisfied sigh and lifted her hand to signal others that they might also sit. The rest of the company took to their chairs as if climbing out of icy water onto life-saving rafts.

  Order restored, thought Henry.

  Very little conversation accompanied the meal. Henry kept darting looks at Beatrice. She pushed food around on her plate, but he saw her eat very little. He glanced at Bertie, beside him; resignation darkened the prince’s face.

  “We tried,” Henry whispered. “I really thought Beatrice had a chance.”

  “Poor Bea,” Bertie murmured. “I fear we’ve made life even less pleasant for her. I should have known. If Mother wouldn’t listen to me, the Crown Prince, who would she listen to?”

  Henry shook his head. “I feel badly for having put Beatrice in this position.”

  Alix gave both men a reassuring smile, and he realized she must have picked up on most of the conversation. Maybe her husband had even informed her of what was going on. “It’s nothing new to Bea, dealing with her mother’s moods. Besides, the Queen will eventually forget that her daughter was in any way involved.” The Danish princess spread clotted cream on her scone. “Her Majesty will take the Duke to task and demand that he put aside any relationship with the woman. Once that’s done, Beatrice will be off the hook.”

  “But, Alix, what if the duke refuses to give up the woman?” Henry asked.

  “He might, I suppose,” Bertie said, eyeing the eggs and sausage a footman had brought him. “He claims he is in love with her. It may be she was his mistress even before Alice died. But of course no one would dare suggest such a thing to my mother.”

  Henry stared at his hands in his lap. There was nothing more he could do to aid Bertie or the duke. His only concern now was for Beatrice. “I must apologize to your sister. It’s my fault for suggesting she play a role in this madness.” He waited for a reacti
on from Bertie, but the prince seemed intent upon restoring his own frayed nerves with a hot meal; he began eating ravenously. “Is there anything you can suggest that I might do to cheer Beatrice?”

  “Cheer up Baby?” Half a smile tweaked the prince’s lips. “Don’t bother yourself. It’s her nature to be grim. A reflection of my mother’s personality, I fear.” He shrugged. “But, if you are determined to try, she loves nothing better than red flowers of any kind, and she does have a passion for riding.”

  Henry nodded his head. He’d already discovered the second of the two. Then I will feed her passions, he thought but didn’t dare say.

  As soon as the queen stood to leave, Henry timed his own exit from the breakfast room to reach Beatrice before she could follow her mother’s entourage out the door. He offered her his arm, as if merely to escort her from the room. She barely glanced at him as she laid her hand on his arm. But when they came to the first crossing hallway he slipped his arm low around her waist, turned and guided her down the other corridor and away from the rest of the company.

  Beatrice startled and stared up at him. “I’m expected to retire to my room, Henry.”

  “And if you do not?” He observed her solemnly.

  “My mother will be all the angrier with me.” She gave a deep sigh then laughed, but her eyes did not light up as they had when they’d been riding. “Although I’m not sure she could ever be any angrier than she is at this moment.”

  “Precisely,” he said.

  “So maybe it doesn’t matter. Is that what you mean?”

  “Yes. I just hate seeing you look so distressed. And I’m sorry that I put you in such a thorny position. I shouldn’t have asked you to intervene.”

  “No, it’s all right. I’m glad you did. I would have wanted to help.” She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “But I’ve let you down. I let the duke down. The right words just wouldn’t come to me when I went to her this morning. She hardly let me say anything at all before she shut me out.” She shook her head, and the gesture of helplessness tore at his heart. “I’m the one who should be apologizing to you, Henry. And to Alexandrine. All my words did was prepare Mama to exert herself at breakfast. How humiliating it must have been for that poor woman.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for your mother’s behavior.” Henry patted Beatrice’s hand, still resting on his coat sleeve. “I think you are incredibly brave, my dear princess. And caring. To stand by the queen so steadfastly…even though she doesn’t value your loyalty.”

  “You don’t understand her,” Beatrice said, lowering her eyes to stare at her own hand, curled on his arm. “She’s been so very lonely since Papa died. Her grief has been made all the worse by losing other people close to her. John Brown, such a brave companion and protector. Then Alice, and my brother Leopold, who was always so sickly. She has taken their deaths so very hard. Everything she does, these days, seems to be to protect herself and the family from further hurt. She must think the duke’s mistress is an evil, designing woman, or she would never have treated her that way.”

  Henry studied her for a moment but kept them moving forward. “You give your mother a great deal of credit. I hope you’re right and it’s deserved.”

  “I’ve never believed it wasn’t,” Beatrice murmured, her voice so soft he barely made out the words. Maybe she hadn’t intended him to hear her?

  They walked in silence the length of the mirrored corridor. He felt infinitely happier than he had a right to be. Just because she was beside him, her little hand resting on his sleeve. When they came to the end of the hall, Henry didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to return Beatrice to her chamber, to be alone or, worse yet, to face another cruel scolding from her mother. He longed to protect her, yearned to find a way to make her smile again.

  “The garden is lovely for so early in the spring,” he said. “Will you stroll with me? And then, perhaps later in the day, we might venture out for another ride?”

  “Just the two of us again?” Her pretty eyes widened in surprise.

  “We did so before and no harm came to you.” He grinned. “Of course if you’d rather have a chaperone, or bring others along, that’s fine with me. Don’t you trust me?”

  “Oh, of course I trust you. It’s just that—well, Mama doesn’t approve of us girls being alone with a man. She says it’s proper only for married couples to have that kind of privacy. Even a man and woman engaged, a chaperone is still correct.”

  “Then who shall be our chaperone?”

  “I don’t know.” She let out a soft groan of frustration and pouted in a way he found sweetly appealing. “It’s such a bother, isn’t it? Always having to be around people one doesn’t really enjoy being around.”

  “And am I a person you don’t enjoy being around? Were you only being polite when we rode together yesterday?”

  She blushed. “Oh no, Liko, I truly enjoyed being with you. Even now, I feel ever so much calmer than a few moments ago in that awful breakfast room. And I would love a walk in the gardens.” She paused in thought. “Mama’s so distracted by family events at the moment—first the wedding and now this business with the duke. And I believe she’s received a few dispatches from the prime minister about troubling foreign affairs. I’m sure she wouldn’t even notice if I were to disappear for a few hours.”

  “Then come with me and I’ll show you the most beautiful early blooming red roses I have ever seen. I will cut an armful of them for you to take back to your room. To perfume your bedchamber and make you forget about this morning’s unpleasantness.”

  “And will we ride later this afternoon too?” There was that sparkle in her eyes he’d wished for! And a rosy glow suffusing her cheeks.

  “Only if you like, Princess. Shall I have the chief groom tack up the same mount you rode yesterday? We could ride directly after lunch.”

  “Oh, yes, please,” she cried. “Red roses and a jolly canter across the heather and poppy fields. I can think of no more perfect day.”

  Henry grinned. Of all the women he’d ever known, none had been so easy to please. And, come to think of it, none so delightful to make the effort for.

  11

  Aberdeenshire, Scotland

  “Release the dogs,” Wilhelm ordered.

  Gregory MacAlister gave a nod to his father’s game warden who let loose the pack of gundogs for the fifth time that day. In an explosion of barking and snuffling the Springers took to the brush.

  “You’ve already bagged eight stags and a brace of pheasants,” Gregory reminded the Prussian prince. “It will be dark soon. Aren’t you tired, Your Highness?”

  “As long as there’s game, I’m for the hunt.” Wilhelm trod onward through the tall grass, intent on the kill.

  Gregory shook his head, tucked his rifle under his arm, muzzle angled toward the ground, and followed along. “You might want to leave a few birds for another day.”

  If the prince heard him at all, he didn’t show it. Gregory sighed in resignation. Wilhelm had arrived in Scotland three days earlier, and he still didn’t know what had prompted the visit from his old school chum. He felt itchy with anticipation but knew from experience not to rush Wilhelm.

  The dogs didn’t take long to flush a dozen bronze-feathered grouse into the air with a frenzied clatter of wings. This time Gregory didn’t bother to raise his rifle. He let the prince take down all but three of the birds and watched the survivors flutter free. You’re the clever ones, he thought. They’d lain low a few extra seconds, taking to air only after the first shots were fired and the hunter was occupied with the first targets. He felt an affinity for them. Cleverness, waiting your best chance, kept you alive.

  Wilhelm turned and scowled at him. “Why didn’t you fire?”

  “I’m all for a good hunt, but my father won’t be pleased with our greed, depleting his stock as we’ve done today.”

  The prince shrugged. “I don’t believe in doing anything by half measure
. The laird should keep a better supply.”

  “If you find our Scottish game thin, why don’t you just hunt in Germany?”

  Wilhelm shrugged, flashed him a Cheshire-cat smile. “I wanted to visit my old friend.”

  “And I’m honored.” Even without that telltale smile that had so often presaged mischief in their younger years, Gregory wouldn’t have believed the young royal’s trip was based on sentiment. Wilhelm was not the sentimental sort.

  They’d reconnected just twice since their university days. The first time, the prince had offered Gregory asylum when the laird’s son found it prudent to hide out after getting himself into legal hot water. Gregory had lost a game of cards to the son of his father’s stable master but refused to honor his debt. The lad threatened him with a hay rake, forcing Gregory to pay up, embarrassing him in front of his gambling friends. Later that night, Gregory and two of his mates from the village jumped the boy. They might have killed him had the stable master himself not shown up and stopped them.

  The other time, Wilhelm was the one who sought help. He had come with his parents to visit his grandmother Victoria, aunts, uncles and cousins at Balmoral, the British royal family’s estate in Scotland. The young prince invited Gregory to come as his guest to the castle, and the two of them eavesdropped on the queen, spread rumors through the court, and generally amused themselves by making trouble. At first Gregory believed it was all purely for the sport. Only later did he recognize their pranks as a childish form of revenge against the queen for a remark she’d made about Wilhelm’s withered arm.

  So now, Gregory assumed his talent for clandestine pranks had brought Wilhelm back. The crown prince needed a favor—though what that might be Gregory had, as yet, no clue. Something done on the sly, possibly violent, most likely illegal. Fine by him. He owed Wilhelm for keeping him out of prison.

  Finally, the servants carted the slaughtered game back to the MacAlister estate. The carcasses were turned over to the gamekeeper and kitchen staff. During the course of the day the two of them had killed more than the family and guests could possibly eat. But Gregory knew it wouldn’t go to waste. His father was generous. He would see that the staff enjoyed a feast of their own. Any remainders would go to lucky villagers.