Until his letters started coming.
And then…and then, she’d discovered a breathtakingly beautiful lacework of hope stitched around and through his penned words.
She intended to show the letters, particularly his most recent one, to Helena and Louise when they arrived at Buckingham. She must ask them, as women who had actual experience with men, what she should think of them. Would they hear in Henry’s words what Beatrice believed she heard? Was he telling her in his own quiet way that he cared for her? Was it possible he wanted her in his life the same way she wanted him?
Or…was she being naïve and foolish?
A knock sounded at her door. Marie answered it, whispered a few words then returned just as Beatrice finished clasping her favorite gold charm bracelet around her wrist.
“They have arrived early,” Marie said. “Your mother is napping but the princesses wait for you in the Blue Salon.”
“Wonderful!” Beatrice cried, leaping up from her dressing stool.
The happy chatter of voices greeted Beatrice as she approached the doorway to the room that had long been one of her favorites in the entire palace. Helena sat on a gilded divan with the second youngest of her children. Louise walked up and down in front of the expansive windows overlooking the sunny park, cuddling and cooing to the baby in her arms.
Of the four married sisters, only Louise had produced no children. It wasn’t clear to Beatrice why this was. Perhaps, as their mother had once vaguely suggested, some physical complication, resulting from Louise’s high-strung nature, kept her from conceiving. But whatever the reason, it was clear that Louise loved children, and she thoroughly enjoyed spoiling her nieces and nephews.
“Oh, there she is!” Helena cried. “And not in the same room with Mama. What a shock!”
Louise cast Beatrice an apologetic look. “Don’t be cruel, Lenchen. Poor Bea so rarely enjoys time on her own.” She tipped her head toward the letters in Beatrice’s hand. “Has she got you answering her correspondence even while she’s off napping?”
It was the perfect introduction to the conversation she’d hoped for. “No, these are my letters, actually. I’m not exactly sure how to respond to the writer and thought you and Lenchen might help me out.”
“Help in what way?” Helena asked, sounding impatient with her already. “If it’s an invitation to a social occasion, you always turn them down anyway—no matter what we advise.” She looked up at Louise “I don’t know why Baby doesn’t just hang a sign around her neck: Go away, don’t bother me!“ She laughed, but looked mildly contrite at Louise’s glare. “I’m sorry, Baby, but no matter what I do, or who I’ve tried to introduce you to, you always crawl into your little shell and insist upon playing the wallflower.”
Not always, Beatrice thought to herself.
She rather enjoyed recalling her secret assignations with Henry, and keeping them to herself. Cherished moments, unblemished by others’ criticism. But sooner or later, if she wanted to do anything more than flirt with the handsome young prince, she’d have to tell someone. It might as well be Helena and Louise. And now.
“Please sit down, Louise. I want to read this letter to the two of you and see what you think.” When neither of her sisters said anything, and Helena only let out a bored sigh, Beatrice looked pleadingly at Louise. “I’m serious. This is important to me. Something very special happened to me in Germany. I believe it may have changed my life.”
Helena hooted with laughter. “Oh, my! That does sound dramatic, doesn’t it, Loosie?” She set her toddler on the carpet in front of her to play, and rubbed her hands together as if eager for a tasty meal. “By all means, let’s hear this most extraordinary letter.”
Louise propped the baby on her hip and sat on the far end of the divan, allowing her little niece to teethe on her finger. Louise lifted her chin in an encouraging gesture to Beatrice. “Go on then, dear. Read.”
Beatrice sat in an upholstered chair opposite her sisters, cleared her throat, and tenderly unfolded Henry’s most recent letter in her lap. “Just so you’ll know, this comes from a gentleman.” She thrilled at the very words. Before either of her listeners could comment on that shocking bit, she started reading:
“‘Dearest Beatrice…’”
Helena let out a soft sound of surprise at the implied intimacy.
Louise’s eyes widened. Just a little—but then, it took a lot to shock Louise.
Beatrice tried to ignore them and keep her gaze fixed on the masculine spikes of black ink across the page, feeling the strength of Henry’s presence in his words.
“‘I believe,’” she read, “‘you know how much I enjoyed the time we spent together during my brother’s recent wedding celebration in Darmstadt. When I told you that I’d rarely felt so deeply moved by a young woman’s company, that wasn’t the entire truth. In fact, I’ve never felt so close to anyone of the opposite sex. There always has seemed a barrier or a competitive aspect in my relationships with females, which stood in the way of true friendship. And friends are what we have become—you and I. I hope you will agree with at least that much.’”
Beatrice felt the beginnings of happy tears tickle the outer corners of her eyes. How many times had she reread these delicious words? And yet they moved her on every visit.
“He goes on to say this: ‘Now I dare to suggest making of our friendship something more permanent and precious. I could not speak from my heart while you were in Germany with your mother, because of the Grand Duke’s announcement, which had been so stressful for her. I knew that I needed to hold back, to wait until she returned to London and recovered from the shock. To add to her concerns would have been selfish on my part. Aside from that, I feared her response to my proposal might be too hastily made and not in my favor. These weeks while we have been apart have served not only to strengthen my resolve to have you in my life but also, I hope, to soothe your mother so that she might wisely and impartially consider my proposition.’”
Beatrice sneaked a quick peek at Louise, needing to see her reaction. But her sister’s expression remained closed, revealing nothing. Beatrice felt as if she might burst with excitement, but reminded herself that she was inexperienced in the ways of men, and words like proposal and proposition might have meanings beyond her understanding. It sometimes seemed to her that her mother’s courtiers spoke in riddles when flirting with her ladies. Was that what Henry was doing here? Playing word games?
“Baby,” Helena said, with a nervous laugh. “This can’t possibly be—”
“Hush,” Louise said. “Let her finish.”
Beatrice read on. “Then he says, ‘You see, even now, I have trouble coming to the point, my darling.’” He’d called her darling! “‘I would make a pretty speech on bended knee before you, but because you are who you are—daughter to the Queen of England—I know I must first ask your mother’s permission to even hope. Then all must be arranged through her. But I will not appear before her until I have your permission to do so.” Beatrice took a deep breath, not daring to look at either of her sisters now.
“But this is—“ Helena began again.
“Shut up, Lenchen!” Louise snapped. “She obviously has more.”
Beatrice took a shaky breath. She wondered if her heart had ever beat faster than it did now. “Yes, and he goes on to say… ‘I ask these questions of you, dearest girl. First, do you feel as I do? Secondly if so, do you believe the time is right for me to come to London and ask the queen for her blessing?
“‘All depends upon you, my darling Beatrice. Please tell me I have not given my heart in vain. Please tell me I may come and make my intentions… our intentions known to your mother. The moment I hear from you I will begin my journey. I wait for your response, my dove.
All my love, Henry Battenberg.’”
Beatrice held her breath, eyes brimming with tears of joy but still afraid to believe. Was this a proposal of marriage, or was it not? She stared at Henry’s sweepin
g signature. Traced his name with her fingertip, aware of the utter and absolute silence of the room. Her heart pounded in her breast so that she wondered why the salon’s walls didn’t reverberate in response. At last she looked up at her sisters, still seated across from her, and blinked away the wash of tears.
“Well,” Helena said, “that is a surprise.”
“But a delightful one!” Louise cried. She shot to her feet, plopped her little niece in Helena’s lap and rushed across the room to pull Beatrice up and into an embrace. “And do you love him? Above all, do you love him, Bea?”
“I think… Yes, yes I really do.” She laughed out loud. “He is such a sweet man. Such a wonderful, warm, safe feeling man. But exciting too! We enjoyed each other’s company. I do think he is absolutely perfect for me. It’s as if no man ever before or will ever again be as right for me as Henry Battenberg.”
“Oh, bosh!” Helena groaned. “Is that what you think marriage is about? All romance and cuddles? Well, let me tell you—no man is perfect. The sooner you realize that the better. All you can do is to hope that you get one who doesn’t beat you or the children, who will give you a little of his time now and then but otherwise leave you in peace.”
Louise glared at her. “Do shut up, Lenchen. Why spoil the dream for the girl? If she’s in love, let her enjoy being in love. It’s a difficult enough world without you or Mama crushing whatever little happiness we can find in our lives.”
Beatrice watched Helena pout and bounce the baby on her lap, while her older child tugged at her skirts for attention. But Helena wasn’t done with her.
“The problem is,” she said, “can you trust this man? I’m sure we’d all like to believe he’s sincere.”
“Lenchen, please—”
“I’m just being protective of my little sister, Louise. Don’t berate me for caring about her happiness and warning her. I mean, how well do any of us really know this Henry Battenberg? His brother once made overtures toward Beatrice then backed off. Maybe Henry will do the same. I don’t want to see her heart broken again.”
Beatrice winced. Was that possible? Henry might not honestly and deeply enough care about her to stay interested for more than a few weeks or months?
“Neither do I wish to see her hurt,” Louise said calmly. “But let’s not assume the worst. Liko clearly has thought this through. He has timed his proposal—and it certainly seems to be that—hoping for a positive response. And he’s even asked Beatrice first, rather than putting her in an awkward position in front of Mama.” Louise released her embrace, took Beatrice’s shoulders between her hands and moved her slightly away to better look her in the eyes. “The question is, how do you feel about all of this, Bea? Do you really and truly love him? Is marriage what you want?”
“I know it would mean making many changes in my life,” Beatrice said. “Some, I’m sure I will like very much. Others make me a little nervous, or even afraid.”
“As well you should be,” Helena huffed. “Can you imagine what Mama will say to this Henry if he actually pleads his case for marriage to Baby? Why, she’ll go through the roof. She’ll never allow it. Never in a million years.”
Louise stamped her foot at her sister. “Stop that, Lenchen! If you and I have the right to marry, then Bea ought to be allowed to have her own life, her own husband, her own family. She shouldn’t be deprived simply because she’s the last girl in the family, or because having her here to care for Mama is a convenience to us, her brothers and sisters.”
Helena stared at her, open mouthed. “A convenience? You make it sound as if we’re all so careless of her feelings. As if we’re using Beatrice. That’s not it at all.”
“Oh yes it is,” Beatrice snapped before she could stop herself. She cast her eyes down at the lush Persian carpet beneath her feet. “Louise is right. As long as I’m here, providing Mama with constant companionship, serving as her helpmate, she pretty much leaves the rest of you alone. All you have to do is visit now and then, like this, for a few days or weeks out of each year. You can then go on with your own lives. I am the one who has stayed and taken up the burden of her happiness. I am the one who will always be alone.” She couldn’t stop a sob from working its way up through her throat.
Louise put an arm around her. “No. You don’t have to always be alone. Love will find a way; it always does. Mama will have to give in if you are persistent. If Henry pleads his case well, and you insist upon having him, she will give her blessing. Eventually.”
“So sayeth the Almighty Louise!” Helena burst out bitterly. She was jiggling the baby on her knee so violently the child’s teeth would have been chattering, had she any. “Can you claim your own marriage has been in every way fulfilling?” She rolled her eyes when Louise didn’t immediately answer. “I thought not. We’ve all heard the rumors about your husband and his dirty little escapades with young m—”
“Enough!” Louise shouted, blushing furiously.
“The point is—Bea could go to all sorts of trouble, destroy her relationship with Mama over this man, break both her own and Mama’s hearts…and for what? She has everything here at the palace she could possibly need.”
“Everything,” Beatrice said, “except a family of my own. Except happiness.”
“And sexual fulfillment.” Louise crossed her arms over her chest and raised a single eyebrow meaningfully at Helena. “Let’s not forget that delightful benefit of producing a family.”
Helena made a disgusted face. “Louise, please. You don’t have to use such filthy language.”
“You were the one who brought up sexual preferences.”
“Please, sisters, don’t let’s argue,” Beatrice pleaded. “I’m desperate. I need your help. What do I say to him? I do love Henry, I’m sure of it. I’m just so very afraid of what Mama will do to the poor man if he comes to claim me.”
Helena looked as if she was going to say something more, but Louise shot her a final glance, sharp as a Scottish dirk. “Tell Henry that you return his love,” Louise said, “if that’s how you feel. Encourage him to come for you. Two are always better than one when it comes to confronting Mama.”
“An armed battalion is more like it,” Helena muttered.
Louise ignored her. “In the meantime, for I’m sure it will take him a week or more to make arrangements for the trip, talk to her. Tell her that you want to marry Henry Battenberg. If big brother Louis was good enough for her beloved granddaughter, Henry is good enough for you.”
“I don’t know,” Beatrice sighed.
Louise put an arm around her. “Of course, she’ll be all bluster and denial at first. That’s just the way she is. She didn’t really want Helena or me to marry, not after losing Vicky and Alice to foreign husbands.”
“It’s true,” Helena added, sounding less combative now that things had been decided. “Something changed in her after Papa died. She suddenly decided she had to protect us from men, or some such crazy notion.”
“You can’t let her stop you from being happy, Bea,” Louise said.
“I don’t know that I can be that brave,” Beatrice whispered. Even now she could feel her stomach souring, and one of her attacks of raspy breathing coming on. “I’m not as strong as you, Louise. If Mama doesn’t want me to marry there will be little I can do to change her mind.”
“We’ll see about that,” Louise said firmly. “When you are ready to speak to her, I will go with you if you like.” She pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from the sleeve of her blouse and blotted the tears that had pooled beneath Beatrice’s eyes. “Now write to your sweet Henry and tell him what is in your heart.”
13
Before Gregory left for London, he needed to tackle one final matter back home in Scotland. Her name was Margaret Graham.
He’d visit his voluptuous, red-tressed mistress at her father’s cottage. After enjoying her generous company for a few hours while the men were in the fields, he would break the news to her of
his upcoming absence. He’d give her as little real information as possible—he was off to make his fortune, to provide for the future for both of them, he’d say—but reassure her he would soon return for her. After all, what if Wilhelm’s crazy plan didn’t work? Then he’d be back where he’d started, in Aberdeenshire, but without the pleasure of the most beautiful woman in the shire. For he never doubted Meggie would find herself another man if she suspected he’d left forever.
He collected his horse from the stables of the manor house that had been in his family for generations. He rode the three miles down the hillside, into the vale. It was a glorious day, as stunning as any he’d known in the Highlands. Rusty-brown dirt fields basking in the sunlight, crops beginning to sprout, spring flowers a riot of color amongst the yellow-green virgin grass, a sky as blue as a songbird’s melody is sweet. Nothing about it foretold anything but good fortune.
When he arrived at Frank Graham’s cottage on the usual day of his trysts with the farmer’s daughter—Meggie wasn’t waiting outside for him on the stoop. Puzzled by this, he left his horse, mounted the slab-granite steps worn hollow in the middle by a hundred years of footfalls, and pushed on the plank door. It didn’t budge. He knocked.
“Who is it?” Meggie sang out, far too sweetly.
He scowled. “You know damn well who it is, girl.” If anyone else had been at home, he was sure they would have called out to him. Why this sudden coyness? He put his shoulder to the splintery wood and, forcing the rusty latch, shoved his way inside. “What’s going on, Meg?”
She sat at the rough-hewn oak table in the middle of the room, a candle burning on a chipped saucer at its center, sending shimmers of gold through her thick mane. In her cupped hands she held a mug. He smelled whisky.
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