Beatrice turned with an aching heart to her mother.
The Queen stared into the distance. Silent. As if she hadn’t heard a word that had passed Gladstone’s lips. At last, she turned her head to fix the man in her coldest, most disapproving glare. “What you are suggesting is impossible, sir. I will not tamper with the sovereignty of another nation. The line of succession is sacrosanct. If I were to act to keep Willy from his throne, what precedent might that set at the time of my own death? Who might then contrive to wrest the crown from Bertie, from my own son?”
Gladstone shook his head grimly. “There have been rumors—” he drew a deep breath, and Beatrice thought she could see pain in his aging features “—that your grandson might use his position and power to bring about regrettable changes in Europe. That he might even attempt to encourage yet another war to gain territory for his empire, forcing nations on the Continent, and their allies, to take sides. The entire world would likely be thrown into mayhem. We cannot allow this to happen.” He stood up and started to pace. “Wilhelm is young and capricious and unpredictable. Without the wisdom of his father to temper his whims—”
“Capricious? Unpredictable?” Victoria huffed. “You’re being far too diplomatic, sir. Willy is insane. I’ve never doubted it. His temper tantrums, cruelty, and selfishness are dangerous. I won’t argue with you on that point.” The little queen drew herself up in her chair and met the PM’s worried gaze. “But let me be clear—there is very little I can do to stop him from taking up the crown when his father dies, short of murdering my own grandson. And I shan’t participate in such a plot.”
Beatrice was writing as fast as she could. Should she even be copying down this conversation? She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. In recent years, Ponsonby had taken over so many of the secretarial duties she hadn’t needed to be included in the most sensitive political meetings. She didn’t mind because, most of the time, they bored her to tears. But this was critical. Not just to Britain but, it seemed, to all of Europe.
“Surely Willy would listen to you, Mama,” Beatrice whispered close to her mother’s ear, “as you’ve ruled for so long and gained so much experience.”
The queen shook her head mournfully. “Your sister gave birth to a tyrant. No one believed me when he was a child. Now the world will see.”
Beatrice’s stomach twisted with worry. She had always felt sorry for her nephew. His crippled arm, his awkward attempts to hide his defect. And yet he was quick witted and often brilliant when it came to his studies. She had told a young Willy how proud she was of him for his mind, and he’d seemed pleased. But he’d rewarded her compliment by tossing her favorite muff out through the carriage window as they rode through muddy London streets.
“We will wait and see what transpires,” Victoria said. “If he comes to the throne within the next year or two, perhaps I will have some influence over him. I will try, God knows. But if Bismarck continues to alienate him from Britain, then we may have a problem.”
Gladstone shook his head. “All of the world will have a problem if his threats and bellicose posturing become a reality.” He paused as if to think through his next words. “Your Majesty might be wise to consider how far she is willing to go, to stop him.”
Beatrice watched her mother’s face. She looked ten years older than she had at breakfast that day. But she also looked ready for a fight. “I assume this morning’s conversation between us shall remain in your confidence.”
“Absolutely,” the PM agreed. “The utmost discretion is called for. In fact, the fewer people who know about this, the better. The foreign office suspects Wilhelm may have planted spies in London. I wouldn’t be surprised if he attempts to infiltrate your Court.”
Beatrice stopped writing. “Should I not even be taking notes on this subject?”
The queen and prime minister exchanged looks.
Her mother said, “These will go into my private files. They are absolutely secure. And none of us in this room will discuss the matter with anyone who doesn’t absolutely need to know.”
Gladstone nodded solemnly. “Even so, think twice before you trust anyone with what is in your heart, Your Majesty. The least sign of weakness on your part, or England’s, might encourage aggression.”
25
Beatrice left her mother’s office late that afternoon, still shaken by the prime minister’s words. A war. Hadn’t they had enough of that?
The Crimean War had robbed Britain of thousands of her youngest and finest young men. Women whom she personally knew had gone to the front to nurse the wounded and come back with stories of working for a tough-minded young woman with the oddly delicate name of Nightingale. The horrendous tales they brought home had reduced Beatrice to tears. Unarmed men had been slaughtered by the hundreds because there weren’t enough weapons to go around. And because their officers were untrained, inept, and foolishly proud. Most of these officers had bought their way into the upper ranks with their families’ money. They knew nothing of war; it was all a romantic adventure, a game to them. But the game pieces they played with were human beings, whose lives they carelessly ordered into impossible battles.
Did people never learn? Hadn’t history demonstrated innumerable times the price paid for greed and violence? If it wasn’t a war between nations, tribes, or religions—then it was a revolution. More fighting. She hated it all! The thought that her nephew might someday have a hand in creating yet another hell on earth, with thousands more dying, was just too much for her to bear on her own. She desperately wanted the company of Henry Battenberg—gentle, level-headed, beautiful Henry. The man she’d come to love.
She had arranged to meet him in the palace garden at dusk. Her mother was so preoccupied with the Prime Minister’s fear of subversion within her court that she hadn’t objected when Beatrice told her she planned to go with friends to the opera that evening.
Henry was waiting for her in the gazebo. When she came up the steps he turned, azure eyes flashing his joy, rushed to her, and they embraced. Being held in his long arms was the only salve she needed. She pressed her cheek to his chest and felt as comforted as if she was sipping from a cup of warm Dutch cocoa.
But that peace lasted but a minute. Then she felt other, stronger emotions. The exhilaration of a gallop across sun-spangled poppy fields. The first heart-throbbing notes of a Viennese waltz. Standing there enfolded in his arms, his lips pressed to her, she thought: We are lovers. Lovers! Or soon would be.
Such was her bliss at that moment, she would have done anything for him. Anything at all to make this man happy. But she suspected that might require a little more of her physically than an occasional hug or kiss. For she felt that particularly satisfying firmness below his sword belt that he was taking no pains to hide from her. She blushed at the thought of his arousal and felt a secret thrill. Maybe, after all, the sexual act wouldn’t be as bad as Mama suggested. Maybe it would be glorious.
“We’d better not tarry,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I can’t trust myself to be a gentleman when we’re alone like this. You are so deliciously enticing.” He nuzzled her neck, which tickled and made her laugh with delight. Henry cleared his throat and smiled at her apologetically. “Anyway, the opera begins at eight o’clock, and will last until after midnight if the reviews are accurate. Let’s go along so we don’t miss the overture.”
This, too, was a new experience for her. She had never attended the opera, ballet, or theater with anyone other than family members. Always closely watched. Always protected from possible male predators, even her own brothers, by the women in the family. And now here she was, alone with a man who excited her beyond her wildest dreams.
“I’ve arranged for a barouche from the royal mews,” she said, managing to keep her voice from quivering with anticipation.
“I’d hoped you would. I released the hansom cab that I took to get here.” He held her away from him for a moment and looked her over. “You grow more b
eautiful every time I see you. How is that possible?”
She laughed, unable to come back with a witty response. She held his words in her heart. I’m beautiful. He desires me. Never had she believed she’d hear such words from a man.
The carriage ride to the opera house took only minutes. They held hands all the way. Soon they were seated in the royal box. Alone. For no one else at Court had come tonight. Beatrice wondered if, somehow, Henry had arranged it to be so.
She looked around, feeling like a different woman entirely. A more independent woman. A woman with a future and a say in her own life—who had private, delectable sensations bubbling up through her body. Her body felt ten degrees warmer, all over. Her heart felt lighter than ever before. Here she was, like any of the grand ladies from her mother’s Court, escorted by one of the handsomest men in Continental society.
She sensed people taking notice of them, perhaps guessing at their relationship. Did they have any idea that she and Henry were an engaged couple? Well, at least pledged to each other, engaged in their hearts. Or did the nosey old things assume she and Henry were illicit lovers? She didn’t care. Let them gossip. She couldn’t have been happier.
During intermission, Henry sent the footman stationed at their box for Champagne and a tray of cakes. After the man left them, Henry took her hand in his and placed it on his knee, as if encouraging her to lay claim to him. When she glanced down at his lap, out of curiosity, he lifted her chin to make her meet his eyes. She blushed, realizing he must have known what she was looking for.
He smiled and gave a subtle nod of his head. The message: Yes, that’s what your touch does to me. “Tomorrow, my love, I am going to your mother,” he said. “I have requested an audience with her in the morning, and will ask for your hand then. I am prepared to reassure her in every possible way that I will be the best of husbands and will in no way interfere with the affection shared by the two of you.”
Her pulse escalated, tripping over itself—joyful one moment, timid and fearful the next. “Henry, I can’t promise her reception will be pleasant.”
“The queen may say what she likes. But I intend to reassure her that I will bring you to London or Balmoral or anywhere she chooses, as often as the two of you like. I see nothing standing in our way, once she realizes she isn’t really losing you, dear girl.”
Beatrice shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s unpredictable these days, and she sounded so very firm when she said no to our engagement the first time.”
“And if she says no again, what will you do, Beatrice?” He looked at her pleadingly. Was he asking if she dared ignore her mother’s wishes? Was he asking if she would leave her family and run away with him?
Tears came to Beatrice’s eyes. She shook her head. “I just don’t know.”
It was as if she’d thrown a bucketful of water on his flame. He gently pulled his hands away from her and started to turn away.
She seized his arm in desperation. “Henry, please. You have to understand. I’m all she has now. It’s not just that she’s my mother. She’s the queen of England. If I desert her, I can’t say what that will do to her ability to rule our empire. She’s under so much pressure. There are things happening now that vex her so and need her full attention. A great many people depend upon her. If I leave her—”
“Stop. You need say nothing more.” His expression had waned from teasing to dismal. His eyes dulled, blue to gray. His lips pinched together in regret.
She swallowed over the salty taste at the back of her throat. “Are you angry with me?”
“I—no, not angry. Disappointed.” But the light had left his beautiful eyes, and it was all her fault. He went on, his voice sounding strained, “I believed if you loved me enough, even if she refused her blessing, you would come away with me. I thought—oh, hell, Beatrice. Yes, I’m angry. Furious that we’re both made so helpless by an old woman.”
“An old woman who happens to reign over a good part of the world.” She said it as soothingly as she could, willing away his fury.
“Yes.” He gave her a thin, wavering smile, as if even that had cost him. “I know now what I must do. I will go to her and plead my case. I must convince her. Because you see, my darling, I don’t wish to return to Germany without you.”
When he kissed her this time, her heart melted—a little snowball held in his palms and now nothing but a puddle. Never in her life had she felt so exquisitely alive…or so very vulnerable and frightened.
26
Gregory hadn’t told Meg which day he’d arrive in Aberdeenshire. That bought him at least one night at the MacAlister manse before he saw her. Now that he’d learned the lay of the land from his brother, he lay awake considering his options—none of which were pleasant. By dawn, though, he’d decided on the wisest course of action.
The next morning Gregory set out on horseback for the Graham farm. He found Meg in the vegetable garden behind the house, down on her hands and knees in the moist Highland dirt, sowing potato eyes. He rode past, without alerting her to his presence.
Continuing on across the stony fields he finally spotted her father and brothers. The younger men stopped working to look up at him, wary aggression in their eyes. So they knew. She’d told them. The laird’s son had impregnated their little sister. No doubt the only thing that kept them from killing him on the spot was the old man, who wouldn’t want to lose two sons to a nobleman’s wrath.
Gregory dismounted and strode up to the old man, cap in hand as a perspective son-in-law should do. “Mr. Graham. I’ve come to ask your daughter Margaret’s hand in marriage, sir.” He looked the old man dead in the eyes. “I want to make an honest woman of her, if she’ll have me.”
Alvin Graham’s posture altered—spine straightening, shoulders shooting back. The farmer’s sons exchanged surprised looks.
“Will you give us your blessing, sir?”
Meg’s father chuckled. “Well, I’ll be.” Grinning, he stuck out his hand and pulled Gregory in to thump his back. “Good on you, son. Yes, ye’ll have me blessings and congratulations too. When will the day be, young sir?”
“If it’s all right with Meggie, I want our wedding to come as soon as possible,” he said solemnly. “I’m needed back in London but wish to marry here in my home county before I return to the city. With Meggie at my side, of course. If we announce bans tomorrow, and the priest will do us a service next week, I’ll be most pleased.”
“Yes, yes!” The old man’s eyes glimmered. “She’ll like that too, I’m sure. Ye’ll be off to tell her now?”
“I will.”
Her brothers offered their good wishes too, although he wasn’t convinced they were as heartfelt as her father’s. Then Gregory rode back the way he’d come and found his woman where he’d left her in the dirt.
After he told Meg of his conversation with her father, she threw herself, weeping, into his arms. “Oh, my sweet, sweet Gregory. You’ve made me so very happy,” she cried.
“You’ll be happier still on our wedding day, I hope.”
“Oh, Greggie. I do so love you.”
“And I love you,” he said, holding her. He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “’til death do us part, my sweet.”
The proposed wedding date, although just five days after bans were announced, was approved by the priest. Gregory explained to anyone who remarked on the odd timing that he was anxious to be back in London, as he didn’t want the queen’s stable master to lose his good opinion of him. And then, of course, he’d need to find appropriate accommodations in the city for his wife.
Early on the morning of the wedding, Gregory took two of his father’s best riding horses down to the farm and found Meg with a garrulous flock of women from the village, in the tiny, hot farmhouse kitchen, cooking up the wedding feast.
“You’ve been working all week,” he said. “Don’t wear yourself out, love. Come, let’s go for a ride and let the ladies who won’t be wearing a veil h
andle the food.”
They all encouraged her, accompanied by laughter and warnings to not allow the groom favors before the wedding night, despite general knowledge she already carried his child.
“But this is the kind of work I don’t mind at all,” she objected, clinging around his neck while kissing his nose, his forehead, his lips. “Seems I’ve waited all of my life for this day.”
He smiled at her patiently but said nothing as he helped her onto the chestnut gelding he’d brought for her.
They rode out across the moor, brilliant with wild flowers thrusting their sunny faces up at a cloudless sky.
She shrieked with joy. “Oh I’m so glad you suggested we ride today, Greggie my darling. It’s glorious, the air so sweet with blooms and a sky like one big ribbon of blue satin.” She threw her head back and laughed.
“It is fine,” he agreed. “Quite fine.” Gregory looked across the wide open turf. The land seemed to stretch out forever to the east, to the north was the manor house, but to the west and less than half a mile away, the woods lay. Little sunlight would penetrate the green canopy to brighten the few trails.
Meggie wanted to race to the edge of the woods. He let her win and kissed her as a prize. “Let’s ride a ways into the forest,” he suggested.
“Oh dearie, I know what you have in mind now.” She wagged a finger at him. “There’ll be none of that on the night before my wedding.”
“I promised I’d wait to make love to you again until after we’d said our vows, and I meant it.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “That doesn’t sound like you at all, Greggie.”
“I’m a new man with a new life ahead of me.”
She beamed at him.
“One more race,” he said, “through the trees and to that big oak just where the path splits. You know the one.”
Seducing the Princess Page 17
