‘Isabelle,’ he said softly, ‘Why did you come here tonight? You know I have nothing to offer.’ His dark eyelashes swept down, hiding his thoughts. ‘What Bonaparte didn’t destroy has been lost at Vienna or Paris.’ He looked up and smiled. The hardness had gone. He looked younger. He smiled the way he had in Warwick House’s garden. Open, honest, with a trace of sadness in his eyes. It had tugged at her heart then and it did so now. ‘But I can swear that it was not my intent to hurt you or the princess.’
Her chest ached with the longing to believe him. Her body yearned to lean against him. She snatched back the traitorous hand that lingered in the warmth of his. He’d handed her a rose that day and she’d given him her heart. The castles she’d woven in a glow of happiness had tumbled down around her ears when she realised his reason for singling her out. Such a fool.
His gaze was fixed on her mouth. ‘How long before you are missed?’ His voice was hoarse. Hunger heated his eyes. The same hunger she felt. The air in the stables changed, became so charged with electricity she could feel the prickles of it along her skin.
He reached out to take her hand.
Fearful of her response to his touch, she whipped her hands behind her back. ‘For all I know they could be looking for me now.’ She retreated towards the door.
He stepped in front of her, a solid wall of muscle and bone and bay-scented male. The heat from his body curled around her. Large warm hands caught her by the upper arms.
She froze.
Holding her fast with one hand on her shoulder, he tipped her face up with a knuckle beneath her chin. ‘Look at me, Isabelle.’
Drawn by the gentleness in his tone, she gazed into his harshly handsome face.
‘You should not have followed me,’ he murmured.
‘I know,’ she whispered, knowing she could not have stayed away. ‘I wanted to see you again.’ The admission pained her when he seemed so unmoved.
Or was he?
Slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull free, he lowered his head, brushed his mouth across her lips. Once, twice, a soft velvety kiss, too pure. Too gentle. Too kind.
They would never meet again. It would be the last time she would see him alone.
Loss filled her.
She flung her arms around his neck, pressed her body against his hard muscled length, revelled in the feel of him against her soft curves. She raked her fingers through his thick black hair where it curled over his shirt. Felt his heat against her body and trembled with desire.
His tongue traced a path along the seam of her lips and instinctively she opened her mouth to taste him. Their tongues met and tangled and danced. Her heart drummed in her chest, in her ears, all through her blood. Never had she felt so alive, or so near to melting.
His large hands roamed her back, drawing her tighter against him, his hard thigh pressing between her legs, his hands cupping her buttocks, drawing her close until she felt waves of pleasure beating at her core.
He broke their kiss with a sound like a groan rumbling up from his chest. Breathing hard, he stared down at her with a faint smile on his lips. Something flickered in the depths of his eyes. Heat, yes, but also determination. ‘You had better leave now.’
Her legs felt so weak, her head so dizzy, she clung to his shoulders. ‘Yes.’ Her feet refused to move.
He stood her away from him with gentle firmness and regret, as if he, too, felt sorry this would never happen again. The pain in her heart grew until she thought she would shatter. She shivered and rubbed at her bare arms.
‘You are freezing,’ he said.
Not from the chill of the evening. This icy feeling came from deep inside.
He picked up his jacket, its gold buttons and braid winking in the light of the lanterns. He placed it around her shoulders. ‘Come. I will see you safely inside.’
She shook her head. ‘We must not be seen together.’
His expression hardened. ‘I will not let you go alone.’
Against every feeling of pride, she could not help but ask, ‘Will I see you tomorrow?’
His jaw flexed. ‘I leave for London in the morning.’
She ought to be glad. For her own sake. She felt empty. She nodded her acceptance.
In silence, he returned her to the side door of the house, a quiet knock and she was admitted. She didn’t dare look back for fear she would see relief on his face. And what little pride she had left would not allow it.
Chapter Three
London, May 2, 1816
Two months had passed when Nikki tracked Prince Leopold down at Clarence House in St James’s. The footman who took his card up returned in short order and ushered him in.
Nikki bowed low as befit his friend’s newly exalted position. ‘May I offer my warmest congratulations on your wedding day, Your Excellency.’
‘Nikki.’ Leo left his conversation with Stockmar and Hardenbrook and strode forward, hand outstretched. ‘I’ve missed you. I have been hearing such rumours too. Are you well?’
The genuine pleasure in his old comrade-in-arm’s face unknotted the hard ball in Nikki’s gut. The prince was a good man and a good friend, but much had altered since they served their countries against the Corsican monster. They’d both struggled to change miserable destinies. Leo had succeeded beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. ‘I am well. And dibs in tune too.’
Leo frowned. ‘So the rumours are true. You spend your time gambling and wenching.’
‘Do not believe all you hear. Am I invited to your wedding?’
The frown deepened. ‘You are not terribly popular with my bride. You left her little pet looking sad despite my warning.’
The hackles at the back of his neck rose at the criticism. He shrugged it off. ‘We had unresolved matters between us.’
Leo’s brown eyes were sombre. ‘After the wedding she goes home to Kent. The princess is to have only married ladies about her.’
‘And what about you? Will you have only married gentlemen?’
‘Don’t tell me you have fixed upon an heiress to wed?’ He shook his head. ‘Ah, no. Or you would not have gone to the tables every night.’
Leo knew him too well. He grinned. ‘Every heiress in sight has been locked up by her papa.’ Not that he wanted an heiress.
Leo grunted. ‘I regret I do not have it in my power to offer you a place. There are important English noblemen vying for too few positions. The settlement approved by Parliament will not support the two houses I am granted as well as a large retinue. I will not risk going into debt.’
‘Sixty thousand pounds a year is not to be sneezed at,’ Nikki said with a grin. He raised a hand when Leo looked as if he would protest. ‘I know. It is tied to your public duties. Do Stockmar and Hardenbrook remain with you?’
Leo nodded. ‘They are unlikely to set up any backs.’
Unlike Nikki. Leo didn’t have to say the words. Nikki respected his decision.
The prince shrugged philosophically. ‘This English Parliament is careful and naturally so. They will want to see how well we manage, before they loosen the purse strings further. They are looking for sober respectability, not drunken orgies. What will you do now?’
‘Don’t worry about me, Excellency. I have my future well in hand.’
‘Take care some irate Englishman doesn’t cut your throat for winning his all.’
‘You worry too much. Care to place a wager on the outcome?’
‘Not against your luck.’
‘Luck is a fickle mistress.’
‘So are women.’
They sank into the comfortable silence of old friends. Outside, beyond the windows, arose a great deal of shouting and clapping. ‘Sounds like a party out there,’ Nikki said, glancing at the casement where Stockmar stood looking out.
‘They’ve been at it all morning,’ Leo said. ‘They only stop if I make an appearance, and not for long.’
‘You’ve done well, Leo. Got the masses on your side, and a princess to love you. The newspapers
have been full of the wedding for weeks. It is quite a prize you’ve won for yourself, this kingdom of Britain.’ Hopefully his own plans would go as well.
The prince smiled his grave smile. ‘There’s a wildness about you today, Nikki. I’ve seen that look in your eye on the battlefield. Whatever it is you are about, swear you will do nothing until my affairs are irrevocably settled. Promise me that for our friendship’s sake.’
Nikki reined in his impatience. Leo should know better than to think he would do anything to harm his friend. Although, no doubt the wager he’d engaged with Prince Augustus remained as a black mark. ‘I give you my word.’ He grinned. ‘But only if I am invited to see my old friend leg-shackled.’
Leo nodded. ‘Expect an invitation at your lodgings. Be warned though, the princess defends her ladies like a mother lion. She has claws.’ He sounded as if he’d been scratched a time or two.
All this while they had been speaking French. ‘And how are your lessons coming along?’ Nikki teased in English. Leo had practiced on him all the way to England. Now he had proper tutors.
‘Cursed language,’ Leo muttered under his breath, also in English. Then he gave his sweet smile. ‘But I persevere. Mein gott, but I try.’
‘You do well,’ Nikki said. ‘No worse than the last generation of Hanovers. Or the Prince Regent’s wife, Princess Caroline.’
‘Stay away from that woman, Nikki. Whatever goodness she had is long gone. She has more than once involved Princess Charlotte in her machinations. My bride confessed the whole of it.’
Nikki grimaced. ‘Caroline holds no interest for me.’
‘Your Highness.’ Stockmar had a huge smile on his face. ‘The crowds once more become impatient. Another visit to the balcony is in order.’
A pained expression crossed Leo’s face.
‘They love you,’ Nikki said. ‘I was amongst the crowd when you entered the city. I’ve never seen Londoners so enthused. Give them what they want. The mob becomes jaded soon enough.’
Stockmar threw open the French doors to the balcony. The noise increased tenfold. Leo shuddered, then straightened his shoulders, and Nikki was reminded of their youth, when they’d risked so much for their countries. At least his friend had made the right choices. Nikki was about to risk everything on his next play.
He clapped the prince on the back and gave him an encouraging smile, much as he had before they mounted up to ride into battle. ‘At least they won’t be shooting at you. I will attend you later.’
‘Come here for dinner first. Dress uniform,’ Leo said. He took a deep breath and headed for the waiting crowds.
Nikki smiled grimly. He was going to need more than a uniform to get through tonight. He was going to need the devil’s own luck and a silver tongue.
The princess left Buckingham House for Carlton House in her open carriage at exactly half past eight accompanied by Isabelle, Mrs Campbell and two other ladies. The queen had gone ahead. ‘You were right,’ the princess said quietly to Isabelle when they were under way and the noise of the wheels drowned her voice. ‘He is all I hoped for and more.’
‘I am happy for you, Your Highness,’ Isabelle whispered back. In the past few weeks of preparations there had been no time for private conversation.
The carriage turned into the mall. Masses of people lined the roadside, cheering and waving their hats.
‘Bless me,’ the princess said, leaping up to wave back. She grinned. ‘What a crowd.’ Her father certainly never received such a warm welcome and well she knew it.
‘Sit down, Your Highness, please,’ Mrs Campbell said. ‘The queen would never forgive me if you fell.’
The princess sat, but continued to wave with great enthusiasm to the delight of the people until they turned into the gates at Carlton House where a band played ‘God Save the King’ with great gusto.
Princess Charlotte was directed to the royal closet where her bridegroom, the Prince of Wales and Duke and Duchess of Orléans were waiting. The queen and other members of the royal family accompanied by selected attendants were accommodated in rooms adjacent to the throne room.
At just after nine o’clock, all the guests were ushered to the Crimson Salon. Women in gold or silver gowns superbly embroidered fanned themselves. Their feather plumes waved to and fro as they gossiped and admired one another’s gowns. Many of the English gentlemen present wore the uniform of the House of Windsor, a dark blue coat lavishly embroidered across the front and high standing collar with gold bullion. Some wore military uniforms, red or blue, and they flashed and glittered almost as much as the ladies. The ambassadors and ministers from every country in Europe had their own style of magnificent dress. On her way to her seat, Isabelle kept a careful eye out for the swords they wore on their hips.
Isabelle was delighted with her own gown for the occasion. Mrs Louis kindly suggested a white crêpe off-the-shoulder gown handsomely ornamented with blond and silver lace around the neck. A pink satin sash and train finished what was the prettiest dress she had ever worn. It brought out the soft grey of her eyes. Her hair was dressed in a simple braid woven with pink ribbon at her crown and a cascade of curls around her face.
Too bad there was no one to care if she looked her best.
Seated off to one side against the wall in the crowded room, Isabelle had a good view of the crimson-covered altar bearing the ancient royal communion plate brought from the Chapel Royal in St James’s Palace. Six-foot candles towered over the whole. On the floor in front of the altar dais sat a pair of crimson velvet-cushioned stools. The Archbishop of Canterbury stood ready to perform the service aided by the Bishop of London. The sumptuous room was, as usual, exceedingly hot.
Waiting at the altar, the Prince of Wales wore scarlet regimentals. Beside him Prince Leopold looked splendid in the dark blue and gilt uniform of an English general with a sword and belt studded with diamonds. His gentlemen stood proudly to attention behind him and Nikki was amongst them! She had to admit he looked dashing in his Russian hussar uniform of dark blue trimmed with gold lace, the fur-edged pelisse hanging from one shoulder. As if he sensed her watching him, his gaze found hers. A small smile played about his lips, and her heart gave a painful squeeze. Would she ever see him without feeling such hopeless longing?
Hearing the rumours about Nikki’s exploits in London, the gambling in halls, the debauchery, had been hard to bear while staying at Cranborne Lodge these past few weeks, but she was determined to present a happy face and forget Nikki and his kisses.
Every time she recalled the feel of his mouth on hers, she went hot and shivery.
She would, she told herself, be glad to go home. To put this time in her life behind her.
The queen took a chair near the front with her daughters and her own ladies gathered around her.
All was ready. A breathless hush came over the guests as Princess Charlotte walked regally into the room. Her gown of silver lamé on net over a silver tissue slip glittered with thousands of points of lights. A delicate silvery train floated from her shoulders. Rich frills of lace skimmed her generous bosom and edged the small puffed sleeves. The fabric brought out the remarkable luminescence of her pale skin. Diamonds set amongst a wreath of rosebuds flashed fire in her gold curls. She looked every inch a fairy princess in the sumptuous surroundings of crimson.
The guests gasped their appreciation of the vision she presented. Isabelle smiled proudly.
Prince Leopold stepped forward to take his place on one side, while the Prince Regent stood on the other. Hand in hand, the couple knelt before the archbishop. His words rang through the room. Charlotte spoke her responses clearly and distinctly. Leopold’s voice was quieter, but no less firm. The vows over, the groom gallantly drew his bride to her feet. At that moment the Tower guns thundered the good news to the people of London.
The princess lifted her face for her father’s kiss and he bestowed his blessing with a hearty paternal hug before relinquishing her to her groom. Next came a kiss from the queen and t
he congratulations of her aunts. The glow of happiness on the young bride’s face and the expression of love in both of the newlyweds’ eyes as they smiled at each other augured well for the future.
Isabelle’s heart swelled with joy for her royal mistress.
The formalities over, footmen rushed around with glasses of libation. The assembled company lifted their glasses in honour of the happy couple to much laughter and many congratulations. Not too many minutes passed before Prince Leopold drew his bride away to change for their journey. He was not so fortunate as to miss the eagle eye of the queen, who clutched at Mrs Campbell’s arm. ‘Go with them, Mrs Campbell. Ride bodkin between them for proprieties’ sake.’
With a horrified expression, Mrs Campbell backed away. ‘Not if my life depends upon it, Your Majesty.’
While the queen loudly expressed her disgust with Mrs Campbell’s disobedience, the newlyweds slipped away. A carriage was waiting to take them to Oatlands, the Duke of York’s house, where they would spend their honeymoon.
Nowhere in the crowded room did Isabelle catch a glimpse of Nikki’s tall figure. He must have left at the ceremony’s conclusion. Not that she was looking for him. She wasn’t. In such a crowded room, only the very commonplace could be spoken without remark. And Nikki and commonplace did not go well together. Certainly not where she was concerned. When she was sure Lady Ilchester’s attention was otherwise engaged, Isabelle made her way outside. She had earlier made a pact with Princess Charlotte to wave farewell from the garden gate.
The carriage, hitched to a team of greys sporting fluttering white favours, was already standing by. The coachman touched his hat. ‘Are they nearly ready, my lady?’
‘Not long now, I am sure,’ she said with a smile.
A few moments later, the prince escorted the princess out of the house. Dressed in a white satin travelling cape with white fur trim over a gown trimmed with Brussels point lace and a smart satin bonnet trimmed with a plume of ostrich feathers, she looked as if she floated on air. She gave Isabelle an impulsive kiss on the cheek before the prince helped her into the carriage. Once inside, she let down the window and leaned out. ‘Goodbye, dear Lady Isabelle,’ she called in her boisterous way. ‘Do visit us at Claremont when we are settled.’
Princess Charlotte's Choice Page 3
