The archbishop was speaking in that singsong voice of his that was at once soft yet somehow carried to the very back of the grandest church. Louise let the words wash over her, a warm and calming stream. She daydreamed of her honeymoon—Lorne making tender love to her, his soft hands opening her gown to touch the places on her body that most longed for his caresses. And she would discover ways to please him.
The images in her mind brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. She raised her eyelashes shyly to glance up at him in anticipation.
Their gazes met.
He grinned and winked. Did he know what she was thinking?
It was at that moment something odd caught her eye. A motion off to her left and above. Startled, she turned her head just far enough to take in her mother’s box.
John Brown, once a lowly gillie in the queen’s stables at Balmoral in Scotland, and now her personal attendant and self-appointed bodyguard, stood behind Victoria, physically blocking a man who seemed to be trying to force his way into the queen’s box. A frisson of alarm shot through Louise.
“Steady,” Lorne whispered in her ear, grasping her hand. “Brown’s handling it.”
The archbishop, too, seemed to have noticed the disturbance, but he droned on, the ultimate performer under pressure.
Louise glimpsed Victoria waving off Brown. The stranger bent down, as though to whisper something in the queen’s ear. He wore rough riding clothes, a long, dung brown overcoat of a less than fashionable cut, in what appeared to be scuffed leather. He looked unshaven. As if he hadn’t bothered to even run a comb through his spiky black hair. In one hand he held not a stovepipe top hat, which was the only acceptable headwear for a gentleman in London, but a strange wide-brimmed style of black felt hat she’d never seen on any head in all of England.
Louise turned back to face the bishop, fearful of missing the rest of her own wedding. The next time she glanced back, the stranger had gone.
Lorne squeezed her hand, as if to say, All is well.
Was it? She shivered but forced a smile in return.
Then all at once, the archbishop was giving them his blessing. A joyous “Hurrah!” rang out in the chapel. Her new husband kissed her sweetly on the lips, and every concern fled her mind at this excruciatingly joyful moment.
All she could think of was the night that lay before them—her first night as a married woman.
Two
Amanda Locock stood beside the dressing table in the bridal suite at Claremont House while Lady Caroline Barrington unpinned Louise’s hair and brushed it into soft golden brown waves down her back. “I’m so sorry about bringing Eddie with me to your wedding dinner and concert,” Amanda said.
The music that followed the lavish meal at Windsor had been one formal event too many for a restless four-year-old. Amanda walked him up and down the great echo-y hallway outside the grand salon until he’d fallen asleep on her shoulder. She’d been able to bring him back inside in time for her to hear the lovely Bach violin solo, played so beautifully by Herr Joachim.
“You know how unpredictable my husband is. He promised to watch Eddie while I stayed for the reception and concert, but one of his patients was in urgent need of him.”
Louise waved off her concern, reached up and ruffled the little boy’s hair. No longer a toddler, Eddie still loved to be propped on his mother’s hip. He buried his face shyly against her breast now, looking pink-eyed and exhausted by the day’s activities.
“You know I love to see Eddie any chance I get.” Louise opened the drawer in her dressing table and pulled out a tin of saltwater taffies. “What you need, my darling, is a little more energy to get you through the rest of the day.”
“More sugar?” Amanda rolled her eyes. “Henry has this notion that my indulging the child with sweets keeps him up late at night.” But she laughed as he selected with great concentration a single candy from the tin. “Here, love, let me unwrap that for you. Then you go sit on your favorite chair over there and suck on it while I talk to your godmother.”
“He’s growing so fast,” Louise said, her eyes misting with affection as she watched the child stride away from them. “Soon he’ll be all grown up.”
“I know. That’s why I’m particularly happy with the news I have to tell you.” Amanda bounced on her toes and felt she might burst like an iridescent soap bubble with happiness.
“News?”
“I’m with child.” She giggled at Louise’s shriek of joy. “Henry says the baby will be here in August.” They had tried for a brother or sister for Eddie for years, but after miscarrying two babies she’d nearly given up hope. “I didn’t say anything to you sooner because of the other times, you know.” The thought of her lost babes nearly undid her.
Louise shot to her feet, tears in her eyes, nearly knocking over Lady Car in her haste to reach Amanda and clasp her in her arms. “Oh, my dear, I’m so happy for you. Maybe a little girl then?”
“We’ll see. Why so weepy? Are they tears of happiness for me?”
“Of course.”
Amanda knew better. “You and Lorne will have your own brood in no time. You’ll be tripping over little ones.”
Louise laughed and wiped away her teardrops. “I’d love that. Truly.”
“Your Royal Highness,” Lady Car interrupted with a meaningful glance toward the door.
Louise smiled. “Yes, of course.” She turned back to Amanda. “Speaking of Lorne.”
Amanda gasped. “What a ninny I am, standing here gossiping with you while your new husband is waiting to take you off to bed.” She laughed, thrilled for her friend. No matter what Louise might think, Amanda was sure that marriage would agree with her friend. Children meant so very much to her, and Lorne seemed such a stable counterpart to Louise’s sometimes impulsive nature. “Come, Eddie. Let’s run along and let your Auntie Loosy be alone with her new husband.” She cast Louise a knowing look and teased, “Don’t need no pointers from an old married woman, do you now?”
Louise lifted her gaze to the ceiling but watched Lady Car out the door before she responded. “It’s not as though it’s the first time; we both know that.”
Amanda smiled. “ ’deed I do.” She had started toward the doorway when Louise reached out to clasp her arm and hold her back.
“What do I tell him?” Louise’s face was tight with anxiety, her voice tremulous.
Before she answered, Amanda pushed her son a few steps in front of her and out the door. “You wait for me right there,” she instructed him then ducked back inside the bedchamber. “The truth,” she whispered. “What else?”
“I was wondering, maybe I could just say . . . nothing?”
“And you think the man won’t realize you’re not a virgin?” Amanda laughed. “That’s wishful, girl.” She winced. “Sorry I’m reverting to my old ways, Your Highness.”
Louise cuffed her gently on the arm. “Stop that. We stand on no formalities, you and I.” She sighed. “I had guessed, from things my mother said in recent days, that Lorne might already know. So, why bring it up? I mean, it’s quite possible she’s told him about my wild years.”
“About Donovan, you mean?”
Louise shut her eyes and nodded. “I truly did love him, you know. To think he so suddenly took off. Not a word. . . .”
“Most of them do, dear.”
“Well, I suppose I was naïve.”
“Very.”
“And I didn’t know that—”
“Now isn’t the time to blame yourself.” Amanda touched Louise on the shoulder and gave her a comforting smile. “You were so very young. We both were. Anyway Donovan is in the past. I can’t imagine Lorne will reject you when he finds out you’ve had someone before him. Someone who really didn’t matter. Or at least . . . he doesn’t now. Lorne’s such a sensible, modern man.”
Louise bit down on her bottom lip and gave her an anguished look. “I don’t know what to think.” She groaned. “But it would make sense that Mama would have told him I’d ha
d . . . experience. Why else would she champion a marriage with someone who wasn’t a royal? A man with such a minor title.”
“I don’t understand all the fuss.” Shaking her head, Amanda peered out the door to check on Eddie. Lady Car was entertaining him, coaxing the little boy to march up and down the hallway like a Beefeater. “You make it sound as if it’s never been done before, marrying a commoner.”
Louise let out a bitter laugh. “Not for over three hundred years has a daughter of an English monarch married outside of the royal families of Europe.”
Amanda winced. She hadn’t realized that. “Then your mother must have discussed this with him, don’t you think?”
Louise shook her head. “I just don’t know.” She looked down at her hands, clenched in front of her. “I do need to tell him. I know that, Amanda. It’s only fair. And if he is upset . . . well, I must then deal with the consequences.”
“I’m sure he’ll come around. Men’s egos, they’re fragile things, tough as they pretend to be in front of their friends.” Amanda kissed her on the cheek, pried Louise’s locked hands apart, and gave them a squeeze for courage. “After you return from Scotland, come to the shop and tell me how it went. Better yet, write to me. Soon.”
“I will,” Louise promised.
Three
Louise watched the door slowly close, shutting her, alone, inside the Lavender Suite at Claremont House.
Hushed voices came to her from the hallway outside. Lady Car taking her leave for the night. Amanda passing by Lorne with little Eddie in hand, perhaps teasing a blushing bridegroom with a saucy remark about his wedding night.
Louise sat down on the edge of the bed, its embroidered coverlets already turned back to reveal an expanse of pure white linen. She held her breath, waiting for Lorne to step through the door.
Feeling light-headed with anticipation, she at last remembered to breathe. She straightened the delicate peach silk nightgown, trimmed with baby pearls and ecru lace, and pulled the hem down to demurely cover her ankles.
The door remained shut.
She rested folded hands in her lap. Her stomach clenched. Her head spun. She closed her eyes on a wave of nausea.
More than anything, Louise wanted to start her marriage by establishing a relationship of trust and mutual respect. If she said or did anything this very first night to make her young husband angry or turn him against her, they’d never develop the lovely intimacy her mother and father had shared.
She drew another breath and settled herself a few inches farther back on the mattress. Rearranged her gown to reveal, through the side slit, the curve of her calf and a slim ankle. Tugged the neckline down just a wee bit.
Never had showing a modest hint of décolletage hurt a woman’s negotiations with a man. Louise stared at the door.
It did not open.
The voices had stopped; Lorne must be alone now. And he’d know she was ready. Wouldn’t he?
Perhaps she should call out to him. Invite him to enter. He couldn’t possibly be waiting for a formal invitation when it was his right to come in and take her, whether or not she was prepared physically or emotionally. But, she reminded herself, Lorne was a gentle soul. Always so thoughtful and concerned for others’ feelings whenever she’d been around him.
Louise slid back all the way onto the bed, drew her legs up under her, turned and plumped up three lavender-scented pillows at the head of the bed, then lounged back against them in a seductive pose. Encouragement, that’s what the poor man needed. Until this moment, she hadn’t considered that he might be as nervous as she about their first night as a married couple. Though, of course, not for the same reason.
She had a confession to make. And by now it had wedged itself like a lump of stale bread in her throat.
Her head began to ache. She looked down at her hands, unclenched them and blotted her damp palms on the sheets.
What on earth was he doing out there?
She was just about to call out to her husband when a soft knock sounded on the door.
“Yes?” More of a croak than a word. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes, Lorne, please come in.”
The door swung open slowly, and he stepped through.
She had been prepared to see him in his nightshirt. Or perhaps wrapped in a silk robe. Or even, if he were in an uncharacteristically aggressive mood, entirely naked. She was surprised—no, shocked!—to see he was fully dressed, just as she’d left him nearly two hours earlier, all but for the sword. He still wore the high-collared blue military jacket with braiding, medals, polished black boots and belt. He looked trim and vigorous and glorious, but not at all ready for bed.
Lorne took two steps into the room, his brilliant blue eyes roaming the spacious chamber, as if it were a foreign territory he’d been sent to conquer. He fixed first on the dressing table where Car had arranged her crystal atomizers, gold brush and comb, and velvet jewel case in which rested her wedding diamonds. Then his gaze swept the rest of the room. He seemed almost startled when he found her already on the bed.
Wrong, she thought in desperation, realizing her mistake in trying to play the seductress. He was evidently terribly shy. And now she’d made it all worse by her sultry posing. She tucked her bare ankles up under the bottom flounce of her gown. Poor boy. He’d been out in the other room, building up his courage, and here she was playing the vamp.
She patted the bed beside her. “I was just trying to relax,” she said giving him an encouraging smile. “It’s been such an exhausting day, hasn’t it?”
He dipped his squared-off chin in acknowledgment, but his eyes didn’t entirely meet hers.
She frowned. “Do you like the gown?” What an asinine thing to say, Louise. But it was all she could think of at the moment with her heart racing so.
At last, he gave her an overall scan, and blushed. “Very much. You’ve never looked lovelier, my dear.”
My dear. That was progress.
She patted the bed again. “Come sit with me. Let’s just talk.” She drew a deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you, Lorne.” And suddenly the conversation she’d rehearsed a hundred times seemed tenfold more difficult. Nevertheless she steeled herself and held out her hand to him.
He straightened his long, lean form and strode quickly toward her, his eyes bright and wide, their celebrated blue more dazzling than the delicious cobalt hue she often chose for her palette when painting a landscape sky. As he came closer she could see the perspiration dampening his collar.
No matter. She’d get the hard part out of the way quickly. Reassure him that Donovan—no, don’t say his name!—reassure him that she had been but a child, innocent, foolish, uneducated as to the ways of men when she’d let herself be led astray just once. She’d swear to him that this stranger from her past meant absolutely nothing to her and, indeed, she hadn’t seen him in years. He’d disappeared from her life.
Well, at least that last part was true. Donovan Heath had well and good vanished, just as certainly as if God’s hand had reached down from heaven and plucked him up to heaven. But, ah, how she’d adored that boy. What might have come of them if they’d stayed together? Both struggling young artists, though he was from a different social class entirely and never would have been accepted by Victoria.
She jumped, startled when the mattress dipped, bringing her back to her wedding night and Lorne. Louise shook her head, chasing away memories of the young man who had so charmed her when she was but eighteen years old.
She looked up at her husband as he crooked a knee to balance one hip on the edge of the mattress. He leaned toward her, kissed her ever so gently on the forehead, then took her hands in his. “You may well be the most beautiful woman in all of London,” he murmured, his voice a touch hoarse with emotion. “I swear I’ve never seen lovelier.”
“Lorne.” She was moved nearly to tears by his sincerity. And this from a man who, if men could be called beautiful, truly was. His smooth almost boyish face was unra
vaged by the sun, despite his love of the outdoors. His eyes shone with the innocence of youth yet his mouth was full lipped and sensual. Suddenly she wanted more than anything to really kiss him, to feel his lips and hands on her body.
This can work. This has to work.
She’d wait to tell him she was no longer a virgin until after they had made love. He’d of course by then have discovered the truth for himself, but having already pleased him between the sheets, she might find it easier to explain and ask for his understanding. After all, new brides assumed their husbands had bedded other women before them. Although she thought the double standard ridiculous, society adhered to the old ways. A man might be forgiven his mistresses and affairs so long as he provided for his wife and children and treated them fairly.
She closed her eyes, hoping the gesture, faintly submissive, would further encourage him. She lifted her face to him. He squeezed her hands again. But no kiss came.
When Louise opened her eyes, tears were coursing down her young husband’s face.
“Oh, Lorne! My darling, what is it?” She pulled her fingertips out from his suddenly cold hands and framed his stricken face with her palms. “Tell me, what have I done to—”
But he shook his head, murmuring, “No, no, nothing. Not you.”
She assumed in that horror-stricken moment that he was weeping because someone—not Amanda, surely not her—had told him about her affair. But now it occurred to her that something else was wrong. Incredibly wrong.
“I-I have a confession to make, my dear.” He took a deep, shuddering breath and seemed to hold it forever before letting it out.
Possibilities raced through her mind.
He’s had affairs—not a shocker.
He’s been with a prostitute and feels unclean for me. To confide such now was merely being considerate.
He’s in love with another woman. Much more difficult to accept.
The Wild Princess Page 2
