Princess in Love

by Julianne MacLean

  “There is no need to worry,” he said. “And the press is hardly being cruel to Alexandra. The people adore their new queen. All her charitable work has not gone unnoticed. She is incredibly popular. Does she not realize that?”

  Rose let out a sigh. “She was pleased about the headlines, but nothing could take the sting off the news about Randolph and the Countess of Ainsley.”

  Leopold kissed both her hands. “Let us not talk any more about sensational newspaper headlines and fallacious infidelities,” he said. “I’ve missed you, Rose, and I look forward to Randolph’s return. Everything will be different then, I promise.”

  She took his face in her hands and touched her forehead to his, working very hard to believe it would be so.

  Chapter Nineteen

  December 19, 1814

  Leopold was on his way out the door to meet Rose in secret for a third time at the palace, when the sound of a coach clattered to a halt in front of the Kaulbach town house.

  He strode to the window in the front parlor, pulled the curtain aside, looked out and recognized his father’s shiny blue-painted vehicle.

  “Bloody hell,” he whispered.

  So much for arriving at the palace on time. He wondered how long Rose would be able to wait, for they had arranged to meet by chance at the mews when he trotted in for a visit with the queen. Rose would be—coincidentally, of course—returning from an afternoon ride in the park at that time.

  He watched his father alight from the vehicle while the servants scurried about in a panic, which was quickly subdued when the duke walked up the front steps. By that time, the butler had already opened the door to greet him.

  “Good day,” the duke said as he removed his hat and handed it to Jameson. “You are surprised to see me, no doubt.”

  “Indeed, Your Grace,” Jameson replied. “We did not expect you until Tuesday.”

  Leopold stepped into the front hall as well. “Hello, Father. How was your journey?”

  They had not spoken since Leopold left Vienna with Randolph’s letters to deliver to the queen.

  Be a comfort to her, his father had suggested. She is bound to be lonely with the king so far away and occupied by the peace treaty negotiations …

  “It was as fine a journey as one can expect in the deep chill of winter, but I’m home now. That is the main thing. Where are you off to, boy? I see they brought your horse around front.”

  “I need some air,” Leopold replied, not wanting to reveal his intention to meet Rose. That must wait until he had Randolph’s formal permission.

  “I see,” his father replied. “Well, off with you then. We will catch up at dinner. In the meantime…” He turned to Jameson. “Do you have the newspapers from the past fortnight? I wish to see what I’ve been missing here at home. I hear the queen has been winning the love of the people.”

  “Indeed she has, sir. She is a true royal, in every way. Shall I bring the papers to the library?”

  “Please do, Jameson.” The duke climbed the stairs. “Thank God the people are finally realizing what they have been missing for the past twenty years.”

  He disappeared at the top of the stairs, leaving Leopold to speculate uneasily about his father’s loyalty to the New Regime and his stubborn Royalist beliefs.

  At least Leopold was released from his own obligation to marry the Tremaine princess. It didn’t matter what his father thought. If he did not wish to be a loyal subject, that was his own grave to dig.

  Leopold had other plans—plans that involved a pretty golden-haired princess, who was waiting for him at the palace stables.

  * * *

  “What a coincidence,” Rose said as she trotted into the stable courtyard and found Leopold dismounting from his horse.

  He bowed to her. “Your Royal Highness…”

  “Have you come to see the queen about the Christmas concert?” Rose asked.

  She had informed the gatehouse guard that Leopold was expected that afternoon, which gained him an entrance to the palace, even though no such meeting was scheduled to take place.

  “Yes,” he replied. “Shall we walk together?”

  “That would be delightful.”

  They each handed over their horses to the grooms and strode out of the stable and across the gravel courtyard to the side door of the palace.

  As soon as they entered, Rose took hold of Leopold’s hand and pulled him fast into an alcove behind a potted tree fern.

  “We have only a few minutes,” she whispered, “so I want to make the most of it.” She reached into the pocket of her riding habit and withdrew a small leather case which she handed to him.

  “What is it?” he asked, lifting his striking blue eyes to regard her with flirtatious curiosity.

  “Open it and find out.”

  She watched his hands as he turned the case over and freed the clasp. Inside he found a lock of her hair.

  He looked at her again with meaningful affection. “I will treasure this, Rose. I have something for you as well.” He reached into his coat pocket.

  “But you have already given me something—the medallion, which I keep with me always.”

  “This is something else.” He handed her a small gold box tied in a red ribbon. “You must wait until Christmas to open it.”

  That was going to prove very difficult. “Shouldn’t I open it now while we are together?”

  “No, you must wait, but we are very good at that, are we not?”

  “We’ve certainly had plenty of practice.”

  Slipping the box into a pocket in the folds of her habit, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “When will you leave for the country?”

  He briefly glanced away. “In a few days. My father has just returned from Vienna and will wish to talk to me about what went on since I left. I expect he will be spending Christmas at Kaulbach Castle with his mistress, so I will spend Yuletide with my mother at Cavanaugh Manor.”

  Rose ran a finger over his soft lips. “Lady Elise won’t be there, will she?”

  He narrowed his gaze. “Are you still worried about her?”

  Rose shrugged. “I cannot help myself. I feel certain that every woman in the country wants to throw herself at you, while I remain unavailable.”

  He kissed her on the nose. “I don’t expect she will be there, but it wouldn’t matter either way. All women are invisible to me, Rose. All women but one.”

  He touched his lips to hers, and his kiss was the greatest gift of all.

  * * *

  Though there was much to be happy about, Rose could not forget that it was her first Christmas since the death of her father.

  His passing still lingered like a dark shadow in her heart, and when she attended mass on Christmas Eve with her brothers and Alexandra, she recalled the many times her father had held her hand in church when she was a child to prevent her from fidgeting. What a kind and loving father he had been. The world was a lesser place without him, and she continued to mourn the loss of him each and every day.

  She consoled herself, however, with thoughts of Leopold and their future together. She was quite certain her father would have approved of the match, for Leopold might not be the son of an Austrian emperor, but he was a decorated war hero whose skill on the battlefield helped defeat Napoleon.

  On Christmas morning she woke to bright winter sunlight beaming in through the windows. Outside, the city was cloaked in a thin sheen of glistening ice, and the church bells were ringing triumphantly.

  Her maid brought her a cup of tea. Rose sat up in bed to sip it, but set it aside as soon as Mary left the room.

  Rose slipped her hand under her pillow and found the gold box from Leopold, which she had placed there the night before. You must wait until Christmas to open it. Well, today was Christmas, and even if it wasn’t, she doubted she could have waited another day, for the suspense was a torture all on its own.

  Pulling the ribbon free, she lifted the lid and found a blue velvet bag inside. She slid her finger
s into it and withdrew a stunning diamond and ruby brooch in the shape of a rose.

  With great fascination, she beheld the beautiful piece, but there was a note attached to it, and the sight of Leopold’s penmanship was just as thrilling as the blinding sparkle of the jewels.

  My darling Rose, I had this made for you in Vienna by an unknown artist of unparalleled talent, who I suspect will be quite famous one day. He spent countless hours crafting it, but it was worth the wait—as are you, my love.

  Happy Christmas,

  L

  She hugged the letter to her chest, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Reaching for the brooch again, she examined the fine workmanship and longed for the moment she and Leopold could finally be together.

  Chapter Twenty

  January 7, 1815

  “I am afraid it does not look good for King Randolph,” the palace physician said as he stepped away from the bed and moved to explain the prognosis to Alexandra and Nicholas. “I believe it is a hereditary affliction, identical to what ailed his father. It is a cancer that spreads quickly through the humors.”

  For days Randolph had been complaining of fatigue and headaches and had finally collapsed. His symptoms were the same as her father’s, and Rose couldn’t bear to think of what the future might hold should anything happen to him.

  Please, Lord, do not take my brother, too.

  And what about the crown? she wondered frantically. If Alexandra did not bear a son, would it pass to Nicholas who was next in line to the throne, or would the people demand that Alexandra be queen in her own right? For she was a Tremaine, after all.

  While Rose held Randolph’s hand and bowed her head to pray, Alexandra and Nicholas left the room to pray in the chapel.

  If only Leopold were here. How she needed and wanted him here at her side when she felt so alone.

  For a long time, Rose sat with her brother, but he did not regain consciousness. He was as pale as a sheet and so very still on the bed. He looked half dead already.

  Her stomach churned with misery, and she shook him roughly. “Wake up, Randolph. Please! You’re young and strong. Whatever this is, you can fight it.”

  To her surprise, his eyes fluttered open and he frowned at her. “What is wrong with you?”

  Rose gasped at the sight of his anger. “Nothing! Oh, thank heavens you’re awake!” Leaning over him, she dropped a kiss onto his forehead. “How are you feeling? Do you remember anything?”

  He shook his head on the pillow. “No.”

  Rose tried to explain. “Alexandra found you in your bedchamber last night. You collapsed on the floor and she couldn’t wake you. The doctor says you are ill, but I am convinced you will recover in no time at all.”

  He shut his eyes. “My head is pounding.”

  “You will be all right now.” She fluffed his pillow and tucked the blanket all around him. “Can I get you anything? Are you hungry or thirsty?”

  “Thirsty, yes. Hot broth?”

  She tugged on the bell rope to call for a maid. One quickly arrived and Rose asked for a tray of broth and tea to be brought up.

  As soon as it arrived, she stood. “I will go and fetch the doctor and send for Alexandra as well. Lie still for a moment.”

  Rose left him with the maid. She ventured into the corridor to see if the doctor was waiting outside. There was no one about, so she headed quickly to the library where the doctor preferred to sit and read while attending the king. That had been his habit, at least, when her father was ill.

  Sure enough, he was seated before the fire with an open book on his lap. He stood when she entered.

  “The king is awake,” she told him. “I believe he is better, but it would be best if you could come and examine him.”

  The doctor set the book on the table and followed her to Randolph’s chamber.

  They had not yet reached the door when Rose heard the terrorized sound of Alexandra’s scream.

  “Help us! Please help us!”

  * * *

  Randolph suffered a seizure that morning. Unfortunately, the doctor feared the worst, for the symptoms had been the same with their father—though King Frederick had not been afflicted with such violent seizures quite so early on.

  The illness appeared to be more aggressive with Randolph, and the doctor had no explanation, nor could he offer a cure. The best he could do was prescribe laudanum as a sedative to keep Randolph comfortable.

  Alexandra immediately demanded a second opinion and sent for a team of young doctors from the university who might have more modern knowledge of such mysterious diseases.

  The medical men arrived early that afternoon, examined Randolph thoroughly, consulted with each other, and referred to a number of books before arriving at a diagnosis that shocked everyone present and set the palace into an uproar.

  The king—and most likely his father before him—had been poisoned with arsenic.

  Nicholas immediately ordered a search of the palace kitchens where a supply of arsenic was indeed detected in the food stores. All members of the staff were questioned, which led the High Constable to suspect a young kitchen maid who had been hired last spring but had disappeared early that morning.

  The poison was uncovered in her room within minutes and a search began throughout the city. But who had hired her? Surely she was not working alone.

  That evening, Rose helped Randolph out of bed so he could sit by the fire, where Alex and Nicholas were setting up a game of chess.

  “How long before you will begin to feel more like your old self?” Rose asked her brother. “The doctors said the poison will eventually leave your system, and you will be fine as long as you do not ingest any more of it, but they did not say how long it would take.”

  “I am not sure they know,” he replied. “One of them suggested at least a week, but it was only a guess. They said it was a near lethal dose to have caused me such a rapid decline. I am lucky to be alive.”

  “We are all lucky,” Rose added as she helped him into the chair. “But what if the High Constable does not find the maid? How will we know who was behind this?”

  “There will be a very thorough investigation,” Nicholas assured her. “We will leave no stone unturned.”

  “Good.” She sank into a chair beside them and let out a heavy sigh.

  Alexandra laid a hand on her knee. “You should go and get some rest, Rose. “You’ve been up all night tending to your brother, but all is well now.”

  “What about you? Are you not exhausted, too?”

  “Of course, and I will retire soon enough, once I have beaten Nicholas at this game he claims to know so well. Go, Rose. Thank you for all you’ve done today.”

  Reluctantly, she stood up and left them to their chess game.

  A short while later she slipped into bed. For a long time, she lay staring at the silk canopy above.

  She wanted desperately to tell Leopold about the attempt on Randolph’s life before he read about it in the newspaper. She also wanted to talk to him about her father, for months ago she had accepted his death as a natural passing, but now—to learn that he was poisoned while she and her brothers were abroad in England—it was like opening an old wound and filling it with salt.

  Perhaps if they had not been out of the country, they could have discovered the plot and saved his life. How she wished her father could have been here to celebrate Christmas with them and enjoy the prospect of becoming a grandfather.

  Rolling to her side, she rubbed the pad of her thumb over the surface of the medallion Leopold had given her in the apple orchard. Not once had she been without it. She raised it to her lips and kissed it, and forced herself to be strong for a few more days until they could be together again—this time out in the open, with her brother’s permission and blessing.

  Thank God Randolph was all right. Thank God they had stopped the wretched culprit in time.

  * * *

  The following morning, Rose slept very late and woke to another clear but
cold winter day. A light snow had fallen through the night and the palace grounds were cloaked in a silvery blanket of white.

  Rose’s maid entered with a cup of tea. Later, while Mary helped dress Rose for the day, she assured her that His Majesty was feeling much better. In fact, Mary had just seen him heading out to the courtyard to meet someone.

  “Really?” Rose asked, as she sat before the looking glass, watching Mary slide a decorative mother-of-pearl comb into her upswept hair. “Who would he meet outdoors on such a cold day? Should he not be resting?”

  “I believe it is the Marquess of Cavanaugh, madam. At least it looked like him from a distance. He’s very handsome, that one.”

  In her mad haste to rise to her feet, Rose nearly knocked over the stool. “Cavanaugh, you say? Are you certain?”

  “Yes, madam. He was waiting by the cedars.”

  Rose was momentarily stunned; then she dashed for the door to ascertain that this meeting was indeed taking place and to learn what it was about.

  Perhaps Leopold had not been able to wait any longer. Perhaps, not knowing of Randolph’s illness, he had requested an audience today.

  But why would they meet outside? Why not in the library or Randolph’s private apartments?

  Without taking the time to fetch a cloak or shawl, she hurried through the palace corridors, descended the stairs, and reached the back hall window just in time to see her brother draw his sword and knock Leopold to the ground by the frozen reflecting pool.

  No…!

  Her brother must have learned of their clandestine meetings before Leopold left for Vienna, of that night in the orchard when Leo had claimed her, body and soul, before he had the right …

  But who had told him? How in the world did he discover it? She hadn’t shared any of that with a single soul.

  Rose watched in horror as Nicholas and five palace guards appeared from behind the row of cedars. Two guards pulled Leopold to his feet. He shouted something at Randolph as they dragged him away.

  Rose’s blood went cold in her veins. What in God’s name was happening?

  Randolph resheathed his sword, staggered slightly, and collapsed to his knees. Rose watched Nicholas rush to his side, and the next thing she knew she was pushing through the palace doors and darting outside onto the terrace.