Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
The Princess Dilemma
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Acknowledgments
More From Heather Hiestand
About the Author
THE PRINCESS DILEMMA
A Victorian Romance
Written by
Heather Hiestand
www.heatherhiestand.com
Amazon Author Page | Newsletter
The Princess Dilemma
Copyright 2016 by Heather Hiestand
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Coffee on Sundays Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Melyssa Naujoks
Coffee on Sundays Press
Visit us at http://www.heatherhiestand.com
Publishing History
First Amazon Edition, 2016
V 1.0 R 1.0
Published in the United States of America
The Princess Dilemma
England, 1837: In the game of kings, there can be only one winner, but a second chance at love is worth more than any throne…
As a British army colonel, Edward FitzPrince deals with dangerous secrets every day. When his mother dies and he learns he may have a claim to the British throne, he quickly finds himself out of his depths. The Scottish-born soldier discovers life in London and political maneuvering foreign indeed.
One woman can help him, German Princess Charlotte von Scharnburg, with whom he had a secret romance more than a decade before, his long-lost wife. As the best friend and lady-in-waiting to his half-sister, Queen Victoria, who has just ascended the throne of England, Charlotte is now his natural enemy.
Edward is determined to have his birthright. Charlotte must ensure her family’s survival. They will be each other’s greatest ally, or tear each other apart.
Chapter One
London, June 21, 1837
Colonel Edward FitzPrince wiped his eyes and set down the letter that had been waiting for him at his former batman’s lodgings when he arrived in London. He’d left Quebec as soon as he’d received word of his mother’s illness, pooling funds with his two younger brothers so that one of them could make the long journey to Linsee Castle where their mother was mortally ill. He was too late. She’d been in her grave for two weeks by the time he arrived in London. He had no reason to continue traveling to Scotland.
How had his family come to this? His mother’s father, a duke, dead too this year, and with only four illegitimate grandchildren to his name? The title had gone extinct.
The door to the meager flat opened. Quintin Milne, Edward’s former batman, stood in the doorway, swaying on his feet. He had been ill. Edward knew he’d have to care for the elderly man. Honor demanded nothing less.
Quintin lurched forward, waving a copy of The Times. Edward rose from his chair to take it. “Your sister Victoria is the queen now, God bless her.”
While it was an open secret that Edward and his younger brothers were the product of their mother’s affair with the late Duke of Kent and Strathern, Edward still felt a slight shock at the idea of his eighteen-year-old half-sister on the throne of England. He strode forward and snatched the paper from Quintin.
“Whitehall, June 20. On Tuesday morning, June 20th inst., at 12 minutes past 2 o'clock, our late most gracious Sovereign King William IV expired at his Castle of Windsor, in the 72d year of his age, and the seventh of his reign…”
Edward dropped the newspaper on a spindly table as if it had burned him like a drop of hot oil. He should have been at his uncle the king’s bedside yesterday, along with other members of the family, but he had been turned away. The only royal relative other than the king who’d ever received him was Princess Sophia, William’s sister.
Quintin pulled a letter from his pocket, his hand trembling. “This came for you, Colonel.”
Edward took the letter and opened it, wondering against hope if the letter from his aunt Abigail had been wrong. Had his mother’s death been announced prematurely?
“Dear Colonel,” he read aloud. “You will not remember me, but I was an old friend of your mother’s and a witness to her marriage with your father, the late royal duke. I have proof the marriage was legitimate and that your father cruelly and illegally set your mother aside to marry Victoria’s mother. I will contact you soon. Sincerely, A Friend.”
What?
Just then, with a heavy sigh, Quintin closed his eyes and leaned his head against the lintel. Edward reached around him to close the door, then grasped Quintin’s thin shoulder.
“What is wrong? Sit.” He all but pushed Quintin into his chair.
“I am sorry,” Quintin said.
Edward went to a decanter and poured a measure of gin into a glass. He handed it to the old man, who drank, then coughed. Color came back into Quintin’s face.
“Where did this letter come from?” Edward rasped.
Quintin shook his head. “A boy,” he answered, his voice wavering. “Whoever wrote it must have been waiting for you to arrive in London. It’s been known for some time that King William was on his deathbed.”
“The news didn’t reach us in Canada.” Edward turned to hide his emotion as Quintin stood and went into the kitchen. In essence, he’d lost his mother and uncle within the span of five minutes. At a complete loss, he took another look at the newspaper.
“…we do acknowledge all faith and constant obedience, with all hearty and humble affection, beseeching God, by whom Kings and Queens do reign, to bless the Royal Princess Victoria with long and happy years to reign over us.”
To think, he was now expected to pledge obedience to his eighteen-year-old half-sister. What did this mysterious letter mean? Could Victoria be their father’s bastard, not him? Uncle William might have been willing to change the succession based on evidence. Victoria, on the other hand, was unlikely to do anything of the kind.
Still, family honor insisted he try. He could not fail his mother’s reputation, or his brothers’ futures. “Quintin!” He called, as a knock came on the door.
The man shuffled in from the kitchen, looking as pale as death again. Edward didn’t want to lose Quintin, too. Somehow, he needed to find the money to feed them both. He only had brought enough money to make it to Scotland. And to think he now simultaneously had the problems of discovering if he was the rightful heir to the throne and keeping a sick little Scotsman from starvation.
Another knock. Edward watched Quintin open the door. A man with a cloak pulled over his head thrust a wooden box at Quintin and turned away. The former batman staggered back with the load. What—
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sp; “Stop right there!” Edward ordered, but the man kept moving. Alarmed, he dashed past Quintin and flew into the hall, only to see the tail of the cloak vanishing down the stairs. For a moment, he considered chasing the man, but he decided to make sure the elderly Scotsman was all right and look in the box instead.
He returned to the flat. “What is it?” he asked.
Quintin set the finely made wooden box on the floor and lifted off the fitted top. “Papers, all sorts, sir.”
Edward peered in and poked the contents with a finger. “Letters and documents, I believe.”
“What are you going to do, sir?”
He scratched his chin. “The table needs cleaning. I can’t risk crumbs on an important letter, can I?”
“No, Colonel.” Quintin wheezed and flourished a fairly clean towel. “I am sorry for your loss. I hope your letter does some good.”
“Thank you.” Edward took the towel from him. “I’ll clean it. This gives me a chance to think about where to address my letter. I don’t want it to be lost on somebody’s desk. Everything is going to be at sixes and sevens right now over there.”
“To Victoria’s mother?” Quintin suggested, his voice quavering. “She hated the late king, they say.”
“Ha. It is her fault I’m in this position. If Father hadn’t repudiated my mother to marry that German princess, there would be no Queen Victoria.” Though oddly enough, there had been a time when he, too, found a German princess dangerously attractive. “Perhaps Queen Adelaide? Or my aunt, Princess Sophia?”
“The prime minister, sir?” Quintin suggested.
“Yes,” Edward agreed. “But my aunt first. I’ll have to venture out for some black-edged paper. Please return to your bed, Quintin. I’ll bring back food as well.”
Princess Sophia, his elderly aunt, was a particular favorite of his. Though he’d never had much exposure to the royal family, he had met her a few times. When Edward was a boy, the Duke of Linsee, his maternal grandfather, had made sure to introduce Edward to as many royal relatives as possible. The duke had bought Edward and his two brothers their commissions as well, despite Edward’s disgraceful behavior the summer he’d been sixteen. But then, Linsee had died early this year, leaving them nothing else.
Later that evening, in preparation for writing his letters, Edward went through every item in the box. He ached for his mother as he read tender missives between her and her prince. She clearly believed her marriage had been legal. Could she possibly have been correct? Or was someone playing a cruel trick on him?
When he reached the bottom of the box, he found the dated baptismal certificate that just might change everything. As he held the paper, nearly as old as he was, his fingers trembled until he tightened them around the parchment.
If only he could prove it was real. He dived back into the box, searching for more treasure.
~
Nearly a week later, Edward received a summons from Princess Sophia, who lived at Kensington Palace near the new queen. A visit there would be a welcome break from his days spent haunting Westminster Hall, attempting to speak to Members of Parliament about his predicament. But no one had been willing to meet with him. He’d had no luck reaching members of the Privy Council, much less the prime minister. His foolishness at age sixteen had exiled him from his family and lost him any hope of gaining useful allies in London. He knew almost no one.
At least he had his father’s sister as an ally. Princess Sophia had spent a great deal of time in the southeast corner of the palace over the years, sewing with the Duchess of Kent while young Victoria studied. He had heard his half-sister intended to reside at Buckingham Palace now that she had ascended the throne, but the move could not proceed until the late king had been buried. Might he actually come face to face with Victoria for the first time?
He went early, well before his appointment. The crowded streets and tall buildings seemed oppressive after years serving in the open wilderness of Canada, and he was glad to reach the gardens around Kensington Palace.
With a legitimate reason to be there, he was happy to wander about after he was admitted to the red brick palace. After all, it was possibly his property. As he stood in royal grandeur, he wondered why his wild Scottish mother had risked her son’s inheritance for the sake of a religious conversion. At least it had been after he’d been born, he discovered, not before, as he’d been told. And that wasn’t even the best proof of why he ought to be declared legitimate, and thus king.
For his appointment Edward had worn his uniform because he thought his aunt would like it, though the scarlet coat made him stand out in a sea of black and gray. Taller than most men, he caught the eye of a shadow minister for Ireland passing by and the man nodded at him, but did not approach. He disappeared before Edward could reach him to press his case. After that, Edward went to see the famous King’s Staircase. The enormous paintings, the gold and silver opulence, the fine ironwork on the stairs, were overwhelming to someone unused to such things. He turned away, feeling like a provincial buffoon.
He poked his head into the Red Saloon where the new queen had first met with her Privy Council just a few short days ago. He preferred the less ornate columns here, but was surprised to see the room decorated more in pink than red. Would he have acquitted himself as well as Victoria? He had heard she did very well, and enchanted all her elderly admirers.
Enchantment would not have been his goal if he was the new king. No, taking up the reins of government would have been more important. It galled him to be so powerless. A prince’s son, and what was he? Nothing more than a regimental captain, despite his honorary title of colonel.
Both sides of his family had left him and his brothers in poverty, despite all their wealth. His grandfather had left his assets to Murdo Ogilvy, another bastard cousin. Why? It took money to secure a throne. How had it come to this? An untried girl on the throne of England and no duke at Linsee Castle?
He went back up the staircase in a fugue, hardly noticing the trompe l’oeil Greek figurines on the south wall. A footman caught sight of him and frowned, but Edward stared him down until the younger man looked away.
“Colonel?”
He glanced over the balustrade to see a woman of such natural beauty as to put the King’s Staircase to shame. All the magnificence of the palace seemed to dim around her. Her shining gold hair contained more than a hint of auburn and her eyes were very dark under reddish brows. Surely lips were not so naturally red past childhood, and he suspected this woman was in her mid-twenties. Still, she had a splendid figure, and was tall for a woman. She would rest her head right against his shoulder if she leaned against him. Who was she?
He nodded his head at her and came slowly down the stairs, conscious of the kingly effect of his gleaming white trousers and shined boots against the black stairs and gold walls. He could see her breasts rise and fall. She was breathing rapidly, as if she had run down a long corridor to reach him.
A woman so beautiful must have wed right out of the schoolroom, though she wore no ring on her plump little fingers. Strange to see such hands on such a tall lady.
She stared at him a little strangely, as if he should know her. “I am lady-in-waiting to the queen,” she said. When he didn’t respond, she continued. “Baroness Lehzen sent for me in early spring, when it became obvious the princess would need a larger household soon.”
Her beauty must have made his mouth go dry. He worked his tongue against his teeth before he spoke. “You must be a cousin on the German side, and not related to me.”
She blinked then inclined her head, indicating she knew his relationship to her mistress. “I am a second cousin through Her Majesty’s mother, the Duchess of Kent.”
“I see,” he murmured. That explained the faint Continental accent. “I am very happy to see my sister, Princess Victoria, but my appointment is with Princess Sophia. I will, of course, be happy to pay my respects.” In fact, he could hardly contain his glee at reaching his sister so easily.
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nbsp; “The princess is in the queen’s apartments at present,” the lady said, arching one of her brows as she emphasized his sister’s assumed title. “Will you follow me?”
He had been told many a time that he never smiled, but he could feel the corners of his lips tilting up as he trailed the woman. While her wide skirt hid the curves of her hips, he could see she had a pleasingly tiny waist. Being in mourning for the king, she was dressed all in black, but her sash accented those curves with great proficiency. The wide, ruffled sleeves on her arms were pure silliness, however, a waste of money that could get caught in doors, catch fire, and rip on anything protruding. Women’s fashion had never made sense to him.
Sometimes he wondered what a woman would look like in men’s clothing. He wanted to see this lady-in-waiting in tight buff trousers, all the better to see her backside. A trim linen shirt might display her bosom well. It was hidden from view by a fichu, though the bodice of her dress itself was low-cut enough to display her charms if she dared.
He’d really like a thorough look at those charms, to see if they matched the perfection of her face. Would Victoria’s court be as licentious as it reportedly was in the time of their Hanoverian forebears, when it was said the maids-of-honor were eager to be anything but maids? He hadn’t thought too much about how he would lead his own court, if he won his throne. He’d spent his days pouring through old newspapers, gleaning the names of Privy councilors to whom he might be able to plead his case.
He suspected, sadly enough, that this lady, if brought here by the baroness, was meant to add to the fortress around Victoria. The baroness was known to be the only servant who acted solely for Victoria’s benefit, while her mother and her suspected lover, Sir John Conroy, operated with their own futures in mind. He’d heard rumors of physical abuse and threats as they attempted to force Victoria into a regency under their command. He’d never had any contact with his half-sister’s household. The duchess had long ago refused to have anything to do with his late mother, Lady Margot McChase, and never answered her letters, to his knowledge.
The Princess Dilemma: A Victorian Royal Romance Page 1
