The Princess Dilemma: A Victorian Royal Romance

by Heather Hiestand

  “Ye need better friends. What about the army? Know any generals?” Murdo snickered then drained his coffee cup before reaching into his pocket and dumping a handful of coins on the table. “For expenses. I’ll have my man deliver a court suit to you later. For Christ’s sake, don’t sharpen the sword. Those things will take yer leg off.”

  “I know how to handle a sword.”

  “Yes, but the five doddering old fools standing around ye won’t. They’ll have last held a weapon at Waterloo, ye see.”

  Edward nodded and pushed aside his episode IV of Pickwick. He’d brought it along to entertain himself in case Murdo was detained.

  “I picked up my volume,” Murdo said, eying Edward’s tattered copy. “Liked the first bit.”

  “I wasn’t so enamored with this episode. Too much romantical nonsense, though the madman’s tale was chilling.”

  “Supposed to improve as it goes along,” Murdo said, waving to a waiter for another cup of coffee. “Not much for reading myself, but it does kill the evening hours if one is not inclined to go out.”

  “I prefer tales of action to tales of romance,” Edward said.

  “Maybe ye should focus on the romance,” Murdo said. “Read some of those silly novels women favor. Might give ye a hint as to how a lady likes to be seduced. Ye’ll need a good game to win Charlie back.”

  “I’m not going to romance her.” How could he? He hadn’t the means. So he said, “I don’t want a wife.”

  Murdo tapped his finger to the side of his nose. “Ye had better, cousin. Might be the only way to get what ye want. A royal princess on your side? Her family will fight for ye.”

  “I take your point,” Edward said. “But the von Scharnburgs are nobodies despite their title. Without money, from what I understand.”

  “Still royal.” Murdo tossed back his second cup and stood. “I must be off if ye are to get your clothing in time. Your man can alter the garments?”

  “Do you need them back?”

  Murdo snorted. “I’m larger than ye. What good would a small set of slightly used court clothes do me? Besides, I’m giving ye the ones from William IV, not new garments I just had made.”

  Edward nodded. “I assumed as much. I’ll admit you are a giant of a man, but watch that nose of yours. Those Scots forebears of ours had some hideous, ever-growing snouts, and you do favor Linsee.”

  Murdo touched his nose, which indeed was a little bulbous at the end, though not disproportionate to his face. Edward watched with satisfaction as his cousin frowned.

  “I’m not as pretty as ye, but I’m rich.” He exposed his teeth and walked away, whistling.

  Edward shook his head as he scooped up the coins. As long as Murdo kept supplying him with what he needed, he could let him be the richer man. For now.

  ~

  The courtyard of St. James’s Palace teemed with the leading men of the kingdom, all dressed for the levee. Clothing was old-fashioned and ornate, as required, a scene from a different time, and everyone was in a serious mood. Edward had arrived early, in the hopes of finding a decent place to stand, but many seemed to have had the same idea. The mid-July sun climbed the sky, making the air increasingly hot. The more florid men’s faces already glistened with perspiration despite the late morning hour.

  Edward’s coat was slightly too large, though Quintin had done his best with the alterations. Compared to many of the men he saw, he judged he cut a fine figure in his court dress. Cloth trousers, worn for levees, were an improvement over breeches as far as comfort was concerned. The coat was meant to hang open over the elaborately embroidered white satin waistcoat. Murdo’s court dress was about as elaborate as they came, with the accompanying stiffness. In all, not a uniform for everyday wear.

  “Colonel FitzPrince!”

  Edward turned when he heard his name called. He recognized General Lawe limping toward him. Edward saluted and stepped forward.

  “Out of uniform, Colonel?” the older man puffed, his face alarmingly red under his hat.

  “It didn’t occur to me to wear it,” Edward admitted.

  “You had court dress in your baggage all these years, son?”

  “No, sir, it is borrowed from a cousin with far better prospects.”

  The general nodded at Edward’s self-effacement. He tilted his head until Edward could see the luxurious tufts of the elderly man’s nose hair. He’d still been on active duty when Edward first joined his regiment, and this general had not liked the one whose daughter Edward had sported with, making them natural allies.

  “You’ll go far, Colonel. Have patience. The army is your fortune, not this ridiculous chasing after of royals.”

  Edward held back his laugh out of respect for the old man. “My half-sister may not like me very well, but I still feel the need to pay my respects.”

  “Change is in the wind,” said the general, narrowing his eyes against the glaring sun. “Mark my words. The gel was raised away from her Hanoverian uncles and she will not make the same choices they did.”

  “Still, I am her elder brother,” Edward said.

  “Life is too short to fight some battles.” The general lifted his finger. “The trick is to figure out which battles are worth fighting.” He smiled slyly and stepped away.

  Edward frowned, not understanding the man’s meaning, but then, over his shoulder, he saw Charlie approaching. Princess Charlotte, his wife. His mouth went dry. How could he ever have forgotten her beauty?

  His wife wore a low-cut, cream dress with an abundant train. She might have been a bride come to marry him. Men stopped in mid-conversation as she approached the fountain. Several bowed, but she seemed not to notice anyone but him, though she didn’t smile.

  ~

  Charlotte paused a few feet away, keeping clear of any moisture on the ground that might stain her train. She wished she could have avoided court dress for the day, given that the levee was for men, but the queen had wanted her eyes and ears in the crowd and Edward was one of the people on her watch list. Charlotte wasn’t quite sure what the queen feared from her half-brother that day. He did not seem the type to make a scene, though certainly he would be one for gathering allies.

  As she watched, an old military man tottered away from him, leaving a clear view. She regarded her husband carefully, a man taller than most men and better suited to court dress. His was ornate, suited for a princeling. Was she betraying the queen for thinking so? Or suiting herself? Regardless, with his cocked hat and a sword by his side, he looked dangerous. And delicious, in equal measures.

  She put her hand to her chest as her heart seemed to skip a beat, but then she met his eyes again and discovered her gesture had only drawn attention to her décolletage.

  The corners of his mouth curled up, giving him a hot, feral appearance. Her vision tunneled. She saw only him.

  Hot. Heat. London was never this hot, even in mid-July, she’d been told. He, having lived so long in Canada, must feel it acutely in those heavy clothes. She stepped closer, saw a bead of sweat drip down the side of his face, curling around his taut jaw. The urge to trace it with her tongue made her weak with longing.

  She flushed. Where had the thought come from? She was a gently reared virgin and no blame could be laid upon novels for giving her ideas. There hadn’t been money for such things. She’d mostly read musty tomes of ancient sermons. But she’d read the Bible too, even the Song of Solomon, with its sensually stirring words. Behold, you are beautiful, my love; behold, you are beautiful; your eyes are doves.

  Had he said those words to her once, lying on the grass in a secret meadow in Aberdeenshire? How had she met him? At a festival? She’d been visiting some distant cousin of her mother’s, an expense put on another family than her own for one summer, not a beauty yet.

  His eyes were dove gray. The light eyes, shading from pure gray around the iris to a darker, bluish hue on the outside, matched with his dark hair, gave him a look of purpose. She might not have been beautiful then, but he was. Tho
se eyes, she remembered them. They haunted her dreams for years.

  “Your Serene Highness,” he greeted her.

  She pressed her hand even harder against her chest. How could he sound so at ease when her insides were at war with themselves? She took a deep breath, then forced her lungs to expel old air, and keep calm. “Colonel.”

  “How have you been drawn into today’s party, madam?” He drawled the words, looking faintly amused. “Were you sent here to tell me I am not welcome?”

  She stepped closer. “Not precisely.”

  His eyebrows lifted.

  “Will you follow me inside?”

  “I am to be shuffled in amongst the first?”

  “Is that not an honor?” His jaw tightened. A momentary flash, but she caught it.

  “Is your goal to rid yourself me all the sooner, Princess?” His voice had gone soft.

  “I act under orders as best I can,” she said, a momentary flush of irritation bypassing the heat.

  “You are blushing,” he observed. “Very pretty.”

  He thinks I’m pretty. The thought should surely amuse her, but it made her insides dance with uneasy delight. “Come, sir, you are acting the courtier. Surely we are past such nonsense.”

  “On only our third meeting, madam? Why, we are just beginning.”

  She offered him the severe expression she’d learned at her mother’s knee, meant to stop outrageous men. For sure, he had no idea who she was to him. “Stop this flirtation at once, Colonel. It is disconcerting when you say those words, in that tone, and never smile.”

  “It is true I rarely smile.” He looked thoughtful. “I think I have forgotten how.”

  He had smiled often that lost summer. Was it the loss of her that had hardened him? “You are teasing. Everyone can smile. Even Sir John. Even dogs.”

  “Funny that your mind goes to both. He is attempting to make me his ally, you know.”

  “How have you responded to him?”

  “I have not. Shameful of me.”

  Those fascinating eyes appeared guileless, but he was a duke’s grandson. If he’d received one, he wouldn’t have ignored a letter entirely. Put him off, perhaps, but he knew how things were done.

  She put her hand on his arm. “Be very careful, Colonel.”

  His eyelids half-closed as he looked down at her hand, shockingly white against the claret of his sleeve. “I doubt Victoria would appreciate you, a princess in her household, touching a man in public.”

  She snatched her hand away. “A mistake, I assure you,” she spat.

  “No, no, Princess.” His eyebrows lifted. “I can well understand you wanting to touch me.” His gaze drifted lazily over the low cut of her dress. “I confess to similar impulses regarding your person, but not here.”

  Her tunnel vision finally cleared. Their conversation was somewhat protected by the noise, but they could still be seen. Oh, this was indeed a dangerous fellow. She had to remember he was the son of a dissolute royal prince, a man who had fathered at least five bastards if the rumors were true. And a wayward mother. He could have nothing less than a supremely sensual nature. This was not a husband attempting to tease her, but a man who thought he was a stranger.

  Even so, what was similar in herself answered to him. He was a match to her gunpowder keg. She had not seen him for nearly three weeks since their reunion but had thought of him daily. Small details of his person she had forgotten, or never noticed, became clear to her.

  He smelled fresh and woody. A Canadian toilet water, perhaps. Something distilled from cold-weather trees. He had a scar on his neck, only the tip visible over his high collar. How long had the wound been? Surely it could have been fatal. He was a lucky man. She’d be careful to remember that about him.

  Her family was never lucky.

  She started when she heard a loud snort at her left elbow. It was one of the court officers, who bowed to her and whispered in her ear.

  She looked at her husband. “I need to take you inside now, Colonel. The first wave, as you suggested.”

  In front of the other man, Edward was too wise to play games. He nodded and followed her when she walked toward the terrace, through double doors, and down a corridor into a receiving room. When she turned back to him, she hid her amusement at his obvious stupefaction.

  “Magnificent, isn’t it?” She lifted a hand to the ornately decorated ceiling.

  He shook his head. “No expense was spared, but then one hears that about our late King George.”

  “Yes, if King William’s influence had been felt from the start it might have turned out very differently.”

  “Is Victoria comfortable here?”

  “It will do for a city residence, I am sure.”

  “And you?” he asked. “Are your rooms comfortable?”

  She narrowed her eyes, but he, the clever seducer, only gave her a wry twist of his lips.

  Some forty men were in the room, most of the doddering type Edward had been speaking to on the lawn before she approached. Men the queen would have been suggested she see first, for fear of them collapsing in the heat. It seemed Edward was the only man there straight and upright, no cane to keep him upright on the carpets.

  His youth was a palpable thing. His vitality hid any sign of age. Never still, he constantly shifted his stance, changing angles, as if ever prepared to fight. No one could take him for anything less than a warrior. He was a man any woman would be proud to call husband.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. He was utterly unsuitable to her purposes, unless she could make him powerful. She had to remember that he was not the star to hitch herself to. If he did not remember her, she was free of him. Men like the elderly Duke of Wellington or the late middle-aged prime minister held the true power, not a military man with royal blood. She had too much of her mother’s practicality in her and had to guard against her sensual longings.

  He tilted his head at her. “We wait?”

  She nodded once. “Her Majesty will circumnavigate, exchanging remarks.”

  “What remarks shall we exchange?”

  “The weather, that sort of thing.”

  “I take it no serious business will be done here?”

  “Not with her,” she said. “Perhaps with other men.”

  “But you are watching me closely so as to prevent that.”

  “Where did you get those clothes?” she asked, ignoring his jab.

  “My cousin.”

  “Do you have a large family in Scotland?” She must pretend to know nothing.

  He lifted an eyebrow, an immediate challenge. “Are you going to claim not to know much about me? I doubt that.”

  “I know my peerage,” she snapped. “But your family doesn’t seem to believe very strongly in legitimacy, which leaves me at something of a loss. The duke had no heirs.”

  “Living, legitimate ones,” he said. “But he had four descendants.”

  “You, your two brothers, and—”

  “Murdo Ogilvy, my cousin. My uncle’s son.”

  She remembered a large young man, a bit older than Edward. Red hair, cheerful face, always daring his cousins to do silly things like jump into ponds. And jump into marriage? Had he dared Edward to marry her that hot August day? “Ah, your uncle was the late Lord Searle. But he only lived to be seventeen, correct?”

  Edward lifted a shoulder. “Not much to do in the Highlands.”

  The drawl was back, lethal in its appeal. She wished she had a fan. What had she been thinking to go about in mid-July without such an essential appliance?

  “I am glad he lived long enough to recognize his son.”

  A line appeared between his brows. “I suppose so. I have wondered if my uncle’s death was what spurred my mother to her, err, excesses.”

  “Great losses can cause any number of complications. Your poor family.”

  His eyelids half-closed to sensual effect. “My, Princess, warming me up for the inane chatter so soon? I wish to know, if I cannot transact my
business here, when I can hope for a private audience to have my case heard. The prime minister, please. I would like to settle my business, then return to my regiment.”

  “You are dedicated,” she observed. How handsome he was.

  His gaze, already intense, became fierce. “My brothers are there. I wouldn’t want to miss a fight that they take part in. I’d never hear the end of it.”

  “Then you do not really believe you will be king,” she said softly.

  “Do you?” he countered.

  She shook her head, having no answer. “Those fighting words sound exactly like something my brothers would say.”

  “Will they be soldiers?”

  “It’s possible. I don’t know. I never went anywhere until I came to England. It is hard to imagine sometimes that I might never see my family again.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice a silken thread of sound. “Why, I heard a rumor that you went to Scotland once.”

  The very blood froze in her veins. Did he know? She could not meet his eyes.

  “Even now,” he continued as if he had never said that damning word “Scotland,” “one hears rumors that Victoria might marry a German princeling. No doubt she’ll take you visiting in her entourage.”

  “I hope so.” Her voice came out as a squeak.

  “If you marry, you’ll leave court.”

  Was it a comment or a threat? She needed every shilling she earned from her position for her brothers. “Married women can maintain their positions here.”

  “But you have to leave your children behind when you are in waiting. For a month at a time, isn’t it?”

  “Part of the arrangement when I came here was to not be a part of that system.”

  “Then you must be the closest to Victoria.”

  “The most consistent,” she agreed. She sensed movement in the room and saw the queen approaching them, dressed in a tidy black gown, trailed by Lord Melbourne.