The Princess Dilemma: A Victorian Royal Romance

by Heather Hiestand

  “What do you expect me to do, a big bloke like tha’?” the maid asked.

  The colonel ran his tongue over his upper lip and lifted his eyebrows.

  Charlotte shook her head. “I am on the queen’s business. The colonel is a man of honor. There will be no trouble.”

  “So difficult to understand a truly thick German accent,” he mused.

  “Very amusing,” she snapped.

  He stepped back from the door and she swept in, her skirts brushing his leg. She noticed he held his ground despite her invasion of his space.

  The valet gestured her to a small, threadbare settee and pulled a chair out from a writing desk and placed it nearby.

  “Will ye be wanting tea, Colonel?” Quintin asked, scratching his nose.

  Charlotte didn’t think she’d want to drink anything the little man prepared, but at least tea came boiled.

  “Would you like tea, Princess?”

  “Rather warm for it, I think,” she opined, as she seated herself.

  “That will be all, Quintin,” the colonel said, taking the chair.

  The man shuffled away. Charlotte frowned, seeing that it was rather difficult for the man to move.

  The colonel shook his head when he saw the path of her gaze. “Quintin has been very ill.”

  “It was good of you to take him in.”

  “He was my batman. Always took good care of me. Nursed me through a couple terrible bouts of ague those first winters in Canada.”

  “I am glad to see you repaying his good care of you.”

  “I am doing my best, at any rate.”

  Charlotte took a deep breath as she opened her reticule and pulled out the bank note. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out the guineas. She held all of it in her hand, wondering what good any of it would do.

  At their position in life, it wasn’t a few coins that would make a change in circumstances. No, money was power. The correct address, the correct education, the correct clothes, the proper number of servants. All of it led to the right spouse, the right position. If she sent this money to her mother the woman would laugh. It was a mere drop of what her family needed. She and the colonel were in the same financial position.

  “I was instructed to give you this and tell you to make your arrangements to return to Quebec,” she said, not looking at him. “Her Majesty asks you to understand that she cannot help you. England requires stability, and she requests that you think of your country.”

  “And if I persist,” he said softly, dangerously. “Her reputation will suffer. The throne could collapse. She could lose her head. All because of a marriage that took place long before she was born.”

  Charlotte stared at the floor. The uncarpeted boards were clean, though worn. “I believe that is her fear.”

  “It is not your opinion that matters, Princess.”

  “You have to make her see your value, Edward. Maybe you can’t prove what you think to be true, but you might be able to get something from this.”

  His chin went up when she used his Christian name. “Is this a formal declaration that you are on my side?”

  “Will you book passage to Quebec?” she countered.

  “This is merely a battle I have lost, not a war. I shall think of something.”

  She nodded. “I would not give up either, were I in your position.”

  “You are in my position. You are my wife. My cousin will not have it otherwise.” He stood and began to pace the room. He took a full turn, then stopped behind the settee. She couldn’t see him. “I have researched you.”

  “Of course.” He had to discover who he was married to.

  “Large family. But your salary as lady-in-waiting is what, five hundred pounds a year or so? It’s a good wage.”

  “Yes.” What was he doing behind her?

  “At Court, your clothing requirements are extravagant. That is expensive, assuming you pay your bills.”

  Her fist closed around the guineas. “I do everything I can, short of dishonesty, to preserve my capital.”

  “For your brothers, correct? Their school fees.”

  She exhaled, the sound noisy in the quiet room. Hands closed around her shoulders, making her jump.

  “We both have two brothers to think of. My brothers have their own unique talents and yours will most likely develop some too, but you and I, we are fellow adventurers.” He stroked up her neck with both hands.

  Her breasts seemed to plump, her nipples hardening. She bit her lip at the sudden erotic sensation of his callused fingers cupping her jaw. “Sir, please.”

  “Shhh,” he soothed.

  She didn’t make a sound when he bent down and covered her lips with his warm mouth. Hadn’t she thought her admonition would stop him? Apparently not. Her body wanted to know this dance. At the very least, she could be taught how to flirt again. His tongue danced along the seam of her mouth and she opened for him. She scarcely noticed when his hands left her jaw and slid down her throat, to her chest, tugging at the chemisette covering her upper breasts. He pushed one hand into her cleavage.

  Coins dropped onto her India muslin, then clattered to the floor. His fingers slid onto her nipples. Her body jerked with the foreign sensation, those rough fingers making her rigid with longing. Eleven years, she could have been doing this. The loss of it made her bite at his lip.

  He grunted with satisfaction with her response as he circled the hard little points. She could feel them swelling even tighter with his ministrations. His tongue dipped fully into her mouth, exploring the inner secrets. Her tongue, instinctively, slid along his warm, corrugated heat.

  She forgot to breathe until he pinched her nipples. The sensation of it brought her to her senses. What was he thinking? She was no seasoned lover.

  She grabbed for his wrists, stilling his madness-inducing caresses, and dipped the back of her head onto the settee, breaking his kiss. “Sir,” she gasped. “You forget yourself, and me.”

  His lips were swollen, reddened, as he straightened. “I forget nothing, Princess.”

  “Then why are you treating me like this?”

  He smiled. It was not a nice smile, but a sinister one full of teeth, or at least so it seemed from her upside-down position. “Why do you think men and women aren’t meant to be left alone together in bachelor chambers?”

  She was reminded of wolves, predators. How had she fallen into one of the most obvious traps of all? At least if she refrained from becoming his lover she would be following her mother’s dictates to forget her Scottish marriage.

  With a deep breath, she left the coins on the floor and dropped the bank note to the settee next to her, then stood, adjusting her chemisette. Her straw hat had gone askew, pulling painfully at her scalp. She did what she could to right it and retied the ribbon, not looking at him.

  “Go back to Quebec,” she begged, turning to him when she felt presentable again. “You will never succeed with the queen if you continue to show your lack of manners with the female sex. Thank you for revealing your true character to me.”

  His expression blanked. “Does arousal always make you so angry, Charlie? What a fiery piece you are. I daresay you enjoyed our little adventure enormously, though you must feel as frustrated as I do now. I recall I stayed drunk for weeks after I was pulled off of you on our wedding night.”

  She noticed her arms were trembling. Her entire body, probably. It didn’t bear thinking about it. “Call me Charlotte. I’m grown now.”

  “Oh, I know. You are enchanting with your color so high. I’d love to make you scream beneath me.” He stepped around the settee. “I could give you such pleasure, Charlotte. To think, all you have to do is claim to bring a message from my sister. You can visit me any time you like. No one would question Victoria’s dearest lady-in-waiting.”

  That private place between her legs went liquid. She wanted to fall at his knees and beg him for his offered pleasure. But no. She could not afford to be a fool. She ground her teeth until her jaw b
egan to ache, unable to speak. Instead, she shook her head and went to the door. She couldn’t look back, didn’t want to see that handsome face, those beautiful, glittering eyes. When she shut the door behind her, Birdie gasped.

  “You have tears in your eyes, Your Serene Highness. Whatever happened?”

  ~

  Edward spent a sleepless night, endlessly reliving the feel of a princess’s breasts underneath his hand as her tongue tangled with his. Oh, she might have a prim, self-contained exterior despite those low-cut dresses, but he knew better now. His wife sinned as deliciously as any earthy opera dancer. Yet somehow, he had miscalculated.

  She had not so much as argued with him, much less agreed, when he suggested they might explore their mutual frustration. She had simply run away. Not run, exactly, but she had walked faster than normal. Her hat had still been askew. Had she been angry? Upset? She hadn’t exactly behaved like a virgin, though he had left her as one more than once now. As he recalled it, she’d joined eagerly in their kisses. Perhaps his exploration of her décolletage had been too much. Did she not understand the impulses of her own body? It was not their first kiss. She might understand kisses and nothing else.

  Frustrated, he paced the room as he had the night before, instinctively stopping in the same place to relive the scene. He could almost smell her in the room. Chamomile? Some kind of delicate bloom with a lingering taste. God help him. He wanted to know if his estranged wife was still a virgin.

  Quintin brought in the morning post, oblivious to his turmoil.

  He forced himself to focus and picked up the bank draft she’d left behind. “I need to go to the bank this afternoon and then I’ll have funds for new boots. Can you make an appointment for me to be measured? Where fashionable gentlemen get their boots?”

  “I saw Mr. Cavendish’s man from upstairs in the hallway. I’ll just run out and ask,” Quintin said, shuffling through the room.

  Edward glanced at the man’s threadbare coat elbows and knew he needed new clothing as well. Maybe something of his could be cut down, but all of his clothes were new.

  He went to his writing desk and looked through the mail, seeing nothing that interested him, but then he noticed Aunt Abigail’s letter, pushed off to the side. He’d never finished reading it. He scanned through to page three, where he’d left off, and read to the end.

  He brightened. Aunt Abigail had come through. Why she’d never told him before he couldn’t imagine, but she claimed his mother had sent some kind of keepsake to Princess Sophia for safekeeping when she became ill. Now, he needed to collect it. It might be the key to the throne.

  Late that afternoon, his missive to Kensington Palace having been responded to, he left his rooms for dinner with Princess Sophia. He found her in chambers much less opulent than the newly refurbished ones that had been inhabited by Victoria and her mother. Rumor was that the duchess had literally broken into the State Apartments and repurposed some of the rooms for her use without the king knowing. His admiration for Victoria grew, knowing how completely she’d been able to sideline her shameless mother since their uncle had passed.

  The atmosphere at Kensington Palace seemed subdued, as if the departure of Victoria had caused the entire compound to fall into an enchanted sleep. Even Princess Sophia had lost some of her luster. She now seemed a kind of overdressed poodle, with her soft, fluffy gray hair puffed around her face under an old-fashioned cap.

  This time, Edward truly felt like her nephew, allowed to give her a kiss on the cheek, and sit next to her on a comfortable sofa.

  “I am so glad you were able to come and see me again, Edward,” she said, patting his hands. “I am happy to give you your dinner.”

  “It is always an honor to dine with a beautiful lady,” he said. “We rough soldiers do not often have such an opportunity.”

  “Is it so dreadful in Canada? I cannot imagine what coarse people there must be in the Colonies. So disrespectful.”

  “The company there is provincial,” he agreed. “But there are educated folks. And I never knew anything but provincial, given that I lived in Linsee until I joined my regiment.”

  “No, I suppose you do not have much town polish,” the princess said, smiling. “But I like your straightforward nature and unfettered strength. Very appealing in a man. A bit intimidating for Victoria, though. I was used to military men, in the king’s household, but she was raised so quietly.”

  “I cannot be anything but what I am. I wish I knew how to make her understand that we must resolve our situation quickly. She thinks of England, but so do I.”

  “You wrote to remind me that your mother entrusted me with something,” his aunt said, ignoring his words. “It took me a good hour to remember what it was, I must admit. But when I recalled, I realized that the trinket might yet help you.”

  “Oh?”

  She smiled and took a jewelry case from the occasional table to her right. With trembling fingers, she undid the latch and pulled out an even smaller box, then handed it to him.

  He opened the little wooden box and found a brooch inside. A framed color portrait under glass, with an oval gold frame. “It’s a baby.” He looked at his aunt questioningly.

  “Princess Alexandrina Victoria, aged six months. It says so on the back.”

  All babies looked the same to him. He saw nothing in the unformed child to prove her aunt’s assertion.

  “Turn it over,” she said.

  He took it out of the box and flipped it, holding it next to the candelabra. Ah, now he could see the painted words. As she’d said, and the date too, eighteen twenty. After he put it away, Princess Sophia handed him a letter.

  When he read it, he smiled. The letter was from his father, Prince Edward, to his mother. From his deathbed, no less, it bade his mother to remember him and pray for his soul, and ask her to commit her sons to protecting their young sister in any way they might. He wished his father had made clear that he desired his son to have the throne as well, but at least Victoria could not deny their shared father had wanted them to know each other. Was this the way a man would treat sons he considered no more than bastards?

  With a letter like this in hand, surely the queen would not continue to insist he return to Quebec, not right away. Maybe he could transfer to the Life Guards, that elite regiment, or something similar, and serve her directly while he awaited a final ruling on his legitimacy.

  He tapped his chin with the letter, thinking hard. “If you were me, dear aunt, would you request transfer to a regiment based in London, or would you continue to advocate full time?”

  “Oh, you must have a title, dear Edward, whatever your military position. I see my father, the late king, in you, my dear, as he was when I was young. You must be allowed to prove yourself.”

  ~

  Charlotte had taken to walking along the terrace at eleven a.m., when the queen met with her ministers. Yesterday, she had been unable to keep Edward from her thoughts. Her limbs had trembled the entire rest of Sunday. It had taken another day to push him to the rear of her thoughts. She had attempted a flirtation with a very young pup of an earl at dinner the night before, a disaster that had left her with a lapful of red wine and a ruined dress. This morning had brought another of her mother’s begging letters, and with it, a reminder of her promise to forget her marriage. So far, she wasn’t finding a better alternative.

  She sighed. Maybe she should have kept Victoria’s coins for herself, instead of giving them to Edward. Yet five guineas was nothing. She needed a rich husband. Ironically, it was the queen’s very morality that kept her from any other options. In the court of days gone by, she might have found easier coin as a rich man’s mistress. If the men asking were the same sort as Edward, she might even have said yes. Especially now that he had awakened her senses.

  She turned to face the palace, resting her hands behind her on the stone balustrade. Just a fraction of the money spent on this place could remake her family. Education for her brothers, dowries for her sisters.
If only she had the mind of a thief, rather than of a courtier. How was she going to meet a protector, much less a mother-approved husband, in this women’s household? She needed to be at ton parties, not locked up here at court.

  Closing her eyes, she went through the list of ladies-in-waiting and maids of honor. Did any of them have marriage-aged brothers? No. All brothers were married or were not more than children.

  Her mother had made a grave mistake sending her here, but then, she hadn’t known the king was about to die. Or that Charlotte’s cast-off husband had a claim to the British throne.

  “Princess!”

  The voice came in a hiss close by her ear. She whipped around, wishing she had a weapon. Her eyes opened so wide she felt the sting of the summer sun and had to blink away black spots. “Edward! What are you doing here yet again?”

  He stared at her intently, his gray-blue eyes picking up the brightness of the day. “I had to speak to you. Can we be private?”

  Her body responded instinctively, but she ignored the tightening of her nipples, the warm tingles down her spine. He took such risks. “You ask me that after what you did? I cannot be alone with you again.”

  He bared his teeth, though his expression was by no means a smile. “You liked it, Princess.”

  She grabbed his arm as she looked around. A group of ladies were coming down the terrace but weren’t close enough to recognize her yet. She walked rapidly in the opposite direction, then went through a set of French doors, praying Edward wouldn’t vault the balustrade or something equally noticeable. He was close behind her as she took a flight of steps, then another. Soon, they were walking down the corridor to her room. She had been grateful to have a private suite, but now, she was leading herself right into possible disgrace and danger. Even worse, Edward was unlikely to care about the consequences.

  He walked into her room behind her, shutting the door. She pressed up against him and put her finger to his lips. “No one should disturb us, but you are forbidden to be here and if anyone hears a man’s voice I would be ruined.”