The Princess Dilemma: A Victorian Royal Romance

by Heather Hiestand

  Edward examined the sketch. Hadn’t Princess Sophia said he looked like his grandfather? He didn’t see Linsee in him, only the prince. Well, he had his mother’s eye color, but that came from the maternal line, not the duke. Murdo, though, was all McChase.

  “My guests are not entertaining you?” Murdo asked, holding a three-pronged candelabra as he walked into the room. The candlelight burnished all the gilt-edged paintings, making the room appear like something out of a pharaoh’s tomb. How different this house was from his modest rooms.

  “I apologize. I wanted to visit the relatives. You have some paintings here I’ve never seen.”

  “You can come anytime,” Murdo said. “Nostalgic because you are leaving soon?”

  “Victoria is writing to Aunt Abigail,” Edward said. “That is my only stay of execution at the moment. My quest is not going well.”

  “What can you do?”

  “I’m trying to get a transfer to one of the regiments in the Household Guard, to keep me in London. Victoria and her Privy Council won’t be bent to my wishes easily.”

  “No luck of any kind?”

  “Some with her favorite lady-in-waiting, but I don’t think Charlotte has any power of her own. I gave her too much credit. Princess Sophia has tried to help me, but she’s a foolish old woman and the queen knows it.”

  “And who is your opposition?”

  “The reality is that my mother should have made a claim on our behalf right when my father died, according to the lawyers. She should have contacted the College of Arms then.”

  “What does that tell you?”

  “She had been humiliated, left behind.” As he said the words, he wondered how Charlotte must have felt, being removed from Scotland after their disastrous marriage. If they had consummated their marriage and she’d had a child, would she have fought for her child’s royal lineage?

  “Is it possible that Prince Edward made some kind of deal with her not to pursue the throne?”

  “She lived quietly. I see no benefit of any deal, other than our commissions, and Linsee had the funds to pay for them himself.”

  “Rumor had it she was mad, you know.”

  “Because she converted to Roman Catholicism.”

  “An officer and a gentleman is what you are,” Murdo said. “And bless you for it. But no, Edward, the rumors were worse than that about your mother.”

  “Thank you for your loyalty, cousin. I admit it’s been nearly a dozen years since I laid eyes on my mother, but I don’t remember any sign of madness. She was very sad, but why not? Her husband had deserted her. It is too bad that the Linsee title couldn’t go through her to me.”

  “You wouldn’t know, being so far away, but I tried to get the title for myself. Me, I couldn’t even get an audience with the king, so I let it go.”

  “As Linsee’s heir you would seem the obvious choice. Why not try again?”

  Murdo shrugged. “No interest in politics, I suppose. Besides, I’m not a prince’s son.”

  “No, you are the viscount’s. I would keep trying, if I were you.”

  “You have more fighting blood than me. I’m only half a fighter, and half a pale, wistful governess.”

  Edward shook his head. “If you say so.”

  “Say, I’ve been reading Pickwick. Lots of romance in it. Just read the bit about Pickwick’s accidental proposal to his landlady. That’s what you like?”

  “No, I liked the earlier part with the military almost running Pickwick over. I admit I’ve lost some interest, but I’m only up to episode six.”

  “Me too. We shall have to see if it improves. How is your own romance going?”

  Edward clapped Murdo on the back. The man was quite thin, no muscle on him at all. “Better than Pickwick’s. Need to get you boxing, or riding, or something. You can’t spend all your time in brothels and hells.”

  “Not if I want to live to be old,” Murdo said with a cheerful grin. “But so far, I don’t see much point in working toward a long life.”

  At Murdo’s words, Edward’s thoughts drifted to his cool blond princess. He had to sort out his feelings about her. It would be a pity not to fully sample her charms, when she had so much passion in her. The thought made his blood rise and he knew he’d be unfit for company the rest of the night.

  “I think I’ll go home, instead of playing cards,” Edward said. “I’ve never liked cigar smoke anyway.”

  “London may not be for you,” Murdo said. “It’s a smoky place. Need a bit of capital?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins.

  “Thank you,” Edward said. “But in the interest of full disclosure, I’ve had funds from Aunt Abigail, Princess Sophia and the queen.”

  “Yet you still haven’t upgraded your wardrobe. I’ll stop offering you blunt when you dress better.”

  Edward winked. “I’ve just ordered new boots. I’m working from the bottom up.”

  “Order some for Spencer and James, too. From the looks of your boots, I expect your brothers could use new pairs as well.” He reached into his pocket again and handed Edward a banknote.

  Edward took the note and coins. “Thank you, Murdo. That’s very kind. I’ll tell them the boots are a particular gift from their cousin.”

  “Any time. I’ll see you out.”

  Edward followed Murdo’s candelabra from the room, down the stairs, and out the front door. He walked home, not having much fear of thieves. If anything, he was spoiling for a fight, but no evildoers appeared to break the monotony of his stroll.

  ~

  Charlotte stood alone on the terrace when Edward approached just after eleven on Monday morning. She put a finger to her lips and turned away. He followed, assuming they were headed back to her rooms. His cock twitched with eagerness at the idea of what he might do with her. He’d resolved to not play power games today but to give her the little death she craved. It would punish them both to do otherwise, even if it sent them perilously close to making their marriage real.

  However, the minx did not take him to her room, but a small, deserted parlor that looked as if it was meant as a waiting room for servants. What was her game?

  “Dusty,” he commented as he swiped his finger along the mantelpiece.

  “No one ever comes in here. I found it when Dash escaped the queen and scampered around the halls. That puppy led me on quite a chase.”

  He could imagine the elegant princess trotting down the halls after the small dog. “How frustrating.”

  “At least he led me here. Much closer than my rooms.” She put her finger to her nose and sneezed.

  “You may have to tell someone to tidy here.”

  “It will give me away.” She sniffed. “My eyes are watering, it’s that bad.”

  “Construction dust. I imagine this room was forgotten in the plans.”

  “Can you imagine living in a place so large that you could forget rooms? Scharnburg Castle is so ancient that it’s not very large. It’s built up from the original keep.” Charlotte took out a handkerchief and held it to her nose while she carefully removed a dust cover from a gilded loveseat. “New furniture.”

  “Looks like something Uncle George would have bought.”

  “The late King George had wildly extravagant taste. I’ve heard such stories of Brighton Pavilion. I wonder when the court will visit.”

  “Did you bring me here to discuss the court’s doings? Find me another opportunity to stare upon my half-sister from afar?”

  Instead of looking abashed she stared him right in the eye. “One never knows how these things will work out. I am sorry you were disappointed.”

  “Actually, I may have had a bit of luck while I was wandering around the theater.”

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “What?”

  Her gesture reminded him of how tiny her waist was. Had she grown much since their wedding? “Remind me of who Lady Amy is.”

  “Lady Amy Blair? The Duchess of Kent’s lady-in-waiting?”


  “Long nose, Scottish accent?”

  “Yes, she’s from Glasgow, I believe. I can’t imagine what society is like there.”

  “I’ve never been,” Edward admitted. “But yes, that’s the woman.”

  “She was with us at the opera.”

  “Not during the intermission. I saw her intriguing with Sir John Conroy.”

  Charlotte tilted her head. “ ‘Intriguing’?”

  “She was standing behind a pillar near the royal box. I saw her smile. A verra welcoming smile,” he said, broadening his almost non-existent Scottish accent.

  “She likes him,” Charlotte admitted. “I’ve seen her blushing in his presence.”

  “I could not hear what was discussed but I thought it suspicious that they were lurking around the theater. For all I know, discussion was not the order of the day.” He seated himself on the loveseat.

  “I hardly think they were touching in a public place where anyone might see them.”

  “I am merely stating that she looked very happy to see him. I think you should look into the matter.”

  “What good will it do us?” She sat next to him and spread out her skirts.

  “Did you not sleep well, Princess?” Edward inquired. “Think of it. If we can disgrace a woman the queen so clearly dislikes, and remove her from the duchess’s household, we become that much more of a friend to her.”

  “We are no longer much in the duchess’s household.”

  “The queen holds childish grudges, trust me. She’d be happy to see such a person punished.” He leaned into Charlotte and spoke in her ear. “Where Lady Amy is disgraced, is not Sir John implicated as well? If we could have him removed--”

  Charlotte smiled and brushed her cheek along his lips. “That would be the making of you, Edward.”

  “The moral outrage,” he said, standing and putting one hand into his coat, à la Napoleon, to declaim. “I will rid your court, madam, of these improprieties. We will have order!”

  She giggled and curtseyed before him. “La, sir, you are a shining example of the royal bloodline.”

  “As are you, Your Serene Highness,” he said, bowing. “You have all the grace of a vicar in high flower.”

  She shook her head, looking rueful. “And here I was inviting you into my secret chamber for a naughty bit of sport.”

  He sat on George IV’s gilt settee again and patted his knee. “Those who do their intriguing out in the open are doomed to discovery. We are smarter than that.”

  “We have to be careful,” she said, seating herself on his upper thigh. Her skirts covered his lap.

  “You locked the door, correct?”

  She nodded. “With a skeleton key. I think the actual key to the room is lost.”

  “We are safe for now, Princess.” He put his arms around her and leaned his cheek against her hair, breathing in the herbal scent secreted there. “You have a lovely profile, my dear, suitable for coins. Nothing like Victoria’s chubby cheeks.”

  “Poor queen,” Charlotte said.

  “She will not need a pretty face to get a husband. Every poor prince in Europe will be at her feet.”

  “There are not so many of those, as I well know.”

  “Enough. She’ll be married in a year.”

  “She is more stubborn than that. I know her character, Edward. She’ll want to govern for a time.”

  “I like that you called me Edward.” He nuzzled her hair again. “Very intimate.” His fingers trailed down her skirt and began to ruck it up.

  She inhaled sharply as his fingers found the top of her stocking and crept north. “What are you doing?”

  “You know what I’m doing.” He found the fragrant place between her thighs and began to toy with her crisp curls.

  “You are petting me as if I was a cat.” Every time he rubbed and tugged, she tilted her hips, tease his fingers into dipping lower, to where that amazingly delicate, tender spot was between her thighs.

  Eventually, she couldn’t help her tiny moan. He put a hand over her mouth to stop the noise.

  “Quiet, Princess,” he whispered in her ear.

  She bit the pad of his thumb in response. He didn’t so much as jerk his hand, but his other hand gave her mound a little spank. She gasped with the tingling sensation and moved her hips.

  His fingers began to rub in earnest along her inner lips, tugging, circling. He knew she needed his hand against her mouth now to keep her quiet. As she stiffened against him in ecstasy, he took his hand from her mouth and closed his lips over hers, stealing the sounds of her pleasure into his own mouth.

  ~

  Kissing back was impossible, so wrapped up was she in her own pleasure, but he took her mouth as leisurely as he took the rest. What would it be like to live with such a man, to feel the pleasure he brought her night and day? Why couldn’t one of them be rich and powerful? For the first time, she regretted being a princess. Her options were few. Partners were limited for one like her and she was hardly an attractive match for most of them.

  “Such pretty pink cheeks,” he murmured, when he’d finally stopped kissing her and pulled away. “You look beautiful in passion’s thrall.”

  “Very poetic for a soldier,” she said, tugging his hand away from her so she could smooth her skirts.

  “We do the things the poets write about, when they can bother to put down their pens and explore life.”

  “If you say so.” Regretfully, she put her hand on his shoulder to help push herself to a standing position. Her legs felt wobbly, as if she were a newborn animal, but the rest of her was extraordinarily relaxed. “If the queen knew how good a man could make her feel, she’d marry much sooner.”

  He made an indeterminate, very Scottish noise. “I won’t be the one to tell her.”

  “I can’t either. She’d wonder how I knew, not having married sisters.”

  “Your mother?” He circled her waist with his hands.

  “Much too proper to be so specific.”

  He cocked his head. “Really, given her background?”

  She squinted at him. “Yes, Edward, really. She’s a good woman and an excellent mother, even with an improper past.”

  “Are you more like her or your father?”

  She tried to focus, to put the rapturous sensations of a moment ago aside, realizing they had so little time to be private, and every morsel of information shared was important. “A combination of both, like most people, I believe. What traits did you inherit from your parents?”

  “An interest in the military from my father, of course. From my mother, a love of family. She raised me to be responsible for my brothers.”

  “That is all? No personal traits?”

  He stared into the distance, as if this was a question he had never thought to answer. She toyed with the dust cover on what was probably a small table, sending a puff of plaster into the air.

  He stroked his upper lip, making her wonder if he’d ever worn a mustache. “You are asking about a man who died when I was seven and a woman I last saw at the age of sixteen. It is hard to remember.”

  “I am sorry for that. I inherited my love of dancing from my mother, and my sense of responsibility, and definitely, my looks. Except my eyebrows. I have my father’s eyebrows.”

  Edward lifted his own in response. “At least there can be no doubt your mother is a beauty, though I cannot imagine what eyebrows she might possess.”

  “They are very fine and arched. Mine are thick and unruly. I can look quite fierce.” She frowned forbiddingly to show him.

  The dratted man chuckled without smiling. How did he do that? “I see. Your mother can never be fierce, then. I did not know you like to dance.”

  “Yes, as does the queen. We practice together, you know.”

  “Why don’t you offer me as a partner? I could come and dance with her.”

  “You dance?”

  “Just the usual things. You’d have to teach me your German folk dances and anything Victoria particularly li
kes.”

  “I will think about it, but if we tried to dance in here, we’d raise the dust and then the alarm when we started to sneeze and cough. In fact, we should leave. I cannot stay missing forever.”

  “I enjoy being with you, scheming and playing.”

  He might never smile at her, but she couldn’t keep the joy from her own face. “I enjoy it too, very much.”

  “So you will keep an eye on Lady Amy, then? See if you can get wind of any scandal that will help us?”

  She nodded. So soon, he was back to business. “It is a good idea, to bring down Sir John, since the queen hates him so. Has he continued to write you?”

  He stood and took her arm, caressing her wrist with his thumb as he spoke. “The two times, nothing more. He asks to meet with me, suggests we have common goals. But I could not help him and I’m sure he’ll realize that eventually, even as cut off as he is from Victoria’s company, that she has no more interest in me than she does in him.”

  “It’s not that bad, surely.”

  “Why, do you chat about me over your needlework, Princess?”

  “No, I suppose we don’t.” But she would if she could. She’d giggle over him like a giddy young maid with a follower if she could. “You make me feel like less of a princess and more of a woman.”

  He smoothed the long lock of hair that curled over her cheek. “And I feel like more of a man and less like a supplicant. I thank you for that.”

  “We have to be strong.” Their eyes met. He was stoic, as men must be, but she could tell he understood.

  “Send for me when you have something more concrete about Lady Amy. Maybe Sir John has written her, too. See what the maids know.”

  “I will do my best. When will I see you again?”

  “When you know something, or Victoria receives word from Lady Abigail. Until then, we can’t risk meeting.”