“Did you court one of them?”
“I might have stolen a summer’s night kiss or two from your aunt,” the man said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Aye, a pretty lass.”
“Are you the reason she never married?”
“None of the three ever truly married, as ye know,” he countered.
“Viscount Searle was engaged, my mother thought she was married.”
“Ill luck there,” the man agreed. “Tragedy. One problem with that generation is that none of them were truly intelligent.”
Edward’s brows lifted. “You are insulting my family, sir, and may I remind you that my aunt still lives.”
“Yes, I know,” Sir Bothan said with an air of indulgence. “But ye must admit it takes a certain sort of careless woman to think she’s married to a royal prince with no solid approval from his father, and a certain sort of stripling to find his fiancée expecting a child when he’s never known her love.”
The man had just all but told him that the George III letter was a forgery, and that Murdo wasn’t Viscount Searle’s son. Again, Edward’s tattoo thrummed a warning. “What do you know about these private matters?”
“Julie Jones was my sister, my half-sister, to be exact.”
“And not legitimate?” Edward guessed. “You are a baronet?”
“Yes and yes,” the man said. “Julie was well-educated and Linsee hired her for the girls, your mother and Abigail.”
“Searle fell in love with her. A romantic tale, I’ve been told. This was about three years before I was born.”
“All true, but he wasn’t the one who used her. My innocent sister, who might have made an outlandishly brilliant wedding, one her beauty and talents well deserved.” The man paused, his voice lowered. “Linsee destroyed Julie.”
Edward doubted aspects of the tale. Julie Jones was twenty, he’d been told, and if she’d been such a diamond she wouldn’t have been available to governess at that age. “How did she die?”
“A fever. Murdo was weaned by then. They had lived quietly in a cottage on the estate for a couple of years after Murdo’s birth. Searle died first, of course, before the babe was born. I had wondered why he had not married her, and had the entire tale from Julie.”
“Searle was only seventeen.”
“You were sixteen when you wed your princess.”
“Not properly, in a church. Do you think Searle should have married your sister?”
“Of course I did, at the time. I never discovered how Searle died exactly. Linsee would never say. Toward the end I wondered if he never knew, or if the laddie killed himself over Julie’s presumed betrayal.”
Edward had been told Searle broke his neck, thrown from an unbroken horse. “Who is Murdo’s father?” he asked baldly. He could not tell what were lies or truth from this man.
“Why, Linsee, of course. That’s why Murdo inherited everything, while ye and your brothers, better born by any standard of bastardy, took nothing but your commissions.”
Edward remembered looking at family portraits, how much Murdo resembled Linsee. But he had never suspected. The secret had been kept very close. Only this man had known. Murdo’s uncle. Did that mean the story was untrue?
“Your sister told you?”
“Of course. I had to secure what was rightfully my nephew’s. If not for me, who knows what might have happened to the lad?”
“You might have raised him in your house.”
“A mere baronet’s house, when a duke’s would do?” Sir Bothan shook his narrow head, his dark eyes blazing with the intensity of a cobra. “No, Colonel, he needed what was his.”
“You are a blackmailer, sir,” Edward said softly.
Sir Bothan’s smile became malicious. “I put my family first, Colonel.”
Yet he claimed to be a cousin. He had a narrow definition of family. “What do you know about the box of material sent to me after my mother died?” he asked.
The blackmailer chuckled softly. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“Why?”
“There is more where that came from, and better.”
Better? “Was that the letter I received the one that initially persuaded my mother that Prince Edward was allowed to marry her, no matter how private the marriage was?”
Sir Bothan’s incisors showed as he smiled widely. “Now you are showing some intelligence.” He put his index finger under his chin. “No, I believe the letter you had was of a more recent manufacture.”
“So there is another letter out there somewhere. My father deliberately deceived my mother?”
“Why, Colonel. Who is to say it wasn’t your father who was deceived? Or that a real letter ever existed?”
Edward wondered how ancient Sir Bothan’s enmity was. He rubbed his forehead. “When exactly did your sister die?”
“The day before you were born.”
And Sir Bothan would have seen his sister’s child with no prospects, an orphan to all eyes, while he had been born, perhaps legitimate, while not an heir to the dukedom, coming from the female McChase line. Still, he would have been the person onto which the money and property would be secured, most likely, if he’d been legitimate.
If a real letter from George III existed, however, however small the chance, given that Sir Bothan had equivocated, it was thoroughly discredited now, by Edward having submitted a forgery to the College of Arms. Whether he was legitimate or not, a father deceived, or a mother, he could never offer proof again. He had too much honor to press the matter with new evidence, especially since the prime minister had claimed nothing was entered about the marriage in the Privy Council’s records. No, his only goal now, other than his brothers’ future, was to secure that of his wife’s.
“I am not interested, Sir Bothan. If such a letter exists, if it is in your possession or not, an old forgery or not, I am done fighting for the throne. I will not damage my reputation, or my sister’s, further.”
“Your wife might feel otherwise if I presented the facts to her. You might still make her a queen.”
“Stay away from my wife.” Edward swore, then schooled his face to impassivity as he realized the blackmailer might have access to his family in Aberdeenshire, but he had no way to access the royal household. He only had power on the Linsee side.
“Don’t you want your throne?” Sir Bothan taunted.
“Not like this,” Edward said staunchly. “I have no further interest in the matter.”
“Your days of adventuring are over?” the man asked. “Ready to return to dreary old Canada and drill until your bones ache?”
Edward stood. “At least my men are honest and true. I’ve had enough of blackmailers and courtiers. Good evening to you, sir. Please do not trouble me again.”
Edward stalked away and went to his room, hands in fists at his side. Everything Aunt Abigail had sent along might be fruit of this poisonous man. Was his aunt Sir Bothan’s mistress, or an innocent? What would Charlotte want him to do? She was an intelligent woman, his wife. No, she would not want him to throw in with a blackmailer.
However, she still needed money, and a way to escape returning to Scharnburg. When he reached his room, Edward leaned a hand against the bedpost, thinking hard.
In the end, he cleared his thoughts by writing to his brothers. Murdo would have the letter posted from here. He laid out the entire story, with a promise to make it right. It took him four hours and every candle in the room, but he was satisfied with his accounting of the tale. His brothers would know to stay clear of any communication from their aunt or Sir Bothan. He would hate to see them pulled into any disasters like he had been.
One thing the letter writing made clear to him was that Sir Bothan had probably persuaded Murdo to bring up the long-ago wedding. He likely had the man to thank for his renewed marriage to Charlotte. For that, he had no regrets. But why had Sir Bothan wanted him to fight for the throne?
With a sick feeling, Edward realized that he’d have one day received
a visit from the man, insinuating he held the throne on Sir Bothan’s word. The man would have been able to blackmail a king, if the Privy Council had decided they wanted a man instead of a girl on the English throne. He’d needed a new victim now that Linsee was dead and had aimed for the top.
Murdo needed to be warned against his uncle. Edward took up his quill and began to write again.
Chapter Eighteen
On Monday, Charlotte was called to one of Her Majesty’s secretary’s desks for a discussion.
“Your Serene Highness,” said the man, with a not-unkindly light in his eye as he stroked his mustache, “I’ve been asked to make travel arrangements for you to return to Scharnburg.”
Charlotte felt faint and all but collapsed into the creaking chair next to the man’s desk.
“You can make the channel crossing next week,” he continued. “I was told you have a letter of resignation for me? Her Majesty has decided not to share any details of the matter with your mother, to give you the courtesy of choosing your own words in the matter.”
“Very kind,” she murmured. “But next week? We are only returning to London today. She’ll need to bring on another lady.”
“I am sorry, ma’am. These are my orders.”
“I can’t leave now,” Charlotte said. “You have daughters, don’t you, Mr. Blake?”
The man nodded gravely.
“Am I remembering correctly? One of them married recently.”
He nodded again.
“And when a daughter marries, you expect notice of certain interesting events, that can have a great effect on the family, err, tree.”
Red blotches appeared on the man’s cheeks and his glance dropped away from her. “Are you saying that this is the case for yourself, ma’am?”
Charlotte pressed her palms together. “I don’t know. But a sea voyage? I cannot fathom such a thing, especially when I don’t know where my husband is going to go. I must consult with him. I simply cannot return to Germany right now. If the queen would consent to speak with me privately I would explain, but--”
Mr. Blake held up his hand. “Princess Charlotte, the queen is a maiden of far more tender years than your own. You cannot trouble her with such delicate matters.”
“Then what am I to do?”
“It seems to me that your place is with your husband. But that is not my decision.”
She nodded glumly. “I don’t know what to do, Mr. Blake. I know the queen wants me gone from her service, but this was the only source of income I had.”
“You must depend on your husband now.”
“How can I if I don’t know where he is?” She stared at the painting of old George III, resplendent in eighteenth-century court attire, on the wall. Why couldn’t she have been born into a different royal family?
“If you will indulge me, I can attempt to discover the plans under way for him. But he may have made his own decision to return to Canada.”
“I thought he loved me,” she said. “I thought he had plans.”
“The human heart is a mystery,” Mr. Blake said, smoothing his mustache again. “If I may, I would suggest you not overset yourself, ma’am. Take some rest. You have a long journey back to London this afternoon. I will be in touch.”
Charlotte nodded and fought to get her thoughts under control. Now that she had no more access to Victoria, she’d lost any power she might have had. She dreaded writing to her mother, but she’d better prepare a missive, just in case. “I admit I have not written that resignation letter yet, but I will do so tomorrow.”
Mr. Blake nodded and picked up his spectacles, then perched them on his nose. Charlotte forced herself to move with grace as she went back to her room, where her maid was finishing the packing. She sat on her bed and picked up her Bible with its lace bookmark and held the fabric to her cheek. Had Edward ever loved her?
~
Edward was surprised to find a summons from Buckingham Palace early Tuesday morning, along with a letter from his brothers noting disturbing developments in Canadian politics, but he had Quintin dress him in his uniform before he left for the private luncheon with his half-sister and Lord Melbourne. They were quite alone once their light repast was served and the servers had left the small room.
“I hope you had an easy journey back to London, Your Majesty,” he said politely. “And you, Lord Melbourne, of course.”
“Our mind was not easy,” his sister said, picking at her fish.
“No, ma’am?” he asked. Up until now, he had deliberately addressed her as his sister, his familiar, rather than his monarch, but it was time to show more respect. This might very well be the last time they ever saw each other. He was reasonably sure he was going to be told to go back to Quebec today.
“No. You and Princess Charlotte. It is a difficult matter, one in which my heart is personally engaged.”
“I understand. I am sorry. I had honestly all but forgotten her, and did not realize my cousin took our wedding as a legally binding matter.”
“How could you forget such a good, kind girl?” Victoria asked. “She is the very embodiment of feminine virtue, denying herself any little pleasure in order to aid her family.”
“I know,” he said. “You can imagine how overcome I was when I saw her again in your court, but it took some time for us to decide if we had the right to consider ourselves properly married.”
“She should not be a soldier’s wife. She should have a higher calling than that.”
“I am sorry.” He set down his fork.
“Her Majesty has pondered the matter, and has decided to offer you a knighthood. She will invest you privately with the honor,” the prime minister said.
He felt like clawing at his coat. This was Victoria’s solution? “I am sorry, Lord Melbourne, but I do not understand what good that will do us. I am honored, of course, that you think I am worthy, ma’am.”
“It is for my dear Charlotte,” Victoria said, “and because I can see with the Lady Amy matter that you did try to do right, and you did act in your own conscience with my friend and cousin, though I do think you should have confided in me, and certainly not tried to take my throne. That was very bad of you.”
Little did she know that he’d chosen not to continue the battle, for all their sakes. “I have come to the conclusion that you are correct, ma’am, but I will say that if I had not pursued the matter of my mother’s marriage, I would never have seen my wife again.”
“I understand you wished to protect your mother’s reputation,” she said. “But unfortunately, you cannot.”
Edward held his tongue. Victoria was so very young and sure of herself. She would have to learn cruel lessons in time.
Victoria continued. “I have told Charlotte to return to Germany, and she has asked me to reconsider this plan. Do you want her to travel with you to your military post?”
“That is no life for my wife,” he said. “I know I am responsible for her. I accept that willingly. As a mere knight and a soldier, however, I cannot offer her much.”
“She made her choice long ago,” Victoria said.
“When she was little more than a child, who thought she was playing a game. I wasn’t a soldier then.”
“She does not seem to feel trapped by her choice. Indeed, I feel as if she considers it has elevated her.”
More like you are jealous, dear sister. “I expect she feels some level of relief, to have the matter resolved. It has been hard for her, trying to please her mother, help her brothers, and interact with me.”
“She cannot make everyone happy now.” Victoria toyed with a bean on her plate.
“No, ma’am,” Edward said.
“Do you have a spiritual confidant?” Victoria asked. “I think you should examine your conscience with some trusted advisor.”
“Would you consider taking her back as your lady if I return to Canada quietly?” he asked.
“What if she has happy news?” Lord Melbourne asked.
Edward fro
wned. Happy news? When his meaning struck him, his eyebrows shot to his hairline, or so it seemed. “Oh.”
Lord Melbourne nodded as Victoria flushed. “She has asked me to stay our decision until she is certain.”
Good Lord. “Yes, of course.” He kept himself from stammering with difficulty. “But if there is no happy news? You haven’t quarreled publicly, and she is your sister now, besides. Who better to have at your side than a sister?”
Victoria tilted her head thoughtfully. “A sister? I haven’t thought of that. But Colonel, you are still a bastard.”
“Then do something else for me,” he urged. “Keep me here in a fashion where I can earn our keep, or send me back to Canada and allow Charlotte to earn hers. Don’t cast off such loyal friends, her if not me.”
Lord Melbourne sighed loudly, and Edward took that as a sign not to try his patience further.
“I have noticed dear Charlotte does not have a wedding ring.”
“No, ma’am, I should have purchased one for her.”
Victoria sighed and pulled a gold ring from her middle finger. “Take this one. It’s plain enough to suit.”
Edward stood and she put the ring in his palm. The band was thick yellow gold and three small rubies studded one side.
“It is lovely. Thank you.”
“It belonged to Princess Charlotte, our late cousin, I believe.”
“Poor lady,” Edward murmured. Princess Charlotte, who had been George IV’s daughter and heir to the throne at one time, had died so young.
“She would have appreciated this,” Victoria said. “I’ve heard it said she was a mischievous sort.”
She nodded at him and he took his leave, escaping into the corridor. He could feel the sweat sticking his linen to his back, and his wrist itched.
~
Charlotte had heard from her maid that Edward had been summoned. She paced the corridor outside Victoria’s sitting room, her hand on her sore midsection. Her courses had come, and with them, the end of a reason to stay in London. Why, of all months, had she been regular this time? She hadn’t really thought of what it might be like to bear a child under such uncertain circumstances, but still, she felt a sense of betrayal from her own body. What if it was a sign that she’d never be able to carry a child? Edward should be a father. He’d be such a good one.
The Princess Dilemma: A Victorian Royal Romance Page 25
