How to Propose to a Prince
Read How to Propose to a Prince Online
Authors: Kathryn Caskie
How to Propose to a Prince
For reader and amateur genealogist,
Rhonda Ring Marks,
who might well be a modern-day Royle sister.
It was raining…a bit.
“Damned wretched of you to send me out in this…
The sun had risen, changing the sky from a somber…
Sumner and Prince Leopold stood before an enormous floor-to-ceiling mirror,…
For an exclusive gathering, Elizabeth was quite astounded by the…
Elizabeth heard the driver’s leather whip crack in the night…
The next morning, Elizabeth opened her eyes to find herself…
When Sumner approached the thatch-roofed gamekeeper’s cottage at the edge…
Elizabeth.
On her first morning at Cranbourne Lodge, Elizabeth awoke before…
Miss Margaret Mercer Elphinstone stood aghast. After hearing Elizabeth’s story…
Leopold crossed one leg over the other. “The princess is…
Elizabeth was reluctant to return to Cranbourne Lodge, even though…
“This isn’t wise, Leopold.” Sumner reined his horse protectively closer…
Elizabeth paced the parlor with unforgiving force, shaking the letter…
When she reached the street, drat it all, the hackney…
The front door flew open with such force that it…
Elizabeth squeezed her eyes tightly closed, inadvertently pressing from her…
When Elizabeth entered the house, she heard Great-aunt Prudence loudly…
Elizabeth peered into the mirror in the entry hall as…
The rain trickled down the window panes, squirming and wriggling…
A Royle Wedding
I
t was raining…a bit.
Only a bit, her sister had said.
Elizabeth Royle looked down at the dripping embroidered skirt of her jaconet muslin walking frock and became instantly nauseous. It was surely ruined.
She and Anne had only been walking for two minutes and already she was soaked to her knees. The umbrella they shared had done nothing to protect her dress or azure crape mantle from the white sheets of rain sweeping down Pall Mall.
Her Bourbon walking ensemble would never be the same.
Ever.
Had her sister Anne not been leaving for her honeymoon in Brighton on the morrow, Elizabeth would have never agreed to shop with her for a few sartorial essentials on such a horrid day as this.
But she well understood her sister’s need for the proper traveling attire. Elizabeth had long ago learned the great importance of appearing impeccably groomed and clothed at all times.
Why, a carefully chosen bonnet, for instance, could not only camouflage a mass of less than fashionable red hair, but protect bone-white skin from the sun and stave off the sprinkling of freckles across the nose and cheeks that would inevitably follow any accidental pinking of the skin.
So, who better than she could appreciate the value of a wardrobe specifically selected to highlight physical attributes while distracting the eye from other less than desirable features?
At least the outing this day had afforded her the opportunity, before Anne left on her journey, to begin to tell her sister about the man she intended to marry.
After all, it was possible that Anne would wish to delay her honeymoon in order to attend the nuptials. Though, Anne’s postponing her
journey would probably be more likely if Elizabeth had a date for the wedding.
Or, at least, her fiancé’s name.
“Oh, heavens, Lizzy, that means nothing. It was just a dream,” Anne said, rolling her amber eyes.
“No it wasn’t. It was far more.” Elizabeth stopped abruptly, causing an annoyed couple to unexpectedly veer off the damp pavers into the squishy mud edging the street.
“How so?” Anne’s tone lifted with false interest, and she seemed to be trying ever so hard to extend the limits of her patience.
Elizabeth shoved a loose copper lock that dangled before her eye over her ear. “I swear to you, Anne, last night I wrapped a sliver of your wedding cake and put it under my pillow, exactly as Mrs. Polkshank had advised, and it worked—I dreamed of him, the man I would marry.”
Frustrated, Anne peeled a mist-dampened curl of her golden hair from her brow, then grabbed her sister’s arm and started her down Pall Mall again. “And he was a…
prince
?”
Heat surged into Elizabeth’s cheeks. “Well…yes.”
“Do you not see how preposterous this notion is? How are you so sure he is royalty? What did you see in your dream?” Anne raised a
cynical eyebrow at her as they walked, but only waited a moment for a reply before prattling on. “And, I must remind you, it was just a dream—
a dream
, Lizzy.”
“I—I did not see anything to indicate his royal standing. I just…felt it,” Elizabeth tried to explain. How could she make Anne understand when she herself did not? She just
knew
.
“What did you see, then? It is entirely possible you are only misinterpreting what you saw, you know.” Anne had obviously noted her embarrassment and sought to placate her.
“That he is gloriously handsome, though there is an air of controlled strength about him. I could see it in the purposeful way he moved. The way others moved about him, deferred to him.” A smile touched her lips.
“What about his hair, his face? Has he got a long nose, a mole with a hair jutting from it, or a weak chin—some feature that might help you identify him in a crowd?” Anne grinned impishly.
“His face is beautiful. Perfect.” She scowled at Anne. “And I would recognize him anywhere. His eyes are so unusual.” Elizabeth bent and glanced upward, past the dripping brim of the umbrella. “They are as leaden gray as this sky, but a thin ring of summer blue surrounds
them. I have never seen eyes like that—except in my dream.”
Elizabeth drifted off, lost in the memory of those haunting eyes. Instinctively, she turned to the sound of a team of horses clopping past. She strained her eyes, but in the rain and the thick fog rising up from the street, she could see nothing but a huge shadow slowly passing them by.
“Lizzy! Keep walking. We’re nearly to the draper’s shop.” Anne squeezed Elizabeth’s arm and urged her along, chattering as they walked. “Tell me more about your gentleman.”
“If you insist.” She grinned. “His hair is thick, dark and wavy, and his skin is almost golden, as though he’d spent a goodly amount of time out-of-doors.”
“Well, it’s clear then.” Anne laughed teasingly. “You are to marry a farmer.” She paused for a moment, then fashioned an expression of mock concern. “Oh, dear, Lizzy. Your guardian won’t much like that.”
“Anne—” This was not amusing to Elizabeth at all.
“Gallantine and the Old Rakes of Marylebone will accept nothing less than a peer of the realm for the only unwed secret daughter of the Prince of Wales.” She feigned a mournful sigh. “But…if you dreamed of marrying a
farmer, I suppose it must be true.” This earned Anne’s arm a hard pinch from Elizabeth.
“Please do not tease me about this. And, I told you, he is a prince, so I will be a princess. I am quite sure of it. All my grandest wishes are about to come true.”
A barely concealed smirk twitched at Anne’s lips. “A princess, hmm? Be careful what you wish for, Lizzy. I daresay, a princess’s life is not all balls and baubles.”
“I am not taking this premonition lightly, sister.”
“Oh, it’s a premonition now, is it?” Anne chuckled, obviously not understanding how vivid this presentiment had been to Elizabeth. “Please, promise you will not place all your hopes on this one dream.”
“My dreams do come to pass…frequently, too.” Elizabeth flicked an eyebrow upward in annoyance.
“Yes, they do, but only half of the time. And even then, you usually get half of what you see wrong. You’d do as well flipping a penny to determine your future.”
Bah! Her sister was only repeating what Mary, the eldest (by mere minutes) of the Royle triplets said. “Well, continue to doubt me if you must. But won’t you be a plucked goose when
an offer is made and I marry before the summer ends.”
“Before the summer…
this
summer? Oh, Elizabeth, you haven’t even met your husband-to-be yet. There is no possible way you will find a wedding ring on your finger in just two months.”
“Why not? You did, and Mary as well, and now she and the duke already have had a baby.”
“Oh, sweeting, please do not set your heart on this course,” Anne pleaded. “You will only be disappointed.”
Elizabeth suddenly stopped, yanking her sister to a halt along with her. “Gorblimey. Anne, it’s…him. Right there.”
She raised her reticule before her to conceal the finger she poked in the direction of a fog-draped gentleman stepping down from the grandest carriage Elizabeth had ever seen.
But he looked even finer than the gilt carriage. Braided gold epaulets adorned the shoulders of his kerseymere coat. Several military medals were pinned to a red satin sash that swept dashingly across his broad chest to his lean hip. Two regimental-straight lines of gleaming buttons, too brilliant to be mere brass, ran down his dark blue coat.
“Surely you do not mean that nobleman?” Anne blinked the rain from her eyes and then
stared as if assessing him. Clearly, she disbelieved that this man was the one Elizabeth would marry.
“Surely, I do. I am certain of it.” Elizabeth tipped her head in his direction. “He is my future husband.”
“Well, his skin is rather sun-kissed, I’ll give you that much, but he is clearly not a farmer.” A breathy chuckle slipped out from between Anne’s lips.
Elizabeth glowered at her sister. “
You
said he was a farmer, not I!”
“I vow, I think we need a closer look to verify his identity as your future husband.” Anne was making a game of this. “Come on, Lizzy, let’s follow him.”
“Yes, let’s.” Her sister’s true motivation for following the gentleman did not matter a bit to Elizabeth. She knew for certain that if she could only observe him more closely, she would be completely sure, and convince Anne of the validity of her dream.
When Elizabeth turned to peer at him again, however, he was gone. “Oh, lud! Now we’ve lost him.”
“No, we haven’t.” Anne inclined her head to the shop just four doors down Pall Mall. “He went into Hamilton and Company, just there.”
Elizabeth widened her eyes to see through the fog and rain, and just glimpsed two liveried footmen entering a shop.
“Ah, Jeweler to the Crown by Royal Appointment,” Anne added, her eyes gleaming mischievously. “He is definitely
not
a farmer.”
Elizabeth paid Anne’s ribbing no mind. She hastened her step, hauling her sister along with her. “Mayhap he has gone inside to choose a ring for me.” She gave her sister a playful wink. “Have you considered that, Anne?”
The brightness in Anne’s eyes dulled quite suddenly and her countenance became sober. “Not at all—and you should not, either.” She exhaled as her frustration with Elizabeth grew. “Nonetheless, I should like to take shelter from the rain, so let us go inside.”
But Elizabeth paused before the shop door. A steady stream of water poured from the Hamilton and Company sign above, pounding the umbrella she and Anne huddled beneath like a roaring waterfall.
Anne tugged at her arm. “Elizabeth, we are being drenched. Why do you delay? He is right inside. Come along.”
Elizabeth trembled. If her premonition was true, her future lay just beyond, and yet, she could not seem to step over the threshold.
What if, like Anne claimed, it was only a dream—a vision she only had half right?
Before she could worry over it a moment longer, her sister pressed down the brass latch and the shop door opened. A bell sounded overhead as Anne dragged her through the door, noisily heralding their entrance to the startled shopkeeper.
The ebony-haired gentleman they pursued looked up from the glittering piece of jewelry he was holding in his hand and whirled around as well. His gray eyes instantly locked with Elizabeth’s.
Anne leaned close and whispered. “Pity, it’s a diamond and ruby brooch he’s considering, Lizzy, not a ring for you.” She exhaled. “Do you know, I can’t recall if you liked rubies or emeralds. Which do you prefer?”
Elizabeth didn’t answer. Didn’t say a word. She could not. It was he.
Her prince.
The shopkeeper smiled up at Anne. “Good afternoon, Lady MacLaren, Miss Royle.”
“Good afternoon, sir,” Anne replied distractedly. “I see you are occupied, but worry not. My sister and I are in no hurry to be served. In truth, we would be most content browsing your cases and shelves.”
“Absolutely, Lady MacLaren.” The shopkeeper bobbed a quick bow. “But I shall have my son Bertrum attend to your needs presently.”
Elizabeth wrenched her gaze from her intended and stared blindly into the glass case at a pair of amber drop earbobs, but she could feel the heat of his eyes still upon her.
“Come, Lizzy. Look at these tiaras. Why, they are fit for a princess. Stunning, simply stunning.”
Tiaras?
Her cheeks were blazing now and she hurried to catch up to her sister, who had wandered across the deep, narrow shop and was nearly pressing her nose against the glass for a better look.
“End these games at once, Anne,” Elizabeth whispered hotly into her sister’s ear. “You are not the least amusing and your antics are embarrassing me.”
“I am only jesting, Lizzy.” Anne grinned up at her, but when her gaze met Elizabeth’s fretful eyes, she realized the extent of her sister’s unease.
“Please, cease.” Elizabeth’s chest tightened like corset bindings as her nerves frayed further.
“I apologize. Really, I do. Though…these
tiaras are lovely, aren’t they?” She turned and glanced over her shoulder momentarily, then smiled brightly and spoke quietly through her teeth. “Is it him?”
Elizabeth sucked her lips into her mouth and gave her head a nod.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She clasped her sister’s wrist and drew her closer. “Oh, God. What shall I do?”
Anne glanced at the gentleman again, and Elizabeth hesitantly followed her gaze. Now he was examining a necklace dripping with graduated droplets of verdant emeralds and snowy pearls.
“First, remove your wilted hat.” Anne whisked the soggy Bourbon bonnet, with its dripping white feather, from Elizabeth’s head and shoved it under her own arm.
“Anne, you’re crushing it,” Elizabeth ground out between her teeth. “And he’ll see my awful hair.”
Anne didn’t reply. Her eyes momentarily shot in the handsome gentleman’s direction again, and then she quickly plucked four hairpins from Elizabeth’s hair, sending a cascade of red curls tumbling down her back.
Before Elizabeth could protest, Anne had shoved her fingers through the bonnet-matted
hair at her crown to restore the fullness of her bright curly hair. “Well now, much better.”
Elizabeth pushed her sister’s hands away and reached for her soaked hat, but Anne turned so she could not retrieve it.
“I am only trying to help. You want to present well, Lizzy, do you not?”
A twittering male voice called out from the rear of the shop. “Oh, dear Lady MacLaren and Miss Royle. How lovely you came to our humble establishment this day.”
Startled by the intrusion, Elizabeth snapped her head around to see a young man in a closefitting blue coat and tighter-still charcoal-hued pantaloons hurrying toward them, waving his hands excitedly in the air. “I am coming to your service, my good ladies. Do not fret!”
Elizabeth angled her head toward her sister. “How do the shopkeepers know our names?”
“They probably read them in the
Times,
” replied a rich, resonant male voice coming from directly behind her.