Seducing the Princess (30 page)

“Courage, my dear,” Henry whispered in Beatrice’s ear as he took her hand and led her into the ivory-and-gold drawing room that overlooked the gardens at Osborne House.

Beatrice looked up at him and dared a tremulous smile. Never had Henry looked more dashing. In his regimental colors, medals ablaze on his chest, epaulets of gold fringe and polished black leather boots, he was the image of a nobleman of valor and distinction.

They had chosen to wait two weeks after his arrival at the Isle of Wight, and Gregory’s ignominious departure, before approaching Victoria again in the hope she might bless their union. The longer Henry remained in the household, a source of pleasant male companionship and security, the more comfortable the queen would become with him. Perhaps she’d even, in her advanced years and selective memory, forget that she’d kicked him out of England? In fact, neither she nor anyone else had mentioned his banishment.

Beatrice turned to Henry and dug in her heels to stop their progress across the room, toward where her mother sat. “What if she still won’t—”

“Hush, my darling. Let’s not think the worst until it happens.”

“Happens
again
. Like before. What if she still won’t give her blessing, after all you’ve done to win her over, after saving me from that monster of a man?”

“You did a fairly impressive job of saving yourself before I arrived.” He laughed, his vivid blue eyes alive. “I’ll never forget the sight of you galloping across that meadow like a steeplechase jockey. What a magnificent sight!” He touched his lips to hers, sweetly. “We must be strong now, my love. Just as strong as you were then.”

Beatrice’s stomach clenched. Her heart stuttered like a steam engine out of fuel as she considered facing her mother.

This time, they had asked for a formal audience. “No surprises,” Henry had said. But Beatrice feared this might put them to a disadvantage. Victoria would know why they were coming to her. She would have had time to prepare her objections, arguments, denials, and perhaps even a royal declaration that Henry leave Osborne, and perhaps all of England. Forever. There would then be nothing they could do to convince her—and Beatrice would be forced to choose between the two people she loved best in all the world.

It didn’t seem fair. Not at all.

Beatrice closed her eyes, drew a shaky breath, then stepped forward when she felt Henry fold her hand over his arm and lead her across the room to face the queen.

Victoria sat between two of her ladies, all three of them intent upon their needlework. The two attendants looked up briefly, then at each other when they saw Beatrice. No smiles. No greetings, except for a simple murmured, “Your Highness.” Then the ladies swept up their muslin, hoops, needles and colored threads, and drifted silently from the room.

Leaving Beatrice and Henry alone.

With the queen.

Henry looked at Beatrice. His eyes said, “Go ahead.”

Beatrice took a deep breath. But the words—the heartfelt, beautiful words she’s rehearsed to win her mother’s approval—she swallowed them down, unable to force a syllable past her lips. Instead, a familiar standby exploded from her lips, “Are you well, Mama?”

Victoria’s gaze remained lowered to her stitchery, her head of white hair a cloud hovering over her. “As well as I ever am, plagued by age and gout.”

Beatrice wet her lips. “May we join you for a while before dinner?”

“Of course.” Still not so much as a glance their way. Beatrice exchanged worried looks with Henry, wondering if her mother was even aware that he was in the room.

Henry settled Beatrice on the divan across from her mother, then perched beside her, putting a respectable space between them. Even so, she could feel the heat of his body radiating toward her, reminding her that
this
is what she wanted.
Him. I want him!

They sat, all three, in silence. The only sound was the heavy tick-tock-tock of the Austrian clock on the marble mantle and the ka-chunk from the fireplace as a log fell into the embers, sending up a roar of sparks.

Beatrice reached out and clasped Henry’s hand so tightly his fingers turned white. She loosened her grip and cleared her throat. “Mama, I, that is
we
would like—”

“Herr Battenberg,” the queen interrupted, “I presume it is your doing that this audience has been requested?”

Beatrice rolled her eyes.
Oh, no, this doesn’t sound good.

“It is, Your Majesty.” Henry’s voice sounded strong, determined. Beatrice smiled.
Dear man.

“Then say your piece, sir.”

Henry released Beatrice’s hand and shot to his feet. Then, changing his mind, sat again, as though deciding he shouldn’t put himself above the little queen.

“Your Royal Majesty, I come seeking your grace and approval. I have acted on behalf of your daughter to protect her, more than once. I will continue to make her safety and happiness my priority.” He cleared his throat then continued. “I remind Your Majesty of my attempt, albeit futile, to rescue General Gordon from the Sudan. I am at your service still, as I’ve ever been and ever will be. I feel I deserve your trust.”

Beatrice sighed. So far nothing at all about a wedding. What did Henry think he was doing? Perhaps he had decided to avoid the word
marriage
entirely, since it always sent her mother into paroxysms of fury? But how could he ask for her hand without mentioning taking her as his bride? She suddenly felt ill.

Victoria laid down her needlework on the cushion beside her and looked across at Henry, her sharp eyes as black as the tiny jet buttons up the front of her dress. “Come here, my boy.” She patted the seat on her other side.

Looking as confused as Beatrice felt, Henry stood and strode across the six feet between the two divans and sat gingerly on the edge of a cushion beside the queen, careful not to touch even as much as a single ruffle of her black silk mourning dress.

“Now, that’s better,” Victoria said. “I can see your face. And your eyes. The mirror of the soul, or so they say.” She gave him a coy smile. “What have you in mind, sir?”

Oh lord
, Beatrice thought. She wished she could run from the room and not have to watch as her mother crushed their hopes.

“I, well,” Henry began again, “I suppose you have already guessed my intent. It has not changed since I first proposed to engage myself to your beautiful daughter. I love her and wish to be a good husband to her. To Beatrice.”

“I see.”

“And although Your Majesty and I may not have connected cheerfully on my first mention of this intent, I hope that my actions since then have softened your heart toward me and won your trust.”

“So, in your rambling way, you are asking for my Baby’s hand in marriage. Is that so?”

“I, well, yes I am, Your Majesty.”

“Because you think you deserve her, is that it?”

Beatrice saw a flash of panic cross Henry’s vivid blue eyes. He too must sense a trap. “No, ma’am. Because I believe I can be a good and proper husband to her. I don’t suppose I shall ever truly deserve such a wonderful woman.”

The queen observed him, her head tipped to one side, eyes narrowed as though to better peer into those cerulean mirrors of his soul. Then she turned to Beatrice. Without smiling.

Beatrice recognized the wily glimmer in her mother’s eyes. She knew that look only too well, having seen it from across a card table, time and again. It warned that the queen was about to play a game-winning card.

Beatrice swallowed over the jagged lump in her throat. “Mama, please, I beg you not to—”

“Hush, Beatrice. I shall have my say.” The queen turned back to Henry and settled her plump figure more firmly into the brocade cushions. “I have developed a fond and admiring opinion of you, young sir. I will allow my consent for you to marry my girl, but only on two conditions.”

Beatrice struggled to breathe.
Ohmygod-ohmygod!
Was her mother actually saying ‘yes’? But her next thought was—
Conditions?
What conditions?
Perhaps Victoria was only toying with them, demanding impossible concessions from Henry. If he refused, all would be lost. If he accepted, he might resent his surrender and, for the rest of his life, blame Beatrice.

Beatrice was certain she would die right here and now in this room.

Henry retained his equanimity. “And they are, ma’am?”

“First, you must renounce your German citizenship. Secondly, if you become my son-in-law, you and my daughter will live wherever I live and travel with me whenever I travel, until I am no longer of this world.”

Too much, too much!
a voice screamed in Beatrice’s head. How could her mother expect Henry to forfeit his country, his family and friends, his commission in the Prussian military, everything he held dear—for her?

“Agreed,” he said, standing to attention before the queen.

Beatrice stared up at him in shock, certain she hadn’t heard him right. Her imagination must have supplied that precious, hoped-for word.

But he turned to look steadily down at her, his eyes fixing on hers. “Agreed,” he repeated. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for my Beatrice.
Nothing
.”

Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She reached out for his hand, pulled herself to her feet then clutched his arm for support as she took two steps to stand beside him. She didn’t know what to say. Dared not open her mouth for fear she’d start crying. She was so very, very happy.

Victoria reached for her needlework. “Would you please send my ladies back to me? I’m sure the two of you have much to discuss, plans to make. You’ll let me know when you’ve carried out my requests, Henry?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Of course.” He bowed from the waist then, tucking a supportive arm around her waist, swept Beatrice along with him and out of the room.

Henry glanced at Beatrice as they walked, arm in arm, along hall leading away from the public rooms at Osborne. “That’s a most mysterious smile, my dear,” he said. “I hope it means you’re as happy as I am.”

“I am.” But she couldn’t help laughing. “Henry, do you not realize what has just happened?”

“We’ve been given the queen’s blessing.” He winced, as if he’d felt a sudden twinge of doubt. “Haven’t we?”

Through her joyful delirium, Beatrice had understood the deeper meaning behind her mother’s acceptance of their union.

She looked around, aware of servants and ladies of the Court moving past them. Here wasn’t the place to discuss anything that might fuel gossip. “Come, Henry. I’ll explain, in a more private place.”

She led him back through the high-ceilinged passageways, through corridors lined with portraits and landscapes by the masters, until he squeezed her hand and pulled her to a stop. “Dearest, do you think this is wise? This is the way to your room, is it not?”

“Yes,” she said.

“There must be other places of privacy to talk.”

“None that will do as well,” she said, feeling excited to be so close to him. She wanted to feel his arms around her, longed for his kisses, and for more. So much more.

“As you wish,” he said with an amused laugh.

Her maids must have heard her coming, for they had the door open by the time she and Henry reached it. She gave each of the girls a look then drew a line with her eyes toward the doorway. They ducked out immediately, closing the door after them. She thought she heard the titter of a laugh from the hallway.

Then all was silent. And she was alone with Henry Battenberg. Her prince. Her love.

He looked around the room, a bit uneasily she thought. “Well? What did I miss during that auspicious audience?”

Beatrice moved to stand in front of him, took his hand and guided his arm around her. She snuggled her head to his chest in utter contentment. “The queen, my mother, is a gifted negotiator.”

“Yes, I expect so.” But his tone remained puzzled.

“Having foreseen our determination to wed, she first tried sending you away. When that didn’t work, she waited us out. And when we still refused to be dissuaded, she cut herself the best possible deal.”

Henry leaned back and looked down at her. “The consummate politician?”

“Oh yes,” Beatrice assured him. “Now, not only has she succeeded in even more firmly tying her youngest daughter to her side, she has captured a new male for her family and Court. She fully expects you to provide her with companionship and security through her waning years.”

“Ah,” he said, light dawning in his beautiful eyes. He grinned. “So now I’m a prisoner as well?”

Beatrice took a deep breath. “Are you having second thoughts? Are you still willing to make the sacrifice? You won’t hold it against me, will you, Henry?”

He wrapped his long arms around her. “I’ll say it again, no sacrifice is too great if it means we will be together, my love.”

She couldn’t contain her smile, couldn’t hold all of the happiness in. It was spilling out of her, lighting the room, brightening her world. She moved even closer into his embrace and felt him react to their bodies’ closeness.

He moved back from her, taking her hands in his and kissing them, then setting her away by three paces. “I must go, before I…before we…” He was blushing, his eyes alive with passion.

“No,” she said.

“No?” He laughed. “Bea, if I stay alone with you in this room one minute longer, I’ll…well, not to be indelicate, but I’ll ruin a perfectly good pair of trousers in my excitement.”

She smiled at him, feeling just wicked enough to be pleased with herself. “So remove them,” she said.

“Take off my trousers?” He coughed, then choked. “You’re asking me to take them off, woman?”

“I am. And your jacket. And waistcoat. I’m not at all sure what else may be under there, but they’d best come off too. Don’t you think?”

He stared at her, blinked, shook his head, mussing his hair and making her want to comb her fingers through it. “If I strip off my clothes I absolutely won’t be able to contain my ardor for—”

“I know.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. I want you, Henry. I want you
now
.”

He still hesitated.

“Consider it a royal command.” She fought the smile that tugged at her lips, but failed to keep a straight face. She couldn’t resist the ecstasy she anticipated in his arms. In her bed. Shared with him. “Make love to me Henry. I’m twenty-seven years old, and I’ve waited long enough.”