Seducing the Princess (6 page)

Beatrice slept barely an hour the entire night. Tossing and turning, she imagined the various ways she might break the news to her mother that Alice’s widower intended to remarry. She knew the way her mother’s mind worked, and apparently so did Henry. The queen would take the duke’s engagement as a sign of disrespect for her precious daughter’s memory, a personal attack on her family.

Beatrice wished she might have an opportunity to speak with her brother-in-law before approaching her mother. But if Bertie had already failed at convincing the duke to wait for a less public moment to make his announcement then what were her chances of having any effect on the man?

“Your Highness, do you wish anything to eat now, or will you wait for family breakfast?”

Beatrice opened her eyes to find Marie standing over her bed, wearing a compassionate gaze. No doubt the woman had overheard most of her conversation with Henry the night before. Marie probably dreaded the day as much as she did.

“I certainly can’t eat now. As to family breakfast, we shall see if I am able to choke down a bite or two.”

Marie pursed her lips and lifted aside the coverlets for Beatrice to rise from bed. “Just because
un monsieur
asks the favor does not mean Her Highness must agree,” she said.

Beatrice gave her lady-in-waiting a sideways glance. “I shall remember your advice. But now, you’d best get me dressed. I’ll go straight to my mother and, hopefully, reach her with the news before anyone else does.”

“
Oui
, Princess.”

Beatrice accomplished her toilette in record time. She let Marie choose a day dress for her. As if reading her mind and hoping to lighten her mood, the young woman selected the least severe of her dark-colored dresses with a pretty ecru lace collar.

“I heard the queen’s lady moving about next door moments ago,” Marie said.

“Then we’d best hurry.”

“I will accompany you of course.”

“No,” Beatrice said, “that isn’t necessary. Better you stay behind in the room and wait for me to return. I expect I shall need your soothing words when this is all over.”

Stepping up to the door that separated the two chambers, Beatrice drew a breath for courage and knocked lightly. The vibration of the wood against her knuckles felt almost painful. She swallowed, closed her eyes briefly, knocked again. Her mother’s lady-of-the-bedchamber opened the door with a smile.

“Good morning, Your Highness. I hope you have slept…um, well?” The look she gave Beatrice said she had only then noticed the circles beneath her eyes.

“Not very well, but that’s beside the point. Will you and the queen’s other attendants leave my mother and me alone for just a few minutes?” The woman blinked at her, uncomprehending. “Please.”

“Of course.” The woman curtsied then efficiently cleared the room.

Beatrice stepped inside the queen’s bedroom as gingerly as if the floor had been made of tissue paper, and she might fall through it at any moment. Her gaze turned to Victoria, seated at a dressing table. She was consulting a silver-backed hand-mirror, touching the string of pearls at her throat as if trying to decide whether they were too pretty for a still-mourning widow to wear.

She shifted her gaze upward to consult Beatrice’s reflection in the mirror. “Is something wrong, my dear?”

“Not wrong, exactly.” The words barely escaped her tight throat. “Some information has come to my attention. Happy news, actually.” She might as well try to introduce the duke’s plans in as positive a light as possible. “I thought you might want to hear about it before word got around to the Court.”

“What news is this?” Victoria turned to fully face her but did not rise from her seat.

Beatrice took a hesitant step forward. “Mama, you know how very much I loved my sister Alice.”

“Of course you did, my dear. We still do—as if she were here with us at this joyful time for her precious daughter.” Already her mother’s eyes glistened with emotion. Not a good sign.

Beatrice swallowed. Twice. “And I’ve come to love my brother-in-law, as I do my own dear brothers,” she added. “The Duke is such a wonderful, deserving man. Is he not?”

Victoria’s plump face wrinkled in puzzlement. “Yes, he is a good man, though not an angel. It troubles me, some of the things he does in his private life. But we will give him a good talking to, and I’m sure he’ll come around.”
The royal we, that is. Oh, dear, another bad sign.

Beatrice pictured Henry’s trusting gaze, drew a breath for strength, and took a leap of faith. “The thing of it is, Mama—as you yourself have so often stated—men are very different from women. Men think of love and romance in a less…” She paced the carpet, wishing the perfect word would come to her. “In a less
enduring
way. But that doesn’t mean they are disrespectful of the memory of a beloved wife.”

“What in heaven’s name are you babbling on about, child?” Victoria’s face flushed with irritation.

“I’m just trying to say that, often, when a gentleman is widowed, he chooses to remarry.

This happens all the time.” She forced out the words, rushing for fear her mother would cut her off again. “And is it not better that a man remarry and be public about his affections than take as his company various ladies of poor reputation, thus invoking scandal, gossip, and ruin to his reputation, not to mention his family’s—”

The queen rose to her feet, peering at Beatrice through narrowed eyes. Her regal chins trembled. “You are hiding something from me, child,” Victoria accused. “Say what you mean and stop this stuttering and stalling.”

“Of course, Mama,” Beatrice murmured. “I was just trying to say—”

“Speak up, Baby! No wonder everyone thinks you clumsy and poor social company. Nobody can understand a word you say when you mumble so.”

Beatrice lifted her chin and forced herself to meet her mother’s turbulent glare. How her sisters had ever made a place for themselves in this world, despite the queen’s attempts to control every aspect of their lives, she’d never know. Now that she was the only daughter still at home with their mother, every ounce of the queen’s obsessive need to control her family had focused on her, the youngest child. The last princess.

Beatrice very nearly gave up delivering the news of the duke’s intentions. But she’d promised Henry. She couldn’t let him down. She just couldn’t.

With an effort, she kept her voice calm. “What I’m trying to say to you, Mama, is meant to save you from grief. If you’ll just give me a chance to shape the news in my own words, I believe you will be grateful to me.”

Victoria raised an imperial brow. “I shall be the judge of whether or not to feel gratitude. Now out with it, girl.”

Oh Lord, Beatrice thought, there’s no hope now. But she plunged on.

“It has come to my attention that the grand duke intends to announce his engagement to the woman he invited to the wedding yesterday.” She rushed to keep her mother from interrupting again. “Mama, the duke was a fine husband to my sister and has been a loving father to their children. He has deeply mourned Alice’s passing for almost six years. Now he deserves some happiness. If he is in love with this woman and truly cares for her, isn’t it a crime that they should be kept apart?”

There. She’d finished. Beatrice stood gasping for breath, her hands trembling while she clutched the folds of her skirt, her stomach cramping.

The queen stared at her, mouth agape, eyes as black as cinders.

Say something
, Beatrice thought.
Please
. Silence as a response was worse than a wail of sorrow, cursing, or even a thrown vase.

Beatrice slid her tongue between dry lips. “Mama, I am sure he will ask for your blessing. As you so love your grandchildren, his and Alice’s sweet children, it would be a kindness to him and to the children to accept this woman into the family. I am told she is gracious, and one only has to look at her to see her beauty. What a lovely addition to your Court in London she would make, and—”

“Enough!” The queen held up a hand, glowering at her. “We don’t know where you heard such vicious, evil gossip. But we do not want it repeated in our hearing. The grand duke would never be so foolish as to think he could marry that whore. And he certainly can’t expect me to ever speak to the woman, let alone accept her in my Court. She will never take my dear Alice’s place.
Never
be allowed anywhere near Alice’s children.”

Beatrice clenched her hands until they ached. She must make her mother understand that she simply couldn’t dominate and control everything and everyone in her life. “But, Mama, if it is already a
fait accompli
? If the duke is determined to proceed and announces their engagement this very day—”

“No!” Victoria roared, her face a mask of rage. “It is unthinkable. I said to leave it, Baby.” She turned back to face the dressing table’s mirror. “Prepare for family breakfast. I will hear nothing more of this matter.
Ever
.”

Henry paced the corridor outside the breakfast room. This was to be a much more intimate meal than the wedding banquet—fewer than twenty-five at a cluster of round tables. Had Bertie not come begging him to intercede on behalf of the grand duke, he would have been looking forward to this meal as the perfect opportunity to spend time with Beatrice. Instead, all night long he’d worried about her.

Was he asking too much of the princess? He should have insisted on accompanying her to speak with the queen. How could he have thought to send the poor young woman in to that dragon, alone? Although he’d expressed great confidence in Bea’s ability to help Victoria face the Duke’s announcement with equanimity, he’d begun to have second thoughts the moment he left her room. Didn’t foreign ministers tremble before the woman? Didn’t courtiers blanch at the prospect of delivering bad news?

He turned and paced back the way he’d come and saw the Grand Duke of Hesse-Darmstadt approaching. Henry’s heart very nearly stopped. The man’s lovely mistress walked at his side, smiling, her hand resting on his arm. Apparently, they intended to make their announcement together.
Oh God!
This was far, far worse than he ever could have imagined.

Not waiting for the couple to reach him, Henry darted inside the breakfast room and straight to Bertie. The Duke of Wales was seated beside his wife Alix, at one of four tables meant to cozily accommodate the royal clan.

“He’s here,” Henry whispered, his voice hoarse. “And with the lady in question.”

Bertie dropped his head into his hands. “Bollocks.”

“What do we do?” Henry asked. “I see no sign yet of the queen or Beatrice. We don’t even know if she’s told her yet.”

Bertie looked up at him. “My poor, poor little sister. She’s eaten Bea alive.”

Henry studied the prince for any signs of humor but saw none. “I should have offered to go with her. Maybe—” Dare he hope? “—maybe the Queen will be so angry she simply will not come down to breakfast.”

The prince’s eyes brightened. “That’s possible. Yes. It’s the best we can hope for. When my mother’s upset she cloisters herself and refuses to speak to anyone. She might choose to simply ignore the duke’s personal life, pretend he and it doesn’t exist.” Bertie took up his wife’s hand between his two and kissed her fingertips lightly when she smiled questioningly at him. “It wouldn’t be the first time she simply pretended whatever she found unpleasant didn’t exist.”

But it was not to be. Just then, the duke and his mistress entered through the same door Henry had rushed through moments earlier. At the same time, through another door at the opposite end of the room, Victoria arrived with her small retinue.

“Lord, help us,” Bertie breathed, coming to his feet and holding out a hand to help his wife rise to greet the queen.

Henry gripped the back of the prince’s chair and tried to appear poised and assertive. He looked around for Beatrice. To his surprise, she followed far behind her mother, head meekly lowered, lips set in a firm line, sad eyes trailing the floor. When no acceptable gentleman was at hand to escort the queen, Victoria nearly always rested a hand for support on her youngest daughter’s arm as they walked companionably together. But this morning she had chosen one of her ladies as an escort, placing the princess in her wake as if to punish her.

Henry caught Beatrice’s eyes for a brief moment and tried to silently convey his apologies for subjecting her to such humiliation. Beatrice blinked once then looked away again. She seemed so sad he wanted to rush up to her, throw his arms around her and comfort her. She must be thinking that she’d let him down. But he’d never have blamed her, of course.

“Bloody hell,” Bertie cursed under his breath. “There’s nothing for it now but to wait for the fireworks, Liko. You, at least, are lucky. You’ve got the entire continent of Europe to hide in. I’m the one who must return to London with Mother.”

The queen stopped at the largest table. On the far side of the room, the duke hesitated at the first table he reached, the one Henry would have chosen had he been in the queen’s disfavor—closest to the door for an easy escape and farthest from Victoria. But after a moment the man straightened his shoulders, walked on and indicated a chair to his mistress at the queen’s table.

Everyone remained standing at their seats, waiting for the Queen to give her permission for them to sit. After another minute, it became clear to Henry that Victoria had no intention of sitting while the duke’s mistress remained in the room. The air vibrated with the electric tension that warns of a storm. As if the footmen spaced around the perimeter of the room sensed this too, they remained at attention, unmoving. No staff entered with food. Henry felt as if everyone in the room was posing in a formal tableau, waiting for an invisible painter to record the moment.

Sweat trickled down his back beneath his shirt. Henry tried to unlatch his clenched teeth, but the muscles in his jaw refused to release. Pain shot up through his jaw.

He was a military man. He’d experienced war. But facing an opponent on the field of battle had never torn at his nerves this fiercely.

Then, as though Victoria had summoned them by a silent act of will, two guardsmen entered the dining room.

“That woman,” she said, “is unwelcome in our company. Remove her.”

The duke pounded his fists down on the table, shot to his feet and glowered at her. “Your Majesty!”

Victoria held up a hand. “This is a
family
breakfast. That woman is not now, nor ever will be, part of my family. Guard, escort her out of the castle.”

A rustle of silk and choking sobs accompanied the duke’s mistress from the room. The duke started to follow them, but then turned back again as if to say something more. After opening and closing his mouth twice, he seemed to think better of it and rushed after his mistress.

The queen took her seat with a satisfied sigh and lifted her hand to signal others that they might also sit. The rest of the company took to their chairs as if climbing out of icy water onto life-saving rafts.

Order restored
, thought Henry.

Very little conversation accompanied the meal. Henry kept darting looks at Beatrice. She pushed food around on her plate, but he saw her eat very little. He glanced at Bertie, beside him; resignation darkened the prince’s face.

“We tried,” Henry whispered. “I really thought Beatrice had a chance.”

“Poor Bea,” Bertie murmured. “I fear we’ve made life even less pleasant for her. I should have known. If Mother wouldn’t listen to me, the Crown Prince, who would she listen to?”

Henry shook his head. “I feel badly for having put Beatrice in this position.”

Alix gave both men a reassuring smile, and he realized she must have picked up on most of the conversation. Maybe her husband had even informed her of what was going on. “It’s nothing new to Bea, dealing with her mother’s moods. Besides, the Queen will eventually forget that her daughter was in any way involved.” The Danish princess spread clotted cream on her scone. “Her Majesty will take the Duke to task and demand that he put aside any relationship with the woman. Once that’s done, Beatrice will be off the hook.”

“But, Alix, what if the duke refuses to give up the woman?” Henry asked.

“He might, I suppose,” Bertie said, eyeing the eggs and sausage a footman had brought him. “He claims he is in love with her. It may be she was his mistress even before Alice died. But of course no one would dare suggest such a thing to my mother.”

Henry stared at his hands in his lap. There was nothing more he could do to aid Bertie or the duke. His only concern now was for Beatrice. “I must apologize to your sister. It’s my fault for suggesting she play a role in this madness.” He waited for a reaction from Bertie, but the prince seemed intent upon restoring his own frayed nerves with a hot meal; he began eating ravenously. “Is there anything you can suggest that I might do to cheer Beatrice?”

“Cheer up Baby?” Half a smile tweaked the prince’s lips. “Don’t bother yourself. It’s her nature to be grim. A reflection of my mother’s personality, I fear.” He shrugged. “But, if you are determined to try, she loves nothing better than red flowers of any kind, and she does have a passion for riding.”

Henry nodded his head. He’d already discovered the second of the two.
Then
I will feed her passions
, he thought but didn’t dare say.

As soon as the queen stood to leave, Henry timed his own exit from the breakfast room to reach Beatrice before she could follow her mother’s entourage out the door. He offered her his arm, as if merely to escort her from the room. She barely glanced at him as she laid her hand on his arm. But when they came to the first crossing hallway he slipped his arm low around her waist, turned and guided her down the other corridor and away from the rest of the company.

Beatrice startled and stared up at him. “I’m expected to retire to my room, Henry.”

“And if you do not?” He observed her solemnly.

“My mother will be all the angrier with me.” She gave a deep sigh then laughed, but her eyes did not light up as they had when they’d been riding. “Although I’m not sure she could ever be any angrier than she is at this moment.”

“Precisely,” he said.

“So maybe it doesn’t matter. Is that what you mean?”

“Yes. I just hate seeing you look so distressed. And I’m sorry that I put you in such a thorny position. I shouldn’t have asked you to intervene.”

“No, it’s all right. I’m glad you did. I would have wanted to help.” She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “But I’ve let you down. I let the duke down. The right words just wouldn’t come to me when I went to her this morning. She hardly let me say anything at all before she shut me out.” She shook her head, and the gesture of helplessness tore at his heart. “I’m the one who should be apologizing to you, Henry. And to Alexandrine. All my words did was prepare Mama to
exert
herself at breakfast. How humiliating it must have been for that poor woman.”

“You can’t blame yourself for your mother’s behavior.” Henry patted Beatrice’s hand, still resting on his coat sleeve. “I think you are incredibly brave, my dear princess. And caring. To stand by the queen so steadfastly…even though she doesn’t value your loyalty.”

“You don’t understand her,” Beatrice said, lowering her eyes to stare at her own hand, curled on his arm. “She’s been so very lonely since Papa died. Her grief has been made all the worse by losing other people close to her. John Brown, such a brave companion and protector. Then Alice, and my brother Leopold, who was always so sickly. She has taken their deaths so very hard. Everything she does, these days, seems to be to protect herself and the family from further hurt. She must think the duke’s mistress is an evil, designing woman, or she would never have treated her that way.”

Henry studied her for a moment but kept them moving forward. “You give your mother a great deal of credit. I hope you’re right and it’s deserved.”

“I’ve never believed it wasn’t,” Beatrice murmured, her voice so soft he barely made out the words. Maybe she hadn’t intended him to hear her?

They walked in silence the length of the mirrored corridor. He felt infinitely happier than he had a right to be. Just because she was beside him, her little hand resting on his sleeve. When they came to the end of the hall, Henry didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to return Beatrice to her chamber, to be alone or, worse yet, to face another cruel scolding from her mother. He longed to protect her, yearned to find a way to make her smile again.

“The garden is lovely for so early in the spring,” he said. “Will you stroll with me? And then, perhaps later in the day, we might venture out for another ride?”

“Just the two of us again?” Her pretty eyes widened in surprise.

“We did so before and no harm came to you.” He grinned. “Of course if you’d rather have a chaperone, or bring others along, that’s fine with me. Don’t you trust me?”

“Oh, of course I trust you. It’s just that—well, Mama doesn’t approve of us girls being alone with a man. She says it’s proper only for married couples to have that kind of privacy. Even a man and woman engaged, a chaperone is still correct.”

“Then who shall be our chaperone?”

“I don’t know.” She let out a soft groan of frustration and pouted in a way he found sweetly appealing. “It’s such a bother, isn’t it? Always having to be around people one doesn’t really enjoy being around.”

“And am I a person you don’t enjoy being around? Were you only being polite when we rode together yesterday?”

She blushed. “Oh no, Liko, I truly enjoyed being with you. Even now, I feel ever so much calmer than a few moments ago in that awful breakfast room. And I would love a walk in the gardens.” She paused in thought. “Mama’s so distracted by family events at the moment—first the wedding and now this business with the duke. And I believe she’s received a few dispatches from the prime minister about troubling foreign affairs. I’m sure she wouldn’t even notice if I were to disappear for a few hours.”

“Then come with me and I’ll show you the most beautiful early blooming red roses I have ever seen. I will cut an armful of them for you to take back to your room. To perfume your bedchamber and make you forget about this morning’s unpleasantness.”

“And will we ride later this afternoon too?”
There
was that sparkle in her eyes he’d wished for! And a rosy glow suffusing her cheeks.

“Only if you like, Princess. Shall I have the chief groom tack up the same mount you rode yesterday? We could ride directly after lunch.”

“Oh, yes, please,” she cried. “Red roses and a jolly canter across the heather and poppy fields. I can think of no more perfect day.”

Henry grinned. Of all the women he’d ever known, none had been so easy to please. And, come to think of it, none so delightful to make the effort for.