Promised to the Swedish Prince

by Sasha Cottman

  Calm down. She hasn’t seen or heard from you in over two years.

  “I take it the baron is not aware of your coming to England? He hasn’t mentioned anything,” she said.

  “No one knew I was coming. His Majesty decided that diplomatic matters required my urgent attention. It happened all rather quickly I barely had time to pack before I had to get on board the ship,” he replied.

  They followed behind Christian’s luggage as it was taken to Erika’s carriage. Their progress was slow due to Freya stopping every two or three feet in order to sniff the ground and mark her territory.

  “How did she cope with the sea voyage?” asked Erika.

  “The short sail to Denmark wasn’t too bad as we hugged the coastline. However, as soon as we sailed into the North Sea, poor Freya took ill. I sat outside on a water barrel placed in the middle of the deck and held her in my arms for much of the time. Fortunately, she got her sea legs in a couple of days, after which she was happy to take lots of turns around the deck,” he replied.

  At the carriage, Christian opened the door and helped Erika climb aboard. The plain black conveyance was much smaller than what he was used to traveling in at home. London was fast proving an odd mix of contrasting sizes to Stockholm.

  It was his first reminder that while he was still a prince, he was also a foreigner in this country. He would have to pay his way while in England.

  He took the seat opposite her and pulled the dog onto his lap. From the constant wagging of her tail, it was clear Freya was as pleased as Christian to finally be away from the ship. “I must say I was surprised to see you at the dockside today. Since King Charles hadn’t had time to send word of my impending journey, I wasn’t expecting anyone to meet me.”

  “We always meet the Northern Lion. The diplomatic bag is of vital importance. I was also expecting a box, but I didn’t see one come ashore. That’s disappointing. I wonder what could have happened,” she replied.

  Oh, no. Of course. She was expecting the package from Gustav. He’s probably been sending her things all along. How naïve could I have been?

  Christian’s happy mood darkened. Erika’s disappointment at not seeing the box stung.

  Had matters between his brother and Erika moved to a point where marriage was the only likely outcome? It would be a bitter thought if his hopes for seeing her and trying to press his own suit had already been laid to dust.

  “I have the box with me. It is in my trunk. Gustav was most insistent that I pack it in my luggage and not allow it out of my sight,” he replied.

  Erika gave the briefest of nods in response to his mention of the gift from Gustav, then sighed. “I expect he did. Thank you for bringing it all the way here. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble,” she replied.

  I thought she wanted the box. I don’t understand.

  As the carriage drew away from the dockside, Christian let the matter lay. Erika had clearly been expecting something from his brother, and once he was unpacked and settled in at Baron von Rehausen’s residence, he would hand Gustav’s gift over to her.

  If things between them are settled, then you must set aside your feelings for her as best as possible and focus on your other reason for coming to England—to establish yourself as a diplomat. You always knew that there was a risk that Erika’s feelings for Gustav might change.

  “How has your stay in London been so far?” he asked.

  Erika stirred from silently staring at Freya and gave him a timid smile. Much of the happiness which had been on her face at the dock was gone. “Busy. It has been a challenge. I thought my English was good enough, but I soon discovered that it is a particular language which has few hard and fast rules. Context is everything. You can say the exact same word in a social situation, and it can be taken in different ways,” she replied.

  “What do you mean?” Swedish was a language that was clear in its meaning. You said what you thought, and there was little room for misunderstandings.

  “Well, for instance, I could say that your coat looks fine. While I might mean that as a compliment, someone may see that as an insult depending on how I say it. It took me a long time to feel comfortable conversing in social situations,” she replied.

  This was a further piece of unwelcome news. “I will have to work on my English. Hopefully the baron knows someone who can help me to become proficient enough to be able to master its idiosyncrasies. If I am going to be a success as a diplomat, I need to be able to talk to people.”

  Erika raised an eyebrow. “How good or bad is your English? Now, be honest with me, Christian, because I know you were never one for practicing it.”

  There was a hint of disapproval in her voice, which Christian did not welcome. It had been two years since she and he had last seen one another, and during that time neither had written to the other. Erika didn’t know him as well as she might once have done. It was time to set the record straight. “Perhaps, your comment would once have held merit. Rest assured, I have been working hard at my English, but it is far from perfect.”

  A blush of red appeared on her cheeks. “I am sorry, Christian. That was unkind of me. If I am honest, I’m still a little disappointed about the box. But that doesn’t give me the right to take it out on you. Forgive me.”

  He reached across and offered Erika his hand. Freya protested, and after slipping off Christian’s lap, she settled in the far corner of the carriage and growled at him.

  “I seem to be getting into trouble with all manner of females this morning,” he said.

  Erika placed her hand in his. When their gazes met, he saw tears shimmering in her eyes.

  “You have it wrong. You could never be out of sorts with me. Christian Lind, you are the best thing I have seen in a very long time. I am so glad you are in England.”

  Chapter Eight

  As the carriage made its way through the streets of London, Erika took up the role of tour guide. She pointed out various landmarks of importance to Christian. To her surprise, he paid close attention. He was right. The Prince Christian she used to know would have easily tired of the discussion and more than likely curled up in the corner and gone to sleep.

  This new version of him had her intrigued.

  “How is your family?” she asked. While it was the polite thing to ask, she was also keen to hear any news from home. The few letters that did arrive in the diplomatic bag were usually for her father or the baron. In them there were scant details of what was happening in Stockholm.

  “They are well. Mamma and Pappa are both in fine health. My sister Anna has just had her third child, a little boy,” he replied.

  “That is wonderful news. I don’t get to hear much of the goings-on at the royal court. Baroness von Rehausen tells me what she hears from her husband, but at times it is like I am living on another planet.”

  “I promise to fill you in on all which has happened during your absence. In lieu of the letters I was unable to send, it is the least I could do,” he replied.

  If I had been allowed to write to you, I would have been able to keep you abreast of things in Sweden.

  It seemed that his brother had not bothered to tell Erika anything of the events at home.

  Funny, that she has barely mentioned Gustav at all. Not even politely asked after his health.

  That was an encouraging thought.

  They finally drew up into the rear mews of a town house in Manchester Square. Christian put his face to the glass and turned up his nose. It was a short, narrow building.

  I hope this is not the baron’s home. It is small. Their ballroom must be a crush when they host functions.

  “Welcome to Baron von Rehausen’s home,” announced Erika.

  So much for hope.

  Inside the house, they were greeted by a surprised Swedish envoy who quickly made his position clear. “While it is an honor to have you in London, I don’t have room for you, Prince Christian. My wife gave birth to our eighth child only last month. We are already stretched to the
limit on space. My eldest son has been relegated to sleeping in the attic.”

  So, now was not the time to enquire as to whether the house had a ballroom.

  Count Jansson nodded his agreement. “Yes, this accommodation is not suitable for you, Your Highness. Perhaps you could stay in a hotel until you get settled?”

  This was not what he wanted to hear. Staying at a hotel would not work. He didn’t want to be away from his fellow Swedes. He wished to be immersed in their day-to-day lives, to learn from them.

  The King wanted the trade negotiations with Great Britain to be tabled as soon as possible in order to beat the Russians. Christian had to get up to speed quickly on the political and diplomatic layout of London society. There had to be another option.

  “He could stay with us in Duke Street. We are only a five-minute walk from here,” said Erika.

  The count had his hand partly raised, looking for all the world like he was going to protest, but the baron beat him to the punch. “That is an excellent proposal, Countess Erika. There is only the two of you at your house.”

  Christian turned to the count. “That would be a wonderful idea. I am sure the King will be most grateful to hear that you are doing everything to assist me in representing his interests and that of Sweden. But if it is a problem then I shall go and stay in a hotel.”

  He caught the hint of a sly smile on Erika’s lips as her father hastily cleared his throat. “Well, of course it would be a privilege to have you stay with us. Will you be bringing the dog?” replied the count.

  Christian smiled sweetly at him. “Freya belongs to Erika.”

  “I don’t think your father is happy to see me.”

  Erika softly sighed. Christian was right. Magnus did not seem at all pleased. She could, however, understand his reasons for being out of sorts. Having a member of the royal family suddenly appear on your doorstep, and then move into your already cramped home would set most people in a bad mood. The fact that the person in question was not the Lind brother the count had in mind to marry his daughter off to likely also had something to do with it.

  But she wasn’t going to mention any of that to Christian. Privately, she was delighted with the unexpected events of the morning. “It’s not you. It’s the special box. He so looks forward to receiving it each month, and because it didn’t arrive on the ship, he is like a small child who has been promised sweet cake but only got boiled carrot,” she replied.

  Christian squeezed between his bed and the travel trunk. From the bottom of his luggage, he retrieved the wood and leather-bound box and offered it to Erika. “Gustav asked me to give this to you. Or should I give it to your father?”

  She frowned. “What is that?”

  “The box. You said Magnus was upset about not receiving the box.”

  She pointed at the box but didn’t take it. “Not that box, the good box. The one which arrives each month, full of treats from home. Some kind, thoughtful soul has been sending it for the best part of two years. Pappa is so excited when it arrives—as am I.”

  “Oh, that.” Christian’s brow furrowed, and a pained expression appeared on his face. He oddly seemed most concerned about the special box.

  “Perhaps our mysterious friend missed the boat, or they were busy. Hopefully next month they will be able to send it.” She had thrown out the flowers earlier that morning in the expectation of receiving a new bunch. Now her bedroom would have to be empty of the memories of her home for a little while.

  I wonder if they are still in the compost pile in the garden. Perhaps I could retrieve them.

  “I am so sorry, Erika. I didn’t miss the boat, but what I did do was forget the box. King Charles commanded me to leave for England at the earliest convenience and I was so busy packing and saying goodbyes that it completely slipped my mind,” he replied.

  She stared at him, momentarily struck dumb. In lieu of the letters he hadn’t been able to mail, Christian had sent her and the count a thoughtful gift, every single month.

  “It was you?”

  He nodded. Christian glanced at the door, then crossed the floor and closed it. He turned, and their gazes met. The unspoken message between them was clear—this conversation might be seen by others as dangerous.

  “As I told you at the dockside, I wanted to write to you, but my father forbade it. The idea of waiting all that time and not being able to at least send you something was impossible. That is when I came up with the idea of the box. No note, no name—just a gift from a friend,” he said.

  “I would have loved to be able to send you a letter and let you know how much the gift meant to me. The flowers are beautiful, and so is the smile which sits on my father’s face when he opens that first bottle of Swedish vodka,” she replied.

  Christian had reached out to her in the only way possible. Anonymously. All the time knowing that his generosity could not be acknowledged.

  She blinked back tears. “Oh, Christian. How can I ever thank you? You brought so much joy into our lives.”

  London might well be the center of Europe, but it was a cold, hard city with little love for the outsider. Whether he realized it or not, Christian had reached across the long miles and given her comfort and hope.

  Chapter Nine

  “Try this. You might find it more to your liking.”

  Christian put down his spoon and looked warily at the dish Erika had set before him. He wasn’t at all enamored with the appearance of it. It was yellow for a start. “What is it?”

  “Chicken curry. It is a dish that the English brought back from India. It’s very nice, though a little spicy. Most food in this country is bland, but for some reason high society loves curry,” she replied.

  The noon meal at the Jansson home was part of Christian’s training in all things English. Some days the food was quite palatable; others, he ended up going hungry. As far as he was concerned, whoever invented toad-in-the-hole should have been taken out to a lonely spot on a snow-covered mountain and left there to rethink their life choices.

  And now Erika was trying to poison him with bright yellowish-green chicken.

  “Try it,” she added.

  With a tired sigh, Christian picked up his spoon and took a small amount from the serving dish. He put the food to his mouth, stopping just before to take a tentative sniff.

  Erika leaned back in her chair and laughed. “Oh, come now. It’s not that bad. I will have you know I made that myself.”

  He cringed, embarrassed beyond words to have insulted her. Where were his manners?

  The first taste of the curry was surprising—it was utterly delicious. He hurried back for a second, larger spoonful. “That is wonderful. The chicken is tender, and the curry has just the right amount of bite to it,” he said, after finishing his mouthful.

  Erika sat and grinned at him from the other side of the small dining table. The house was tiny in comparison to the state apartments at Stockholm Palace, but it held a homely warmth that Christian relished. For some reason, knowing Erika had cooked the meal made it taste that much better.

  “I was thinking that we need to move forward with your English lessons. You have been doing well in the week or so since you arrived, but it’s time we started to get you out into society to mix and converse with native English speakers,” she said.

  The last of the chicken curry stopped partway down his throat.

  Up until now, all of this had been theoretical. He had only ever had to speak English to tutors and Erika. Moving about London society, representing his country while trying to master a foreign language, was about to become a reality. “Alright. But on one condition,” he replied.

  She leaned forward, hands clasped together, an eager look on her face. “And what is that?”

  “You have to come with me. At least for the first few public events. I don’t know anyone in London, but you do.”

  It was a gamble. A throw of the dice to see if Erika would dare to step outside the boundaries which had been set around their
friendship. To push the edges a little.

  She could easily counter with an offer to ask either her father or Baron von Rehausen to guide him into the world of the haute ton, but Christian was counting on Erika wanting to be involved in his plans. During his time with the advisory council, he had learned the art of dangling a carrot in front of those who may be weak to resist temptation.

  Please say ja. Or even yes.

  “Let me speak to my father. We will need him to accompany us at the start. But I am certain that once London society discovers they have a Swedish prince in their midst, they will be falling over themselves to invite you to all manner of events,” she replied.

  It wasn’t a complete ja, but it was close enough. You know you want to do it, Erika.

  Christian got to his feet. He crossed to the window, taking in the view of the street below. Parties and balls were one thing, but he wanted to gain admittance to those select events where the real power brokers met. If he was to get the English to even begin considering a trade agreement with Sweden, he had to establish relationships.

  “I am serious about making a difference for our country. It’s why I pushed for this post. If I stayed in Stockholm, I would just be another prince among many, living a meaningless existence. Now that the war with France is over, I want to help Sweden regain some of its influence in Europe. The trade deal with the United Kingdom is vitally important. The timing of it is especially more so, now that we know the Russians are coming. I must meet people who can help us get the negotiations underway as soon as possible.”

  He turned from the window. “And I have to be able to speak to them and be convincing. I can learn all the English I want from a book or a tutor, but out there is where it all happens.”

  Their gazes met, and for the first time Christian sensed that Erika was taking him seriously. He pressed home the point. “I am not Prince Christian, foolish boy any longer. Help me, Erika. Help me to make my mark on the world.”