Promised to the Swedish Prince

by Sasha Cottman

  She rose from her chair and came to stand before him. The light which shone in her eyes filled him with hope. “I will speak to my father.”

  Hope that the count would say yes.

  And hope that the years apart had not left them strangers.

  Chapter Ten

  Count Jansson sat back in his chair and considered Christian over his steepled fingers. He shifted once more, screwed up his face, then sighed. The man was clearly not happy with what he had just heard. “I still find it difficult to accept that King Charles has sent you to London to head up the negotiations for a trade agreement between Sweden and the United Kingdom.”

  Christian couldn’t fail to hear the disappointment and hint of censure in the deputy envoy’s voice. He also couldn’t blame him. Few senior diplomats would take kindly to having a young upstart, royal or not, arriving on his doorstep and announcing that he had been tasked with the job of securing a major treaty.

  It would have been bad enough if he was someone who had diplomatic experience, or even a reputation for handling delicate international matters. But the Prince Christian Magnus would remember was a foolhardy, rash youth who had permanently injured his daughter.

  It was time for Christian to set the record straight. “This is not my first experience with trade negotiations. I helped finalize the treaty with Denmark. I take my role in this matter seriously. If I didn’t, His Majesty King Charles would not have sent me. He was at pains to send someone who can get things moving with the English because little progress has been made up to this point.”

  Christian was keen to get that last sentence in. To have the count understand that the King of Sweden trusted him, and Magnus should accept his monarch’s judgement.

  Count Jansson fixed him with a steely gaze. “I must confess to being surprised that he sent you. I could understand if it were Prince Gustav . . .”

  Of course, you could. Gustav would have loved to have made this journey. He would also have offended half of London within the first week with his gruff manners, and we would never get a trade agreement signed with Britain.

  “My brother has other ambitions. He has recently been promoted to the rank of Överste, and everyone expects that he will eventually rise all the way to the top of the army. He has quite the analytical brain and a good sense of strategy.”

  Count Jansson still didn’t appear completely sold on the idea of an inexperienced royal having anything to do with delicate matters of diplomacy. It was time to offer Magnus an olive branch and hope he took it. “I understand your reluctance to accept my role. And while I am on His Majesty’s business and my position is clear, I can see the benefit in gaining your approval. I intend to make connections in London society. If you and Erika accompany me, then you can see for yourself how I handle matters. Would that help to ease your concerns?”

  A red flush appeared on Count Jansson’s cheeks—questioning the decision of the King was a dangerous thing. “Alright, I will give you my support. Baron von Rehausen has said that we need to do everything to make your time in England a success. I just hadn’t realized that you were going to be more than simply an understudy.”

  Christian nodded his thanks. He had already given more ground than he would have liked. If his father could see him right now, Prince Stefan would be angry. As far as he was concerned, royal princes didn’t have to explain themselves to anyone apart from the King. Members of the royal family ruled by divine right.

  “I do have one favor to ask.” Christian was determined that any concession to the count required a mutual one in return. Quid. Pro. Quo.

  “How may I assist you, Prince Christian?”

  “I want Erika to be my personal translator and English tutor. She knows London well, and I think she will be invaluable in getting me established within English society,” he replied.

  He did want her to help him, but he also wanted to spend time with her. To be away from her father and be able to forge their relationship anew. If Erika could come to see him in a different light, she might also come to feel something more than mere camaraderie with him.

  Fortune favored the bold, and he pressed his case once more. “I can tell her all the things that have been happening in Stockholm, and of my brother’s successes. I am certain Erika would love to hear it.”

  “Yes, I am sure you will take great care to share many things with Erika,” replied Magnus. “Especially about your brother. Many, many things about him.”

  Christian kept the soft, unthreatening smile on his face. Count Magnus could think all he wished about Gustav—Christian had other plans for himself and Erika.

  I can promise you right here and now, that I intend to share everything with her—including my future.

  Chapter Eleven

  “This is a regular gathering between some of the richest and most powerful people in all of England. You will find dukes, earls, and quite a number of senior politicians here. Oh, and over there is Lieutenant-Colonel Henry Percy, Wellington’s aide-de-camp. You could introduce him to Prince Gustav, should your brother come to visit you in London. Do you think he might?” said Magnus.

  Christian didn’t want to add further fuel to the flame that Magnus carried for Gustav, so he blatantly ignored the question. Instead he focused on the issue of him needing to forge new connections. “Excellent. I am keen to meet as many people of influence as I can,” replied Christian.

  They moved up the receiving line, waiting for their turn to be announced. Christian, Magnus, and Erika were guests at a formal function at a large mansion in Grosvenor Square.

  Within days of Magnus and Erika agreeing that she would assist Christian with his entrance to London society, word had quickly spread that a member of the Swedish royal family was in town. A flood of invitations soon began to arrive at the front door of the little house in Duke Street.

  A war council of sorts had been held in the large dining room at the baron’s home. The three men, plus Countess Erika and Baroness von Rehausen, met to decide on exactly which events would serve both Christian and the Swedish cause the best. Erika had sent letters of acceptance for those functions they would attend, while the others were set to one side.

  Christian pushed back his shoulders and stepped to the front of the receiving line. He held his head high as the majordomo announced him formally. “His Royal Highness Prince Christian of the House Lind, representing His Majesty King Charles of Sweden.”

  Christian, who was dressed in formal evening attire, moved to one side and waited for Erika and her father to be announced. While he had spent little real time in the army, Prince Stefan had made certain that a suitable number of military medals had been presented to his youngest son. The medals were displayed to perfection on his black evening jacket.

  “Count Jansson and Countess Erika of Stockholm, Sweden.”

  He gave a sly grin at the whispers around the room. If she had been English, Erika would not be a countess in her own right, but since her family’s title was old, under Swedish rule she was granted the privilege.

  The deep blue silk gown she wore this evening was elegant, and under the glittering chandeliers, she truly looked a vision. Christian’s pulse kicked up a notch—time had not lessened his desire for her. This woman was his destiny. He just had to be patient and let her come to that same realization. Above all else, he was determined that if Erika chose him as her life partner, it had to be with a free and loving heart. He wouldn’t take anything less.

  He smiled as he took in the gold sash which draped across Erika’s bust. It was secured with a shiny silver and diamond brooch at her hip. She wore the King’s Medal, an 8th size silver-gilt badge which hung from a blue ribbon pinned to her chest.

  Christian also proudly displayed a King’s Medal, but his was larger, denoting his seniority as a member of the royal family.

  Let the English see that they are not the only ones who have royalty and nobles. That the King of Sweden is being represented by the very best of his loyal subjects.

/>   As Erika and her father acknowledged the other guests, Christian scanned the room. He didn’t know any of these people, but he had been around court circles long enough to be able to discern those in the crowd who were genuinely interested in the Swedish delegation and those who looked down their noses at the foreigners.

  “Prince Christian, let us get you introduced to a few select people this evening,” said Count Jansson.

  He followed Erika and her father as they made their way through the crowd, nodding his acknowledgement to the guests who bowed or curtseyed to him as he passed by.

  It was vital he got off to a solid start with the English, for them to see him as someone worthy of their respect. An adversary that they should not underestimate when it came to trade negotiations.

  He caught up with Magnus and took him by the arm. “I know you want to stick to protocol and introduce me to other dignitaries, but what I need is to make the acquaintance of the power brokers here in London.”

  Magnus frowned. “But, Your Highness, don’t you wish to meet members of the English nobility?”

  “Not particularly.” Christian leaned in close. “What I need is to find the people in this room who can get me in front of the right cabinet minister. We cannot hold trade negotiations if the English are not even aware that we want an agreement.”

  Erika stood a few feet back while her father presented yet another guest to Christian. This had been going on for almost two hours and her back was beginning to ache, while her old knee wound throbbed.

  Christian, however, didn’t appear to be flagging in the least. He paid close attention to what was said to him, nodding slowly as he listened. He broke into what appeared to be a genuine smile whenever someone made a light remark. She doubted he understood all of what was being said. Instead he appeared to be cleverly using the reactions of those around him as the cue for responding to any comment he may not have quite caught. If they laughed, he laughed.

  He was polished, and perfectly gracious. Someone in Sweden had clearly put hours into training him for the life of a diplomat. It was certainly paying off if the number of smiles and people uttering his name was any indication.

  When Christian finally drew away from the gathering, Erika was pleased that he came to her side.

  “I shall have to take notes about all the people whom I met tonight. Remembering all these names is going to be quite the task,” he said.

  She nodded. “Actually, I know pretty much everyone who you have been introduced to this evening. We could sit down tomorrow and put a list of their names and details together. It would help you to move more freely through society in the coming months.”

  “Thank you. I would really appreciate your help. If I can at least get people’s names and titles correct, it might help to smooth things when my English is a little rough,” he replied.

  Erika drew in close. “How much have you comprehended this evening?”

  He held out his hand tilting it back and forth. “Most, but then some not at all. I need to get my English up to speed and quickly. I have to be able to communicate easily at private dinners.”

  She understood his problem only too well. Her father’s English was still not at the standard that he would have liked it to be and he had been in the country for over two years. But Magnus didn’t try to speak anything other than Swedish when at home, whereas Erika made every effort to speak the native tongue whenever possible. “Yes. The sooner you can converse properly with people, the better. My father and sometimes the baron rely upon me to translate, which is all well and good when it comes to formal events such as these where I can also attend. Private parties are a bit more of a problem.”

  His brows furrowed at her words. “Why are private gatherings an issue?”

  “Because we don’t get invited to them.”

  Chapter Twelve

  This was not what Christian wanted to hear. Select intimate functions were where many international deals and agreements were first conceived. Little wonder the envoy and his deputy hadn’t been able to make much headway.

  If he was also excluded from the inner workings of English society, it would be almost impossible for him to get close to those in power. And if that was the case, the trade agreement would never happen.

  His concern was obviously written all over his face if Erika’s responding frown was any sort of indication. Until now, he had thought his mastering of the language was the biggest hurdle in front of him. But Christian suddenly had a moment of cold clarity, and it gave him insight into the real problem.

  The gates of English high society were locked against them. “Do you know why you are not graced with invitations?” he asked.

  “Apart from the fact that the baron likes to work via official channels and is not one for social events? I think the problem for my father, and I is me. I am unwed—a status that the ton places major social restrictions upon. If you ask Magnus to a dinner party then I will also have to come, which presents a whole range of issues,” she replied.

  Christian nodded. With Erika being considered an innocent, guests at a private party would feel obliged to behave in her company and mind what they said. Cordial behavior did not engender close relationships. And those were the sort of connections which greased the wheels of diplomacy.

  What am I to do? There has to be a way to gain entry to the inner circle.

  “Do you know any of the wives of the men who would be likely to participate in the trade agreement talks if we can get them?” He had to start somewhere—begin knocking on doors and trying at handles, until one of them was opened to him.

  “I know Lady Lynch. Her husband, Sir Vincent Lynch, is a cabinet minister. Baron von Rehausen has said he will likely be the politician advising the British in any negotiations.” Erika pointed a finger in the direction of a group of society matrons.

  Among them was a tall, slim woman dressed in a crimson gown, with a matching feather headdress. Even from this distance, he could tell she had a hard sheen about her. A coldness that having grown up in a royal palace, Christian had seen on women of rank many times before.

  “Would you like me to make introductions?” she asked.

  He considered her offer for a moment. It would, of course, be the right thing to do, but he was beginning to suspect that following the rules was not going to help them.

  Christian leaned in close to Erika, placing his hand in the small of her back. His breath caught at the sensation of touching her, even though the fabric separated his fingers from her skin. It took a moment for him to compose himself before he felt able to speak.

  “I want you to curtesy to me, and then go and find the supper room. I shall join you in a little while—after I have spoken to Lady Lynch.”

  He sighed with relief as Erika did as he requested, then walked away. Asking her to take her leave had guilt pricking at him—he didn’t like treating Erika as being beneath him, but her revelation about her lack of standing within English society made it unavoidable. The only good thing was that she hadn’t flinched when he touched her.

  Christian straightened his back, took a deep breath, and turned his smile all the way to beaming.

  The moment he stepped into the small gathering of polished matrons; Christian sensed a shift in the air. He could almost smell the power these women wielded.

  The four women within the group made a great show of being all a fluster about meeting a prince. Everywhere he looked there were eyelashes being fluttered at him from behind intricately decorated fans.

  He bowed to Lady Lynch, and in response, she dipped into the most elegant curtesy Christian had ever seen. Her back was ramrod straight. How many hours did your mama make you practice that move as a young girl?

  “Prince Christian. It is such an honor to meet you,” she said.

  He gifted her a sly smirk, and a hint of mischief flashed in her eyes. “Lady Lynch, the pleasure is all mine. I have heard so much about you.”

  One of the other women tittered at the remark, w
hich gained her a hard glare from her friend.

  Christian saw an opening and quickly took it. Offering Lady Lynch his arm, he led her away from the gathering. He glanced over his shoulder to the other women and smiled sweetly. “I shall return her to you shortly, or perhaps not.”

  Out of earshot of her companions, Lady Lynch turned on the coy charm. “Your Royal Highness, I am surprised you have even heard of me. I am no one. Just a simple wife.”

  Christian was up for a spot of banter—he rarely got to play such games at home. “Lady Lynch, you do yourself a disservice. I knew who you were long before I set foot in England,” he replied.

  He had heard Erika use the word disservice enough times to have decided that it was quite useful when it came to be stroking another person’s pride. The blush of red which appeared on Lady Lynch’s already rouged cheeks was particularly pleasing. This was a woman who wanted to be noticed.

  “Prince Christian, you might have just arrived in London, but it is apparent you come armed with more than just a handsome face. A man who has a way with words around the ladies of the ton is someone who will go far,” she replied.

  Her hand was still on his arm. He glanced at her as she tightened her grip. Their gazes met and Lady Lynch offered him a knowing smile. Baron von Rehausen had briefed Christian on the wicked behavior of the wives of London society, and here was his first taste of it.

  Slowly. Don’t give her any wrong ideas.

  He shook his head. “I fear that isn’t the case. My English is not good enough for winning favors with pretty words. I also find these large formal gatherings tiresome. I prefer to mingle with people of higher birth and those with real power in more exclusive settings.”

  As the cabinet minister’s wife stroked her hand up and down his arm, Christian adopted his best diplomatic face.