“There you go,” he said, letting her walk through first.
She thanked him and George closed the door quietly behind them. But he saw two footmen.
Dash it all.
He reached into his coat pocket, relieved that his purse was still there. He took out two crowns and placed one in each of the footmen’s palms. Well-paid servants were silent servants. George turned to see that Drina had left down the corridor toward her own room. He jogged to catch up with her.
“You can’t go back to your room,” he whispered, touching her arm.
“Where else would I go?”
“My room.”
Drina’s eyes opened wide with shock.!
“You can’t leave your things in my room. What will the servants say in the morning?” he whispered.
“That you look dashing in crimson,” she said, giggling. “Or that you had a ladybird in company.” Her eyes opened wide again in innocent surprise and she placed her hand over her mouth.
“I’m not that sort of fellow,” he said indignantly.
Drina removed her hand and said seriously, “But perhaps my cousin Friedrich is.”
George felt himself blushing again. The possibility that Prince Friedrich was with a lady of the night had also crossed his mind. But he wasn’t about to take Drina to a brothel to find out. He took her by the arm and pulled her toward his room.
“Where did you even learn that term?”
“My mother,” Drina explained. “She is shockingly frank. Doesn’t at all agree with keeping young women ignorant of the facts of life. She says that ignorance and innocence are not at all the same thing.”
“Happy to hear it,” he lied. “But it’s not at all the thing for a proper young lady to talk about.”
“But it’s fine for a proper young man to purchase their services?” she pressed, walking toward him until his back was against the wall.
“I already told you,” George protested. “I don’t associate with women of that ilk.”
“But you associate with men who d-do, like Lord Weatherby,” Drina said, leaning slightly to one side. She really couldn’t hold her beer. “Don’t you think that it’s ridiculous to hold women to a different moral standard then men?”
He’d never really given the matter much thought, but he couldn’t help but see the justice of her words. He knew several men from the best families who openly kept mistresses. Such men, like Weatherby, were still considered to be great catches on the matrimonial market. But a young woman was supposed to be innocent and virginal; even the smallest rumor could damage her fair name.
He blushed at the duplicity of society, embarrassed at his own part in unwittingly supporting it.
“It is dashed unfair,” he agreed at last. “Men and women should be held to the same standards.”
“Then you agree with me that women deserve the same rights and privileges of the opposite sex?” she asked. “The right to inherit property and titles? To their own financial freedom under the law?”
George gulped. He’d never given women’s rights much thought, but he wanted Drina to have everything that she wanted. She deserved all the rights that he so often took for granted being a man.
“Yes,” he said.
Drina stepped crookedly to the side and looked up at him in a mixture of disbelief and joy. “You really mean it—hic?”
“Of course I do—”
But George’s sentence was cut off, because she suddenly threw her arms around his neck and attempted to kiss his cheek—though it was closer to his ear. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. Drina’s body molded against his perfectly without all those ridiculous female clothes and crinoline cages.
“I always knew you were—hic—wonderful, George,” she said.
She really is foxed, he thought as he stepped back from her.
“That’s nice, Drina,” he said slowly. “Let’s get your things and take you to your room.”
She giggled. “I would be quite compromised if anyone found me in yours. They would think I was a ladybird—tweet tweet tweet!”
“Shush!”
He scanned the corridor. Not a soul was in sight. He took Drina by the arm—she couldn’t walk straight without him—and led her to his door. It creaked loudly when he opened.
Drina sat on the floor to untie the boots and put on her crimson dancing slippers. Then she went to the bed and picked up her dress and gloves, draping them over her arm. All that remained was the enormous metal-framed skirt on the floor.
“Will you marry—hic—carry my crinoline, George?” she asked, giggling again.
He didn’t bother to respond, but went and picked the crinoline up. It wasn’t very heavy, less than ten pounds. But the metal underskirt was large, round, and awkward. It kept falling open every time he picked it up. Drina easily walked back through the door, but it took George two attempts to get the infernal contraption through the opening.
“How do you get through doors when you wear this thing?” he asked indignantly.
“Carefully,” Drina said with a lopsided smile. “And sometimes you have to go sideways.”
“Ridiculous contraption,” George muttered.
“I couldn’t agree more,” she said with another giggle. “Beastly thing.”
He carried it in front of him sideways, but it was awkward. He tried to hold it with one hand, but then it would expand on one side or the other. It ballooned open again and George cursed.
Drina laughed so loudly he felt obliged to shush her again. They wouldn’t be out of trouble until she was in her own room and he in his.
When they reached Drina’s room, she opened the door and easily walked inside. There were no candles lit, but there was a fire dancing in the fireplace, casting a dim light over the room. She set down her dress and gloves on the bed, while George tried three different times to bring the large crinoline through the narrow doorway. He tried walking with it in front of him. He tried pushing it through sideways. He tried flipping it upside down and walking through with it like a large bouquet of iron flowers.
“It doesn’t fit!”
Instead of assisting him, Drina collapsed on her bed in a fit of ill-timed giggles. George huffed in annoyance. He turned the crinoline cage to a 90-degree angle and gave it one more hard push.
The metal skirt slid through the doorway and he fell forward on his face as it collapsed beneath him. Drina let out a loud shout of hysterical laughter. George stood up to see her curled up on her side, tears running down her cheeks as she continued to laugh so hard that no noise was coming out of her mouth. With a reluctant grin, he bowed formally and left the room, closing the door behind him.
He wondered how much she’d remember in the morning. He wasn’t sure if he wanted her to remember the embrace or not. But one thing he did know for certain: He wouldn’t be forgetting it any time soon.
Chapter 6
Drina’s head was going to explode.
At least it felt like it was. She rolled over in bed and tried to go back to sleep. Her stomach rumbled unhappily and her right arm felt tender and bruised. She carefully opened her eyes, but this wasn’t her room at home. The bedcurtains and bed coverlet were a gaudy shade of pink, the same dreadful color as the wallpaper. The walls were covered with gilded frames, filled with painted strangers staring at her while she slept. It was all rather disconcerting.
Her bedroom door swung open and even in the dim glow from the embers in the fireplace, she knew it was her mother. No one else walked quite the same way, as if she owned the world.
Her mother unceremoniously opened the curtains, letting bright, harsh light spill into the perfectly pink room.
“It’s after noon, Drina,” she said as she tied back the curtains. “You should’ve awoken hours before this.”
“It can’t be morning already,” Drina grumbled and sat up in bed, blinking from the brightness of the light and even brighter shade of pink. Her headache felt infinitely worse. She lean
ed forward, trying not to be sick. She looked down—she was still wearing George’s shirt and trousers. Drina pulled the coverlet up to her chin, praying her mother wouldn’t notice her clothing.
“How much wine did you drink last night, Liebling?” her mother demanded.
“Only a few glasses,” she said innocently. It technically wasn’t a lie: two glasses of wine at dinner … and then four half-pint beers, and one glass of punch with George—
George!
She grabbed her head. The memories of last night were pretty hazy. Images flashed in her mind of visiting several pubs (ale tasted like bitter apple juice). Drinking with George (the punch had a citrusy flavor). Being arrested (that’s why her arm hurt). The nasty-smelling jail (she wanted to plug her nose just thinking about it). Dear Edward vouching for them (oh dear, she hoped he’d be discreet). And throwing her arms around George (it was lovely in his arms).
Her mother pulled the cord for a servant and tsked in annoyance as she picked up Drina’s crimson dress off of the floor. Then her mother dropped the dress and picked up something else—George’s jacket. Drina closed her eyes. This day was already a disaster.
“Whose coat is this, Alexandrina?” she demanded sharply.
Drina reluctantly opened her eyes and said in a small voice, “George’s.”
Her mother held up the coat. “And how did it get into your room?”
She blinked and decided the truth was the easiest. “I was wearing it. I was rather cold last night.”
The door to her bedroom opened again and Miss Russon, her pretty, redheaded lady’s maid with a perfectly sized button nose, bobbed a curtsy.
“Russon, bring my daughter some strong tea and run her a hot bath,” Drina’s mother said authoritatively.
“Yes, Your Highness,” the maid said, bobbing again.
Drina didn’t blame her lady’s maid for her formality; her mother still made Drina feel awed in her presence. Miss Russon closed the door with a loud thud. Drina’s ears rang and it felt as if her brains were shaking inside of her head. She longed to hold her head, but didn’t dare release her coverlet.
“Where are my jewels?”
Drina grasped her neck with one hand and sighed with relief to feel the necklace there. She held the coverlet with her other hand as she touched her ears, finding earrings in both of them.
Her mother was holding out her hands expectantly, but Drina couldn’t unclasp the necklace and hold up the covers at the same time. So she lay back down and quickly took both the necklace and the earrings off. Sitting up gingerly, she handed the jewels to her mother, careful to conceal her clothing.
“These should have been in the safe last night, Liebling,” her mother chided. “You can’t be so thoughtless in future, ja? You will need these jewels to find yourself a good husband.”
Properly chagrined, Drina lowered her aching head. “Yes, Mama.”
Her mother sat on the edge of the bed and gently stroked the hair on Drina’s pounding head. Drina wished she wouldn’t.
“You know, ja, that all I want is the very best for you, Liebling?”
Drina nodded slowly.
Her mother smiled. “We are in luck, my darling. I have spoken to Cousin Victoria and she will give you a royal audience.”
“What!” Drina cried, nearly dropping her coverlet in surprise.
“Yes, Cousin Victoria, has agreed to listen to our request about you inheriting your father’s title and estate,” her mother explained. “It is a great honor and even greater opportunity that I know you will take advantage of.”
Drina nodded her head eagerly, almost forgetting the pain inside of it.
Her mother stood up abruptly. “And no more Lord Worthington.” She pronounced it “Vorthington.”
“But … Why, Mama?”
“He is a second son.”
“At least he is a son and will inherit something eventually,” Drina said bitterly. “Whereas I’m a daughter and will inherit nothing.”
“That isn’t true, Alexandrina,” her mother said imperiously. “Your father and I have made countless sacrifices to ensure that you would be properly dowered, with or without the Rothfield estate. And my jewels are worth more than this entire drafty castle.”
“I appreciate all that you have done, Mama.”
“Do you, Drina? Do you really?”
“Of course, I do!”
“I not think you do,” her mother said. Drina knew she must be angry—her mother’s English was only bad when she got worked up. “If you do, you vould stop vasting your time vith Lord Vorthington and spend more of your time engaging the attentions of a more vorthy man.”
Drina released a sigh of frustration. “And who is worthier, Mama?” she demanded. “The Honorable Lord Weatherby?”
“He has a fine house in Derbyshire and thirty thousand pounds a year.”
“He also has wandering hands and at least one mistress already,” Drina said hotly. “I’d rather die a spinster than be saddled with him for life.”
“Very vell,” she said. “How about Lord Carlisle?”
“He is twice my age and has bad teeth.”
“He is a gentle soul, and all the English have bad teeth,” her mother stated as if this were a well-known fact.
George didn’t. She couldn’t help but think of his roguish grin.
Her mother must have guessed at least part of what she was thinking. “Lord Vorthington is short.”
It was injustice to call George short. He was of average height, but he looked short because he was so broad in the shoulders.
“He’s the same height as myself!”
“He doesn’t return your affections, Alexandrina,” her mother said stiffly. “Stop throwing yourself at a man who doesn’t vant you and spend your time securing a marriage vith a man who will give you his title and an estate.”
“What about his heart?”
“Hearts have little to do with marriages, Liebling,” her mother said. She looked older, wearier. “You would do better to find a kind man who will give you a place in this world.”
Drina gripped the coverlet tighter around her neck. “Not every man is cruel like your first husband.”
“No … but many are, and you will be entirely in your husband’s power.”
“If I inherit Papa’s title and estate, I won’t have to marry anyone,” she said. “Kind or not. With or without teeth. I will be the powerful one.”
Her mother tsked. “Marriage is the way of our world.”
Drina shook her pounding head. “How can you say that? You eloped with Papa against the wishes of three countries and caused an international scandal. And you only reconciled with Queen Victoria because you named me Alexandrina Victoria after her.”
“Marrying your father was not without consequences,” she said. “I lost my title of queen and my home. Your father was only an ambassador to Hoburg then; he hadn’t inherited the Rothfield title yet. I had to learn how to live on much smaller means and lesser consequence. It was a humbling time, Liebling.”
Drina bristled. She’d always thought her parent’s love match was a perfect one. She’d never thought of what her mother had given up. “Do you miss Tannheim?”
“Do I miss the power and respect I once held as Queen Regent?” she replied. “Ja, my Liebling. Power is a very addictive thing and once possessed, difficult to relinquish. Even to your own blood. You will find that Cousin Victoria doesn’t wish to share her power with anyone. Not with her husband. And not even with her own son and heir.”
Poor Bertie.
The Prince of Wales had always been kind to Drina, but she knew his parents viewed him as a disappointment. Cousin Victoria often told her mother that Bertie wasn’t self-controlled enough. And Drina had heard Prince Albert berate him many times for not being as clever as his sisters Vicky and Alice.
“Choose your future wisely, Liebling, for you will have to live with the consequences. Not I,” her mother said, standing up.
There was
a knock at the door and Miss Russon brought in a small tea tray.
“I will see you at luncheon, Drina,” her mother said. “And I expect you to look presentable and to act charming. Don’t disappoint me.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Her mother swept out of the room. Miss Russon bobbed another quick curtsy, spilling a little tea onto the silver tray. She mumbled an apology.
Drina waved her hand. “It is nothing.”
Miss Russon placed the tea tray on the table across the room. “Lady Alexandrina, your bath is ready in the dressing room. Do you require any assistance?”
Drina thanked her but declined; she didn’t want Miss Russon to see George’s clothes. She wasn’t sure if she had enough money with her to bribe the woman to not say anything.
Once Miss Russon closed the door to her room, Drina threw off the coverlet and stepped out of bed. Stumbling to the table, she poured herself some tea, draining the first cup quickly. Her mouth felt dry and tasted awful. She poured herself a second cup from the teapot before shedding the trousers and George’s linen shirt. Untying her corset took a little more time. She was like a cat chasing its tail, trying to catch the string. Eventually, she pulled the correct one and the entire garment slid off her body. Exhaling in relief, she wriggled out of her shift and drawers.
She shivered and made a dash for the door to the dressing room. As promised, a hot bath was awaiting her there. She hopped into the copper tub and sank beneath the steaming water. The pain in her head began to ease. She looked at her arm—purplish-green bruises were forming on her forearm, a circle for every finger of the snowy-bearded constable. She slid farther underneath the water until only her nose was above it.
Perhaps her mother was right. She needed to focus on her meeting with the Queen and not give any more of her time or her heart to George. He could find Friedrich without her help. Her carefree cousin was probably off on some jollification with no thought to his duty. She didn’t mind Friedrich’s lack of royal decorum, but it hurt that he’d forgotten her.
Drina puffed, blowing a stray curl from her face. It was time for her to move on from both Friedrich and George. To move forward with her own life.
A Royal Christmas Quandary Page 5