by Bree Wolf
Instantly his face changed. The quiet, serene joy that had illuminated his eyes turned dark. His lips thinned and he swallowed, brushing a hand through his hair. “Your room is next to Georgiana’s.” He quickly bowed to her. “I bid you good night.”
Before he could take two steps, Rosabel brushed past him, stepping in his way. Holding out a hand, she stopped him in his tracks, his chest slamming into her outstretched arm. “If you insist on pretending that this,” she pointed to the door Georgiana lay behind sleeping, “is not breaking your heart, I have to tell you that I do feel sorry for you, my lord.” His eyes narrowed, but she hastened on before he could comment, “But I do insist you tell me where we are headed!”
A frown settled on his face. “I did tell you.”
“You merely hinted at returning Georgiana to her real father,” Rosabel corrected, squaring her shoulders. “But you failed to explain who he is and where he resides.”
Crossing his arms, her husband eyed her carefully. “That does not concern you, my lady. You should not even be here.”
“But I am.”
“So?”
“So, tell me!”
Hesitating for only a second, he whispered a quick good night, brushed past her, opened the door to his room and vanished inside.
For a moment, Rosabel just stood in the hall, cursing herself for allowing him to run off yet again. However, as she turned to enter her own room, she realized that he had indeed not escaped yet. He had merely retired to his room, and Rosabel did not remember hearing a key turning in the lock.
A triumphant smile on her face, she stepped forward and, without knocking, pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Hearing her steps, he spun around, surprise visible on his face. “What the blazes are you doing in here? This is hardly proper,” he said, fingers working to re-button his shirt.
Rosabel snorted, closing the door behind her. “I doubt that. I am your wife after all.”
“That may be true, but your room is still across the hall,” he said, pointing past her shoulder. “Do you need further directions?”
Her back brushing the door when she shifted from one foot to the other, Rosabel crossed her arms, fixing him with her eyes. “Speak of what you like, but I assure you I will not leave this room until I have answers.”
Jaw tightening, he once more raked his hands through his hair, eyes frantically searching for a way out. “Why do you insist on knowing?”
Rosabel could hear the desperation in his voice. “Because she is my daughter.”
“She is not−”
Lifting a hand, she stepped toward him. “I know, but she is. We can argue about this all night if you prefer, or you could tell me now and we can both get some sleep.”
Exhaling slowly, he closed his eyes. When they opened again, Rosabel knew she had at least won this battle. “We are going to London.”
Rosabel nodded. “I suspected as much. But where exactly? Who is he?”
“He is an old friend.” Wringing his hands, he started pacing. When he remained silent, Rosabel asked, “Fine. But what makes you think he would even take her back? If he cared about her at all, would he not have married Leonora back then? I still don’t understand why they could not get married. I mean, I know his father had objections, but what could they have been? She was the daughter of a family of the peerage, a family of means. How could that not have been enough?”
Staring at her, he shook his head, probably wondering how she knew all that. “It was not that simple. He had…a duty. He could not marry for love.”
“Fine, even if it wasn’t for love, she was still a good match. Why would his father have objected? Was there some kind of family feud?”
He shook his head. “No, their families had been close for generations. Allies even.”
“Then I don’t see the problem.”
Sinking onto his bed, he hung his head as though unable to hold himself upright any longer. “It was complicated. Their families had been connected for generations. They did not need to marry their children to achieve this. Instead, they sought other connections.”
Rosabel nodded, every fibre of her being trembling with disgust at the marriage politics that more often than not destroyed every hope for love and happiness. She remembered the trouble her own parents had to go through merely to be together and how hard life had been for them because they had defied the rules.
“I see,” she mumbled. “But I don’t understand why you cannot tell me his name. His full name. I mean, I suspect he is named George.” Instantly, her husband’s head snapped up. “Georgiana is named after him, is she not?”
Rising from the bed, he came toward her. As he stopped in front of her, his shoes almost touching hers, his eyes burned into hers. “How do you know all this?”
Rosabel raised her chin, meeting his gaze unflinching. “I will tell you, after you tell me.”
“Blasted woman!” he cursed. “I do not remember you being so stubborn!”
Rosabel smiled. “I didn’t used to be.” Eyes searching her face, he shook his head. Without trouble, Rosabel saw in his expression what he wanted to know. “But everything changed when I became a mother.” Her eyes looked deeper into his. “When you made me a mother.”
He swallowed, but didn’t argue.
“Then tell me,” Rosabel insisted. “Why can you not tell me who he is?”
“Because his life is not his own,” he said, sadness ringing in his voice, and Rosabel could see that he was speaking from experience. “He has a duty to his country above all else.”
“Don’t we all serve our country?” Rosabel asked, wondering what he was trying to say. “In whichever way we can.”
He nodded. “But not like he does. Not like he was born to do.”
“Why?” she asked, a frown settling on her face.
“Because…” he took a deep breath, “he is the future king of England!”
Chapter Thirty-Seven - A Blind Man
As they reached Carlton House, the residence of Georgiana’s father, Rosabel moved as though through a thick fog. Ever since the previous night when her husband had finally shared the truth about his daughter’s parentage and the complications surrounding her existence, Rosabel’s mind had finally decided that this was all too much to handle. A small part of her wondered that it had not happened earlier.
As they walked the halls and corridors, spent almost an hour waiting in a front parlour and then proceeded to the study, Rosabel’s feet moved as though with a mind of their own while her eyes refused to pay attention to the intricate furnishings around her, which were inconsequential anyway because her mind was unable to convert any perceptions into long-term memories.
Instead, Rosabel’s eyes only saw the little girl with the golden curls. She remembered how her little arms wrapped around her neck in a heartfelt hug, how she used to skip the halls after finishing her lessons with Mrs. Rigsby and how her eyes glowed whenever they fell on her mother’s portrait. All those memories and more kept Rosabel from acknowledging the harsh reality before her eyes. She was about to lose her daughter, and there was not a bloody thing she could do about that!
After all, he was the future king of England. Could she argue with him? Could she deny him his daughter? His own flesh and blood? When her own claim was rooted in nothing else but a mother’s love. Nothing tangible. Nothing beyond reproach. Nothing recognized by law.
Silent tears ran down her cheeks as she saw Georgiana’s eager eyes absorbing the palace around her. While she knew nothing of her own connection to the man they were about to meet, her father had told her that he was the future king of England in order to elicit her best behaviour. To Georgiana, such a revelation had only lifted her into her most beloved fairy tales of dashing princes and beautiful princesses, unaware that she was a princess herself.
Approaching double-hung mahogany doors, the footman guiding their way stopped and knocked. The sound echoed in Rosabel’s mind, and she blinked.
As he
r memories wafted away and reality reclaimed her attention, a cold shiver ran down her arms, and she shook herself involuntarily. Keeping step with her husband, Rosabel took a deep breath to calm her nerves as the doors where opened, and they proceeded inside, Georgiana trailing after them.
Brilliant sunlight filtered in through the massive windows lining the west wall, bathing the study’s interior in a warm glow of afternoon delight. A massive mahogany desk captured the centre of the room, framed by book cases touching the arched, two-story ceiling. Ornamental rugs softened the clear-cut marble floors, absorbing the slight echo of their footfalls as they approached the man sitting in the leather armchair, scribbling on a sheet of paper.
As they drew near, he lifted his head for a moment, recognition flashing in his dark eyes.
For a reason Rosabel could not grasp, she heaved a sigh of relief to see that Georgiana had inherited her brilliantly blue eyes from her mother.
For a moment they stood before the desk, waiting to be acknowledged, and Rosabel tried to breathe as quietly as she could so as not to disturbed the silence that hung over the room, the only sound the slight scratching of quill on parchment.
Then the scratching stopped, and the future king of England nimble-footed jumped out of his chair and strode toward them, eyes brilliant and a welcoming smile decorating his features. “Kensington,” he boomed as though trying to be heard in a crowded opera house. “How wonderful to see you! How long has it been? Ten years? Almost, I dare say!”
“Your Royal Highness,” her husband greeted his old friend, and although his manners were beyond reproach, Rosabel observed the casual air that spoke of secrets told and memories shared. A part of her wished she were not in the room so that they could speak more openly.
Turning to her, the king’s son winked at her husband. “And this must be your wife. I heard you remarried.” There was a hitch in his voice as he said the word wife, making it clear that the feelings he’d once had for Leonora had not been lessened by her death. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you, Sir.”
The king’s heir bowed to her, mumbling “Your Grace,” and Rosabel curtsied, hoping she would not fall flat on her face. “Your Royal Highness.”
He smiled at her, but instantly turned back to her husband. “Well then, what brings you here? I admit I was quite surprised to hear from you after all these years. Your letter left me wondering quite a bit.”
As Rosabel watched her husband open his mouth to reply, her insides twisted into knots, and she started to feel ill. However, before he could speak, a soft giggle echoed through the spacious room, and, peeking behind her, Rosabel found her curious daughter steal a glance past her father’s back at the man who was a real prince.
His hearing clearly unimpaired, his royal highness shifted his gaze down to the hint of golden curls appearing behind his old friend. Frown lines springing up on his forehead, he moved around his friend just as her husband took a step sideways out of the way. The second his eyes fell on Georgiana, taking in her striking blue eyes and angel-like hair, his mouth fell open and his hand went to his chest.
For a moment, he just stared at her.
And everyone else stared at him.
Glancing at her husband, Rosabel saw his shoulders tense as he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to draw another breath. Judging from the pained look on his face, Rosabel thought he would gladly abandon his quest and return home.
But it was too late for that.
While Georgiana, overwhelmed by shyness, slid her hand into Rosabel’s, her biological father was still thunderstruck, unable to tear his eyes away from her. Rosabel’s heart softened a little toward him as she saw the longing clearly visible in the way his eyes caressed his daughter’s face. Had he ever even seen her? Rosabel wondered.
Clearing his throat, her husband’s voice broke the magic of the moment. “I have come to return what is yours, Sir.”
Rosabel drew in a sharp breath at his words, and while Georgiana did not understand that her father was referring to her, the king’s son jerked his eyes upward, eye brows drawn down in a shocked expression. “Excuse me?”
Having trouble stilling the trembling in her arms, Rosabel squeezed Georgiana’s hand, and the little girl smiled up at her. It almost broke her heart.
The future king glanced back and forth between his old friend and his daughter as realization began to dawn on him. He opened his mouth, but shut it again as his eyes once more settled on Georgiana. He swallowed hard and then approached her. Leaning forward, a smile on his face, he said, “Seeing as you are your mother’s daughter, I am sure you have a great fondness for horses. Is that so?”
Instantly, Georgiana’s face lit up, and her head started bobbing up and down.
Hearing her answer, his smile broadened. “As I thought. You know, the horses here at Carlton House are among the finest in the country. Would you like to see them?”
Again Georgiana had trouble containing her enthusiasm, her little legs fidgeting as though ready to run off.
“Marvellous,” he beamed, glancing at Rosabel. “Then why don’t you and your…mother go for a little stroll? Henry will show you the way. And later you can tell me which one you liked best. Deal?”
Georgiana nodded, eyes sparkling, ready to be off. “Deal!”
Curtseying, Rosabel and Georgiana followed the footman out the door and down the hall, leaving Georgiana’s two fathers behind to sort out her future.
As Rosabel passed her husband, she tried to catch his eye, but he held his gaze firmly fixed on the floor. Placing her hand on his arm, she felt the tension in his muscles. Reluctantly, she turned to go, partly cursing under her breath that her earlier wish to afford them some privacy had been granted. She could only hope that her husband would change his mind. But did she dare dream of such an outcome?
***
As the door closed behind his wife and daughter, Graham turned to his old friend. Before he could say a word though, he found dark eyes searching his face.
“What is the meaning of this? You wish to return what is mine?” The Prince of Wales took two steps forward, peering into his face as though trying to decipher the answer to his questions. “You cannot be speaking about…?” His voice trailed off as his arm lifted, pointing at the door through which Georgiana had only just left.
Graham took a deep breath, recalling the duty he had to his family, and met his old friend’s gaze without flinching. “Sir, I−”
“No!” The prince lifted a hand to stop him. Then he turned on his heel and started pacing the length of the room. “Why now? What has changed?” Again he stopped right in front of Graham, eyes still searching. “Why?”
Graham swallowed. “Because it is the right thing to do, Sir.”
“Again I ask you, why?”
Drawing in a deep breath, Graham steeled himself for what he had never said out loud. “Because she is…your daughter. Not mine.”
The prince shook his head. “That little girl,” he said, once more pointing at the door, “doesn’t even know me. I am nothing to her.” He placed a hand on Graham’s shoulder, looking into his eyes, imploring him to understand. “You are her father. Have been since the day she was born.”
Not knowing what to say, how to explain himself at a moment when he felt all answers slipping away, Graham remained silent.
“You love her,” his friend said. “Like a father loves his daughter. Do not deny it.” He took a deep breath. “And as much as it pains me to say this, she loves you too. Like a daughter loves her father. Why do you want to take that from her?”
Remembering how his wife had asked him the same question, Graham shook his head. “Because I am not good for her. She deserves more. More than I can give her.”
Again the prince frowned. “But why now? Why did you not come to me two years ago? Right after Leonora’s accident? Or three years? Or right after Georgiana was born? After the wedding? Why did you agree to marry her in the first place? Because I asked? Because you
thought you couldn’t deny me? I thought…,” Graham could feel a slight tremble in the hand still resting on his shoulder, “I thought you loved her, too. Was I wrong?”
Not trusting his own voice, Graham shook his head.
“Then explain yourself,” his friend urged, but hastened on himself. “I asked you because I knew you cared for her and you would give your life before you’d let anything happen to her.” Graham nodded, remembering Leonora’s beautiful smile that had always made his heart beat faster in his chest. “You are an honourable man. A man who keeps his word. A man who protects those he loves.” Again he hesitated. “Although the thought nearly killed me, I hoped that she would find happiness with you. That over time she would give you her heart.” His lips thinned into a tight line as his words ceased. And although he hadn’t asked a question out loud, Graham could read it in his friend’s eyes.
In answer, Graham shook his head. “She never could. Believe me, I’d hoped for the same, but you cannot give your heart away if it is no longer in your possession, can you? You should know.” Just like Leonora, his friend had been forced to marry against the wishes of his heart, and it had never made him happy.
“I do, yes.” His eyes softened. “I am sorry,” his friend mumbled, resuming his pacing up and down the room. “I never meant for this to happen. I had hoped that somehow things would fall into place.”
Graham nodded. “So did I. But at some point, we must face the truth. And that is why I am here.”
Reminded of the purpose behind his friend’s visit, the prince spun around, eyes narrowing. “And what is the truth?”
“The truth is that Georgiana is your daughter. Not mine. The truth is that you should have been Leonora’s husband. Not me.”
The prince nodded. “Yes, she is my daughter, and yes, I would have loved nothing more than to marry her mother. But I didn’t. We all made our decisions. The reasons behind them do not matter now. The only thing that matters now is her happiness!”