“Hello, hold up there!” a shout came from behind her.
Beatrice tensed at the sound of another set of horse’s hooves. Her first thought was that she had strayed off the duke’s land and offended a neighbor by trespassing. But was that really possible? She’d ridden less than a mile; the estate covered hundreds of acres. She turned her mount to face the oncoming rider.
With a jolt she saw it was a lone man. He rode a gleaming black Arabian that seemed as spirited as her mare was calm. The approach of the other horse made her own mount anxious. Genevieve danced in place apprehensively. Beatrice checked her with the reins.
“Sssshhh, it’s all right, my pretty,” Beatrice soothed, stroking the horse’s silky neck. “It’s one of your pals.” She recognized the Arabian as a horse the groom had passed over when choosing hers, no doubt having assumed the powerful animal would be too much for her to handle.
The rider came closer and, at last, she recognized him. “Liko! Henry, hello.”
“Are you escaping the madness too?” he asked cheerfully, stopping close to her. “Wise woman. The palace is crammed to the gills with guests. Louis is a mad man he’s so nervous. And Sandro claims he’s in love with a girl whose Russian mother despises Germans. I told them both they’d be better off not falling in love at all. Find a girl with money who offends no one. Marry her, if you must marry at all.”
“Oh, do you really believ—“ she started to object, but then saw he was laughing at her. “You’re trying to get a rise out of old Auntie, aren’t you?”
He looked perplexed. “Old—? Who is that?” He turned in his saddle to look around the woods. “Oh, you mean you? How can you think of yourself as old? You are no more aged than I?”
It was true, she now remembered. They were the same age. And yet he seemed so very young to her—utterly dashing in his military uniform and on that magnificent steed that looked as though it wanted to bolt down a hill in a cavalry charge.
“Why are you out here on your own?” he asked. “You could have sent someone for me. I’d have been happy to accompany you.”
“You rode out alone. Why did you not send for me?” She swallowed, shocked by her boldness.
“You’re right, Your Highness.” He laughed and turned his horse as if to go. “There’s no reason you can’t seek solitude. If that was your intent, then I’m intruding.” Smiling, he gave her a jaunty salute. “I shall leave you in peace.” “No!” she cried out, but immediately controlled her impulse to plead with him to stay. More calmly she said, “It was nice for a bit, riding alone, but I’d enjoy your company. That is, if you’re not wanting solitude.”
“The company of a lovely lady suits me just fine.” He flashed her another smile, and this one melted her down to her toes. He’s teasing me, she thought, but decided she didn’t mind. Perhaps she’d just pretend right along with him. Pretend that he meant what he said. Play the part of a worldly, attractive woman. Flirt!
They rode further into the woods, side by side for as long as the path accommodated two horses. When it narrowed, he let her take the lead while they chatted about their families and swapped Court gossip until they emerged into an open field dotted with red and white poppies.
“Do you have any idea how much you surprise me?” Henry said as they cut through tall grasses whose feathery tips brushed her stirrups.
“Surprise you. How?”
“Louis told me you were quite the cold fish.”
She cringed. It wasn’t the first time she’d overheard such comments. “I don’t see how he’d know,” she said with a brusqueness she hadn’t intended. “We’ve barely ever spoken.”
Henry brought his horse up alongside hers. The animals seemed to have calmed down in each other’s presence and walked along amicably. “I think that’s the point.” He gave her a sidelong look. “Louis tried to start a conversation with you, once, a long time ago.”
Oh, that, she thought and grimaced. “If you’re referring to that awful dinner several years ago.”
“He was very upset, you know, that you wouldn’t speak to him.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, as if to shut out the memory. “I couldn’t speak to him.”
“Why on Earth not?”
“Because my mother forbade it.”
She sensed his horse coming to a stop; she reined in her mount as well. When she turned to look at him, his long face was no longer smooth. His dazzling eyes had darkened to a stormy gray-blue, and his smile seemed to have never been. “On what grounds did she swear you to silence?”
Beatrice pursed her lips. Was it disloyal to question the queen’s decisions? Hadn’t her rules been made with her daughter’s safety and happiness in mind?
She sighed. “At the time, it seemed to make sense, what she told me to do. Mama was concerned that Louis was showing interest in me; she said it was of an unhealthy sort.” Beatrice dared not look Henry in the eye as she spoke. This was, after all, his beloved brother they were talking about. “And anyway, he was older than I and intent on a career in the Royal navy. Mama said I was not to encourage him in any way. If Louis was sincere, it wouldn’t matter that I was cool toward him. She told me he would make his true intentions known, and then we would see that it was not simply a flirtation.”
“But you didn’t just behave coolly.” Henry caught her eyes with his own. “You were silent the entire dinner. You refused to join his polite conversation.”
She shook her head, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. “I can’t imagine what he thought of me. I know now he’s a good man. He didn’t deserve to be mistreated. But I–” She shuddered and turned her face away so Henry wouldn’t see her self-loathing.
“But you did as the queen demanded.”
“Yes. It was horrid of me. I see that now. But you don’t know what it’s like, living with her. I love her. She is my mother. But you cannot reason with the queen when she has her mind set on something…or against someone.” Near tears, Beatrice let her gaze fall to her hands on the reins. “You just can’t know—“
“But I can damn well guess.”
“I don’t blame you for hating me,” she whispered.
“Hate you?” He coughed out a laugh. “Dear girl, I don’t hate you. You puzzle me, that’s true. But hate? How could I hate such a lovely, intelligent woman? You have done me no harm.”
“But your brother—I spurned him.”
“And look at what happiness he has found with your niece. It was meant to be, you see.” He grinned, a bit naughtily she thought. “Besides, if he had married you, we wouldn’t have been able to meet like this. Now would we?”
“No, I guess not,” she said, her heart shimmying in her breast. Like this? What did he mean? “I would be your sister-in-law.”
“And the thoughts I had last night while we danced—they would have been highly improper.”
“Oh?” A rush of heat filled her. She had to look away from him. Again. The effect he was having on her was most…disturbing.
He laughed. “I’m sorry, Beatrice. I’m shocking you. Is it wrong to admit that I find you attractive? It just comes out when I’m near you.”
She was so flustered now she could hardly speak. She didn’t need a mirror to see that her face was afire. “I am flattered, Liko. But I know what I am, and I know men—not even kind men like you—see anything pleasing in me.”
An expression of pure astonishment flashed across his face. “Oh, come now, Princess. What game are you playing?”
“No game.”
He leaned out of his saddle, toward her, and the aroma of leather, musky shaving lather, and pipe smoke came at her, a wall of masculinity. “I’m not blind, Princess. Let me tell you a secret. Come a bit closer.”
She leaned forward, holding on to her saddle for fear of falling out of it, curious at his tone but also wary. Before she could turn her head to hold her ear toward his lips, he kissed her full on the mouth.
“There!” he
cried triumphantly. “I’ve wanted to do that since we were twelve years old.”
“Henry!” She was sure now he was toying with her. “You shouldn’t.”
“Why not? This isn’t the dark ages. People can say what they feel. I like you, Beatrice. My brother thinks you’re a strange little fish, and I’m glad he does because you’re still swimming free in the stream for me to catch.”
“To—” she swallowed, widening her eyes at him “—catch? Me?”
“Yes!” He laughed and made a grab for her that she wasn’t entirely sure was sham.
And then…then, it was as if she remembered what it was like to play with little Henry Battenberg as they chased through the gardens at Buckingham and along powdery sand at Osborne by the sea.
She tossed her head at him. “I dare you, Liko,” she challenged, feeling the corners of her lips turn up in a mischievous grin that hadn’t been there for ages. “You just try and catch me.”
And she dug her heels into the muscled belly of her mount and shot across poppy-strewn fields with a laughing prince in pursuit.
6
That evening, it was with considerable surprise that Beatrice found herself feeling genuinely and whole-heartedly happy as she watched Vicky walk down the cathedral’s aisle on the arm of her father to join Louis Battenberg before the altar.
How fast life changes, she thought.
Here she stood in church, observing the very event she absolutely had known would break her heart, because she’d honestly had such a terrible crush on Louis all those years back…but she was feeling elated. As the pretty blonde bride took her place at her fiancé’s side, Beatrice’s gaze drifted toward the younger Battenberg brother. Henry, in his striking regimental colors. Henry, with his long, lean body and strength of shoulders, and eyes that—was she imagining this?—crackled with blue fire whenever they drifted, ever so cautiously, in her direction.
She smiled, and he returned her silent greeting for the briefest moment before rearranging his features in a solemn, soldierly expression more suited to the occasion.
For the next several minutes she watched him, unable to tear her eyes away, her heart thrumming in her ears. He stood with his left hand resting on the ornate hilt of his sword, polished Hessian boots planted solidly on the marble floor as if he were claiming possession of the very ground beneath him. Chin high. Braided collar emphasizing his long neck. Eyes reflecting hundreds of candles lighting the grand cathedral. Her pulse raced as if she were back on Genevieve, galloping across the open field with Henry giving chase.
Had she, dull Auntie Bea, really found the nerve to do that?
And when he had caught her—even though she’d made him work to do it—he’d claimed another kiss. This one she’d seen coming but didn’t try to escape. She’d melted at the softness of his lips touching hers. When his hand reached out to lightly hold her fingertips, she’d turned to molten silver.
Now the organ sang out, its lush chords reverberating low in her stomach and waking her from her daydream, announcing the end of the ceremony. She was startled to have missed so much of it. She’d been far away, imagining sun-stroked days when she might ride again with Henry. They would talk of intelligent matters, compare preferences of foods, music, opinions of a political nature. He would describe his travels with the royal navy to places she’d never seen. She’d respond by expressing an interest in seeing foreign lands. He might catch her subtle message (Take me with you. Oh, please!). He’d understand, where others had not, that she was more exciting, more daring than she appeared.
It was such a pleasant fantasy, still spinning through her mind, her mother had to grasp her arm and give it a shake to rouse her.
“What is wrong with you, Baby? People are waiting for us.”
Beatrice wanted to scream, I am not your baby! I am a grown woman with a name and a life of my own.
But was that really true? A name, yes, she had that—but not a life. She was chained by duty to her mother. She whispered, “Sorry.”
Victoria folded her own arm around her daughter’s as they moved in slow motion up the aisle, out of the incense-perfumed church and into the sunlit courtyard. The queen leaned toward her to murmur, “There is trouble brewing. I feel it.”
Beatrice felt a momentary jolt of panic. Had her mother found out about her unsupervised adventure with Henry?
Then she followed Victoria’s gaze toward the wedding party. “Surely not. Vicky and Louis look in perfect bliss.”
“Not the bride and groom.” Her mother’s voice sounded pinched, testy. “Vicky’s papa.”
Beatrice studied the Grand Duke, standing proudly beside the bride and groom with his younger daughter Elle on his arm. A shadow of sorrow grayed the happy family portrait. Alice should be here, she thought.
Her sister Alice, the duke’s wife, had died not long before their brother Leo passed, due to complications of his hemophilia. Both her siblings had left her at relatively young ages. But whereas Leo had been a fragile child from birth, cursed by the bleeding disease that haunted European royalty, always needing to be protected and worried over, Alice had been the very picture of health until diphtheria struck the Grand Duke’s court. Then, despite doctors’ warnings, she had insisted upon personally nursing her family and eventually perished from the disease herself.
“What is wrong with the Duke?” Beatrice hoped her brother-in-law wasn’t sick. She found him a delightful man—generous, handsome in a fatherly way, always ready with his charming sense of humor to lighten family gatherings haunted by the specter of Prince Albert and, now by Victoria’s renewed grieving over her son and daughter.
“He invited that woman to the wedding,” Victoria snapped, her tiny eyes sharp as flint and throwing off sparks. “Can you imagine?”
Beatrice followed her mother’s glare as it shifted toward a cluster of guests standing in the courtyard, beneath an early-blooming rose arbor. She didn’t have to guess which woman had annoyed the queen. She stood out, a strikingly sensual figure, outshining every other woman in view. She looked to be only a few years older than Beatrice, wore a daring crimson gown that contrasted dramatically with her dark hair. Rubies the size of song-bird eggs glittered at her throat. Her pretty eyes rested on Beatrice’s brother-in-law, across the garden, with obvious adoration.
“She’s beautiful,” Beatrice whispered. “Who is she?”
“No one, dear child. No one you will ever need to meet. I shall tell the duke she must be made to leave. She is not welcome at dinner.”
“But if she is his guest—“
Her mother’s stony glare cut off her objection. The queen raised her right hand a few inches, and one of the duke’s attentive footmen immediately stepped forward. He leaned down when the queen motioned him closer. She whispered a few words to him, and he left, his expression neutral.
Once the wedding party had moved back inside the palace and were seated at their assigned places along the single, long banquet table set—Beatrice had heard—for 340 guests, the rest of the guests moved toward their chairs. Beatrice looked around for the woman she’d seen earlier. She’d seemed exotic, interesting. Beatrice was dying to talk with her and find out where she’d come from. She’d have to do it soon if her mother was intent on making her leave.
But the grand duke was standing alone behind the chair at the head of the table, and the lady in red was nowhere in sight. Apparently, the queen’s message already had been delivered. Beatrice felt sorry for the man. Was it fair that her mother’s whims should deny him a companion on his daughter’s wedding day?
Beatrice excused herself and stood up from the table. Any other day, Victoria certainly would have noticed and stopped her. But the queen was busy talking with Sandro, and the second of the Battenberg sons had her so enthralled that Beatrice was able to slip away.
She approached her brother-in-law and rested a hand tentatively on his arm. The duke turned with a subdued smile. “Ah, Your Royal Highnes
s,” he murmured, “you are looking well. Thank you for doing so much for Vicky. She values your love and advice even more in the years since she’s lost her mother.”
“It’s my pleasure. She’s a charming girl. I adore her.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
Beatrice bent down closer to him. “The dark-haired lady in church, I understand she was your guest. She could not join us for the banquet?”
His face reddened. “The queen suggested it was inappropriate for her to be here.”
“Why shouldn’t she be?” If Beatrice had inherited anything from her mother it was her preference for speaking plainly and openly, to get to the root of the matter.
“She is a dear friend. Her name is Alexandrine von Kolemine. She is from Poland originally, the daughter of the count of Hutten-Czapsy. A widow, as I am a widower, and we are close friends.” He sighed. “I believe it offends your mother that I keep company with her.”
Beatrice considered his choice of words. The queen never allowed her brothers to speak in front of their sisters about their private social lives. But over the years she’d overheard snatches of conversation. “Keeping company” seemed, to her, code words for something more intimate than tea shared before the fire.
If Alice had been alive, Beatrice would most definitely have been offended on her behalf. But her sister had been gone six years, and the duke had seemed so very sad and inconsolable that Beatrice was happy he’d found someone to comfort him and share his days. And perhaps his nights?
“She is your mistress?”
The duke tensed and avoided her eyes. “Princess, I shouldn’t be discussing such things with you.”
“Because my mother would be furious.”
“She would likely banish me from ever again setting foot in London.” His eyes flashed, but his dry laugh held no humor.
Beatrice shook her head. “Alice wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone forever.”
Her own words struck home. Wasn’t she alone too? And likely to remain so for the rest of her life. A mother, siblings, nephews and nieces were no substitute for a beloved spouse. The only difference between her situation and the duke’s was—she’d never been married and likely never would be.
Seducing the Princess Page 4