The Wild Princess

by Perry, Mary Hart

  Of her six daughters, Louise had always been the most determined, self-assured, and maddeningly independent. From early childhood, she seemed to fear nothing—from vaulting stone walls on her pony to venturing on foot into the filthy streets of London. Although Vicky, the Crown Princess, was groomed to be an empress, her first child didn’t possess Louise’s natural inner strength. She’d had to be molded into regal shape by Albert. Neither, thank God, did Vicky have Louise’s rebellious nature, which had jeopardized the girl’s welfare more than once. Victoria had hoped—no, prayed—that marriage would settle the girl. Now, she feared history was repeating itself.

  She drew a deep breath. It didn’t help calm her nerves or the increasing pain in her bothersome foot.

  The Raven. Such a romantic figure he cut in his outrageous leather overcoat and black felt hat that made him look quite dangerous; she had to admit he possessed a certain allure. Louise’s attraction to the man was understandable. But intolerable. It had to end. Fortunately, she’d anticipated such a situation arising.

  Victoria turned to face Lorne and broke in on what now had become a plea for a new suite entirely, either in Kensington or St. James’s Palace. “And how are the two of you getting along?” Victoria asked.

  Lorne fell silent.

  She watched confusion cloud his eyes. “Louise and I? We get along brilliantly. I love her dearly, of course.” He laughed, but it sounded forced.

  Victoria tilted her head back and stared down the length of her nose at him. It was an attitude of imperial displeasure she’d cultivated and used sparingly, most frequently these days on stubborn MPs. Those who knew her well understood it as a warning.

  Lorne cleared his throat. “We’ve become closer with each day, ma’am. I’m a very lucky man.”

  “Then, as you two are such a good match, I expect before long you shall give me a grandchild to add to my collection.” She hadn’t much liked her own babies, not as infants. She found newborns ugly and scary. But grandchildren could be brought to her a bit fleshed out. And once they developed personalities she doted on them.

  Lorne shrank under her gaze at the mention of children. Just as I thought, she mused. He’s hopeless in that way too.

  “Such things take t-time,” he stammered.

  “Time, yes,” she said, returning from the window to the piano bench. She’d carried a file with her, in case she had an opportunity to speak with the young couple about their future. Apparently the Raven was doing her son-in-law’s job for him. The time for a chat had come.

  “We are”—Lorne coughed to clear his throat—“we are most happy, ma’am. And grateful for your support of our marriage.”

  “I’m sure.” She brought her right foot up to rest on the bench’s cushion, under her skirt and out of sight. A return of the horrid gout, she feared. She’d have to summon her physician and demand a more aggressive treatment.

  “Lorne,” she began afresh, “one of the qualities I most admire in you is your dedication to public service. Having married my daughter, you know you need never work at anything. Yet as a member of the House of Lords, you have a fine reputation for working hard in Parliament and serving our people.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He actually blushed.

  “I would like to reward your dedication,” she said. “I was thinking of an ambassadorship or some other position of importance in the government.”

  His face lit up, just as she’d imagined it might. Those famous blue eyes flashed. His mane of blond hair, so admired by the ladies of her court, made him look even younger. Maybe, she thought, he saw this offer as an excuse to spend more time away from his wife, to travel the Continent alone and in style, to impress other men who shared his peculiar preferences.

  “I would be most grateful for any appointment that would enable me to serve the Empire.”

  Now, here was where she killed two little pigeons with one boulder. “My dear marquess, I expect that, should it become necessary for you to leave London, you will take your lovely wife with you.”

  She might have imagined the slightest of hesitations. But he responded quickly enough. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  “Even if Louise is inclined to remain in London, out of dedication to her charitable works, she recognizes the importance of a wife standing at her husband’s side, as do you, no doubt.” She could tell he didn’t yet understand her intentions, but she had decided it wiser not to come right out and tell the fool he was being cuckolded by a commoner even lower in society than himself, and a foreigner at that.

  “Yes, she is dedicated to the Women’s Work Society, and to her friends, of course.” Lorne contrived to look saddened. “I suppose she might choose to stay in London. I truly wouldn’t object if she—”

  “But you would object, Lorne. You must,” Victoria said firmly.

  “I must?”

  “Absolutely. You have no concept of how tongues would wag. Imagine—a royal couple, living separately, hundreds if not thousands of miles between them.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Scandals have built upon less.” He shuffled his feet, as if standing on too-hot sand.

  “And I would worry about Louise, on her own, lonely, without your care and vigilance. She does take risks, you know, mixes with inappropriate society.” His frown deepened as she spoke. “Isn’t it quite natural for a man to want his wife to be nearby? To bear his children. To make a home for her family.” She arched a brow at him.

  “Of course,” he agreed. “We will travel together wherever you wish to send me.”

  They had never openly spoken of his differences from other men. The thought of such a conversation was repugnant to her. But she had to let him know he must put aside his follies long enough to consummate his marriage and do his duty by bringing children into the world. She would come back to that task later. For now, she was satisfied with putting Louise at a safe distance from temptation.

  “Good,” she said. “I have an opportunity for you.” She opened the file and took from it a copy of the letter of resignation she’d received a few weeks earlier, which now required her to send a replacement for the position. The post was one that promised to be difficult to fill, as experienced diplomats were likely to turn it down in favor of a more glamorous location. She handed Lorne the paper.

  He blinked as he read it. His face went a shade whiter.

  “I have decided to make you my new governor of the British Commonwealth of Canada.”

  Despite the impropriety of sitting down before the queen gave permission, Lorne dropped suddenly and hard into the Louis Quatorze chair nearest the piano. She imagined him picturing the vast stretch of untamed, barely populated land that ranged from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific. A northern land so immense it dwarfed little England, yet remained under British influence.

  He finally found his voice. “I am of course honored that you’d—”

  “Then you will accept?”

  “I, yes. Well, how can I deny Your Royal Majesty anything?” He looked dazed.

  She smiled. “Then you may pass along the good news of your promotion to your wife. You’ll both begin making arrangements to travel to your new home, as quickly as possible.”

  Forty-one

  Less than three hours after Byrne and Louise had departed from the little room where they’d made love, he was walking his horse into the courtyard from the stables when he saw the enamel-black landau parked at the side of the drive. The small, open carriage frequently conveyed guests to the palace from the train station. When he came up alongside, a yellow-gloved hand extended gracefully from inside and beckoned. He hid a smile as he stepped up to the door.

  Louise leaned forward from the tufted velvet cushions to speak to him. She wore a perky little hat with a seductive veil over her sparkling eyes and pearls at her throat. He envisioned kissing his way around each and every one of the little white orbs.

  “Get in,” she said.

  “I’m off to find Christian Stockmar.” Not that he wou
ldn’t give anything to spend more time with her.

  “I guessed as much. We’re going together.”

  He lounged against the side of the carriage, aware that the driver was within hearing, though the man pretended invisibility and a deaf ear, as any good servant would. “I wasn’t aware of that arrangement.”

  Louise gave him a smug smile. “That’s because I just thought of it.”

  Byrne lowered his voice. “I don’t think it’s a good idea—your interviewing Stockmar. He could be dangerous.”

  “Well, I think it’s an excellent idea.”

  Byrne thought: This is the problem with having a princess for a mistress. Louise would likely never take no for an answer. He tried again. “The baron’s son might be reluctant to speak openly about his personal life in front of a woman.”

  “He will be more reluctant to speak to a total stranger. I know him. You don’t. Get in, Stephen, and stop trying to boss me around. It won’t work.” Her eyes lit up in the most delightful way.

  Byrne grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” He gave up his horse to an equerry, who would take it off to the royal mews, and joined her.

  It was a cozy little carriage but not designed with privacy in mind. Open to prying eyes from the street, and to the weather when the top was folded down, it was meant to display the wealth of its occupants’ clothing and jewelry. But Byrne suspected Louise enjoyed it because she could feel unencumbered by walls, stone or otherwise. He’d learned how much she loved feeling close to the people of the streets.

  Louise gave him room to sit beside her then slid closer. When he turned to speak just after they’d driven out through the palace gates, she kissed him boldly on the lips.

  “A ride with benefits. How can a man object?” he said, making her laugh.

  Byrne felt the happiest he’d been in years. Perhaps happier even than before the war. Before he’d witnessed the destruction of so many lives, the repulsive brutality of man against man. He found it difficult to explain why, feeling as he did about bloodshed, that he’d chosen to enter a profession likely to not only attract violence toward him but also to demand it from him. However, saving a single life, now and then, dimmed his memory of the thousands of bodies he’d witnessed strewn across battlefields. He hadn’t been able to save his president’s life. But maybe he could buy back his self-esteem by protecting a queen’s family.

  Louise pressed warmly against his side. He thought better of curling his arm around her, bringing her to his chest. One never knew where gossip columnists lurked; the royals were prime targets.

  “Does the driver know where we’re going?” he asked.

  “I’ve told him.” She peeked up at him. “You thought I might have forgotten to instruct him?”

  “It occurred to me you might be kidnapping me. Whisking me off to your secret lair to have your wicked way with me.” He touched the tip of her nose with one finger. God, how he loved her little nose. And her eyes. And her . . . oh, Lord . . . everything.

  He looked around quickly and seeing no one watching from the street, kissed her quickly again. It was all he could do not to drag her down onto the soft cushions; he was nearly out of his mind with wanting her. Again.

  As if she’d had the same thought, Louise drew back and looked into his eyes. She shook her head. “We have to stop, don’t we?”

  He ran his finger along her kiss-moistened bottom lip. “For the moment.”

  She blinked at him, looked suddenly flustered. “This morning, in the room. It wasn’t just . . . well, something that happened, was it?”

  He grinned at her. “No.”

  “But it might”—she blushed—“happen again?”

  “I sincerely hope so,” he said. “I am, Princess, forever at your service. Whenever. Wherever.”

  She released a contented little sigh, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back against his shoulder as they drove on. “Good. I think I may require your services rather frequently.”

  He laughed out loud, gave her a quick hug. His need to be near her nearly knocked him senseless. But he understood something she might not, yet. His devotion to her would likely lead to impossible complications in both of their lives. Although his sacrifice, for a woman like Louise, would be worth it, he wondered if she would feel the same when the time of reckoning came. She had so much more to lose than he. Now, however, wasn’t the time to talk about it.

  Louise told him she’d sent word ahead of her arrival. Short notice, but he supposed if a member of the royal family came calling, you didn’t object.

  “Here it is.” She indicated a modest but pleasant-looking brick town house when the carriage stopped. Byrne noted that neither its construction nor its location were expensive. Had Albert still lived and the old baron remained in favor, no doubt the son’s situation would have been far grander. Despite Louise’s defense of the man, he felt they should reserve judgment of Christian Stockmar’s innocence. Money was a powerful motivator. And money stolen, in the eyes of the loser, was as good an excuse as any for revenge.

  The footman climbed down from the carriage and went up to knock on the front door of the house. Byrne and Louise waited in the carriage while the man spoke to someone inside, then returned to the carriage.

  “Baron Stockmar is awaiting you in the salon, Your Highness.” He opened the carriage door and lowered the metal steps.

  The name momentarily startled Byrne, until he remembered that the son would have inherited his father’s title.

  Byrne climbed from the carriage first, helped Louise down the steps, then hesitated, unsure how she would want to be seen with him. Certainly not on his arm, as that might convey too much about their relationship. Ordinarily, he’d precede her into a room to inspect its security or at least follow close behind, keeping a sharp eye for trouble. But Louise seemed to have no inclination to keep him “in his place.”

  She reached for his arm and smiled up at him, as if to say, This is how it will be from now on.

  He was at first surprised, then realized she was taking a page from her mother’s book. Victoria often accepted John Brown’s arm for a tour around the castle gardens, or when entering a room where she was entertaining. It was a familiarity most of her children—Bertie in particular—objected to. But their complaints did little to dissuade her.

  Perhaps Louise’s siblings would also take offense at her familiarity with him. Her husband certainly should. But Byrne didn’t much care at the moment. Whatever made this woman happy would make him happy.

  The room into which the butler led them was more of a library than the typical salon reserved for greeting guests. Shelves of books ranged from floor to ceiling in two tiers, with a balcony running around three walls to access the upper level of shelves. A large Germanic Biedermeier-style desk sat in the middle of the room, its top covered with paperwork and ledgers, as if the young baron planned to return to them as soon as his uninvited guests went away. Two no-nonsense, straight-back chairs had been arranged in front of the desk. No tea service or cordial tray was in evidence to prolong conversation.

  A pale-complexioned man with straw-colored hair, full mustache, and beard stood up from behind the desk to greet them. He moved around the desk to kiss Louise’s hand before gesturing them to the chairs and returning to his own. “I understand this has something to do with my father?” His tone was solemn, his eyes unhappy. “Since he is the subject, and I have little to offer in the way of information, I expect this, regrettably, will be a short visit.” He paused, as if having second thoughts about his brusqueness. “But if you’d like refreshment—”

  “No, please don’t bother,” Louise said quickly. “I shall come straight to the point of our call. It’s been years since your father was involved with our household.”

  “Yes,” Christian said.

  “And I realize there were hard feelings at the time of his . . . departure.”

  “My father was a difficult man. Many found it a challenge to live up to his view of perfection. Your family was n
ot to blame.”

  “That’s very generous of you.” Louise sent him a gracious smile. “But I have good memories too, about the times you visited with us, Christian. I remember your entertaining us with stories of your childhood in Germany. Your mother raised you there, did she not?”

  “Yes. But as to the stories, more likely I bored you to death.” He gave a dry laugh. “Life at the queen’s court was so much more interesting to me. I wished my father had brought me there more often.” He turned to Byrne. “My father liked to keep his family and professional lives separate, or so he claimed.”

  “You must have missed him,” Louise said in sympathy.

  Christian winced, picked up a pen, and turned it end over end three times before placing it back on the desk blotter. “I’m not sure that is an accurate description of my feelings toward the man. I suppose I resented his being away, but I also felt relieved not to have him always hovering over us. He was, as you well know, Your Highness, quite the tyrant.”

  Byrne said, “So your relationship with your father was strained?”

  “That would be a mild descriptive.”

  “And,” Byrne added, “I assume that means any perceived wrongs done to the baron would be of little concern to you?”

  “Wrongs?” Christian asked, looking from Byrne to Louise and back again.

  “His dismissal by my mother,” she said, her voice gentle.

  The laughter that burst from Christian’s lips made Louise jump. “Oh, my . . . that is amusing. I’ve always thought it amazing he got as far as he did, using Albert’s family as his personal entrée to English society. You see,” he said, turning to Byrne, “my father had unlimited power in the English court because of his relationship with the Prince Consort. It’s my understanding Albert let him get away with just about anything, and gave him the money to do it with. No wonder Victoria hated the man. Didn’t she, Louise?”

  Louise tipped her head in diplomatic acquiescence. “Mama pleaded with my father to send him away. As I’ve told Mr. Byrne, he was the cause of her losing her dear governess. Mama never forgave the baron for that.”