She knew he was correct, but still, his words made her want to pound something. Without speaking, she opened the door and peered out to the corridor, then quickly walked him back to the rear terrace and sent him away. She pressed herself against the façade of the palace, attempting to be invisible as she watched him grow smaller, walking away. Her body already craved his touch.
~
On the first day of August I became a spy. Charlotte wondered what other devious adventures she would participate in as Queen Victoria’s lady-in-waiting as time went by. For now, she lurked outside the Duchess of Kent’s apartments. The queen had not requested she join her for a drive since the Mistress of Robes was in residence. She wanted to discuss the queen’s shocking inattention to her wardrobe. At dinner the night before the queen’s petticoat had hung lower than her gown. Unforgivable.
At least Charlotte could convince herself that she was doing the queen’s work, instead of just Edward’s. The queen wanted Sir John out of her life so he could never attempt to control her again. If she and Edward could bring Sir John down through the mistakes of the snotty, spinsterish Lady Amy, it was all to the good. She wondered what kind of reward the queen would grant Edward. A transfer to the Household Guard? Or merely some kind of trifle, like a minor decoration or even just money. Probably the latter, unfortunately, but they had to keep trying. Every step Edward took forward in the queen’s esteem meant he was more likely to stay in London, teaching Charlotte the sensual mysteries of her body.
The footman at attention outside the main apartment door cleared his throat.
“Yes, Jerrold?” she asked.
“If I may, Your Serene Highness.”
Twenty minutes later, Charlotte was thoroughly versed in the oddities of the household servant hierarchy. Jerrold was uncommonly thoughtful for a footman. They heard footsteps on the other side of the doors and Jerrold moved forward to open them.
Lady Amy slipped through the doors into the main room, without so much as nodding at the footman. Charlotte’s maid had predicted her appearance, saying the lady had a mysterious appointment that afternoon.
Charlotte let Lady Amy, who hadn’t so much as noticed her, reach the end of the long room before she smiled at Jerrold and followed. The woman was long-limbed and awkward, like a stork. Was her walk even more ungainly than usual? Charlotte thought so, after her many days of following the woman on promenade during her service before King William died. They walked past every inhabited apartment and into a more utilitarian area of Buckingham Palace, where Charlotte had never been. Lady Amy knocked on a door and when a man opened it, she realized what Lady Amy was up to. A doctor’s visit. The man at the door was Sir Charles Green, one of the royal physicians.
Charlotte hung in the shadows, wishing she had some way of finding out what was being discussed. She couldn’t even know if the appointment was for Lady Amy or on behalf of the duchess. Fifteen minutes later, Lady Amy reappeared at the door. Her skirts seemed disordered and she smoothed down the pointed bodice then shook out her skirt.
Charlotte frowned. Was the woman a little thicker around the waist than she had been in June when they had lived in the same household? Lady Amy turned to the side and Charlotte was certain. The lady-in-waiting’s abdomen protruded slightly.
Charlotte kept her expression neutral with difficulty. Was the lady with child? Even more deliciously, was it Sir John’s child? Truly, what other man did the woman come in contact with? It had to be Sir John’s. He was a virile man, had numerous children with his wife. And now, he’d apparently chosen the dowdy Scottish earl’s daughter as his mistress. She would pay for her mistake.
At least, for the queen’s sake, it made the story that her mother and Sir John were lovers highly unlikely. Rumors had existed for years, but the queen didn’t believe them. They had discussed the subject only once and Charlotte knew Victoria was defensive on the matter. Even better, Victoria would be horrified at the real story of where Sir John took his comfort. Lady Amy would be forced out in disgrace. The duchess would be forced to send Sir John away too. The duchess’s household would be reordered with people the queen liked.
Charlotte smiled. She’d write Edward immediately and seek his advice about how to proceed. She didn’t want to dump the story, indelicately, in the young queen’s lap, not without support. One didn’t proceed with gossip, no matter how juicy, without proof and a righteous perspective.
Chapter Nine
Edward placed Charlotte’s letter on his writing desk next to his unlit candle and leaned back in his chair. It had come in the last post of the day. What a clever woman. How he loved her devious ways. He’d never expected the elegant princess of attempting to follow a lady-in-waiting to an appointment with a doctor. It appeared that Lady Amy had been sharing joyous news with Sir John, though he could little see how the middle-aged spinster and the married comptroller could be happy about her pregnancy. Would Lady Amy leave court soon, before she was too visibly expecting? He and Charlotte would have to make their move soon, to disgrace the woman before she could escape the net and ruin their chances of defeating Sir John.
The next morning he woke thinking of Charlotte and how valuable her assistance had been to him. Where would he be if he hadn’t met her again? Probably on the boat back to Canada. On the other hand, he would not be quite so blue-deviled by the urgent demands of his body. Just the thought of her lithe body undulating against his hand made him hard. He wanted to bed his wife. It would drive him mad to wait much longer.
Quintin entered his room with a tray. He placed it on the bed then shuffled to the window and opened the curtain. Bright summer sun rushed into the room. Edward took a savage bite of toast and butter, then poured a cup of tea.
“I shall have to buy my wife a gift,” he said. “Where should I go?”
“The Pantheon Bazaar off Oxford Street has any manner of fripperies,” Quintin said.
“Ornaments?”
“Yes, Colonel. Some very nice things, I understand. Is it proper to buy her a gift?”
“Nothing about my relationship with Princess Charlotte is proper,” Edward told his valet. “But it is very valuable.”
Quintin eyed the tented sheet over Edward’s lap. “Not valuable enough, if ye don’t mind me sayin’ so.”
Edward stared down his man until Quintin busied himself straightening the coverlet that was abandoned at the foot of the bed.
A minute later, the valet visibly drew himself up. “There’s plenty o’ women, sir, who’d be happy to have a protector like you. No need to buy jewelry for princesses to get what you need. You are being distracted away from your goal, and I don’t mind saying I think Victoria is behind this.”
Edward drank his tea. “But none of them would be valuable for my purposes and due to the arrangement, I can never be sure if the princess would come here to call. I don’t want to be lounging about smelling like another woman when she comes.”
Quintin looked doubtful. “She minds her mistress. Don’t think she’ll be coming about very often. Unless she’s being told to.”
“You can’t argue that she’s been here.”
“No, sir.” But his expression didn’t change.
“Either way, it’s best to stay frustrated for now. And to buy her a gift.”
“Waste o’ money,” Quintin muttered.
“Have I deprived you in some fashion?” Edward inquired. “You are eating well, and have a new suit of clothes, and I have not been forced to abandon you and return to Quebec.”
“No, Colonel, I just don’t want ye to be hurt. Royalty, they hurt people. Look at your poor mama.”
Edward twisted his mouth as he considered. “I’m of royal blood as well.”
“Ain’t the same, Colonel, if you don’t mind me saying so. Ye weren’t raised like them.”
Edward had never liked being told what to do. He had a good mind and usually was right about the course he chose to take. His opinion versus that of an uneducated former soldier? No contest. �
�I don’t mind listening to your opinion, Quintin, but my decision is final. The princess is valuable to me, and I think a present is in order. So brush my lightest-weight coat, and I’m off to the Pantheon Bazaar.”
Later that day he climbed the entrance porch to the bazaar. In the front hallway he found some indifferent sculptures and hoped the jewelry was not of similar quality. At the top of the stairs he found a picture gallery, equally modest.
From there, he passed into an area full of counters, each attended by handsomely dressed young females, all full of ready smiles. If he wanted lace, gloves or hosiery, children’s clothing or sheet music, a girl stood ready to sell such items to him. He walked around, enjoying the display of fresh female charms far more than he enjoyed the sight of the merchandise. Somehow, it unaccountably reminded him of his mother, the kind of shopping she liked to do. He remembered how she’d pick up a glove, a piece of lace, an album in which she could press the wildflowers she loved. She’d have run her fingers down the soft feathers, regretting she had nowhere to wear the headpieces she might have made with them.
Feeling choked by his emotions, he left the area, following the sounds of birdsong until he discovered a part of the area held an aviary. He passed by the cages and went into the conservatory to look at the plants on display. He sniffed rosemary and had another memory of his mother in her tiny parlor, decorated with art she’d made from pressed flowers, crying over a lock of hair. She’d never told him whose hair it was, but he suspected it had been his father’s. He wondered if the hair had been buried with her, or if it rested in some box in that parlor somewhere.
A month before she’d taken ill, he’d had a letter from her, and he thought she’d suspected something was going to happen to her. It had been full of aphorisms and advice, unusual for a woman who usually wrote about the castle folk, keeping them alive in his memory.
She’d been a far kinder soul than the Duchess of Kent seemed to be. He expected she would have been a dear to Victoria if she’d been allowed.
Had he brought that letter with him to London? Maybe he could mine it for advice to give to his sister. It would be like passing a piece of his mother on. He rubbed a hand over his face, thinking that all of this female pulchritude in the gallery was making him maudlin. Staring down at the sculpture aficionados on the ground floor, he recited “Ode to an Expiring Frog” to himself, a delightful bit of Boz he had just read the night before, until he felt master of himself again.
When he was back at the counters, he looked around, not meeting anyone’s eyes, until he saw a display of garnet jewelry. He moved in front of the garnets.
“From Bohemia, sir,” said the charming brunette in a navy gown with a sparkling white apron on top. “And the jewelry is made in Germany.”
“Must be a sign. The lady who will receive the gift is German.”
“Very good, sir,” she said, her rosebud mouth curving into a sweet smile as she realized she was likely to make a sale. “Did you have something in mind for your sweetheart? A ring? A necklace?”
“A bracelet,” he said, catching sight of a silver bracelet with garnets worked into a floral pattern. The garnets were exceptionally rich.
“Do you like this one, sir? Many ladies prefer gold with their garnets.”
“She’s not the ordinary sort,” he said. “What is the price?”
They haggled for five minutes. He walked away once, but she called him back, and he left the bazaar, satisfied, with the bracelet in a box, tucked into his coat. The brunette looked hopefully at him when she mentioned it was nearly time for her tea break, but he didn’t take her bait. Dark rosebuds were all very well, but he was on a cool blonde’s hook. All in all, a profitable trip. The princess would like his offering because it came from him, and because he didn’t think she had much jewelry, if any. He’d never seen her wear adornments, and by now he would have noticed.
That night, he had Quintin post a note asking for a meeting with the princess. He spent the evening looking through such correspondence and personal memorabilia as he had brought to England, hoping to find his mother’s last letter, but it appeared he had left it with Spencer for safekeeping.
The next morning, he spent his walk through the palace gardens attempting to remember what his mother’s letter had said exactly. He had quite a good memory, certainly Boz’s ode had stuck in his brain, so why couldn’t he remember his mother’s sage words?
Charlotte was waiting for him on the terrace when he arrived in the back of the palace at eleven. He’d become so adept at dodging the gardeners that he wondered if they were deliberately absent during this time, as to allow assignations while Victoria was with her ministers.
She smiled tentatively at him. He perused her at leisure, checking to see if she really was without jewelry. Her dress was plain white with lace details, and didn’t wear so much as a ring. He hoped she at least had a tiara that she wore for state occasions. Poor impoverished princess. Didn’t her mother give her any of her jewelry to take to court? Surely she hadn’t needed to pawn everything she owned. He couldn’t imagine there was nothing.
“I have nothing new to report about Lady Amy,” she admitted. “Did you learn something? Lady Amy was confined to her room all day, as best I could discern.”
He wiped sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief. “I hope she is not taking ill. She won’t be an instrument of revenge if she’s an object of pity.”
Charlotte nodded. “But how is this revenge, either? Sir John has done nothing to you.”
“He was brutal to my sister,” he said. “I never forget that Victoria is family, even if she does not feel the same way. I protect my own.”
“Like the laird you should have been,” Charlotte said.
“Would you be happy with a laird, Princess?” They stared at each other. Her expression remained regally serene, but a twitch in her cheek told him she was not unaffected. “Is it safe for us to stand out on the terrace?”
She gave a discreet, ladylike cough. “No, I suppose not. Did you want to go in?”
He decided to lighten the mood, since it seemed he would get nothing useful out of her today. “Would you rather climb a tree for privacy?”
She smiled. “I’d rip my dress and I’ve never been very good with a needle.”
“What do you do with yourself, then? From what I’ve seen, all the ladies do some kind of needlework continuously.”
“I didn’t say I never did it, just that I’m not very accomplished. My sister Juliet received all the talent in the family.”
“But you took all the beauty.”
She blinked. “It’s not like you, to offer such a casual compliment.”
“I must think them far more than I express,” he said, for she really was lovely.
She cleared her throat and glanced along the terrace. “We had better go. I see people coming.”
He followed her to the door they had used before and walked down the hall to the little room she had found. When she opened the door he stopped and stared. “You’ve had it cleaned.”
She smiled. “I did it myself. I do know how to dust. My dress was so filthy about the hems after the other day. I had to excuse myself to my maid.”
“I find myself making justifications to my valet as well. Why is it that we seem to be as in thrall to our servants as they are to us?”
“Human nature to seek approval?” She pulled the dust cover off of the gilt settee again and seated herself, then looked up at him expectantly. He sat as well, realizing he hadn’t given a gift to a woman since he picked wildflowers for Jillian McNair when he was fifteen. She’d given him the most delightful sexual favor in response, and his cock twitched as it realized today would be more of the same. The difference was that Jillian had nothing more to offer than that, while Charlotte might hold his future in her hands. He hoped the bracelet was equivalently more than wildflowers, especially since it had cost him most of the funds he’d had available.
He pulled the little box from his
pocket. Staring at it, he found himself without ready words. It seemed such a fragile thing and he didn’t really know what he meant to say with it. He thrust it at her. “Thought you might like something pretty. Never see you wearing jewelry.”
She regarded him solemnly for a moment, then took the box. “What is it?”
He shrugged, trying to not making anything of it. “A bauble. Seemed like something a German princess would have a box full of. I thought it might remind you of home.”
She opened the lid. Her lips parted in delight. “It’s beautiful, Edward.” She lifted the bracelet from the box and undid the clasp, then draped it over her arm.
“I hope you like garnets.” His voice sounded gruff.
Her eyes had gone soft. “I do. My goodness, it’s pretty. I never had anything like it.”
He frowned. “You must have been very poor.”
Her eyelashes fluttered. “My father prized education over fripperies. Money was spent on lessons. Dance, deportment, painting, languages. I can even speak Norwegian.”
“I think pretty women need pretty things too, not just accomplishments. Can I put it on for you?”
“Please.” She held out her arm, the bracelet already draped around it. “Now I have a second keepsake of you. All I had before was a piece of lace from the dress I wore on our wedding day.”
So the princess was sentimental. He realized he had bought her flowers when he noticed how the floral pattern decorated her wrist like a wreath. “We should pick flowers together. There are still some in the meadow.”
She laughed. “Are we a dairy maid and her swain?” She lost her smile. “Perhaps that would be preferable, to be simple like that.”
He closed the metal clasp and ran his thumb over it to make sure it was secure. “I think we would both be bored with such simple lives. I’ve chafed at such undistinguished military work as we’ve been doing in Canada.”
“I thought there was unrest.” She lifted her arm to the window, moving her wrist to catch the sun on the garnets.
The Princess Dilemma: A Victorian Royal Romance Page 13