The Princess Dilemma: A Victorian Royal Romance

by Heather Hiestand

  He was not the only one on the prowl that evening. Walking down the Strand, he passed by theaters lit with artificial light, halls where music spilled through open doors. Other streets, other places, it all blurred into his mind. After two or three hours of walking he took stock of where he was and decided he’d best return to his rooms.

  A couple of blocks from Jermyn Street he was seized by thirst, not surprising given all the dust in his throat. He stepped into a pub and ordered a pint, seating himself by the open front door. A trio of dandies tripped by on the street, clearly the worse for drink.

  One of them was taller than the rest, and his hat fell off as he lurched, revealing a shock of red hair. Murdo. Edward left his pint and went to the door.

  “Cousin?”

  Murdo stopped dead, turned around, and offered him a drunken smile. “Cousin!” He half-fell into Edward’s arms, giving him a bear hug.

  “By God, you reek.”

  “Fell into a glass of gin, or rather, had one tossed on me by a lady I mistook for something less than a lady.” Murdo’s grin was unfocused.

  “Going to Madam Walden’s,” one of the other men said, far more soberly. “Good gaming there.”

  “And be-beautiful ladies,” sang the third man, chortling.

  Murdo loosed Edward from the hug, but then locked an arm around his neck. “Come with us. Gaming, wenches, good times.”

  As Edward considered, Murdo’s face went green. He let go of Edward’s neck and bent over the street, retching.

  “Terrible gin,” said the second man. “Don’t know why Murdo has such appalling taste in spirits. I stick to whiskey, myself. Drummond here is on the gin too, I’m afraid.”

  A set of young men came forward on the street, all half a decade or more younger than the trio with Edward. They sized each other up. One of the lads, taller than the rest and with fists the size and color of steaks, growled in clear menace. Murdo’s singing companion sneered and the tall lad stopped dead on the road. When Edward tapped his cane on the pavement, drawing attention to himself, one of the other youths caught the look in his eye. They walked off quickly.

  “Never mess with an actual soldier, right?” Murdo said, wiping his mouth.

  “Or a Scot,” Edward said. “Bleeding idiots. Rather fight than join giblets.”

  “If you are spoiling for a fight, you must need a woman, eh?” Murdo said, sounding more sober now. “Come to Madam’s with us. You can skip the gambling.”

  Edward thought of the sweet taste of Charlotte’s flesh, the sounds she made when he pleasured her, the scent of her most private places. “I’d rather my tackle go unsatisfied than get syphilis from the kind of laced mutton likely to take you on,” he said to Murdo.

  “Path to madness,” said the second man.

  Murdo retched again.

  “You two go on,” Edward told his cousin’s friends. “I’ll see young Ogilvy to his house.”

  Drummond made a face. “Might be for the best. That was some nasty gin.”

  “I can smell it,” Edward agreed, taking Murdo’s elbow. “Come along, ya numpty.”

  They walked along the streets, ignoring passersby and sounds of merriment from open windows and doors. It seemed all London was still awake, though the hour was speeding toward midnight.

  “Could have made it home on my own,” Murdo mumbled, exhausted after his fourth bout with the gutter.

  “Our weaknesses are far less interesting than our strengths,” Edward replied.

  “What?”

  “Trying to remember things my mother said in one of her final letters to me. Clearly, cousin, your weakness is cheap gin. A dull fault to be sure.”

  “What is my strength?”

  “Your ability to persuade Linsee to leave all his money to you,” Edward said promptly, and not with malice.

  “Bastard,” Murdo said. “I don’t know why he did it, and that’s the truth. What else can I offer you? You’ll take my money, I’ve offered you a place to live. Everything I have is yours for the taking. It’s only pride that stops you from accepting it.”

  “It isn’t mine. I want what’s mine.”

  “I wonder if arrogance is your strength or your weakness,” Murdo said, leaning heavily against Edward’s shoulder.

  Edward pushed back, since Murdo was almost toppling him into the street. “My strength. It tells me I know best, which prevents you from doing stupid things like sleeping with trollops. Get yourself a clean mistress and stay away from the whores.”

  “What do you care?”

  “Armies can find themselves on their knees thanks to a gaggle of diseased whores. No one gets anything but children from the mistresses and it doesn’t cost much more. Hard to find a good one in some of the places soldiers go, but here in London a man like you has no excuse.”

  Murdo hacked onto the pavement. “Could use another glass of gin to clear the taste from my mouth.”

  Edward’s growl made Murdo chuckle. “Just teasing, cousin. Done with the gin, for tonight at least. Come sleep in my house and we will strategize for you tomorrow. You have to acquaint me with the latest developments with your princess.”

  He could use more funds, best received from Murdo when he was sober. “Very well, but if you are still drunk in the morning I will not sit across from you at the breakfast table.”

  “Understood.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Edward heard nothing from Charlotte on Sunday. Not expecting to, he stayed away most of the day, comfortable at Murdo’s house and aware that Quintin would likely be in even worse shape than his cousin. Murdo stayed pale and listless throughout the early afternoon, but rallied thereafter, and Edward left him eating eggs and toast under the care of his man.

  On Monday, though, there was a note from the princess in the first post, suggesting he meet her at Kensington Palace. He was concerned that she had miswritten, forgetting they had moved, but the walk was short so he decided to go there just in case, rather than send a note to Buckingham Palace.

  In the early afternoon, when he entered a downstairs salon near Victoria’s old rooms in her childhood home, he found Charlotte.

  The rooms already had the musty scent of disuse about them. The grate had been swept clean and scrubbed, leaving only ancient evidence of use. The carpet remained grubby though, the floral pattern semi-hidden by stains.

  Amidst this royal squalor, Charlotte looked fresh and virginal standing next to a table, examining a gilt clock decorated with cupids.

  “You look like an auctioneer pricing sale items,” he commented as he moved forward.

  She set the clock on the table. “Did you lock the door?”

  He gave her a quizzical look but she had taken up a chased silver candlestick by then. So, he returned to the door and turned the key, hoping no footmen were nearby to hear the telltale turn in the lock. Did the princess have no concern for her reputation?

  “Did you bring a maid?”

  “Yes, but I sent her upstairs to my old room to look for something that isn’t there. She’s far too conscientious not to spend an hour looking for my shawl.”

  “I see. We have an hour then.”

  She set down the candlestick, her lips trembling. Before he had the chance to interpret the emotion on her face, she stepped forward and all but crashed into him, tucking her face against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  “What is this?” he asked. “Some fresh tragedy?”

  She didn’t speak for long moments. He held her while she sniffed. Had he become her closest friend in London? What a pity for them both that he was all this pretty princess had to turn to, when he could do nothing for her.

  Eventually, she lifted up her face. Her eyes were cloudy with tears but none had dripped onto the high cheekbones. “I wish I was a criminal,” she said with another sniff.

  “So you could sell the objects lying about gathering dust?”

  “Yes, what a colossal waste. You know someone will steal them.”


  “They have inventories.”

  She made a tiny shrug. “What good is that? Anyone who comes here could remove an item. There are not so many servants now.”

  He stroked her pale cheek with his thumb. “You have nowhere to hide such things. Unless you plan to strap them to your leg with a garter.”

  She nodded. “You think like a criminal too. I should not like that but I do.”

  He bit his lip to hold back a smile. She brought his emotions to life, but he never liked to show what he was feeling. “Shall I tell you what I spent Saturday night and most of yesterday doing?”

  “What?”

  “Nursing my drunken cousin back to health. He drank spirits that did not agree with him.”

  “Did he pay you for your efforts?”

  “He always does. It’s the best source I have of money. Murdo is so generous with me. I think he truly does not know why he has all the family money and I have nothing.”

  “But you know why?”

  “No, I don’t, which is why I’m willing to take it.”

  She grinned at that. “I need rich relatives. Other than the queen.”

  “All royal families are related.”

  “Assuming the fathers are who one thinks they are, which is often untrue.”

  He nodded. “To be expected when you force a lot of young people to marry one another. You cannot demand attraction.”

  “Here we are, with the right bloodlines, but an inability to act on them. I need money, Edward, for my brothers. They cannot afford their school fees.”

  “I’ll give you what my cousin gave me,” he said.

  “You know it won’t be enough.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I cannot pawn my jewelry. It is too new.”

  He felt a surge of irritation that she’d even considered it, that she’d even have to. “You have access to Victoria. There are plenty who would pay you to bring topics to her attention.”

  “I cannot be so unethical. If I’m not careful I will sink to the level of Sir John.”

  “You would never physically intimidate her. I agree it is not the best approach to gaining funds, though certainly a time-tested method. Of course you have nothing to invest in some enterprise.”

  “Certainly not.”

  “You do not want to sell yourself as a rich man’s mistress.”

  “Certainly not,” she said again, with more heat this time. “Why is it that women have only their bodies to sell, whether it is by marriage or some lower form of commerce?”

  “You cannot become a soldier. Do you not think that is how a man sells his body?”

  “It is a less intimate violation.”

  “Not when the sword goes in, or the bullet. That is as intimate as it gets. We risk our very lives for our daily bread. Do not think it is a lesser sacrifice for coin.”

  “You are serving your country.”

  He had been about to continue his tirade, but her words stopped him. “And yet, my country, in the form of my own sister, does not value me. Here you and I are, hoping for a pittance.”

  “The queen values me,” she said sharply.

  “Yes, she gave you that lovely brooch for betraying a fellow lady-in-waiting, a brooch that you cannot sell for the money you actually need.”

  “It might help me in the marriage market.”

  “Who are you going to find here to marry even if I could silence my cousin on the subject of your wedding? Are you going to take one of Victoria’s leftover suitors once she’s decided?”

  “Probably, in the end, unless I find a wealthy English lord. My mother said to look for those who have financial interests in my country, but eligible men are few and far between.”

  “Christ,” he muttered. “What cold creatures we are.”

  “We cannot all manage our destinies to our own satisfaction.”

  “Certainly princesses cannot. Too many dynastic considerations.”

  She loosed her arms from his waist and stepped back. “Then consider yourself blessed to have been a bastard. Do you actually want to be king? Your life dictated by the contents of red dispatch boxes? Followed about by your ministers? The entire world staring at you on display like some stuffed game?”

  “Would you like to trade places with me? Live in a distant outpost in less than luxurious surroundings, devoid of most culture, befriended by a lot of fellow drunks with nothing much to do but form shooting parties?”

  “It doesn’t seem to have destroyed your character.”

  “I have lost all my ideals.” He fished in his pocket and came out with a handful of coins, almost everything his cousin had given him since he’d not been able to transfer the funds to Quintin in his cupshot state. Pulling her palm to his, he poured in the coins then closed her fingers over his. “Perhaps these coins will attract others.”

  “I had best not take up gambling.” Her cheek twitched.

  He put a fingertip to the edge of her right eyebrow and drew it down her cheek to the side of her plump lower lip. “Everything you do is gambling, Princess.”

  Her lips parted. “I am feeling quite savage, Edward.”

  “What will make you feel civilized again?”

  “You know what I need.” She stepped to a table and dropped the coins next to her reticule, then unpinned her bonnet before kicking off her slippers. “You will have to unbutton my dress. It is so hot here with the windows closed.”

  Brazen. He loved it. His fingers twitched as they found her first button, but then he found his rhythm and moved quickly.

  “No one would expect you to be an adventuress, dressed like this, in such complicated clothing.”

  He could feel her laughter in the muscles of her back as he moved his fingers down rapidly. “If you say so, sir.”

  Since she gave him no further instruction, he kept working methodically, unwrapping each layer of her clothing to reveal more of her body. She inhaled sharply when he undid the tie on her chemise, the final layer of her clothing, and let it drop down her arms and her torso, to the floor, baring her form entirely.

  When he saw her there, for the first time fully revealed in summer sunlight, he instantly forgot that he had ever seen another woman. For certainly he had not. Her pale skin seemed illuminated from within by some pearlescent shimmer. Legs and torso were in perfect harmony, her tiny waist indented to the generous curve of hips. Breasts were generous too, despite the general lack of excessive flesh. Everything smooth, undamaged by age or time, polished and perfect. He smelled chamomile so strongly now, but under that lay arousal, the smallest, most delicate hint of sweat.

  She took a deep breath, lifting her ribcage. Her taut nipples caught him with erotic longing. He had hardly noticed the painful urge of his cock to jut in her direction. Swiftly, he unbuttoned his coat and began to remove his own garments.

  She put up her hand at the point his waistcoat fell to the floor. His hands had already moved onto his cravat. “You must not, Edward. We do not dare.” She swayed toward him.

  Her hands went to his chest, over his ribs. He could feel their heat through his thin summer shirt.

  “I want to be naked too.”

  She shook her head. “No, Edward.” She picked up one of his hands, limp with longing, and put it to her heart. He could feel the quick heartbeats, but she kept some level of self-possession, her expression not changing as he pushed her up against the wall and moved his fingers down through her cleft, testing her, feeling her damp and hot and ready for the act she would not permit.

  He went to his knees in front of her, worshipping her breasts with his mouth while sliding his fingers up and down her cleft, circling her pearl, dipping ever deeper into her channel, until her breath caught and her moans began in earnest. Then, he loved her there with his mouth, his tongue, thrusting into her in a parody of what he really wanted. She canted her hips at him, whispering his name, desperate for what he had to offer in erotic pleasure, even while hoping to find another man to put in her bed. How h
e wanted to pull back, deny her, but he hadn’t the strength, and he loved how she smelled, tasted, felt in his hands. When she bowed back, pulling at his hair with both hands, and shuddered against him, he felt a primitive satisfaction that almost made his unsatisfied need worth the suffering.

  She clung to him, breathing hard, his face against her thigh, his arms wrapped around her bottom. “You should not be denied these pleasures, but I am afraid.”

  He blinked at her words and it was as if his brain had turned back on, to calculate the use of her words. “Don’t be afraid, there is so much beauty in sexual congress.”

  “I will not do that, or even let you take off your clothes.”

  His brain clicked away. “Even with those rules there is accommodation for us both.”

  “How?”

  Breathing as heavily as if she were sucking his cock that very moment, he bent to the floor and picked up her chemise, then draped it back over her, tying the ribbon. “Lay down.”

  She went obediently to a long sofa, and lay down on her side. He could see beads of sweat decorating her clavicle.

  “On your back, darling.”

  When she turned, he climbed between her legs. She stopped him when he was still on his knees.

  “Your thing, it is pressing through your clothes.”

  He scarcely glanced down as he unwound his suffocating cravat from his neck. “This should not surprise you. It wants to come out and play.”

  “It cannot,” she whispered. When she sucked her lower lip into her mouth, the sight nearly stopped his heart, it was so arousing. Had there ever been a woman with more power to tease?

  “I’ve got to do something,” he groaned. “I’m ready to go mad.”

  She lifted her hand, stroked one tentative finger along the tent in his trousers. Thank God he’d worn a looser pair. Otherwise his privates would be about strangled. His cock jerked under her finger and she withdrew with a squeal.

  “What was that?”

  “It has a life of its own.”

  “Do men really think that? I’ve heard comments from female servants. They seem to agree.”