The Princess Dilemma: A Victorian Royal Romance

by Heather Hiestand

  He saw movement at the far end of the hallway, and expected to see a senior servant with information about their sleeping arrangements, but then the figures moved closer. He saw his wife with two other women, dressed in a blue and white striped gown he had seen her in before, a little out of style in its sleeve construction. Her clothes were just like his, not quite right.

  He and Sir John bowed as the women came closer. Instead of being happy to see him, Charlotte looked thunderstruck. Noticing their companion’s expression, the other two women stopped their promenade with expressions of surprise.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Edward!” Charlotte gasped. Of all the people she had expected to see at Windsor, he was the last. Twenty miles from home and in the company of that blackguard, Sir John Conroy, no less. “What brings you here?”

  He didn’t even have the grace to look guilty. No, the man was handsome as sin in his brilliantly crimson jacket, the white trousers molded to his long, powerful legs. Even worse, he appeared delighted to see her.

  He stepped forward and took her hand, even though she was between two other ladies. “The queen summoned me, due to some business we had with Sir John.”

  She snatched her hand away. “What business could you have had with him?” She turned a cold gaze toward the man who had threatened and bullied Victoria for so long. Had her husband entered upon some blackmail scheme in a desperate attempt to stay in England? Did she know him at all? She had thought she loved him, yet he was a stranger to her. How could she have trusted him?

  Her thoughts spiraled and she began to pant.

  Edward took her hand again. “Madam, are you well?”

  “Why are you here?” she asked in a faint voice.

  “The Lady Amy business,” Edward said in a low voice. “Sir John requested my help clearing an innocent lady’s reputation.”

  “Why would you agree to such a thing?” Didn’t he realize what it would cost her, when she was the one who had shared the business with Victoria in the first place? She stared at the bracelet on her arm, wishing she could rip it off, then glared at his white-gloved hand, so inoffensively holding hers.

  “She’s dying, Charlotte. Sir John asked me to be a witness at a special examination. She has a growth in her, err, midsection.”

  Charlotte was dumbstruck. She had been offered a brooch and a dowry in return for Lady Amy and Sir John’s downfall, yet she had been wrong about the woman. The lady had merely been a spinsterish fool making eyes at Sir John, not his mistress. And her husband had become the savior of her reputation, at the detriment of his own wife’s.

  She drew him to the wall, under a large painting of Greek gods cavorting. “You wound me, sir.”

  “What do you mean? Victoria saw me, and Lord Melbourne too. I am trying to keep my presence alive, so that decisions about you are not being made without me. If I am not around, you could simply disappear.”

  “As could you,” Charlotte said. “Isn’t it time for you to return to your regiment?” She pulled her hand away and returned to the other ladies.

  They went down the hall to the queen, who wanted them all three of them, in disgrace due to one petty matter or another, to visit the chapel with her before the evening meal.

  ~

  Edward stayed in his tiny borrowed room all evening, unable to shake the image of an angry Charlotte from his thoughts. Magnificent. He kept circling back to that word. What a woman.

  How could he ever have thought he didn’t love her? He schemed for a way to send a note to her and gave a chambermaid a lot of money to take his wife a letter. But as the hours past and she didn’t attend him, he had to admit to himself that she wasn’t coming, by accident or design.

  Cradling his sore wrist, he fell asleep after midnight. As the first light of dawn broke, a knock came at his door. An exhausted-looking footman informed him that his carriage awaited him for the return trip to London.

  To make matters worse, Sir John was already inside when he stepped in, looking rested, shaved and fed. Edward felt like he’d been on campaign. Dusty, unpressed uniform, a day’s worth of whiskers, and scarcely a cup of water to break his fast.

  “Didn’t give you much warning, eh?” the older man asked.

  “None at all,” Edward said.

  “Any time with your wife?”

  “No, I stayed in my room all evening.”

  “You look like you’ve been up carousing.”

  Edward shook his head. “Couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

  “What’s wrong, then?”

  “I may have realized I’m in love with my wife.”

  “Ah.” Sir John considered. “A princess is not an easy wife, my man.”

  “I am hardly the first to come to that realization.” He took off his helmet and placed it on the seat next to him. “I don’t suppose there’s a hamper in here.”

  Sir John glanced around. “They’ve got to feed us sometime, but no.”

  Edward swore softly. “What did I hope to accomplish?”

  “You saw your wife.”

  “And she hated me for it, for allying myself with you.”

  “You had to redress a wrong.”

  “That’s how you see it, not her.”

  Sir John snorted. “Women are not always the most logical creatures.”

  “That is where you are wrong. Charlotte is a very logical creature. You are Victoria’s enemy. She is Victoria’s friend. Therefore you are her enemy. If I am your friend, I am also her enemy.”

  “Relationships are never so simple as that, particularly in politics.”

  Edward considered. Not so long ago this man thought to control the kingdom, using Victoria as his puppet. “So you say.”

  “Marriage is its own kind of kingdom, you know. There can only be one ruler.”

  “So you say. Here we are, my wife and me, two individuals without any money or prospects, yet with the highest connections. We both have younger siblings who need us to help them make their way in the world, and no ability to do anything for them.”

  “The situation will worsen for her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sir John scratched his chin. “Eventually, Germany is going to unify, and all these petty aristocrats are going to lose their tiny kingdoms. There isn’t going to be any Scharnburg for your wife’s brother to rule within a generation. Mark my words.”

  And Victoria wanted him to be the ambassador? “So you don’t suggest I look to Scharnburg for my future?”

  “The regent will not have any use for you, a penniless soldier, no matter whose blood runs in your veins. She won’t give you any of her power. That is a certainty.”

  “What I don’t understand is why she thought Charlotte had value on the marriage mart. She’s beautiful, but she’s twenty-five.”

  “The lady must have hoped some young, wealthy noble would sweep your wife off her feet. She didn’t realize that King William had been holding onto his life by sheer force of will for some time and that she was sentencing her daughter to be a queen’s companion.”

  “Excellent.”

  “A pity she didn’t realize how close you could have come to a throne of your own.” Sir John drummed his fingers on his thigh. “What might have happened, if your documents came to life eleven years ago, I wonder?”

  “If they even existed then,” Edward said.

  “Did you know they were forgeries?”

  Edward shook his head. “I still don’t. But it did sound as if the evidence in favor of the letter being a forgery was sound.”

  “When insanity enters into the picture, anything is a possibility,” Sir John said.

  “Only time will tell what the possibilities are. At least I found Charlotte again.” He paused. “Even if she hates me.”

  “Are your brothers good soldiers?”

  “I don’t think they are born soldiers, no. One’s a gambler, the other is a womanizer. They both seem more interested in those pursuits than the military. But then,
we’ve had exceptionally boring careers.”

  “No new Napoleon in the wings,” Sir John said. “Everything seems too peaceful, if you ask me. Trouble will come from somewhere. Probably the Germans.”

  “Will Victoria be equipped to handle it?”

  “Doesn’t matter. She’ll be forced to marry, expand the family tree. One of King George III’s worst faults was not making sure his considerable talents for fathering children were passed to the next generation.”

  “Fathering children in wedlock, you mean.”

  Sir John spread his hands. “As you say. I, for myself, shall concentrate on seeing to my own interests. I recommend you do the same.”

  “I have not given up on Victoria yet. She still loves Charlotte and might do something for her husband.”

  “A queen cannot risk having friends,” Sir John sneered. “As she has proven to her mother’s cost and mine.”

  “She is too young to give up on that yet. And Charlotte is also her cousin.”

  “If I were you, I’d focus on my career.”

  Edward passed several miles considering his career, but he had no hopes for glory in it. Not in Canada. Yes, unrest was an issue, but no great honor would come out of a colonial dispute. At least, it wasn’t likely. He stared at Sir John, hunger eating at his insides. His tray had been unappetizing the night before. He’d scarcely eaten in two days. No wonder he felt such savage hunger pangs now. He’d kill for a steak on which to break his fast.

  “Why do I feel as if you’d like to run a pike through me and roast me on a spit?” Sir John said after a time.

  “Because you are right,” Edward said. “You might be of actual use to me that way.”

  Sir John grinned and opened the window that linked them to the coachmen. He gave orders for them to turn off at the next public house on the road.

  “Think they’ll listen?”

  “I said they were as good as murdering me if they didn’t. Your father had an excellent appetite as well. Not me, I’ve always been more abstemious.”

  Except in his lust for power. Edward didn’t want to be like this man, a schemer and manipulator. Who knew how much money he had stolen from the duchess and Princess Sophia? He scrubbed his face with his hands, and tried to remember what his life had been like on that terrible day he had received the news his mother was on her deathbed, so far away.

  His brothers had been behind him, had offered verbal and monetary support. His military superiors had given him leave. No one had known about that box waiting for him in London. At least the men in his command had no inkling of his experience. He could easily take up the reins in Canada again. His shirt rubbed against his wrist. He winced and pushed back the fabric over his wound and took a look at the swollen ‘C’ decorating his flesh. No one would have thought his only prize in this mission would be a wife. His brothers had never known about his wedding with Charlotte. Only Murdo had been involved. Would his brothers even remember that girl who had visited a neighboring manor house one summer long ago?

  He closed his eyes and leaned back against the squabs, losing himself in memories of every moment he’d had with Charlotte, trying to figure out what their future should be.

  ~

  The next day, a letter came from Murdo, inviting him to a house party in Surrey for Friday to Monday. He owned an eighteenth-century hunting lodge near Richmond that had been in the family for a couple of generations. Edward decided to accept, to clear his mind from the Windsor Palace visit. On Friday morning, he joined with a couple of Murdo’s drinking companions in a hired carriage, Quintin in tow. He recognized Drummond from one of his interactions with Murdo, and the other man was introduced to him as Seth Chandler. He was the only one of the trio to have brought along his man, which made Edward wonder what kind of party it was. The journey had only taken half the time of the Windsor excursion, but he’d found Sir John to be more interesting company than these wealthy young pups.

  However, the gathering was quite respectable, though hard drinking and gambling. No women were present. He didn’t recognize anyone but Drummond and Murdo, but became quite a popular addition to the guests thanks to tales Murdo had shared of his princess wife, and oddly enough, the healing tattoo on his wrist. Seth Chandler had noticed him fiddling with it in the carriage and he had been approached by half a dozen men, curious to have a look. He wondered if he was going to be the originator of a new fashion among bored young men.

  When he went to wash and dress for dinner, his cousin followed. He closed the door of the handsome chamber he had offered Edward, all to himself. The bed was even more ornate than the one he’d stayed in with Charlotte.

  Murdo ran his hand over one carved bedpost. “Some royal slept here supposedly. One of the Charleses? Bed is older than the house, of course. Someone acquired it along the way.”

  “I shall endeavor not to be intimidated by it,” Edward joked.

  “Now, show me this wound of yours,” Murdo commanded.

  Edward pushed back his sleeve and displayed the marking.

  “Very primitive,” Murdo pronounced, when he had seen Edward’s “C.” “Is it a sign of true love or of despair?”

  “Despair the night I obtained it,” Edward admitted. “And despair now. I needed to clear my head after seeing Charlotte at Windsor. Thank you for the invitation.”

  “You’ve been playing with thrones. It’s enough to confuse any man.”

  “Especially a man who cannot offer what his lady needs.”

  “I thought if ye loved someone, that was enough,” Murdo said. “To quote our beloved Pickwick Papers, ‘There is nothing to be ashamed of; it’s a matter of mutual accommodation, nothing more. Husband on one side, wife on the other.’”

  “You are not practical.”

  Murdo grinned. “Never had to be, have I? I’m glad I’ve never been in love. I’m like Pickwick. The emotion just confuses me. I’ll stay above the fray.”

  Hardly above the fray. If not for Murdo’s assertion that their wedding was a real marriage, neither he nor Charlotte would be trapped now. Trapped was a good description. What man wanted to be other than the husband his wife needed?

  “Why are you memorizing Pickwickian thoughts about marriage? Have someone in mind?”

  Murdo’s smile became wolfish. “It may not be love, but there is a certain lady whose form and soft voice has awakened a few fantasies in my plebian breast.”

  In listening for twenty minutes while Quintin helped him dress, Edward knew Murdo’s object of fascination to be far more common than his cousin claimed to be. But if the man wanted an opera dancer mistress, who could blame him? Eventually he’d have to marry and make an heir to inherit all his money, but he wasn’t sufficiently serious-minded yet.

  Late on Friday evening, as he was considering searching for his lonely, overly ornate bed, once supposedly slept in by a royal ancestor, no less, he was approached at the chess table by a man with a Scottish accent, some twelve or fifteen years his senior.

  Drummond had just lost to him and appeared eager to leap from the table and find himself another glass of whiskey. He introduced the two men and disappeared into the group playing charades.

  “Sir Bothan MacCall,” the man said unnecessarily, shaking Edward’s hand. “How are ye, Colonel?”

  Edward had stood, wondering if the man wanted a game, but it appeared he was more eager to converse. “Very well. And forever in awe that my cousin has done so well for himself. How do you know him?”

  “I was a guest at Linsee Castle, your grandfather’s guest, for many years,” the man said. “I take it ye dinna remember me?”

  Edward shook his head. “But you know of course that I haven’t even been in Scotland for more than a decade.”

  “Aye, that business with your wife,” the man said, nodding his salt and pepper head sagely. “Did you ever see her again?”

  Edward frowned. His marriage had never been common knowledge, except at this party, this night. “Yes, this summer. She is in Englan
d now.”

  “And did ye reunite? I remember the pack of ye that summer, running around the castle like young wolves.”

  He did not remember this man at all. He’d have been about the age Edward was now, a bit older. Married, perhaps, with a young family? It didn’t strike any chord of recognition. “I’ve seen her, yes. She’s in service to the queen.”

  Sir Bothan chuckled. “Ye call her the queen, do ye? No thoughts of taking the throne for yourself?”

  Edward’s tattoo throbbed. His suspicion increased. “Why do you say that?”

  Sir Bothan gestured to a pair of armchairs next to a fireplace that held burning candles. “I may know a few things about both yourself and your cousin.”

  Edward had the uneasy sensation that he was facing off with a wild animal. He didn’t move. “How exactly are you connected to my family?”

  The man lifted an eyebrow then seated himself in one of the chairs, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Oh, we’re cousins, sure enough. Branched off here and there as it happens. I was a boy in your mother and uncle’s day. Aye, I know all about Murdo, and ye.”

  Edward went to the other armchair and rested his unwounded forearm across the top, leaning forward. “What do you mean?”

  “I know the story of how Murdo came to be rich, and ye and your brothers were sent off to soldier,” the man said.

  Edward’s eyes narrowed. This was no simple man of an older generation, sharing family stories. He felt the air of malice, well-disguised as it might be. It reminded him of those cheaters who preyed on gamblers. Spencer would warn him off such a man, though James might recognize him as a natural accomplice.

  “You know my brothers?”

  “Aye, as the children they were.”

  Edward deliberated until his pause became insulting. “Tell me the tale, then.”

  “Ah, Colonel, ye must sit for that.” He gestured extravagantly to the chair.

  Reluctantly, Edward sat, knowing the man expected his full attention as the coin for his tale.

  “Lady Abigail, Lady Margot, Viscount Searle,” Sir Bothan said. “Bonny ladies and their handsome brother.”