A Prince for Aunt Hetty

by Kimberly Truesdale

  He approached her slowly, not wanting to scare her.

  “Harriet... Miss Masters...” His voice came out in a husky whisper.

  She didn't turn around. “Mr. Henderson.” It was simply an acknowledgment of his being there. He could not read anything from it.

  There were other people strolling through the gardens on this warm spring afternoon. Somehow their noise and movement lent an urgency to his conversation. At any moment they might be interrupted, she might walk away, and then he would be lost. He must speak.

  “I... I --” For all of the urgency he felt to speak with her, Rupert could think of nothing to say. So he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved the letter that he hoped might speak for him. He knew its words backwards and forwards. It had been with him through every exhausting moment during these past months, pushing him toward his ultimate goal.

  Rupert stepped to her side and held out the letter. “Please read this. I think it will explain.”

  She hesitated, still not looking directly at him. But she took the letter.

  He watched as she turned it over and felt the roughened paper. She ran her hands over the broken seal. A bit of the wax crumbled off in her hand. She let it drop to the grass. Slowly she unfolded the letter and read the words written in neat and flowing lines of perfect script. He closed his eyes and read along with her from his memory.

  To Mr. Rupert Henderson, from His Majesty King George IV of England, etc.

  Sir, we have been lost without you these past months, I don't mind admitting to that. Sir Thomas assures me that if I offer you enough, you will return for a very special project I have planned. So here are my terms: if you will return to London for the rest of this year and resume your post as Serjeant-Painter in my court, I will offer you the following

  I will commission a portrait from you to hang in one of my chambers.

  I will fund a showing of your artwork in one of our galleries and attach my name to it.

  I will offer you a yearly pension once this year is over of 300 pounds, to be paid each year for the rest of your natural life.

  In exchange for these terms, I ask that you return to court immediately and help me plan and prepare for my trip to Scotland. I need good men around me. This is an important step for the monarchy and I want you by my side.

  Send your reply as soon as possible.

  Rupert opened his eyes and watched as Hetty carefully folded up the note. She held it out to him and, as he took it, she met his gaze with hers. There were questions there, many of them, but she only uttered one.

  “What is this?”

  “It's the reason I left Armstrong house so abruptly. It's part of the reason I haven't written... I'm sorry. I --”

  “Aunt Hetty?” a woman's voice from behind them made Hetty turn around. There was a beautiful young woman standing a few yards away from them looking concerned. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  “Fine. Thank you, Cat.”

  “It's just that we must be going soon. To get ready for this evening.”

  Rupert could tell that the young woman knew she was interrupting something and seemed sorry about it.

  “Oh, yes, tonight.” She sighed and looked up at him. Rupert raised his eyebrows in question and she seemed to understand. “Tonight. Lady Fairfax's ball.”

  And then she was gone, walking away arm in arm with the young woman. With every step she took, Rupert's heart sank more. He had envisioned this moment so differently, had pictured it in his mind as a scene of reconciliation. He would show her the letter and explain everything and she would understand. He would kiss her and all would be well.

  But the reality had been nothing like that. She hadn't understood the letter. And he'd not had time to explain. She'd seen the painting and it had all gone wrong from there. Panic rose in his chest as she walked away. He didn't know where to find her or if this was the last time he would see her.

  Just as he decided to run after her, and damn the propriety of it, she stepped into a carriage and rode away. Even his grand gesture failed before it began.

  “How'd it go?” Thomas joined him on the lawn, looking out toward the street.

  “Not well. And now she's gone and I never really explained.”

  “Well, let's do something about it,” Thomas said matter-of-factly. He could be a practical man when he wanted to be.

  “But I don't even know where to find her...” Rupert protested.

  “Well, did she give you any clues? Anything she said that could tip us off?”

  “She only said a few words to me, and... wait,” Rupert grew excited. “She said they were going to Lady Fairfax's ball tonight.”

  Thomas laughed. “Then let's procure you an invitation and you can sweep Miss Masters right off her feet.”

  “But we were going to work on the decorations for the carriage tonight.”

  “Dear God, Rupert. Your heart and hers are so much more important than the King's baubles! You're going to that ball and you're going to win Miss Masters over. By God, you know George would approve of such a noble reason for neglecting work on this one evening.”

  “I suppose you're right.” Rupert's spirits were beginning to lift.

  “Of course, I am. Now let's see what we can accomplish.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  HETTY STILL FELT disoriented. The events of the day spun around her like the dancers were doing now in Lady Fairfax's ballroom. She shut her eyes but the whirl of thoughts continued. The artist was Rupert... the painting... his letter... the apology. Why did he have a letter from the King? Who was Rupert Henderson?

  But really. No matter who he was, he'd left her without a word and hadn't contacted her at all. Had he been in London the entire time? The contents of that letter seemed to indicate that he had been. And not only in London but working for the King!

  So if he had been in London, what had stopped him from writing to her or visiting her? Surely he might have found her address had he really wanted to.

  The upbeat music of a jig did nothing to improve her mood. The nearly frantic hopping and moving from the dance floor were already irritating her to the point of madness when Lola, who'd been sitting next to her and chattering about something or other the whole time Hetty was thinking, gripped her arm.

  “Oh, look! Your man is here.” Lola, Cat, and Jack had teased her all afternoon about the mysterious man and her garden tryst. She could not endure it if she was being teased again.

  She resisted a moment longer, telling herself she was only imagining the feel of eyes on her, that Lola was teasing. But when she finally looked, there he was. And the longer he looked, the more Hetty warmed under his eyes.

  “Lola, will you please keep your eye on Cat.”

  “Of course. But is everything all right?”

  “It's fine.” Hetty flushed. She needed air. She rose, excused herself to her concerned friend, and headed toward the garden. She would sit for awhile in the cool night air and gather her thoughts together. She could not continue to be so disoriented, especially if she was to see him in society. No one yet knew of their past connection and no one had to know, as long as she could compose herself and learn to deal with her feelings.

  But for now she would sit in the garden and let them all out.

  The apology this afternoon had only made her blood boil once she thought about it long enough. At first it had seemed kind and she had a thought about forgiving him. He did seem to have a good excuse, if that letter from the King was real, and she had no reason to doubt that it was. But then anger had bubbled up inside of her. No matter who he served, he could have at least written. It had been three months and no word at all!

  Her footsteps turned into stomps as she continued into the garden. Her fists were balled as if she would hit something... or someone. How dare he? She seethed in impotent anger. Anger at him and anger at herself for being so stupid. No matter how she'd reasoned with her own mind, her desire for him hadn't gone away. That had been abundantly clear
from the way her whole body had flushed under his gaze across that ballroom. She stopped abruptly and uttered a noise of frustration.

  “Harriet.”

  It was him. His voice. She did not turn toward him, she was so mad she thought she might punch him in the face if she turned around now.

  “Harriet,” he repeated. What had been in his look across the ballroom was now in his voice. Softness, longing, something that got right down into her heart and refused to leave whether she wanted it there or not.

  She spun on her heels, ready to confront him, ready to yell at him or do something with this anger. He stood close. Only one good stride away. In a fraction of a second, Hetty stepped forward, grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, and pulled his mouth down to hers. It was brazen and she did not quite know why she had done it instead of hitting him, as he deserved.

  He remained stiff in her arms, clearly surprised by her kiss. He must not feel for her the way she felt for him. This was it. It was over. All the romantic notions she'd harbored about a grand love story were gone. She would say goodbye and be done with all of it. She would go back to her life of society parties and friends and forget that Rupert Henderson had ever painted – or half-painted – a beautiful portrait of her.

  Hetty let go of his lapels and put her foot behind her to step away. But as she did so, something changed. His arms came around her and he pulled her back into him. His mouth opened on hers in a hot and wet kiss like none she had experienced before.

  That thing that had lodged in her heart and wouldn't let go began to uncurl itself and wind throughout her body. If she had been flushed before, she was positively burning now. And Rupert was answering it with his own heat as he pressed himself against every part of her. Hetty stopped breathing altogether when one of his hands moved to her neck and pressed her even closer. It was madness and she wanted so much more of it.

  Hetty lost all track of time and herself. It didn't matter anyway. Fifty years of life had passed her without a moment as exquisite as this. The kisses she thought she'd had as a young woman she now knew were not truly kisses at all. Those had been mere exercises of distant affection. But what she was sharing with Rupert was a hunger, a desire. And it was, indeed, shared, which made Hetty's blood boil even higher, her anger now turned into something much more potent.

  Finally the tinkle of young and brilliant laughter reached their ears and they broke apart. Hetty was breathing heavily, her chest heaving up and down as she tried to keep her balance. Rupert appeared to be doing the same. For a moment, they only looked at each other, both mostly shadows in the dark night.

  And then the absurdity of the scene struck Hetty. Trysts in the garden were for young lovers. She began to laugh, a deep, throaty sound that shook her body. Rupert was unable to resist and began laughing, too. They stood there laughing at each other. Each time one would stop, the other would start again until they were both gasping and panting out the word “stop” over and over again.

  When the hilarity had settled, the mood grew more serious.

  “Hetty,” Rupert spoke her name again. It thrilled down her spine.

  “Yes, Rupert?” she finally spoke.

  He hesitated, but Hetty waited this time, anxious to see what he would say. “I'm so sorry.”

  “I am, too.”

  “What do you have to be sorry for?” Rupert was confused.

  “I was angry with you.”

  “I think you had a right to be.”

  “Maybe. But not to the extent that I was. I fully intended to hit you just now.”

  “Well, I'm very glad you decided to kiss me instead.”

  “Hmmm... I think I am, too,” she mused.

  “But Hetty? My apology... I need to speak it to you so that you know.” He paused. “You saw the note this afternoon...”

  “I did, though I am still not sure what it means. Who are you, Rupert Henderson?”

  “Well, now I am an artist. But for most of my life I have been Serjeant-Painter to the King.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Basically I do all the work and get none of the glory,” he laughed. “My friend Sir Thomas Lawrence is the portrait painter. He gets all the recognition for our work. And rightly so, he is a marvelous artist and, I think, a genius. We met in the Royal Academy of Arts and when he was appointed to his post, he brought me along with him. I'd worked hard my entire life and a post at court was the highest any untitled young man could aspire to. So I did all the jobs Thomas didn't want to do. I undertook the business of decorating the palaces and homes of the King. I copied portraits and restored paintings. I helped put on all the spectacle that attends court functions. I traveled with the King and made his processions the best in the world. I gilded his carriages. I did whatever was needed. A knave-of-all-work, you might call me.”

  “I'd never thought about those jobs needing to be done before.”

  “Most people don't. They believe the King, like God, can speak things into existence. And I have spent my life making that happen.”

  “Until you moved to Armstrong house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would you give up court life for that?” Hetty asked. Rupert took her hand and held it to his heart. She felt its rapid beating even through the layers of fabric.

  “I know it might seem strange to someone who has not been at someone else's beck and call for her entire life. But I grew weary of it. And I wanted to do my own work for a change. Catering to the King's every whim has been a lifelong round of sleepless nights and frantic hours. I had no time to pursue my own drawing and painting.”

  “So you just left? That seems very brave.”

  “I expressed my desires to the King and he agreed. He even helped me purchase Armstrong house as a present for all of my years of service.” He ran his thumb over the back of her hand. The soft touch made her blood boil.

  “I see. But you still came back to London those times while I was staying at Hayes house?”

  “Yes. I received urgent notes that my presence was required. After the generosity of the King, I couldn't abandon him if he needed me. It does take some time to train a new person to do the job I had done for so many years.”

  “So you rode to the rescue?” Hetty laughed.

  Rupert laughed, too. “I suppose I did, in a way.”

  “And why didn't you ever tell me this?” Hetty moved close enough to feel his breath on her face.

  “I was afraid.” He brought his lips near hers.

  “Afraid?”

  “Yes. In case it was not yet obvious to you, I adore you. But in my experience, things change once someone knows that I work so closely with the King. Suddenly, I disappear and all they see is a man they can use for his connections. I get too much attention when people know what it is that I do and where I live. They only see the 'court' and I get lost in that.”

  Hetty was silent, pondering this. “I can see how that would happen. I'm not sure how I would have reacted to you if I'd known that right away.”

  “That is why I enjoy the country. No one there, not even the staff in my household, know my past. And they seem quite content not to ask questions of me, either. I was happy doing my work and visiting with my kind neighbors, like your sister and Jonathan and, of course, the children.”

  “But I could have kept your secret,” Hetty said.

  “And I did want to tell you, very much so. But the fear stopped me. I didn't want you to look through me. I wanted you to see me and to spend time with me as a plain man.”

  “I don't think I ever saw a 'plain man' in you, but I understand what you mean.”

  “So you feel something for me, too, Hetty?” She heard the anxiety in his voice. It thrilled her just a little. She kissed him gently.

  “I do. Just in case my first kiss didn't give it away,” she teased and then turned serious again. “But I'm not sure I can forgive you for not writing to me, especially knowing that you felt this way the whole time.”

  She heard him sigh
heavily. “That I sincerely regret. First, there was no time to do it. And then I began to think that you might be upset with me for leaving you. And then I began to doubt that I could ever write the correct words to tell you what had happened and why I'd left so suddenly. It seemed like something that would have taken too many words to explain.”

  “I would have liked to hear anything at all from you.”

  “I'm sorry.” He grazed her lips with his. “It's all I can say. I did think about you all the time, though.”

  “I could see that from the painting.”

  “Oh? You saw that in the gallery?” Rupert gave a sigh of realization. “Oh... that's the painting you were looking at when I surprised you this afternoon.”

  “Yes, it was. I was startled by your appearance and, as you could tell, somewhat discomposed.”

  “I couldn't tell at all,” Rupert said.

  Hetty laughed. “Don't tease me!”

  “No, I mean it. I was startled as well. I did not know what to do. It was Thomas who pushed me out the door.”

  “Well, I think I am glad that he did.”

  “I think I am glad of it, too.”

  Rupert kissed her again, this time with a tenderness that tugged at every nerve in her body.

  “I think I painted that portrait in the hopes that you would see it and know a little bit of what I felt toward you.”

  “And you called it 'Home'. Why?”

  “Do you remember that afternoon when I was sketching the children?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “After I positioned them, I turned back to the table and there you were, seated comfortably in your chair and reading a fairy tale to a bunch of young children. The light spilled in on you in just the right way. It made my heart nearly burst. It was such a scene as I've been trying to find my entire life. It was a gift.”

  “I like that. A gift...”