How to Propose to a Prince (17 page)

W
hen she reached the street, drat it all, the hackney was nowhere to be seen. Elizabeth hadn’t really expected that it would be, but the comment had enabled her to extricate herself from Mr. Manton.

She glanced back at the door and hurried down the footpath before her gallant Mr. Manton could come to her rescue once again, for at this moment she couldn’t endure having his compassionate eyes upon her. Nor could she return home, for the same reason. She would simply dissolve into tears.

The Prince of Wales would certainly give a union between Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold his blessing now.

Tears already welled, unshed, in her eyes. Anne would understand. How she wished she could go to her. But her sister’s home on Cockspur Street was but a stone’s throw from Warwick House, where Princess Charlotte was now lodged, and Carlton House as well, where her prince had been installed.

If she went to Anne, she could not bear, even for a moment, knowing that the man she loved was but a few steps away—possibly being interviewed by the Prince Regent in consideration of marrying the princess.

She simply could not endure it.

And so she walked and walked, past shops and squares, lawns of green, until she found herself at the gates of Hyde Park and the Serpentine beyond.

Tears budded in her eyes as she realized where her troubled heart had led her. To the place where she and Sumner were to meet the very night of the fateful event that would scar her life forever.

Slowly she walked to the bridge and stood at the rail in its center, staring down into the depths of the Serpentine.

Elizabeth thought about her great-aunt as a young woman exactly her age, when duty had robbed her of her husband. Prudence had
warned her. Had told her that in the end, duty would always come first for a man.

She should have listened to her great-aunt, she told herself, and spared herself the heartache of losing the man she loved.

She should have listened to Anne, who could not deny that Leopold would one day marry Princess Charlotte out of duty to Saxe-Coburg.

She should have listened to Mercer, who told her, in no uncertain words, that Charlotte had set her cap at Prince Leopold and meant to marry him.

She should have listened to Princess Charlotte herself, when she returned victorious after securing Parliament’s support for a union between her and Prince Leopold.

But she did not.

Instead, she listened to her dreams. She listened to her own heart.

And where had that gotten her? Standing alone, staring down at the welcoming swirls of the Serpentine below.

Elizabeth thought back to the morning not so many days ago when she fell from the river trail into the Thames. She remembered the cold water rushing over her face and how the bright light on the water’s surface dimmed as
she sank deeper and deeper into the river’s depths.

Only now, if she fell, Sumner would not be there to pull her from the depths.

A heavy tear rolled down her cheek and dripped from her jaw into the swells of water below the bridge. It caught the light as it fell, and for the briefest instant it glistened like a diamond, before being swallowed up by the blackness of the Serpentine.

Wait, Elizabeth
. Anne’s sage advice suddenly filled her mind.

“Wait.” She heard it clearly now.

“Wait.” The words were coming from her own lips. “He will come back. Trust him.”

Elizabeth stepped back from the railing and rubbed the tears from her cheeks. He had told her that he loved her and that he’d come back for her.

And she believed him. Despite logic. Despite what others told her. Despite Parliament—and the Prince of Wales.

She believed in Sumner and what he had promised. She did.

Elizabeth grabbed up her walking skirt in her hand and ran from the bridge.

He would come back for her.

And when he did, she would be waiting.

Two days later
Carlton House

“Are you well enough to attend the fete, Sumner?” Leopold asked as the valet assigned to him brushed down the back of his coat.

“I have been fit for days, and yet the guards will not allow me to leave the grounds or even send a message to…anyone.” Sumner allowed the valet to button his blue satin waistcoat shot with gold threads, and even to accept assistance with his coat, as a prince would permit. But when the valet began to pin row after row of shiny medals upon the breast of his dark blue coat, he cringed in pain, snatched the silver tray of medals from the dresser and set it aside.

“A mite irritable this day, cousin?” Leopold glanced at his sleeker coat, and smiled approvingly at his own elegant reflection. “You needn’t be. I managed to send a missive to Mercer, asking her to ensure that Miss Royle attends the fete this day; that she should do whatever is necessary to get her inside the Carlton House garden.”

Beneath his coat, Sumner’s shoulders tightened uncomfortably. “I did not wish her here today.”

“But only a moment ago you were fretting over not being able to send a message to her.”
Leopold sat upon a tufted bench and allowed the dresser to comb his hair fashionably around his face. “I sent for Miss Royle because I thought you would wish it.”

“I did not wish her at Carlton House because if there is another attack, I do not wish to risk her well-being.”

“And you do not wish her to see you dancing with Princess Charlotte,” Leopold added.

“And there is that.”

“You have not told her—” Leopold glanced at the numerous valets, footmen, and attendants in the chamber and did not finish his sentence.

“No, I haven’t. I had intended to explain everything to her the night that plans changed and we attended the performance at the Drury Lane Theatre.” Sumner shrugged against the weave of kerseymere. The blasted coat was too tight. He could barely breathe. “But today at the fete is neither the time nor the place.”

“Cousin, you cannot simply ignore Miss Royle. She will be in attendance.” Leopold rested his palm on Sumner’s shoulder.

“I must.” When the dresser came at Sumner with a comb, the prince stepped away. Sumner dropped down into a chair and begrudgingly allowed him to coif his hair in Leopold’s stylish mode. “I must, for her safety.”

“It is likely that since the Prince of Wales is hosting this fete, and will allow you—as me—to dance with Princess Charlotte, that the William of Orange supporters will see their cause as defeated. For I believe it has been. The Prince Regent will grant his consent in time. I am sure of it.”

“I may be safe from attack, in other words.”

“Yes.”

“But then, you could be wrong. If you were dead, Leopold, a marriage between William and Charlotte would still be possible.”

“Though now that Prinny understands her ultimatum, I do not think I am incorrect in my prediction.” Leopold walked a circle around Sumner, examining his attire. “A dark blue slipper,” he said to the valet, “not the black. It is day. What do Englishmen know of dressing well? I ask you that.”

Sumner caught a glimpse of the glare cast from the valet at the true Prince Leopold, and it was all he could do not to laugh.

Carlton House
The garden

At three of the clock, Elizabeth and Lady Upperton were ushered into the lush garden a
scant moment before the Prince Regent and the royal family arrived.

Rolls of flesh were plainly visible beneath Prinny’s clothing, and he was a startling sight without the aid of stays. Still, he lent his arm to the queen and led the rest of the royal family, including Princess Charlotte, into the garden.

As Elizabeth followed the queen’s progress across the lawn—the woman who may have had her and her sisters left for dead upon their birth—she caught sight of Lady Upperton gazing ruefully at her.

“I know this day is difficult for you, dear one, but please do not make it harder by dwelling on the distant past and what may or may not have occurred.” Lady Upperton reached out and squeezed Elizabeth’s hand.

“Until the queen arrived, I would have said that I looked forward to this day from the moment I received the invitation to attend.” Elizabeth shook off the dark image of the queen and Lady Jersey from her mind. “For I will see Sumner, and Fate will see to the rest.”

Lady Upperton sighed disappointedly, but did not press Elizabeth to set her dream aside. “It is lovely here, you must agree.”

“Indeed, I do.” Elizabeth drew in a refreshing
breath and immediately felt her spirits lift high. The Carlton House garden was as beautiful as it was extensive. Huge trees and glossy greenery were set off by clusters of brightly colored flowers.

Ladies were in full dress, with feathers, diamonds, and gowns, exactly as if they were attending a drawing room. The gentlemen were wearing fitted coats and formal white knee breeches and buckles. It was a spectacle to behold.

Tents had been erected here and there, and beneath them, tables of sumptuous food and drink could be found. At one end of the garden an orchestra had been assembled, and dancing had just commenced on the lawn.

Elizabeth rose up upon her toes to search for Sumner, but Lady Upperton grasped her arm and pulled her back down into her slippers.

“He is here, somewhere,” Elizabeth muttered to herself. “Surely, he would have arrived before the royal family.”

Lady Upperton lifted her lorgnette to her eyes. “There. He is standing before the orchestra.” She gestured with a flick of her ivory-handled eyepiece.

In an instant Elizabeth spied Sumner, and her breath collapsed in her lungs. On his arm was
Princess Charlotte, her head proud and erect as he led her to the center of the dancing ground.

Elizabeth tested her will, trying to look away, but she could not remove her eyes from the royal couple as they danced a spirited Scotch dance.

She stared, her heart feeling as though it were breaking as Sumner gifted Charlotte with the same knee-weakening gaze as he’d given her, the one he claimed to love, at the Drury Lane Theatre.

“He is a guest in her father’s house. I am sure that is why they are dancing,” Lady Upperton offered.

Elizabeth stood silently watching the prince and princess dance. Those standing at the dancing ground’s perimeter were captivated by the sight of the two handsome royals dancing gracefully in a heavenly garden.

It was a vision straight out of a fairy tale.

To Elizabeth it was a horrid nightmare.

Her eyes began to heat, and before a single tear could be shed, she fumbled inside her reticule for a handkerchief. But before she could withdraw it, Lord Whitevale, the prince’s striking cousin, caught her hand and without asking permission in any way led her to the dancing ground.

“Today is not one for worry and tear, Miss Royle,” Whitevale told her. “It is a day for making merry.” He spun her around, smiling at her all the while.

The music hummed inside of Elizabeth, but try as she might, she could not focus on the dance. Not with Sumner so close—and yet so far away.

Though she could not remove her gaze from him, Sumner did not even glance her way once during the dance, even when they were called upon to
chassé
around one another.

Her throat felt thick and every breath became as much a chore as remaining on the dance ground a moment longer.

As the orchestra played the final note, and the dancers and audience clapped their approval, Elizabeth searched the crowd for Lady Upperton. She had to find her for they must leave at once. This was just too difficult to endure.

Why had Mercer been so insistent that she come, when she had to have known this would happen?

Perhaps that was the reason she had been invited. So she could see for herself, understand, the choice that Prince Leopold had made for the good of Saxe-Coburg.

Elizabeth hoisted the most authentic smile she could muster and thanked Lord Whitevale for the dance. After dropping a curtsy, she turned to leave the dancing ground, but Whitevale caught her waist and spun her around—directly into the prince.

Her head jerked up and their gazes met for one long meaningful moment. His hand reached out and steadied her. The moment his fingers touched her arm, a dull ache formed in her belly and heat began to pool between her legs.

Everything about this moment was so wrong.
Wrong
.

He had undoubtedly made his choice. The only one he could have ever made. What she was feeling, with no more provocation than an innocent touch, was nothing less than sinful.

His fingers felt hot upon her arm, and she knew if she did not leave at once, she might do something rash, something to persuade him to slip away for a short while to assuage her craving for him.

Her lips all but burned for his kiss. Her arms longed to hold him.

Prince Charlotte, her cheeks all aglow, moved between the prince and his cousin, and graced Elizabeth with a smile. “I am so glad you could
attend the fete, Miss Royle. I consider this a secret celebration, you see, for my father has consented to consider a marriage between myself and the Leo with all due seriousness.”

Elizabeth forced a smile, but she could not maintain it and it withered on her lips.

“My grandmother admits, however, that my father will give his blessing soon enough. He only requires enough time to be given the impression that the idea was his own.” Princess Charlotte began to laugh. “I do not mind a bit, as long as he gives his consent before I am too aged to enjoy being married to such a handsome man.”

Lord Whitevale, likely feeling as awkward as Elizabeth did at the intimate course the conversation had taken, blanched. The orchestra struck a chord again, and couples scurried onto the dancing ground.

Lord Whitevale bowed to the princess. “Do you think it permissible that we dance, Your Royal Highness?”

Princess Charlotte, never being a strict monitor of protocol, laughed quite loudly. “What a dear man you are. Come, let us dance. What argument could my father possibly have against my dancing with
you
?”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure what to do. She cer
tainly didn’t trust herself. Her prince was here, directly in front of her. She was liable to say or do anything to hold him to her.