How to Propose to a Prince (20 page)

Sumner looked to her and smiled, then gazed out over the water. “I hope my background, my true history, does not affect how you feel about me, either.”

Elizabeth relaxed. “Unless you are my secret brother by Prinny, nothing you could tell me would change my plans to marry you at
our earliest opportunity. I love you, Sumner.
You
.”

He swallowed hard. It was time. “Leopold’s family took me in when I was but an infant. No one ever spoke of the circumstances of whose child I was or how I came into the Coburg family. Soon, I learned not to speak of it since the subject seemed to upset my adopted parents. All I knew, after years of searching for the truth, was that my mother had died in childbirth and my father had not been able, or perhaps willing, to care for a baby.”

“But you and Leopold always refer to one another as cousins.”

“Yes. All my life I was always referred to as a cousin. Who would ever dispute it? Leopold and I looked so much alike. But there were always whispers that we were not so much distant cousins…as half brothers.”

“Is it true?”

“I do not know, exactly.” Sumner sighed. “But when I reached my majority, I was informed that my supposed father, Lansdowne, had died and I was to become the Marquess of Whitevale.”

“So you never knew your natural father?”

“No. I never even knew
if
he was my natural father. The similarities between Leopold and
myself are striking. We were raised together, schooled together, fought together. To me, Leopold is my brother.”

“And this is why protecting him was so important to you.”

Sumner sighed yet again. “Yes.”

Elizabeth turned him toward her and, not caring who might see, kissed him. “None of this matters at all, Sumner. But I thank you for explaining your extraordinary bond with Prince Leopold.”

She was right, Sumner decided. Circumstances of birth did not matter.

What did was that he would soon marry the woman he loved with all of his heart. He felt buoyant to have shed the weights of his past from his shoulders.

“I was thinking,” he began, turning Elizabeth for a stroll from the bridge. “I may leave the military and retire to Whitevale. I have never seen it, can you believe it? You will be my wife, so the decision is truly ours together.”

Elizabeth laughed as they stepped off the bridge and into the grass. “As your soon-to-be wife, I would choose anything that will remove you from the line of gunfire…and knife points. But I wonder,” she added, “how you will adapt to the staid, calm of life in the
country when you are used to dodging bullets and cannonballs.”

“With you, my dear, I do not think life will ever be ‘staid.’”

There was a flash of light from the shadows of the trees, and Elizabeth heard the chilling, all too familiar whiz of a bullet passing between her and Sumner.

“Get down!” he shouted. Instead of retreating for cover, he charged directly toward the flash, disappearing into the darkness of the trees.

Elizabeth gasped and brought her fingers worriedly to her lips. She remained crouched for only a few moments and slowly came to her feet. The sun had just settled behind the treeline, the light in the sky rapidly dissolving into night.

Her whole body tensed as she waited for Sumner to emerge. Her ears were primed for any sound, any hint that her love was safe. But there was nothing.

She started walking at first, then running toward the trees, worried for Sumner.

And then there was another flash of light and the sound of gunshot. “Sumner!” she cried out, ducking under branches and pushing leaves from her face as she ran toward the sound.

She heard thrashing ahead, grunts and the smack of landed punches, then the sound of footfalls coming directly toward her.

“Sumner?” she whispered feebly, knowing that if it was not him, she was in grave danger. “Sumner, please answer me.”

“I am coming. Go back to the bridge,” came his voice from twenty or so paces beyond where she stood. “Go!”

Turning, she did as he asked and hurried in the relative light at the water’s lapping edge.

A few moments later Sumner’s large, distinguishable form stepped from the cover of trees. From her position, it appeared that he dragged another man, whose arm he’d pinned behind his back. As they approached, she saw who the other man was.

“Mr. Manton?” Elizabeth sputtered. “It cannot be.”

“It is,” Sumner confirmed.

“He was the gunman? Dear Mr. Manton was the man trying to kill us?”

Manton jerked his head upright. “Not both of you.
Him
.” He looked up with disgust at Sumner.

“B-But why?” Elizabeth asked. None of this made any sense to her. Mr. Manton had always seemed such a gentle soul.

“He supports a union between Charlotte and William of Orange, I suspect.” Anger sparked in Sumner’s eyes as he looked at this man who had relentlessly tried to kill him. He wrenched Manton’s arm higher behind his back, making him groan with pain.

“I don’t give a damn about William of Orange,” Manton cried.

“Then why did you do it?” Elizabeth stepped closer. Despite his violent display, she could still see tenderness in Manton’s eyes.

His expression softened. “Because of
you.
”

Sumner loosened his hold so he could turn enough to face Manton. “What do you mean, because of her?”

“From the first time I saw her at a ball a year ago, I knew I loved her,” he admitted, his eyebrows drawing close as he peered coldly at Sumner. “And recently she expressed fondness for me. But then
you
came into her life. How could I ever compete, when it was clear that a prince sought her affections?” His expression changed abruptly and he looked longingly at Elizabeth. “I never meant for you to be hurt. That was an accident. You must believe me, Miss Royle. I would never harm you. Not intentionally.”

“You were the shooter at Pall Mall as well,”
she said flatly. Of course he was. And then it occurred to her that she had come upon him in the passage just after Sumner was stabbed. “
And
in the theatre.”

“Yes.” Manton lowered his gaze, defeated.

“And the shot in the crowd when we first arrived in London?” Sumner prodded.

Manton shook his head. “That wasn’t me, though I did read of the incident in the
Times
and the suppositions about the supporters of William of Orange being at fault. So, when I saw you, I realized who the man was who had so captivated Elizabeth. I knew that if I…if you were dead, the blame would be settled upon the supporters of the Dutchman, a group with which I have no affiliation. It was so clear to me what had to be done.” His faced pulled into a frightening scowl. “Only you don’t die, do you?”

“And he shall not for a very long time, now that you have been apprehended,” Elizabeth fairly spat.

“Come with me.” Sumner yanked Manton forward and began to march him up Rotten Row. “We will let you answer to the authorities.” His voice grew firm. “And do not dare speak to Miss Royle again. Do you understand?” He jerked his arm. “Not one word.”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” Manton wailed.

“Lord Whitevale, if you please, sir.” Sumner’s face remained impassive, but at his words, a small smile tilted the edges of Elizabeth’s lips upward.

Berkeley Square

W
hen Elizabeth entered the house, she heard Great-aunt Prudence loudly calling her name from the parlor. She hurried inside, since her aunt rarely raised her voice…unless her claret goblet was empty.

When she came into the parlor, the old woman smiled broadly. “I saw you leave with
him.
”

Elizabeth lowered her gaze and smiled inwardly, though she could feel the whisper of a blush on her cheeks. “I did.”

“You’re going to marry him.” Prudence pointed a bony finger at her left hand.

Elizabeth raised her finger and showed her
the glittering emerald he had given her as a betrothal ring. “I am.”

“When?” The old woman had something in that mind of hers, but what it was, Elizabeth had no notion.

“In two weeks time.” Elizabeth looked suspiciously at her great-aunt. “Though we still have to discuss it with the Old Rakes and Lady Upperton, of course.”

“Good. We shall have enough by then.” Her great-aunt sighed happily.

“Enough of what?” Elizabeth scrunched her brows. Just what was Prudence going on about?

“Enough of
everything.
” She gave her head a good, hard nod, then flashed Elizabeth a broad grin.

Very well then. Elizabeth turned to retire to her chamber but thought better of it. She wanted to tell someone about Sumner. “He is not a prince, you know. I just learned.”

“Oh?” Prudence replied. “Is he a gardener?”

Elizabeth laughed. “No, he is actually the Marquess of Whitevale…but why would you ask if he is a gardener, Prudence?”

“Because you have leaves and sticks in your hair, dear.” She pointed at the top of her head.

Elizabeth’s hand flew to her crown, where
she felt a small twig. She pulled it from where it had tangled in her hair and looked at it. This was all quite mortifying for she had been let off on Cockspur Street to tell her sister Anne and her husband Laird of her wonderful news. Neither of them had said a word about the twig and leaves in her hair. But now their vaguely amused stares made more sense. “It is not at all what you think, Prudence. It is actually quite innocent.”
This time.

“Oh? And just what am I thinking, my dear?” Her great-aunt lifted her snowy white eyebrows. “I do wish you would tell me. I should like to know.”

“That…it is oak.” She gave Prudence what must have been a discomfited expression. “But it is not. It’s birch. Simple mistake to make. I’ve done it myself once or twice.” Elizabeth slapped a hand to her forehead and turned around. “Good evening, Prudence. Clearly I am in need of rest,” she mumbled as she quit the room and took the stairs up to her bedchamber.

Early the next morning, Elizabeth went belowstairs determined to solve the mystery of the rising food expenses. When she married Sumner, she would leave Berkeley Square and
not allow Great-aunt Prudence’s house funds to be stolen away from under her nose.

When she reached the kitchen, she expected to see Mrs. Polkshank. Instead she found Cherie, holding a very heavy case of wine, and Prudence, eyes widened in surprise, with a smoked ham under her arm.

“What is this?” Elizabeth asked, taking the ham from Great-aunt Prudence, and then the wine from Cherie, and setting them on the scrubbed pine kitchen table.

“We have enough now,” Prudence replied. “Plenty.”

Mrs. Polkshank, who had obviously heard the exchange, was just coming up from the cellar with a lamp in her grip. “I’d say she has enough contraband champagne and smoked meats for your prince’s entire regiment—or for a wedding breakfast.” She beckoned to Elizabeth. “Oh, come on, come on, Miss Elizabeth. You’ll be wantin’ to see what you’ve been pinching me about for two months.”

Elizabeth was completely befuddled as she descended the stone and earth stairs. Mrs. Polkshank held up the flickering lamp, illuminating the large room. There, filling the root cellar, was case upon case of contraband French cham
pagne, a case of prime claret, and smoked meats of every kind. “So the food expenditures have been so high because—”

“Of your wedding!” her great-aunt called down into the root cellar.

Elizabeth hurriedly climbed up the shallow steps, with Mrs. Polkshank behind her holding the candle high so her mistress would not trip in the dim light. When they both emerged, Cook closed the trapdoor and dragged a tiny braided rug over top of it.

Elizabeth’s gaze went straight to Prudence. “But how did you know I would be getting married?”

“Because you dreamed it, gel. And your dreams do come true. Mostly.” Prudence smiled. “Once I heard, I knew I hadn’t long to prepare, but Cherie and Cook helped me collect what we needed for a fine wedding breakfast.”

Tears came to her eyes. She had been so hard on Mrs. Polkshank about the cost of food. And she, Cherie, and dear Great-aunt Prudence had only been planning for the wedding they believed in—even when she herself had given up hope. Spreading her arms wide, Elizabeth clasped them all together in a heartfelt hug.

Two weeks later
St. George’s, Mayfair

“We’re not going to have enough,” Great-aunt Prudence said as she leaned on her cane and peered into the crowded church. “How much do you think they will drink?”

Elizabeth laughed. “It is a breakfast, Prudence. They will not drink so much as you suppose.” She looked at Anne and Mary. “I think I am ready.”

“You are not the least filled with nerves?” Mary set a comforting hand on her shoulder, then fluffed the frilled tulle that ornamented her wedding gown’s short sleeves.

“Not in the least. I have been witness to this wedding so many times in my dreams and in my mind that even Prudence’s worry of there being too few bottles of champagne does not concern me at all.” Elizabeth leaned toward Anne and whispered to her, “Have you seen him? He is here?”

“Standing near the nave with Prince Leopold at his side.” Anne swallowed hard then.

“What is wrong? There is something you are not telling me.”

“Nothing of importance, only, when you walk down the center aisle, do not look to your
right when you reach the front.” Anne scratched nervously at her neck.

“Why ever not?” Elizabeth adjusted the flounce of rows of tulle at the foot of her white satin petticoat, while Mary tightened the snowy full ribbon bows at her back.

“It is only…oh, blast, you must know. Princess Charlotte has come.” Anne cringed.

“Why would that bother me? Sumner was never going to marry her, and she was never in love with him.” Elizabeth smiled. “Besides which, she may be our sister. Family is always welcome.”

“I suppose you are right, Lizzy.” Anne still did not seem quite convinced.

Elizabeth drew her kid gloves up to her elbows while Anne settled a wreath formed of tulle edged with white satin upon her head.

“Beautiful!” Anne and Mary chimed as one.

Elizabeth turned and looked to Lord Gallantine, who did look quite the gallant in his dark frock coat and silk twill cravat. He offered her his arm and together they began down the long center aisle of St. George’s.

Lady Upperton’s snowy white hair topped with a bonnet sporting an overtall white ostrich plume called Elizabeth’s gaze to the front of the church. She could see from the family
box pew that Lord Lotharian was gazing proudly at her, and Lilywhite, already dabbing his eyes with a lacy handkerchief.

Elizabeth turned her gaze toward the nave and at once her eyes locked with Sumner’s. She gasped, for she had seen him standing just like this before…in her dream.

He was a sight to behold in a crimson red coat, with golden epaulets enhancing his broad shoulders. Across his chest was a sash of white satin ornamented with several medals of honor.

As she neared, he lifted his hand briefly to his mouth, then opened his palm and cast a kiss to her, sending a warm flutter through her elegantly gowned body.

When they reached the nave, Lord Gallantine handed Elizabeth to Sumner. Her eyes met his and suddenly it was if the world dissolved around them. She could hear the rector, responded appropriately, but never once did her gaze leave Sumner during the ceremony. Everything was just as she’d dreamed it.

Until something happened that she had not expected—had not dreamed even once.

At the moment the rector pronounced Sumner Lansdowne, Marquess of Whitevale, and Miss Elizabeth Royle, husband and wife, Prince Leopold stepped up beside his cousin.

There, on a crimson tuft of velvet, she saw a sparkling tiara. Confused, Elizabeth peered closer, and recognized it as the very same bejeweled tiara that Sumner had placed on her head on the day they met.

Prince Leopold smiled at her. “His heart chose it for you, my dear, so you must have it.” His gaze shifted, and Elizabeth followed it to Princess Charlotte. The princess was nodding her head and smiling at her.

Elizabeth looked to Sumner.

“You are my love, my wife, and my princess, and will always be,” he said.

Anne quickly moved forward and whisked the tulle headdress from Elizabeth’s copper locks.

“I love you, Elizabeth.” Sumner lowered the tiara down upon her head and bent to kiss her.

A moment later applause echoed through St. George’s, restoring Elizabeth and her husband to the moment. Together they turned to face the congregation, and began to make their way down the center aisle.

When they passed the box where the princess and Miss Margaret Mercer Elphinstone stood, Princess Charlotte reached out her hand and touched Elizabeth’s arm.

Elizabeth paused to look at her.

“He has always been a prince among men,” the princess whispered. “He never pretended otherwise.”

Elizabeth smiled and nodded her understanding, but she did not require the Princess of Wales to tell her this.

She had always known it.

Sumner was her fairy-tale prince and always would be.