How to Propose to a Prince (16 page)

And then it occurred to her. It was two letters H, one turned to cross the other. It was Sir Henry Halford’s insignia, neatly embroidered in white on the napkin’s corner. That made perfect sense.

Suddenly, the theatre was filled with clapping and the curtain closed. At last, interval. And Lady Upperton had supplied her with the perfect excuse to enter the prince’s box—returning Sir Henry’s embroidered napkin.

Sumner’s body thrummed from his awareness that Elizabeth was so near. He had taken a chance by unobtrusively casting the message of a kiss her way. But to anyone watching, he assumed his action would have held no meaning.

But as long as Princess Charlotte was in close proximity to Leopold, he had to refrain from any other contact with Elizabeth.

From the moment Charlotte arrived, patrons and ministers of Parliament alike were turning in their seats and leaning from their boxes to see the prince and princess. He could see the eagerness in their eyes, waiting for some hint that the newspaper reports and clever carica
tures of the two royal secret lovers were all true.

Sumner was not about to give them anything to gossip about. Not when Elizabeth did not yet know the truth of his identity. From the periphery of his vision he could see Elizabeth watching him. He knew, too, that he could not so much as a give the princess a glance without hurting Elizabeth.

He could not afford to delay much longer. He knew he had to confess his identity to her soon. It might have been tonight if Leopold had not needed the perfectly costumed false prince to be in place.

Leopold was sitting beside him, glancing mournfully from time to time at Princess Charlotte. He played the lovelorn suitor so well that had Sumner not known his cousin’s heart was not truly engaged, he would have believed his performance.

Then applause swelled within the theatre, and Sumner rose at once, wondering how he might slip away to see Elizabeth, even for a moment, without drawing the attention of the entire audience.

And then she appeared at the opening to his box, holding a white cloth in her hand. She curtsied to him, gazing up through her thick
lashes as she rose, a secret smile on her lips. But then she redirected her attention to Sir Henry.

“Sir Henry.” She offered a clipped curtsy to him, and then to his protégé, Mr. Manton. “Lady Upperton wished for me to return this to you,” she turned briefly toward Mr. Manton, “and to thank you, dear sir, for your assistance and concern.” She raised the white cloth in her hand, but when Sir Henry reached out for it she pulled it back and looked more closely at it.

“It…is a crosshatch.” Her eyes rounded and her head jerked up to look at Sir Henry.

Sir Henry shook his head. “No, it is my insignia. My initials, one H, and another overlaid on its side. But others have told me that my mark does resemble a crosshatch. You are not the first.” He reached out again and took the cloth from her.

Sumner noticed that Elizabeth was now trembling slightly. Without a care to those watching, he took her arm.

When she looked up at him, he saw an unsettling blend of fear and anger in her eyes. “The crosshatch,” she said beneath her breath. “It is the crosshatch from the bottles. It was
him
—Sir Henry.”

“What is that you are saying, Miss Royle?” Sir Henry looked suddenly shaken himself.

“Do allow me to escort you back to your sponsor, Miss Royle,” Sumner said softly to her.

He met Leopold’s judging gaze as they started from the box, but he stared him down. He did not know what had startled Elizabeth so, but he was not going to abandon her when she so clearly needed his support.

Without wasting an instant, he whisked her from the box. But instead of returning her to Lady Upperton as he had promised, he pulled her down the outer passage and behind a thick crimson curtain at the end of the hall.

“Why are you so frightened? What has Sir Henry done?”

Elizabeth tried to reply. Her lips moved but no words came from her mouth.

Sumner crushed her body against his and held her tightly, stroking her copper hair until her body stopped shaking. Only then did he release her.

When she raised her head to peer up at him, her eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“The crosshatch…it was his mark,” she murmured. “I saw it on two bottles labeled ‘laudanum.’ He gave the laudanum to Lady Jersey and the queen. He knew. I am sure he knew what they meant to do. Likely even counseled them in how to administer it to Maria Fitzherbert.”

“Elizabeth, I have heard the stories surrounding your birth—and that you and your sisters may be daughters of the Regent. But this is the first I have heard mention of Sir Henry’s possible involvement. You are certain of this?”

“Yes…no. How can I be certain of any of this? The bottles with the crosshatch were left behind by my father as evidence to help prove our lineage.” A shiver slid down her spine, making her whole body shake anew. “But we’ll never prove it, never know anything for certain—except that the laudanum belonged to Sir Henry, royal surgeon.”

Sumner tenderly settled his fingers at her chin and turned her mouth up to his. His lips moved over hers softly and gently, quieting her, calming her.

“Your lineage doesn’t matter, Elizabeth.” Sliding his thumbs across her cheeks, he wiped the tears from her eyes. “Blood princess or orphan, it doesn’t matter. I love you, he whispered. “I wanted to tell you…so you know.”

Her breath caught and she stared at him as if not trusting her ears with what she heard.

“I love you,” he repeated, his voice clear and resonant.

Tears rushed into Elizabeth’s eyes again.

The sound of applause returned Sumner to
the moment. “Now, you have to stop crying, my dear, for we have to return to the boxes.”

Elizabeth laughed through her tears. “I am just so happy. I thought…oh, never mind.” She rose up on her toes and kissed him. “I love you, Sumner.”

She pulled a glove from her hand and scrubbed the tears from her cheeks, then turned to leave. She glanced back momentarily. “The Serpentine, tomorrow at sunset?”

“At sunset. I will be there.” Sumner caught her arm and pulled her into one last, heated kiss before releasing her through the curtain. He drew in a deep breath before he stepped out from behind it, taking care to straighten the sash that crossed his full heart.

Suddenly, something slammed against his chest, and then searing pain knifed through him. He fell to the floor, opened his eyes and saw a blade lying next to him.

Rolling to his back, darkness already starting to obscure his vision, he saw the silhouette of a man opening the curtain and walking away.

“Elizabeth!” he called out weakly.

Elizabeth was standing outside of her box, smoothing her hair and gown before entering,
when she thought she heard Sumner call out to her.

She stepped into her box and sat down on the bench. Still, she felt uneasy. Leaning forward, she watched for Sumner. But he did not come.

His cousin shot a meaningful glance at her, to which she shook her head. Whitevale leapt from his seat and rushed from the box.

Something was wrong. Had Sumner indeed called out for her?

Elizabeth rose, tore from her box and raced down the passage. When she arrived at the end, Whitevale was holding Sumner in his arms.

Blood dripped down the brilliant medals pinned to Sumner’s coat and was already saturating the blue sash at his chest.

“Get Sir Henry!” Whitevale shouted.

“Sir Henry? But—” Elizabeth stammered.

“He needs a physician! Go.”

She whirled around, caught up her skirts and ran up the passage.

Mr. Manton was standing outside the royal box. “What is it? Can I help?”

“Yes,
please
. The end of the passage. The prince has been injured.” Without another word, Elizabeth entered the box and grabbed Sir Henry’s lapel. “Come with me now,” she
ordered. She yanked hard and he stood, but would not move a step more.

“Miss Royle, you are making a spectacle of us both,” Sir Henry protested. A hush washed over the audience, and even the actors on stage did not move as they watched the display in the box.

“Come with me now.” Elizabeth tried to pull him forward.

“I demand to know why,” he said loudly, surely for the benefit of those around them.

“Because someone has tried to kill Prince Leopold!” she shouted back, not caring who heard or what they thought of her. Her prince needed help.

Princess Charlotte screamed from the neighboring box, and the audience roared with panic as word of the attack spread through the theatre.

At last Sir Henry relented and came with her. Elizabeth hurried him down the dark passage. When they reached the two men, Sir Henry knelt beside the prince.

Grabbing his hand before Sir Henry could touch the prince, Elizabeth looked him dead in the eye. “You will do what is right, Sir Henry. You
will
save him. You will.”

Berkeley Square

E
lizabeth paced the parlor with unforgiving force, shaking the letter she held in the air before her. “It has been days upon days, Anne, and still, all I have is this note from Whitevale telling me that the prince will survive. Nothing more,” she said, her voice quavering. She shoved the short missive toward her sister, then sat down upon the settee.

Anne took the letter and raised it to her eyes. She rose and took over pacing for Elizabeth. When she finished reading, she let her hand fall to her side. “It says that what might have been a killing thrust of the blade was deflected by the medals upon his chest. The
wound is deep but superficial. His life is no longer in danger.” She furrowed her brow. “What do you mean this is all you have? The report is very, very good. He was very fortunate, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth nodded dumbly, then covered her eyes with a shaking hand. A sob slipped through her lips.

“He will recover, Lizzy. La, you should be in the highest of spirits.” Anne sat down on the settee beside her. “Why do you grieve so?”

“Because of this.” She reached out and pulled a folded newspaper from the tea table. “A source for the
Times
claims that the two attempts on Prince Leopold’s life were directed by a faction within Parliament that supports a union between Princess Charlotte and William of Orange.” She peered at Anne. “It is all about political advantage and power, isn’t it?”

“I think it fairly obvious that it’s in England’s best interest to secure the most advantageous union for the princess. The support for Silly Billy has always been strong—even you must be aware of that. The Prince of Wales himself is even reported to back a marriage between Princess Charlotte and the Dutchman.” Anne sighed. “I am afraid England will not gain much from a marriage between Princess Char
lotte and Prince Leopold—though the prince will stand to gain much.”

“You mean, it is his duty to make advantageous marriage for the good of Saxe-Coburg.” Elizabeth sniffled, not wanting her sister to confirm her statement.

“I did not say that, but nor can I deny it.” Anne hugged her sister to her. “Lizzy, I am so sorry about what has been happening while we were away. We returned from Brighton the moment I saw your name printed in the newspaper. You can imagine how frightened I was that something had happened to you as well, but that it was not reported because of the high standing of the others involved.”

“I know you, Anne. And I am sorry you felt the need to return from your honeymoon because of me. You did ask me not to pursue the prince.” The edges of Elizabeth’s lips turned downward. “I should have listened to the spirit of your warning, rather than the imperative I heard in your words. And now, see what happened to the prince. All because of me.”

Anne took Elizabeth’s shoulders and turned them so that she faced her. “What happened to the prince was not your fault.”

Elizabeth began to sob harder. “Yes, it was.
He would not have been alone in the darkness had it not been for me.”

“What are you prattling on about, Lizzy?” Anne squeezed her shoulders as if to force a reply. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I had been with him only a moment before it happened. He was calming me down, kissing me, and telling me that he loved me.” She buried her eyes on Anne’s shoulder. “It is all my fault.”

“Lizzy.” Anne moved Elizabeth away and focused a concerned gaze on her. “I think you must tell me about what happened while I was gone. Everything.”

And so for the next two hours, while Great-aunt Prudence slept soundly in her chair, Elizabeth confessed everything, from Almack’s, to Cranbourne Lodge and the river trail, to Sir Henry’s ghoulish dinner party, the crosshatch insignia, and the Drury Lane Theatre. She left nothing out, though as she recounted the outrageous events of days past and witnessed Anne’s increasingly shocked expressions, she wished she’d omitted one or two things.

When she was finished, Elizabeth felt completely drained in both body and spirit.

Anne blew a long breath through pursed lips. “I—I hardly know what to say, Lizzy.”

“Just tell me what to do. Please,” Elizabeth beseeched her.

“That, I cannot do. From what you tell me, he loves you—but that even he claims that his duty must come first.” Anne squeezed Elizabeth’s hand and stood. “Logic tells me that he must marry the princess if her father consents to the match. It is for the greater good.”

“But what does your heart tell you?”

Anne gave a sad smile. “That sometimes your dreams do come true…and that this dream deserves a little more time. Wait for him, Lizzy. Talk to him. You will know what to do when the time to act comes.”

Minutes later Elizabeth watched through the window as her sister walked out to the pavers and stepped into the gleaming town carriage that awaited her.

Wait
, Anne had said. If only it were that easy.

Three days later Elizabeth decided she had waited long enough. Her patience was spent. After all, a full fortnight had passed and surely the prince could receive a visitor by now.

She dressed in a white cambric walking dress trimmed at the hem with treble flounces of French work that swished nicely when she
walked. On her head, she placed a white satin bonnet, topped with white plume, that tied prettily with a celestial blue ribbon.

It was no coincidence that the dress she chose gave the faintest impression of bridal innocence, but to mute the effect, she draped around her shoulders a blue silk twill mantle with lilies of the valley embroidered at each end with shaded silks.

Luck seemed to be on her side that day, for a hackney had dropped a passenger not three doors from her great-aunt’s house, and she was able to secure the driver’s service without ever risking a speck of dust on her splendid ensemble.

When the hackney reached Curzon Street, she asked the driver to wait, in the event the prince was unable to receive her, but when she inquired about the prince’s condition at the front door, Sir Henry’s butler led her directly into the parlor to wait.

Only, it was not the prince who greeted her. A looming shadow fell over Elizabeth, giving her a fresh sense of foreboding. It was none other than Sir Henry himself.

“I am so pleased you have come to call, Miss Royle,” he said, moving quickly across the parlor toward her.

Elizabeth sat up straight, realizing too late there was no retreat for her. He stood directly over her, too close for her to stand. “Sir Henry. I have come to inquire about the health of the prince. Is he well?”

“When I last saw him, a week ago, he was doing very well. There was no infection, and the wound was binding nicely.”

Elizabeth blinked up at the baronet. “Excuse me, but did you say…a week ago?”

“I did.” Sir Henry condescended to step back from her at last, but the change in position was not for the better because he took his seat next to her on the settee. “He and Whitevale were installed at Carlton House recently. You did not know?”

“Obviously, sir, I did not, else I would not have disturbed you.” Elizabeth glanced around Sir Henry, plotting her escape.

“I am glad you did, Miss Royle, for I should like to talk more with you…about your father and some unbelievable tales I’ve heard of late.”

Elizabeth’s stomach clenched. She had to extract what information she could from the baronet, then go away as soon as possible. “You did say that the prince and Whitevale were installed at Carlton House…at the invitation of the Prince of Wales, I assume?”

“Oh, my dear Miss Royle. Then you truly have not heard.” He grinned cockily. “After the attack on the prince, Princess Charlotte immediately charged the Prime Minister with an ultimatum to be communicated to her father.”

“
An ultimatum
—to the Prince Regent?” Elizabeth did not wish to hear any more, but she had to stay, in the event the report was not as damning to her fate as she anticipated.

“Oh, yes. She was quite emboldened by the threat to Leopold’s life. As I am sure you, yourself, understand all too well.”

Elizabeth fought off a daggered glare. “Please, Sir Henry. Tell me about the ultimatum.”

“Very well, dear. Lord Liverpool was to advise Prinny that the attempt on Prince Leopold’s life was believed to be made by supporters of a union between her and William of Orange—a cause the Regent himself openly backed. Therefore, in consideration of Prince Leopold’s safety, the princess demanded that the Prime Minister advise her father that she has selected Prince Leopold as her husband. If the Prince Regent rejected his name, she would not consider another, and will remain for all her years a spinster.”

Elizabeth swallowed hard. “And how did the Regent respond to this…ultimatum?”

“No one knows for certain, of course. Though the Prince of Wales did command that the prince be moved to Carlton House until Prince Leopold returns to Paris.” In a very bold and ill-mannered gesture, he patted Elizabeth’s knee, completely disregarding her squeal of disapproval. “Now, perhaps he did this to ensure the prince’s safety. Perhaps the Regent simply wished to become more familiar with the nobleman who may someday marry his daughter. Either way, the prince has the Regent’s interest now, doesn’t he? I believe a wedding between Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold is inevitable. Do you not agree, Miss Royle?”

Elizabeth leapt from the settee, meaning to quit Sir Henry’s presence immediately, but he was too quick and caught her wrist.

She tugged against him. “Do release me, Sir Henry.”

“I wouldn’t dream of you leaving so soon, my dear Miss Royle, not when we have so much more to discuss.”

“I have nothing to discuss with
you
.” Elizabeth twisted her wrist but could not free herself.

“That is where we disagree, we have
much
to talk about…beginning with your mention of
laudanum bottles your father had and your belief that I had some connection to them.”

“Let her go, sir.” Mr. Manton stood in the doorway. “The lady wishes to leave.”

“Manton. I didn’t expect you back so soon.” Sir Henry released Elizabeth’s arm and she jettisoned toward the doorway, where Mr. Manton stood.

Mr. Manton lifted Elizabeth’s wrist and peered down at it. “Are you injured at all, Miss Royle?”

She shook her head vigorously. “No, not at all. I just…must leave now.”

“Please allow me to accompany you home,” he said gallantly.

Elizabeth gave a hunted glance over her shoulder at Sir Henry before replying to Mr. Manton. “I thank you kindly, Mr. Manton, but I have a hackney driver awaiting my return. Good day, Mr. Manton.” She smiled at the young man as she curtsied, then withdrew her hand from his gentle grip. Turning quickly, she dashed into the entry hall and bolted through the front door, ignoring Sir Henry entirely.