How to Propose to a Prince (15 page)

“No, it is a
great
something. He and the princess only need that gargoyle Prinny’s consent.” She poked a bony finger into Elizabeth’s knee to make her point.

“He won’t marry her,” Elizabeth insisted.

“He will. It is his duty to his country.”

Elizabeth was stunned. “Why did you mention…‘his duty’?”

“Because that is the way of it with men, especially those trained in the military. It is always the way.” Great-aunt Prudence leaned forward and tapped her finger on the small book upon Elizabeth’s lap. “Open it. There is a card inside.”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure what Prudence was about, but she did as directed and opened the book. In the center she found an invitation and a dried, faded rose bloom. She looked up at Prudence’s all too serious face. “I don’t understand.”

Turning her eyes downward to the yellowed card in her hand, she began to read. It was an invitation to a wedding breakfast, to celebrate the union of Miss Prudence Smythe and the Honorable Mr. Clarence Winks. She raised her eyes to look at her aunt for further explanation.

Prudence’s faded blue eyes were filled with tears, but not a single one breached her lashes. “He went off to battle that summer. It was his
duty
, he told me. And then he was killed exactly one year later in the battle for Quebec City, alongside his men, and General Wolfe himself.”

Elizabeth felt tears rush into her own eyes. “And you have been—”

“Alone, ever since.” She forced a smile of strength. “That is, until you and your sisters came to stay with me.” She squeezed Elizabeth’s hand as best she could. “What I want you to understand is that while our men will love us with all their hearts, when it comes to a matter of love or duty for country, a man’s honor will always force him to choose…
duty.
”

An aching tightness clutched at Elizabeth’s heart. Quickly, before she dissolved into tears, she carefully settled the card and the rose between the pages of the book and returned it to her great-aunt.

“Thank you for telling me this,” Elizabeth began, her voice breaking, “but I have to believe we will be together in the end. I cannot endure a lifetime without him. I simply cannot.”

Curzon Street
Residence of Sir Henry Halford

The dinner planned by Sir Henry was more intimate than Elizabeth had anticipated. No one from the Royal College of Physicians was present, as he had told both her and Gallantine when he first offered his invitation at Almack’s.

And no one, except for Sir Henry, and possibly his protégé Mr. Manton, seemed content with the seating order.

Lord Gallantine sat at one end of the great rectangular table, which seemed to greatly annoy him due to his inability to hear Sir Henry, who sat at the other end. Elizabeth was seated between the prince’s cousin, Whitevale, and Mr. Manton, while Sumner and Lady Upperton sat directly across from them.

“It is no secret, Miss Royle, that rumors abound through Society that you and your sisters might be the illegitimate daughters of the Prince of Wales and Maria Fitzherbert.”

Elizabeth fairly lurched in her chair. Sir Henry seemed to have no idea that he was labeling her a bastard at the dinner table.

“There are many who maintain that Prinny and Mrs. Fitzherbert were married, Sir Henry.” Lord Gallantine tightened his grip so strongly
around his knife that the blood seemed to drain from his hand. “Some have seen proof of that union.”

Elizabeth forced a smile. “You knew my father, Sir Henry. He was a royal surgeon, like you.”

“Yes, yes, but the
story
,” Sir Henry prodded, “is there any evidence to support it? Rumor has it that Royle had proof of some sort.”

Lady Upperton’s expression left no doubt to Elizabeth that she did not like the direction the conversation had taken. “Sir Henry, please think about the implications of your questions. Miss Royle is a guest in your home this night.”

Sir Henry grimaced, then applied a slick, oily smile to his lips. “I do beg your pardon, Miss Royle. The people do love a good story, true or not.”

“Yes, they do, Sir Henry,” Sumner answered. “But, I think I speak for most of us in this room this eve, gossip holds no place in educated society.”

Sir Henry blanched slightly, and then his expression changed abruptly. “I prefer true stories of excitement, myself.” He looked to Elizabeth quite suddenly. “Care for some salt, Miss Royle?” he asked. His heavy left eyebrow twitched in anticipation.

“No, thank you,” Elizabeth replied, thinking in all her life no host had ever suggested she salt her food.

“Are you certain?”

“Quite.” It was then that Elizabeth noticed that, unlike the other silver salt cellars at each guest’s setting, hers was white, and while round, was not perfectly formed.

Sir Henry’s gazed remained focused on Elizabeth, completely unnerving her. Finally, when it seemed that if she did not sample the salt he would not ever remove his attention from her, she lifted her hand to reach for the spoon in the cellar.

Mr. Manton’s left hand shot out and caught hers. Then, gently, he pressed her palm to the table. “Please don’t, Miss Royle.”

Elizabeth saw Sumner’s back straighten and his brow draw low the moment Manton touched her. For a brief instant she thought he would leap across the table for Manton, but he did nothing more. She turned and looked at Manton questioningly.

Sir Henry laughed aloud. “Now, now, Manton, you are spoiling my fun.”

“If you continued, sir, I do not think Miss Royle would sleep at all this night,” Manton replied sternly.

“Oh, I doubt that. Our Miss Royle was brave enough to attempt to save the prince’s life.” He leaned forward and seemed to be addressing Elizabeth alone. “I seriously doubt she would cringe from touching
a bone.
”

“A bone?” Elizabeth’s eyes shifted to the salt cellar. “Is that…oh, heavens, it cannot be.” She looked at Sir Henry. “Is that…a vertebra?”

Sir Henry’s eyebrows formed a hairy hillock. “She is Royle’s daughter, isn’t she, Manton? You have a keen medical eye. Indeed it is, Miss Royle—a human cervical vertebra.”

“Oh, dear God!” Lady Upperton squealed, covering her mouth with her hands. “Why would you place such a thing on the table and before our young Elizabeth?”

Sir Henry lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “Because I suspected she might be fascinated by what I will admit to you all next. But you must swear not to tell a living soul my secret.” He looked around at everyone at the table and awaited their nods, which were given by all but one. Sumner merely rolled his eyes, which, it seemed, was good enough for Sir Henry, who looked to Mr. Manton and gestured for him to begin.

Manton sighed in annoyance. “In 1649, Charles
the First was beheaded and buried in the same vault as the great Henry the Eighth. The coffins, however, were lost—until two years ago, when they were rediscovered and the Prince of Wales demanded that an autopsy be performed to confirm the identity of the skeletons. The autopsies were performed by Sir Henry.” Manton exhaled. He tightened his fist upon the table. His hand began to shake. “Sir, you must finish the retelling for I will not be party to horrifying the ladies.”

“Very well, if you are unable to continue.” Sir Henry glowered at Mr. Manton. “As luck would have it, I was left alone with the remains for a good deal of time before the coffins were sealed again. I was able to confirm the identities…but I was also able to secretly steal a single bone—payment for my services, if you will.” He tilted his nose toward the salt cellar. “Charles the First’s cervical vertebra, which, as you can see for yourselves, has been cleanly sliced by an ax.”

Lady Upperton’s face grew very pale and she began madly fanning herself with her serviette.

“Makes for a lovely salt cellar. Do you not agree, Miss Royle?” Sir Henry grinned at her.

Lady Upperton’s eyelids began to twitch and
her eyes looked as though they would roll back in her head. Her head lolled suddenly and she fell forward, her forehead hitting the table’s edge.

Elizabeth leapt from the table and raced around past Lord Gallantine to reach her. By the time she did, Sumner had already lifted Lady Upperton’s small, unconscious body into his arms.

“I will take her to the parlor and allow her to rest on the settee, if I may,” he said. Without waiting, he charged from the dining room, with Elizabeth trailing behind.

Elizabeth was kneeling at Lady Upperton’s side when Mr. Manton rushed into the parlor a moment later with a dampened napkin from Sir Henry’s table in his hand. She stepped out of his way and allowed the young physician to see to her.

He gave her a cursory examination and then sighed with relief. “Not to worry, Miss Royle. She’s only fainted,” he said soothingly.

“So, she will recover soon.” Elizabeth gazed worriedly up at Mr. Manton.

“Oh, yes, yes. I have seen Sir Henry cause this same reaction in other ladies at least a dozen times before. I’ve counseled him against doing this time and time again. A vinaigrette
will bring her around fully. I shall fetch one presently.” With that, he hurried from the parlor, leaving Elizabeth and Sumner standing over Lady Upperton.

The moment he was gone, Sumner reached out for Elizabeth. “Will you meet me at the Serpentine tomorrow at sunset? Where we met my cousin and the princess—you know the place. We must talk.”

Elizabeth nodded fervently. “Yes, but why—”

Sumner grabbed her into his arms and kissed her, with a desperation borne of need.

Suddenly, from outside the door, they heard the clink and roll of something dropping on the floor. A few moments later Manton entered the room with a vinaigrette bottle in his hand. “Forgive my delay. The vial slipped from my fingers to the floor, then rolled under a table. Didn’t break, however.”

Lady Upperton’s eyes were half open, but a quick wave or two of the pungent vinaigrette fully revived her immediately. “Please, take that away,’ she snapped, swatting at Manton’s vial.

“I shall, Lady Upperton, but please keep the cloth upon your forehead for a while longer,” he advised. “A small bump is rising, nothing to
worry over. You thumped your head on the table’s edge, I am afraid.”

She looked up at Elizabeth. “You’re a good dear. Fetch Gallantine, will you? I am afraid my head pains me and I should like to return to my home. You will join me in the carriage, won’t you, sweeting?”

“I will, Lady Upperton, I am sure by
tomorrow evening
, if not before, you will be completely yourself again.” Elizabeth flashed a quick glance at Sumner, and shot him a slight nod. “I shall inform Lord Gallantine as to our amended plans for the evening. Please excuse me, Your Royal Highness, Mr. Manton.” She dipped a curtsy to each, and then hurried back to the dining room.

She tried to hide the confident smile that tugged at her lips as she made their excuses to Sir Henry and informed Lord Gallantine of their early departure from Curzon Street.

It was even more difficult a feat to conceal her joy as the carriage conveyed them both home, for Lady Upperton’s ability to read a face was second only to Lord Lotharian’s.

Still, the lady’s nerves were in frays and tatters after Sir Henry’s ghoulish game, and she seemed not the least aware that Elizabeth’s demeanor had changed at all.

But it had. For after Sumner’s passionate kiss, Elizabeth knew that before the glittering waters of the Serpentine tomorrow night, Sumner would tell her that his only duty was…to their love.

Hyde Park
Rotten Row

“T
his isn’t wise, Leopold.” Sumner reined his horse protectively closer to the prince’s as they guided their mounts down Rotten Row through the thick fog. It was if the clouds had descended from the sky and settled eerily upon the road. “We can too easily be taken unaware.”

“I can’t stay corked up inside any longer,” the prince replied flatly. “Aside from sitting in Sir Henry’s parlor, riding at this early hour through this miasma of gray is probably the safest place I could possibly be. If we cannot see the approach of another, I doubt we can be seen, either.”

“But we can be heard. You are so close to se
curing this match. Why do you risk all by needlessly venturing out?” Sumner knew that his frustration with Leopold was plain in his voice, and he did not try to conceal it. He was putting a halt to his life while Leopold worked to diplomatically manipulate this marriage to a woman he did not love.

“I cannot abide living like a prisoner during my stay in London.”

“Then let us return to Paris.” Sumner knew it was too much to hope for Leopold to leave before the Prince of Wales had given him a nod, formal or encouraging, but he had to try. “In Paris, you will be free to roam the streets while conducting the remainder of the campaign through dispatches.”

“I cannot, because nothing is resolved. Nothing!” Leopold was silent for several moments after that, his chest heaving and laboring with his clear agitation. “I have taken a box at the Drury Lane Theatre for tonight,” he finally said brusquely. “We shall be attending. I will not hear any argument to the contrary.”

Leopold’s voice was firm and steady. He was not suggesting a night at the theatre. He had already planned it.

“Tonight?” Sumner tensed. “You cannot consider this.”

“Yes, tonight.” There was a curtness to the prince’s manner he had never seen except in the heat of battle. “I understand the implications for my security. But I must go. Charlotte will be in attendance. I have no choice.”

“You cannot appear in public with the princess. It is far too dangerous.” And it was, but there was more to his position against attending the theatre that night. Sumner had spent the night before girding himself, rehearsing, for the uncomfortable task of admitting his true identity to Elizabeth this very evening.

It was true that Leopold’s security needs had not altered, nor had Sumner’s own sworn loyalty and responsibility to the prince.

What was about to change was Elizabeth’s need to trust him, to believe with all her heart that he would return for her despite appearances to the contrary.

But, for her to put such great faith in him, he must put his trust in her first, and admit that he was not Prince Leopold at all, but his cousin, sworn to protect him at all costs during the increasingly dangerous campaign to secure a union between England and Saxe-Coburg.

It had taken a good measure of time, but ultimately he had come to the conclusion that
perhaps if Elizabeth knew his true duty, her heart would not be broken each time the
Times
reported movement in the romance of Prince Leopold and Princess Charlotte. And that she would understand that soon the prince must leave for Paris—but that he would return for her. As he had promised.

“I realize the danger. Charlotte will not be viewing the performance with me, but will be ensconced in a neighboring box within view. I will exchange glances of wistful longing with her. Nothing more.”

“You are risking much for no gain.” Sumner huffed at the very idea of the prince and princess trading moon-eyed glances—at the risk of the prince’s life.

“The gain will be great, if I am successful.” Leopold nudged his mount into a fast trot. “My intent is to provoke Charlotte into confronting her father about marriage.”

Sumner drew his horse alongside, matching his mount’s stride to the prince’s gelding. “Do you think it wise to do this so soon?”

“I cannot wait any longer. I am not blind to the fact that Princess Charlotte is entirely infatuated with me…just as she was with several others over the past years. I must use her passionate feelings for me now, before they fade.”

Sumner fell silent.

Leopold drew back on the reins. His gelding’s bit and bridle jingled as the prince pulled his mount to a prancing halt. “My cousin, you are like my brother. I understand what I am asking you to do. By standing in for me, posing as Prince Leopold, your life could be in jeopardy.”

“And yet you ask me to do it.”

“I do.” Leopold looked down at the wet earthen trail. “Saxe-Coburg was plundered by Napoleon because we lacked the strength and power to defend it. A marriage to Princess Charlotte will merge our families—and Saxe-Coburg will never be too small or powerless to defend itself again. I do not ask you to do this because you are my cousin, my blood kin. I do not ask you because no one else could impersonate me so well as you. I ask you to do this because I can trust you, above all, to do your duty to Saxe-Coburg. You are a soldier, my brother in arms.”

“I know my duty.”

“I know.”

“The fog is lifting. We should return to Curzon Street,” he said to Leopold, his words a cold and deliberate command. “If we are to attend the theatre this night, I must note all occurrences and contingencies, then prepare.”

As the two reined their mounts around, Sumner noticed that Leopold was smiling. “Is there something else I should know about this eve?”

“Oh yes, there is one thing of note.” Leopold lifted his eyebrows most innocently. “I have anonymously reserved the box to our left for Lady Upperton, Miss Royle, and Lord Gallantine—though I took care to ask Mercer to admit to the graciousness.”

Sumner stared at Leopold. “You didn’t.”

“Thought you might wish to know…contingency planning, you know.” Leopold laughed, then brought his crop down upon his horse’s flank and charged down Rotten Row.

Berkeley Square

“Lady Upperton, I cannot go to the theatre with you and the Old Rakes this evening.” Elizabeth paced the parlor, her arms wrapped around herself in a tight hug. “I must refuse…I have another engagement.”

“Well, dove, unless you give me a fair and reasonable explanation why you must refuse this invitation, I fear you must break your engagement,” Lady Upperton warned. “It is by invitation of none other than Miss Margaret
Mercer Elphinstone that our party has been provided a box at the performance this eve. Is it impossible for you to imagine that it is not she who truly wished that you attend the performance, but rather the princess, who is graciously extending an olive branch to you?”

Elizabeth spun around and looked critically at her sponsor. “How have you come to this conclusion? You told me that the card was not signed.”

“It wasn’t. But when I sent my footman around to inquire as to owner of the box, I was informed Miss Elphinstone held the subscription.”

“Mercer is a dear.” Elizabeth unfolded her arms. “She might have sent the invitation because she felt sorry over the way I was dismissed by the princess when the entire inciting event was in no way my fault.”

“Yes, that might be one explanation except for one thing—the card noted that both Prince Leopold and Princess Charlotte will be present at this performance.” Lady Upperton swung her short legs back and forth from the edge of the settee.

Elizabeth stopped pacing. “Prince Leopold will be at the Drury Lane Theatre this night?” Not at the Serpentine…where he had asked her to meet him?

“Yes, the prince as well as Princess Charlotte. Did I not make myself heard, gel?”

Elizabeth glanced down at Lady Upperton. What was the meaning of this? Had he changed his mind about her, or had he simply been unable to extricate himself from an invitation to the performance from the princess? Filled with nerves, Elizabeth bit into her lower lip.

Either way, Mercer had taken care to include the mention of the prince—and the princess—attending. Perhaps he bade her to do it. A message for her that he could not meet her at the Serpentine as planned. It was a possibility.

And that possibility, she had to cling to.

“Very well then, Lady Upperton,” Elizabeth relented, “I shall happily join you and the gentlemen at the theatre this night.”

While there, she would make it her mission to speak with Sumner. She would find a way if it killed her.

Drury Lane Theatre

Elizabeth leaned forward on the bench seat and peered as best she could down the tier of private boxes. The light from the chandeliers above was low, making discerning any individual’s features almost impossible.

Her prince, dressed in formal military attire, and given his remarkable height, would stand out from the waves of gentlemen all dressed so similarly in their dark coats and tails, and starched white neck cloths. Only, she did not see him anywhere.

She leaned close to Lord Lotharian, who never missed anything. “Have you seen the princess…or the prince, for that matter? The play is about to begin and I have not seen either party arrive.”

“And you shall not, until the play does begin.” Lotharian gestured to two grand empty boxes a short distance away. “They will no doubt take their seats there or perhaps in that box beside it. It is a precaution for safety, that is all, so I would not elevate your hopes.”

“Elevate my hopes?” Elizabeth crinkled her nose. “I do not know what you mean.”

“Why, that Princess Charlotte does not arrive. I know seeing her here, especially in the company of the prince, will be most difficult for you.”

“I do not give a fig if the princess enjoys the play this evening or not. The prince’s attendance is my only interest.” Elizabeth placed her gloved hand on the rail and peered at the rows of the-atregoers below. Then, lazily, she allowed her
gaze to drift to the box just to the right of their own. “Oh, Zeus,” she whispered harshly. “
He
is here.”

Lady Upperton caught the railing with both her hands and rose up from the bench to see past Elizabeth. “Who, dear?”

“Sir Henry. He is just taking his seat.”

“Who did you say? I cannot hear you, gel.” Lady Upperton bent over the rail.

“Shh.
Sir Henry
.” Elizabeth tipped her head to the right. “Just there.”

“Dear, no one can hear what you are saying, especially me. There is far too much audience chatter.” Lady Upperton raised her mother-of-pearl opera glasses and peered where Elizabeth had gestured. “Oh, yes, and he is with that dear Mr. Manton, too. He has such a kind heart, that young man.” Lady Upperton grasped Elizabeth’s wrist. “Did I tell you that Mr. Manton had sent a note that they would be attending this night?”

“No.” Elizabeth grimaced. “I am sure I would remember had you told me that.”

“Mr. Manton inquired upon his card if he might call before the play to be sure I was well after the incident…with that horrid bone salt cellar.”

Elizabeth turned on the bench to face her
sponsor. “And did he? Surely, Sir Henry did not dare to set foot upon your doorstep.”

“No, neither did. There was no need. I returned a card letting them know that we would be here. Pity that Sir Henry has come tonight as well, but I suspected he would.” From her beaded reticule she withdrew a folded cloth and handed it to Elizabeth. “At interval, would you please return this napkin to Sir Henry? I cannot endure having anything to do with that man, and this cloth is a reminder of the dinner and his unctuous manner.”

While Elizabeth had no desire to engage Sir Henry at all, she had to concede that Lady Upperton had endured the worst of last evening, and so she agreed and set the napkin on her lap until the interval.

The orchestra in the pit below began to play, and Edmund Keane stepped onto the stage, to be greeted by the deafening roar of rousing applause.

Elizabeth turned her head to the right, to see, just as Lotharian had predicted, the prince and his cousin, Whitevale, entering the box to her right and taking their places before Sir Henry and Mr. Manton.

Elizabeth leaned forward to see past Lord Lotharian to the prince. Just then, Sumner,
looking so utterly handsome in his dark blue coat and cerulean sash that Elizabeth felt her heart swell, touched his lips, pretending to cough, and turned his hand toward her.

Twin blooms of heat rose into her cheeks, and she cast her eyes demurely downward. When she looked up, Mr. Manton was watching her. He gave her a warm smile, to which she politely tipped her head in acknowledgment, and then returned her gaze to her handsome Sumner once more.

Only a minute later Princess Charlotte, Mercer, and several older women—whom Elizabeth took to be Charlotte’s aunts—entered the box to the right of the prince’s. She took her seat in a cushioned chair, obviously placed there for her use, then leaned forward and smiled at the prince, who paid her absolutely no heed.

Elizabeth was elated. His gesture of touching his lips and tossing it to her—not Princess Charlotte—had told her everything. He did not wish to dispatch her in favor of the princess. The theatre event had merely made their meeting at the Serpentine impossible this night. It was clear by his ignoring Charlotte’s attentions in the box next to his that he had made his choice.

He had chosen her.

Elizabeth’s heart was dancing. She could not
wait to speak with him, lud, even accidentally brushing against him would be worth waiting through the entire tiresome performance on stage.

The play seemed to last an eternity, and though the audience quite enjoyed Keane’s expressive dramatics, Elizabeth waited impatiently for the interval.

She tapped Sir Henry’s napkin on her lap, then, in her boredom, shook it from its folds and set about refolding it again. In one corner she felt a small lump beneath her gloved fingertip.

Elizabeth glanced up to see if Princess Charlotte looked her way. The princess had propped both her arms on the rail and was turned completely in the direction of the prince’s box, smiling sappily. Her devotion to him was blatantly obvious to all.

Elizabeth’s finger distractedly worried over the lump on the napkin. Raising her eyes toward the stage, she did not dare do something so ill-mannered as to lift the cloth to her eyes to see what it was she was feeling, especially if the gift of the theatre box this evening was indeed provided as an offering of apology from Princess Charlotte. Instead, she slipped her glove from her hand and traced the raised stitching
with her fingertip. She felt two sets of parallel lines that intersected.