How to Propose to a Prince (9 page)

Elizabeth was left wondering if he had returned to Paris, or even Coburg, depending on the severity of his wound.

Either way, her dream, her vivid vision of
their eventual marriage, was rapidly becoming naught but a wishful fantasy fading into the wind with each passing hour.

When the day of her dreaded departure for Cranbourne Lodge arrived, her hopes for a reunion with her prince had all but vanished.

Cherie had packed a portmanteau with necessities, and saw that her trunks were strapped atop the carriage. To Elizabeth’s embarrassment, two hefty trunks had been required, for Lady Upperton had taken it upon herself to see that that the gowns Mrs. Devy had been engaged earlier to create would be delivered before her departure—even though seven additional seamstresses had to be employed to complete the sewing.

Elizabeth’s only task had been to rest so she would be invigorated when called upon to serve the princess. Even now, she had still no clue as to what her service would entail, which was more than a little disconcerting.

After a bumpy three hour journey from London, the carriage bearing her and all of her worldly belongings rounded the last curve in the road, and Cranbourne Lodge came into view at last.

Elizabeth gasped to think she was actually to reside in such an imposing structure.

The grand, pale-hued house seemed to absorb the golden afternoon sun, transforming the lodge’s massive tower into a column of gold. She strained her neck in her attempt to see the top of the tower from the window, and when she did see it at last, imagined that were she to stand atop of it, she would be able to view London, some twenty miles distant.

It didn’t appear to be such a bad place to spend one’s day, if that was what you wished—though she did not—for Cranbourne Lodge was pleasantly situated, not far from Windsor Castle, at the edge of an overgrown ancient garden flanked by the lushness of Windsor Forest. Its beauty and history was unquestionable.

Being afforded the opportunity to come to know Princess Charlotte was an unimaginable gift…had she still wanted it.

To live like a princess, to be free of dreary household responsibilities and the task of caring for her family, had been her grandest dream since the moment she and her sisters arrived in London. And now that dream was coming true.

Elizabeth could only discern one problem with being at here at Cranbourne Lodge, and that was that her prince was not.

Nor was the princess, it seemed. Princess
Charlotte had gone to Windsor to visit her aunts and the queen, and was not expected to return to Cranbourne Lodge until late that evening.

Elizabeth wondered if the queen knew she was here. Princess Charlotte, Elizabeth assumed, must have heard the rumors swirling the
ton
about the Royle sisters’ lineage—and then realized, if she believed the story, that she and the Royles were half sisters. The princess knowing of her possible blood connection would at least explain her interest in a commoner from Cornwall. And what better poker to torture her powerful father with than his bastard?

Elizabeth grimaced. Even if Princess Charlotte knew who she was, or could be, the queen must not—assuming her father’s story was authentic. If it was true, the queen was oblivious to the fact that the sisters had survived despite her and Lady Jersey’s best efforts. Or the queen simply did not know that she was at Cranbourne. There was far too much at risk for her granddaughter, Princess Charlotte, to spend time with one of the babes the queen tried to kill to protect her son’s future claim on the Crown.

Elizabeth considered what her stay at Cranbourne Lodge might bring. A sighting of the queen herself? A meeting? She lingered on the thought.

Just one formal introduction to the queen, one moment for the queen to truly realize who she was, and Elizabeth was convinced she would know the truth of the matter instantly by the look in the woman’s eyes.

Only, were such a collection of moments possible, she did not know if she could endure meeting the gaze of the woman who would have seen her dead.

Elizabeth shook off the chilling thought. No matter the reason she had been summoned to Cranbourne Lodge, good or bad, she had been properly looked after. She had been situated in a small but comfortable room with an arched window and sweeping views of a verdant meadow, currently dotted with small rabbits munching on the new grass.

Already it had occurred to her that time moved at a dreadfully slow pace here.

To occupy herself, she worked alongside a lady’s maid to unpack her trunks and shake her new gowns from their travel folds. She fidgeted with the coiled locks of hair concealing her scabbed-over wound, and then laid out her powders, perfume, pins, and brushes on the dressing table.

Then, with nothing else to do, Elizabeth decided to venture down to the stables and bor
row a horse from one of the grooms. It would be most diverting to take a short ride around the grounds before the sun set.

Deer lifted their heads from the soft grass and flicked their tails nervously as Elizabeth’s bay trotted down the packed earthen road leading away from Cranbourne Lodge.

For several minutes the thought of riding all the way back to London nagged at her brain. But she knew that doing such an irresponsible thing would fling her into the role of social outcast, and then, were she ever to meet her prince again, a future between them would be impossible. And so she bucked herself up and resigned herself to her temporary duties for the Crown.

The air was warmer than she had expected it would be at this hour of the afternoon. She reined in her horse for a moment to untie her fichu. Whisking it off, she waved it before her face. But the circulation of warm air provided no respite from the close heat.

The pounding of hooves on the road drew her attention, and she yanked the reins and guided her horse under the cover of trees. There, in the distance, advanced a young man atop a huge black gelding.

As he neared, she saw that he wore no neck
cloth. His lawn shirt billowed open, revealing the muscled mounds of his firm chest.

Beads of nervous perspiration erupted at Elizabeth’s hairline as his horse galloped closer, and she dabbed her forehead with her lace fichu as she studied the gentleman’s form. His very familiar form.

He did not wear a coat in the warmth of the summer evening, nor did gold epaulets flutter in the air with each rise and fall of his gelding’s hoofs. No scarlet sash draped over his shoulder to reach down and across to his lean hip.

But still, though he was garbed like the veriest country farmer, she knew him.

He was her prince.

What trick of light is this?

Sumner reined his massive horse to a halt. He raised his hand against the glare of the low hanging sun and squinted his eyes at the figure nearly hidden in the dappled sunlight beneath a mature oak tree.

A tremor pulsed through his muscles. He’d felt the sensation many times before. The excitement when the first cannon fired. When the first rifle sounded, sending his body into motion. When the drums of a grand military procession pounded.

But never at the sight of a woman.

“Miss Royle?” His voice shook, though he thought he had controlled his entirely too visceral reaction to her. “Can it be?”

She nudged her bay forward, leaning over the pommel as she passed beneath a cluster of leafy branches. As her mount fully emerged into the sunlight, Miss Royle straightened her back and smiled. Her cheeks were flushed with rosiness and were glowing, from the heat of the day or perhaps from a vigorous ride, he did not know, but the sight of her stirred something deep within him.

“Are you well?” She looked concerned at first, but then raised her hand and covered her mouth as she laughed softly. “What a daft question. Look at you. You are glorious.” Her horse stepped forward and she lowered her hand and clutched the reins tightly. The smile evaporated from her lips all at once. “Do forgive me, Your Royal Highness. I did not mean…that is to say…you appear to be in glorious health.”

“As do you, Miss Royle.” That was an understatement. She looked beautiful. Even in the heat of the summer, after a ride, she was ravishing. Perfect.

She looked away and muttered something that sounded a lot like “glorious” under her
breath. When she met his gaze again, the curve to her lips was manufactured, clearly born of embarrassment. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness.”

There it was again—
Your Royal Highness
. A twinge of guilt stabbed deeply at his conscience. He wanted to go to her, to confess and explain his reasons behind the charade. But he couldn’t now. He and Leopold had agreed on this point. It had to be this way. For the time being, anyway, for Leopold’s safety as well as Miss Royle’s.

Instinctively, Sumner tightened his legs’ grip on his horse, and it moved forward until their horses’ heads where parallel. “What force from the heavens could have brought forth such a joyful happenstance as meeting you on the road?”

A quick breeze stirred up dry clouds of earthen dust around them, but rather than close her lids against the burst, she met his gaze, her eyes sparkling like glittering emeralds in the afternoon sun. “I do not know whether the heavens had anything to do with this happy turn of events,” she said, a hint of mirth lifting her voice, “though I believe we can perhaps thank Miss Elphinstone for the fortuitous coincidence of our presence at Windsor.”

Sumner’s eyebrows drew close. “What do you mean, Miss Royle?”

She conveniently sidestepped his question momentarily and instead posed her own. “Have you taken lodging at the castle?” She seemed oddly discomfited by the very question she posed, but was evidently somehow compelled to ask it.

“No, of course not. Our presence here…” He lowered his head, and focused ridiculously on a stone near his mount’s right hoof, wishing he could simply tell her. “…is a closely guarded secret.”

“Not so close,” she interjected, “for I stumbled across you, did I not? Is your cousin about?”

Leopold? Why would she ask about him?
His chest tightened. “Why are you here, Miss Royle?” He leaned up in his saddle and glanced around her. “I see no others, no hamper of food to indicate an afternoon sojourn to the country.”

His gelding’s bit and bridle jingled, and he looked down to see his horse nuzzling the neck of Miss Royle’s bay. He felt strangely embarrassed by this. Or perhaps he only wished the riders were doing the same down by the Thames on a blanket, without a care between
them. But propriety and his need to focus on Leopold’s safety prevented it.

“There is no basket; no others.” She turned and glanced up the road. “I am in residence at Cranbourne Lodge. As of today, I am one of Princess Charlotte’s lady’s companions.”

“You are at Cranbourne?” Sumner felt that odd jolt of excitement again.

“Yes, Your Royal Highness, I am.”

Sumner felt a grin of anticipation on his lips. “Then I shall see you this very night.”

Miss Royle lifted her eyebrows in apparent surprise. “My, my, you are a very confident man, aren’t you?”

“Do forgive me, Miss Royle. I meant I would see you…at dinner.” That beguiling blush filled her cheeks again, and for an instant he wished he had been rakish enough, just then, to mean what she had supposed.

So he looked up at him with false coyness. “So may I assume you are lodging…secretly…nearby?”

“You may indeed, secretly, of course, Miss Royle.”

Miss Royle tipped her head in
adieu
. “Good afternoon, Your Royal Highness. I hope we shall speak again very soon.”

Sumner nodded his head to her, and watched
Miss Royle tug at the reins and turn her bay in the direction of Cranbourne Lodge. “We shall, Miss Royle. Of that, I am certain.”

When she disappeared around the bend in the road, he jerked his reins and galloped into the forest.

He had to speak with Leopold.

At once.

Cranbourne Cottage

W
hen Sumner approached the thatch-roofed gamekeeper’s cottage at the edge of Windsor Forest, Leopold was sitting on the window ledge of the upper level to take in the air. Despite the heat, he was wearing a crisp white lawn shirt and a loosely tied cerulean neck cloth, though he’d at least had the good sense to dispense with his coat.

“Bit warm for a neck cloth, Leopold, eh?”

Prince Leopold, who was always as formal in his public attire as with his manner, waved off Sumner’s comment. “Princess Charlotte is near,” his cousin called down from the window.
“I intend to be presentable should she honor me with her company.”

A young groomsman came running toward the cottage, shoving his unruly, sweat-dampened, butter-colored hair from his eyes. Sumner swung his leg over the horse and dismounted, then handed off the gelding to the young man. The groomsman bowed silently, never raising his eyes to Sumner—the prince—or so the lad obviously believed.

Just as it must be.

Just as it had always been—posing as another for the protection of others. It was a sad truth that only two others in this world ever knew Sumner’s true identity…and neither one was Leopold. Even to this day. Leopold believed him to be his cousin, and that was the truth Sumner lived by.

In their youth, they were trained as soldiers together. Leopold studied strategy and history, while pain, brutality, and trials of wit tested Sumner’s body and mind for his eventual position as a warrior in the military. But their paths always ran parallel, and they were at each other’s sides through campaigns and battles.

As they were today.

Sumner waited until the groomsman had trotted the horse clear of the yard before he re
sponded to Leopold. “She shan’t ever come to the cottage, despite her penchant for disobedience. Too risky for her.” He ducked through the entrance and before he closed the plank door behind him, Leopold had appeared at the bottom of the staircase. “Do not look so grief stricken. I met Miss Elphinstone in the glen and all is well. We are to dine with the princess and her companions this very eve—in secret.”

“Her companions? What is this nonsense?” Leopold practically snarled. He walked across the room and sat upon an oak bench beside a front window, thrown wide to catch any small breeze that might bless the cottage on this stifling day. “No one is supposed to know we are here. It could be a matter of life or death—
mine
!”

“I did say that the dinner will be conducted
in secret
. Only a few trusted members of princess’s staff, Miss Elphinstone, and Princess Charlotte know we were provided with refuge here at Cranbourne Lodge.” He paused then. “Oh, and there is one other.” He lifted his eyes to peer at Leopold.

The true prince came to his feet. “Why do you delay? Who is it? Should we be concerned?”

Sumner shook his head. “I think not. It is Miss Elizabeth Royle.”

The surprise was plainly visible in Leopold’s eyes. He said nothing for some moments before speaking again. “Was it…wise to inform her of our presence, Sumner?”

Sumner shrugged his shoulders. “For her sake, I do not know. For your sake, I would venture to say the miss poses no threat.”

Leopold bent at the knees and sat down again.

“But you may decide that for yourself tonight, cousin.”

“She is here?” Leopold sat very still for several seconds, then shook his head slowly. “Why did you ask her here? You know how perilous it is. She has already been shot in the head—simply because of her association with you!”

Sumner raised his hand to halt the prince’s tirade. “I did not ask her to Windsor, and yet she is here. I met her on the road to Cranbourne Lodge only twenty minutes past.”

“How then?” Leopold stretched out his arm and rested in on the windowsill.

“From what I gather, she was engaged by your dear friend, Mercer, as a lady’s companion for Princess Charlotte.”

“Miss Royle—a lady’s companion? Odd choice.” Leopold lowered his arm and rested his elbows on his knees. “The direction surely
came from Princess Charlotte. No one would be asked to join the princess, and most not especially now while we are here, without it being her expressed royal order.”

“Or the Prince Regent’s.” Sumner raised his eyebrows. “Though I think we are in agreement that if the Prince Regent knew anything about Miss Royle, or her sisters, he would not allow her anywhere near his headstrong Charlotte.”

Leopold nodded, then looked quizzically up at Sumner. “Do you think Princess Charlotte knows about her possible kinship with Miss Royle? Or is it that she may have simply detected a fondness on your part for Miss Royle and wished to play matchmaker?”

“I do not doubt that she or Mercer might be driven by a measure of boredom and a wish to play at matchmaking.” Sumner rubbed his chin as he thought about it. “I think it more likely that Princess Charlotte knows exactly who Miss Royle may be, and that, moreover, is why a mere commoner was engaged as companion to the princess.”

Leopold rested his head in his hands momentarily and appeared to consider what Sumner had theorized. He nodded, slowly at first, then faster as he grasped the notion more
tightly. “I believe you have the right of it, Sumner. But my question to you is this—since I am not known but by a very few souls in London, other than by name, very few people in Town know me by sight.”

Sumner agreed and sank into a chair beside the cold hearth. “Everyone at Almack’s seemed to believe I was Prince Leopold. Even Miss Royle, whom I originally introduced myself to as Sumner Lansdowne, Lord Whitevale, believes I am…well,
you
.”

“Exactly.”

“So what is your question, Leopold?”

Raising his index finger, he tapped it in the air several times in Sumner’s direction before continuing. “Why is that?”

“Why is what?” Sumner was becoming increasingly exasperated by Leopold’s round-the-track way of asking a question.

“Why, after hearing from your own lips that you are
not
Prince Leopold, does she still believe that you are?”

Sumner let his gaze fall to the clean stone floor. “I do not know for certain.” He lifted his eyes to Leopold. “At Almack’s, she asked me why I pretended to be Whitevale when we first met at the jewelers. At the ball, it was evident that she believed I was Prince Leopold. So, I
toyed with her, telling her I had been ‘incognito.’”

“And you were incognito—at the ball.” Leopold grinned a bit. “Not when you first met.”

“I had to tell her something to quell her curiosity and thankfully my claim served. What she saw at the ball was stronger than what she heard at the jewelers.” Sumner’s jaw tightened. “What is your point in this discussion?”

Leopold sat quietly.

“Do you suspect Miss Royle of something?” Sumner’s mind was swirling. Had he missed something? Had his attraction to her, his emotions, clouded his critical thinking and put Prince Leopold in danger?
No. No.
He had always had a keen sense about people’s natures. And he was sure of one thing—that he could trust Miss Royle with his life. She saved it once already, after all. “You are wrong about her, Leopold.”

“I said nothing.” Leopold rose slowly and turned to peer out of the window.

“She believes I am the prince, and I will maintain this ruse until we return to Paris or I am convinced your life is no longer in danger.” Sumner realized at that moment that his breath was coming fast. His words were clipped. His temper had flared.

He drew in several deep gulps of air into his lungs. His cool detachment, his control—which had always allowed him to make crucial decisions, whether in battle or in ensuring the safety of Prince Leopold—had already been compromised by his emotions.

That wouldn’t do. Wouldn’t do at all.

“You needn’t fret, Leopold.” He took another deep breath. “I will not allow my feelings to have a place in your protection. I swear it.”

Leopold turned and headed for the front door. As he passed Sumner, he clapped him on the shoulder. “I never had any doubt.”

One hour until midnight
Cranbourne Lodge

A loud growl emanated from Elizabeth’s stomach. “Oh, dear. Are there wild cats in Windsor Forest?” She looked over her shoulder in the direction of the window, and then turned to the three others who sat before the expansive table in the low, insufficient glow of only two flickering candles.

Princess Charlotte cast a barely concealed grin in her confidante Mercer’s direction. She had only just returned from visiting her grandmother and aunts at the castle, which necessi
tated the lateness of the meal. “Yes, Miss Royle, I do believe there are. Hares and badger, too, though I daresay I have not heard a peep from them this evening.”

Mercer’s shoulders shook slightly, and Elizabeth realized she had fooled no one. Her cheeks heated with color.

“I heard a wild cat just as we drew up before the lodge,” the prince’s cousin said. “Didn’t you, Leopold?”

The prince showed no emotion, and yet he agreed. “I did indeed, cousin. There must be a goodly number of them in the forest.”

Elizabeth nervously dabbed her serviette to her lips. She peered at the prince’s cousin. “Do forgive me, but with all of the goings-on the night of the ball, I did not register your name, sir.”

The prince’s gaze flew to his cousin. The cousin’s gaze shot to Princess Charlotte, who turned, wide-eyed, to Mercer.

“I do apologize,” Elizabeth said with no little degree of suspicion that something unknown to her was afoot. “Have I asked something I should not?” The three of them continued silently casting gazes askance to one another.

The princess finally met Elizabeth’s eyes. She reached out and took her hand. “Dear Miss Ro
yle, the prince’s cousin is…the Marquess of Whitevale.” She raised her surprised eyes to the prince and then to the cousin in way of introduction.

“L-Lord Whitevale?” Elizabeth muttered. She turned in her chair to face the prince. “But, Your Royal Highness, you introduced yourself as Whitevale when we met in Hamilton and Company.”

High color skimmed the prince’s cheeks. “As I told you at the assembly rooms, Miss Royle—”

“Ah, yes,” she interrupted, “‘incognito.’ I understand.”

“Miss Royle,” Miss Margaret Mercer Elphinstone broke in, “—and do please call me Mercer, everyone does, and now that you are one of us, so shall you, I hope. How do you find Cranbourne Lodge?” She smiled prettily at Elizabeth as she posed her question.

Miss Margaret Mercer Elphinstone was a stunningly beautiful woman, with smooth pale skin, wide eyes, and glossy sable hair. She presented herself, in both manner and appearance, as being several years older than both the princess and Elizabeth. Or perhaps her poise, polish, and sophistication only made her seem more mature. From what Elizabeth had been told by Lady Upperton, Miss Mercer Elphin
stone was quite well respected in London society and a favorite at routs and fetes, known for her charm, wide and varied connections, and quick wit.

“I find it quite…”
Oh, lud, how does one put this nicely?
“…conducive to thought.” Elizabeth smiled at the completion of her statement, quite pleased she had managed to express herself and her meaning so gracefully.

That is, until Princess Charlotte and Mercer began laughing merrily at her reply, making Elizabeth wonder if she’d stepped in something she oughtn’t again.

“Dear Miss Royle, how refreshing you are. But we knew you would be,” Princess Charlotte told her, her words punctuated with missish giggles. “I am so glad you have come. You are so different from my dreadfully dull governesses.”

“Darling Charlotte, where are the old jail keepers? Have you packed them away somewhere—for what a chance you are taking in bringing our esteemed guests to the lodge this night,” Mercer said in all seriousness. “If your father was to hear of this, he’d pop you back off to Warwick and I would have such a time of trying to see you.”

The prince and Lord Whitevale pushed up
from the table and made to leave, but before either could utter a word, Princess Charlotte had leapt to her feet and was overtly gesturing for the gentlemen to be seated again.

“No need to concern yourselves. Though I know circumstances require that the Leo and Whitevale must reside in the protection of the forest for a time for their own safety, I will not have my future…my…the Leo taking his evening meal in a gamekeeper’s nook every night.” Charlotte looked to Mercer, set her hands proudly upon her hips and spread her feet, making her appear very much like a strong-willed boy. “Besides, no one will be the wiser. My governesses were encouraged to remain at the castle, after they enjoyed goblet after goblet of prime Madeira gifted to my family by Wellington himself. Now, I ask you all, how could they refuse?” Princess Charlotte leaned back her head and laughed heartily. “I, myself, actually made a game of playing mother—but with Madeira rather than tea.” Charlotte snorted a most unprincesslike laugh.

“You are wicked, Charlotte. Positively wicked,” Mercer said, with no pretense of formality with the princess at all. “Which is why you and I get on so famously.” She turned her clever gaze on Elizabeth. “And why I have a suspicion Miss
Royle will be such an interesting addition to our number.”

Uncomfortable did not quite describe the way she felt at the realization she had been shoe-horned into their intimate group as a court jester meant for their entertainment.

Still, Elizabeth turned her head to levee a cheerful smile in Princess Charlotte’s direction. But when she did, she saw that the princess’s gaze was already well fixed on her. It was an appraising, almost wary gaze. One that she next directed upon “the Leo,” the silly, too familiar way she had addressed the prince this evening.

The princess realized Elizabeth’s awareness of her observation almost at once. “Miss Royle—”

“Oh, do please call me Elizabeth,” she begged them all. “After all, we are to be friends.”
Oh, la, that sounded truly nauseating. What an inane thing to say! I do not meld well with royalty. What had I been thinking when I boarded the carriage this morn? The blow to my head has made me entirely mad.