In the end, I went along to keep the peace. For the first elaborate dinner, Prince Henry was seated to my left. Down the far end sat Edward Albert Christian George Andrew Patrick David, dashing heir to the monarchy. Informally he was called David, and his brother Henry, Duke of Gloucester, was Harry, and both were keen to be shown a good time.
“I saw you riding to hounds in Leicestershire last year,” Harry said to me over bowls of chilled lemon soup. He meant during our stay in Swiftsden with Mansfield’s mother—though there hadn’t been a formal introduction. He was taller and darker than his brother David, and only slightly less handsome. “You look marvellous on a horse, particularly in slacks. I think all women should wear slacks.”
“Coco Chanel might be interested to hear you say it,” the very done-up Lady Grigg chimed in from Harry’s elbow, trying to insert herself. Harry ignored her.
“You nearly caused a riot that day at Melton,” he said. “That was my favourite part.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, it seems high Leicestershire had never seen a woman astride a horse instead of side saddle.”
“So refreshing to see the old birds get a shock. But they stopped talking as soon as they saw you take the fences so boldly. A beautiful woman with a good seat is her own argument.”
I thanked him, laughing, while Lady Grigg craned our way again. She was the dignified wife of our governor, and yet there, with Prince Harry, she was transfixed by every word we were saying. I had the feeling she thought he was flirting with me. It was possible he was.
“Maybe you could break away before the safari and see our horses up in Elburgon,” I suggested. “We have the best bloodstock around.”
“Sounds wonderful.” He smiled easily beneath his clipped dark brown moustache. He had grey eyes, and they looked at me clearly. “If it were up to me we wouldn’t hunt at all. David’s the one who wants to bag a lion. I’d rather ride to the top of the highest hill I can find and see everything, in every direction.”
“Then do it,” I said. “Who’d stop you?”
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But I don’t run the show here. I’m not much more than window dressing, really.”
“You’re a prince.”
“I’m down the line.” He smiled. “It’s fine by me, really. Poor David’s got his head in the noose.”
“Well, even if you don’t care for hunting, you’ve found the right fellow to take you out.”
“Finch Hatton. Yes. He seems a splendid fellow.”
“He’s the very best there is.” I glanced down to where Denys sat near Prince David, both of them flanked by admirers. Karen hadn’t been invited, as she’d suspected. There would be hell to pay for Denys when he finally returned to Mbogani, though who knew when that would be. He’d been so preoccupied by safari preparations that I hadn’t seen him, even briefly, in months.
In some respects, Denys and I were both in a period of suspension. There was no way this safari wouldn’t change his life. The time and privacy he craved would be swallowed up by his new notoriety, and I knew some part of him dreaded it: the purest part, which only wanted to live simply, by his own code. How I understood that. Within a very short time, my belly would grow unmistakably round and my breasts tighten and swell. My body would transform first, and then everything else would follow. I still cared for Mansfield, but I also felt as if I’d boarded a train meant for one place that was now irrevocably going somewhere else entirely. The whole situation made me feel desperate.
With a stirring of passionate violins, the string quartet began to play Schubert. “Tell me, do you dance, Harry?” I asked him.
“Like a fool.”
“Wonderful,” I said. “Save one for me.”
—
The next week, David and Harry came up to Melela as I’d suggested and raced on our exercise track. It wasn’t much as races went. David was compact and athletic looking, but he wasn’t a very able rider. He sat Cambrian and Harry sat Clemency, and for five furlongs the brothers were neck and neck while an entire entourage cheered them on. Cambrian was the much better racer; he was undefeated, in fact, until that day.
“You’re nice not to say how bloody awful I am,” David said as we walked back to the paddock, his blue eyes full of charisma. All along the fence, eligible women strained in a pose, ready to kill or drop their knickers for a whiff of his attention.
“You were lovely.” I laughed. “Well, the stallion was, in any case.”
“Who’s this fellow?” he asked when we came near Messenger Boy. “Now there’s a fine animal.”
“He’s had a bit of a chequered history, but he’s starting to come round. Would you like to see him run?”
“I’ll say.”