The Wild Princess

Forty



Victoria released her grip on the heavy claret-velvet drapery, one of a set of five that reached from floor to ceiling above, covering the elegant bow window of Buckingham’s Music Room. She looked out through the glass from John Nash’s elegantly designed garden front of the palace. Above her a domed ceiling of diamond-shaped gold medallions arched, held aloft by black onyx Corinthian columns.

A lustrous ebony Steinway grand piano stood to her right. She’d left off playing a Chopin piece moments earlier when Lorne interrupted. Even now as she stepped back from the window, the young Scotish noble continued his wearisome petition, unaware she had ceased listening to his list of “needs” for the suite he and Louise temporarily occupied.

Few rooms in any of her properties were so sumptuous as this Music Room, overlooking the long swell of lush greenery across the palace gardens to the pretty pond with its resident swans. But now, gazing out through the tall window, she shuddered. What she had just witnessed beyond the crystal-clear panes proved her worst suspicions.

Moments earlier, she had watched Louise leave the wing of the palace beyond the ballroom, a location reserved for housing servants and providing extra work areas for staff. Her daughter had no reason to be there. None at all. Five minutes later, she saw her American agent step from the shadow of the same doorway.

Of her six daughters, Louise had always been the most determined, self-assured, and maddeningly independent. From early childhood, she seemed to fear nothing—from vaulting stone walls on her pony to venturing on foot into the filthy streets of London. Although Vicky, the Crown Princess, was groomed to be an empress, her first child didn’t possess Louise’s natural inner strength. She’d had to be molded into regal shape by Albert. Neither, thank God, did Vicky have Louise’s rebellious nature, which had jeopardized the girl’s welfare more than once. Victoria had hoped—no, prayed—that marriage would settle the girl. Now, she feared history was repeating itself.

She drew a deep breath. It didn’t help calm her nerves or the increasing pain in her bothersome foot.

The Raven. Such a romantic figure he cut in his outrageous leather overcoat and black felt hat that made him look quite dangerous; she had to admit he possessed a certain allure. Louise’s attraction to the man was understandable. But intolerable. It had to end. Fortunately, she’d anticipated such a situation arising.

Victoria turned to face Lorne and broke in on what now had become a plea for a new suite entirely, either in Kensington or St. James’s Palace. “And how are the two of you getting along?” Victoria asked.

Lorne fell silent.

She watched confusion cloud his eyes. “Louise and I? We get along brilliantly. I love her dearly, of course.” He laughed, but it sounded forced.

Victoria tilted her head back and stared down the length of her nose at him. It was an attitude of imperial displeasure she’d cultivated and used sparingly, most frequently these days on stubborn MPs. Those who knew her well understood it as a warning.

Lorne cleared his throat. “We’ve become closer with each day, ma’am. I’m a very lucky man.”

“Then, as you two are such a good match, I expect before long you shall give me a grandchild to add to my collection.” She hadn’t much liked her own babies, not as infants. She found newborns ugly and scary. But grandchildren could be brought to her a bit fleshed out. And once they developed personalities she doted on them.

Lorne shrank under her gaze at the mention of children. Just as I thought, she mused. He’s hopeless in that way too.

“Such things take t-time,” he stammered.

“Time, yes,” she said, returning from the window to the piano bench. She’d carried a file with her, in case she had an opportunity to speak with the young couple about their future. Apparently the Raven was doing her son-in-law’s job for him. The time for a chat had come.

“We are”—Lorne coughed to clear his throat—“we are most happy, ma’am. And grateful for your support of our marriage.”

“I’m sure.” She brought her right foot up to rest on the bench’s cushion, under her skirt and out of sight. A return of the horrid gout, she feared. She’d have to summon her physician and demand a more aggressive treatment.

“Lorne,” she began afresh, “one of the qualities I most admire in you is your dedication to public service. Having married my daughter, you know you need never work at anything. Yet as a member of the House of Lords, you have a fine reputation for working hard in Parliament and serving our people.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He actually blushed.

“I would like to reward your dedication,” she said. “I was thinking of an ambassadorship or some other position of importance in the government.”

His face lit up, just as she’d imagined it might. Those famous blue eyes flashed. His mane of blond hair, so admired by the ladies of her court, made him look even younger. Maybe, she thought, he saw this offer as an excuse to spend more time away from his wife, to travel the Continent alone and in style, to impress other men who shared his peculiar preferences.

“I would be most grateful for any appointment that would enable me to serve the Empire.”

Now, here was where she killed two little pigeons with one boulder. “My dear marquess, I expect that, should it become necessary for you to leave London, you will take your lovely wife with you.”

She might have imagined the slightest of hesitations. But he responded quickly enough. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Even if Louise is inclined to remain in London, out of dedication to her charitable works, she recognizes the importance of a wife standing at her husband’s side, as do you, no doubt.” She could tell he didn’t yet understand her intentions, but she had decided it wiser not to come right out and tell the fool he was being cuckolded by a commoner even lower in society than himself, and a foreigner at that.

“Yes, she is dedicated to the Women’s Work Society, and to her friends, of course.” Lorne contrived to look saddened. “I suppose she might choose to stay in London. I truly wouldn’t object if she—”

“But you would object, Lorne. You must,” Victoria said firmly.

“I must?”

“Absolutely. You have no concept of how tongues would wag. Imagine—a royal couple, living separately, hundreds if not thousands of miles between them.”

“I suppose you’re right. Scandals have built upon less.” He shuffled his feet, as if standing on too-hot sand.

“And I would worry about Louise, on her own, lonely, without your care and vigilance. She does take risks, you know, mixes with inappropriate society.” His frown deepened as she spoke. “Isn’t it quite natural for a man to want his wife to be nearby? To bear his children. To make a home for her family.” She arched a brow at him.

“Of course,” he agreed. “We will travel together wherever you wish to send me.”

They had never openly spoken of his differences from other men. The thought of such a conversation was repugnant to her. But she had to let him know he must put aside his follies long enough to consummate his marriage and do his duty by bringing children into the world. She would come back to that task later. For now, she was satisfied with putting Louise at a safe distance from temptation.

“Good,” she said. “I have an opportunity for you.” She opened the file and took from it a copy of the letter of resignation she’d received a few weeks earlier, which now required her to send a replacement for the position. The post was one that promised to be difficult to fill, as experienced diplomats were likely to turn it down in favor of a more glamorous location. She handed Lorne the paper.

He blinked as he read it. His face went a shade whiter.

“I have decided to make you my new governor of the British Commonwealth of Canada.”

Despite the impropriety of sitting down before the queen gave permission, Lorne dropped suddenly and hard into the Louis Quatorze chair nearest the piano. She imagined him picturing the vast stretch of untamed, barely populated land that ranged from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific. A northern land so immense it dwarfed little England, yet remained under British influence.

He finally found his voice. “I am of course honored that you’d—”

“Then you will accept?”

“I, yes. Well, how can I deny Your Royal Majesty anything?” He looked dazed.

She smiled. “Then you may pass along the good news of your promotion to your wife. You’ll both begin making arrangements to travel to your new home, as quickly as possible.”