Chapter Twenty-Five
“His Royal Highness awaits you in the blue parlor. See that you are ready quickly.”
The tone admitted no delay, no question of convenience—only obedience.
“Thank you.” She pulled off her gloves and bonnet and handed them to the butler.
“Baker is upstairs. I shall make myself presentable.” She walked Carlton House’s long hallway to the stairs, where she quickly made her way to her usual room.
She and Princess Charlotte were kept in the same wing—a different wing than the Prince Regent, thankfully.
They had that section of the house largely to themselves.
Carlton House was never quiet, but this wing came closest. The distant echo of voices and footsteps reminded Elizabeth that she was never truly alone here, merely granted the illusion of privacy.
The young princess poked her head out of her chambers as Elizabeth approached. She beamed.
“Elizabeth! You are returned. I am very pleased—it has been dreadfully dull.”
“I am pleased to see you as well. However, our reunion must wait. Your father wishes to see me.”
Charlotte made a face. “I am certain he does. There have been so many discussions about you these last months. My mother was even called to Carlton House! Father let me say hello, but Lady Hertford was present so we could not speak for long.”
Elizabeth noted the careful emphasis. Even Charlotte understood the significance of who was allowed to hear what—and when.
Lady Hertford was the Prince Regent’s current mistress. Her title granted her some respectability. Despite her conduct, she was still welcomed into the first circles. Elizabeth knew her by reputation and had met her once before.
That knowledge alone made Elizabeth wary. Women in Lady Hertford’s position survived by intelligence and restraint; those were qualities Elizabeth respected, even if the situation itself unsettled her.
Baker had an elaborate day gown ready for Elizabeth when she entered her rooms. She removed the traveling gown and washed the road dust away with a warm cloth.
Elizabeth's hair was taken down and restyled in a more elaborate fashion.
Her gown, a lovely blue wool suitable for the winter cold, was buttoned up the back with quick, practiced fingers.
The familiarity of Baker’s movements steadied her. Each pin, each button was a reminder that appearances were armor here.
Elizabeth looked into her mirror. Gone was the country girl she had been for the last four months. In her place was a fashionable lady of the ton, perfectly turned out and elegant.
She scarcely recognized herself—and wondered whether that was precisely the point.
There was a knock at the door. A footman was on the other side, waiting to escort her to the blue parlor. Elizabeth drew in a deep breath to steady her nerves and followed him out. Baker returned to unpacking the trunks.
No last-minute counsel from her aunt. No loving reassurance. She was to face this alone.
The walk was silent. The footman was rigid, saying nothing, and Elizabeth did not bother to engage him in conversation.
That might have been acceptable in Hertfordshire, but it was not so here.
After several minutes of traversing hallways, they stopped outside an ornately painted door.
The footman knocked, and they were admitted.
Elizabeth took quick inventory of the prince’s entourage. He was never alone. There were always people about, be they peers of the realm or servants. Today, besides two or three servants, Lady Hertford sat beside the prince.
The lady’s presence was deliberate—Elizabeth understood that immediately. This was not a private conversation; it was a measured one.
“Miss de Bourgh, welcome to Carlton House.” The prince’s face was florid as he gestured at her to take a seat. Elizabeth chose a chair across from the others, sitting ramrod straight as she had been taught. Her hands were placed delicately in her lap. She kept her face devoid of emotion.
“I thank you, Your Highness. Lady Hertford, it is a pleasure to see you again.” It was not, but social niceties were essential.
The lady frowned but waited for the prince to speak. “I realize you were recalled early, and I am sorry to take you from your family. It was essential, however, that you return to town as soon as possible.”
“I admit to some curiosity about the abrupt nature of the summons.” Careful, Lizzy. Do not upset him.
The prince laughed. “Your cheek has always amused me, my dear. We had best get to business quickly. I have decided it is time for you to marry. Suitable candidates have been identified, and so you must have a season!”
So, it is as my uncle suspected. The prince means to use me to make a political alliance. “I had thought my uncle had some…involvement in these matters.” She would not marry someone old enough to be her father—absolutely not.
“Mr. Bennet is in agreement with all my edicts.” He lied, but Elizabeth bit her tongue.
One did not accuse the heir to the throne of dishonesty.
She struggled to suppress her anger as he continued.
“Lady Hertford will be your official chaperone. She will arrange your presentation and oversee your social calendar. Though you will reside here, you will be with her on her days at home to callers. She will take you on her calls as well. Any shopping, events, balls, suitors—all of them are in her purview. She will bring concerns to me for resolution.”
The lady leaned in and whispered something in the prince’s ear. He took her hand and squeezed it before Lady Hertford left the room.
Elizabeth felt the absence keenly; Lady Hertford’s silence had been as instructive as her presence.
“Forgive me for being impertinent, but will having Lady Hertford as my chaperone not hurt my standing rather than help it?” She was the prince’s mistress!
Elizabeth listened with composed attention as the Prince laid out his reasoning, though she suspected he was as much addressing society at large as he was her.
Lady Hertford, he explained, was precisely the sort of chaperone no one questioned—married, well connected, and so thoroughly established in the first circles that her presence conferred legitimacy rather than constraint.
No one would wonder why Elizabeth was under her care; it would be assumed, without comment, that such arrangements were natural and proper.
Lady Hertford was known for her discretion, for observing the forms without inviting notice, and for understanding when silence served better than vigilance.
With such a woman at her side, Elizabeth would not appear managed or paraded, but simply protected, and society—always eager for reassurance—would be satisfied with the appearance of order.
In that light, Elizabeth realized the Prince was offering her more than convenience: he was granting her freedom precisely because no one would think to look twice.
It was clear Elizabeth would have no say in that matter. “Am I not to see my aunt for the season?”
The prince frowned. “You will be under my purview and guardianship. No calls to Connaught House will be permitted.”
The words settled heavily. Independence, it seemed, would be rationed.
“May I continue my correspondence?”
He agreed to that, much to her relief. “Are there any other matters you wish to discuss?” He raised a brow.
“Yes, sir. I wish to make it clear that I will not be forced into marriage against my will. I acknowledge my position and will do what is expected unless I find the situation intolerable.”
“And what makes the situation intolerable, as you say?” He looked mildly amused.
“I will not marry a man old enough to be my father. I will not marry someone who will be cruel and have no respect for my person. And I refuse to be solely a political pawn.”
The prince no longer looked amused. “You speak rather decidedly for so young a person.”
“Not so young, Your Highness. My twenty-first birthday approaches. If you wished to press me into an alliance wholly not of my choosing, it should have been done years ago.” Time to sweeten his mood.
She drew a breath. “I am very aware of the great privilege it has been to be raised under your guardianship, Your Highness. You have been gracious and generous—I have wanted for nothing. That is why I speak beseechingly—you of all people ought to know the strain of an arrangement not to your preference. I shall entertain the courtship of any gentleman you deem worthy of notice, but I wish to be happy in my marriage.”
The prince regarded her solemnly. Elizabeth hoped he viewed her words as sympathetic to his plight. Prinny was self-centered and enjoyed flattery, and so she pressed on, layering the compliments carefully in hopes of winning his approval.
He held up a hand after a few more moments of speech.
“You have made your point, Miss de Bourgh. I will agree to a degree of choice on your part. If you cannot like a suitor, I will not force you to marry him. That said, if I cannot like a suitor, you will not be allowed to marry him. Have we an accord?”
Elizabeth sank into a deep curtsy, rising slowly and raising her gaze to the prince’s. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Very good. Lady Hertford will come for you tomorrow. You need a new wardrobe. All your clothing has come from Montagu House and was found wanting.”
“Am I to have no say in my attire?” It slipped out before she could stop it. Thankfully, the prince laughed.
“Your gowns are very fine, but not fashionable enough for the society Lady Hertford frequents. As long as your tastes are acceptable, there will be no quarrel.”