Chapter 9
“All the sacred rights of humanity are violated by insisting on blind obedience.”
—Mary Wollstonecraft
Charity stared blankly at the mirror in her hotel room, but it was not her reflection that she saw. Instead, she watched the day play out in front of her.
After her arrival at Ascot, she had stepped away from Princess Charlotte only once. In the minutes she had spoken to Perry and the Lievens, the princess had wandered off.
Or perhaps wandered towards was a better way to put it. The princess had only gone a few feet away to approach Prince Nicholas and Prince Paul. And there she had stood with a bright smile while allowing the young men to pay her court.
Charity could hardly blame the princes; the princess had charm when she was free to wield it.
Nicholas was handsome in their own way, and Paul was…
not Prince William, at least. Not once, in all the time that William of Orange had spoken to the princess, had he ever managed to coax more than a perfunctory half-smile from her. But these two had.
She covered her face with her hands, wanting to forget the memory, and the Queen’s command weighed heavy. Your Grace, you must encourage my granddaughter to sign the betrothal contract.
Now her conscience was at war. Obeying meant encouraging the princess to enter an unhappy marriage to the Dutch prince. On the other hand, it was a wedding that the royal family felt was the best match.
She lifted her head and put her hands to work selecting her jewellery. It doesn’t matter what you believe is best for the princess, she told herself. We all must put England’s interests first—me, Perry, and yes, even Charlotte.
Charlotte and the House of Orange would solidify an alliance with a wedding, creating a kingdom that would suppress French expansion north. It would secure Britain’s position against its own allies, too, keeping the balance of power in Europe in its favour.
The betrothal arrangement strengthened Britain, which is why Russia might be trying to see it stopped. It had to be done, and it had to be done now, before Marian or someone else found another way to exploit the princess’s indecision.
But her heart did not agree.
If you do not have the fortitude to do what was asked, what is right for this country, you must go to the Queen tonight and tell her so she can take the princess to task herself, her mind reasoned.
No, she thought dully. I will do this duty.
Decision made, she departed for Frogmore House posthaste. As the carriage turned into the drive at the Queen’s private estate, she was relieved to see no line outside the door. The other guests had not yet arrived.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” the footman said, welcoming her as he helped her descend from her carriage.
“Could you see if Princess Charlotte is available?” she asked, steely with command. The footman bowed and hurried off. She barely had time to admire the chandelier before he returned.
The princess was dressed and ready, waiting until it was time to join the receiving line. Curls twisted prettily on either side of her face, framing her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. She seemed so young, and Charity felt worn and ancient.
“Oh, Your Grace, did you hear? Grandmama kept the guest list so short that the numbers are all off. You and I are to be seated at a table with the princes!”
And there it was again. That trill of delight lifting the princess’s voice as she nattered on.
“I shall be forced to sit by William, of course, but Prince Leopold will be on my other side. You will be across the table. I know it isn’t proper, but you will distract William with some sort of conversation, will you not?
Surely you can find something he will discuss.
Horses, yes! He does so go on about them… ”
“I—that is…” Charity found her tongue twisted in knots. “Your Highness—”
“Yes? What is it?” The princess scrunched her brow. “Is my gown too frilly?”
“Your gown is divine,” Charity said, reaching over to grab the young woman’s hands.
The princess had complained that everyone kept treating her like a child.
Perhaps it was time to speak with her like an adult and the queen she would one day be.
“I need to speak with you about another matter. A serious one.”
“Can it not wait?” The princess wrinkled her nose.
“No, it cannot. Your Highness, I must speak with you about Prince William. He is still waiting for an answer from you. You must give him one.”
The princess settled deeper into the sofa, her spirits deflating. “I do not understand the insistence that he is the best choice, not now that I have made the acquaintance of other royal heirs. Why rush? I shall wait until the end of the visit to decide.”
“I am sorry, but you cannot delay that long.” Charity drew in a breath. “It is important that you resolve the matter right now.”
“For the good of the nation,” the princess parroted bitterly. “Or so my papa says. I cannot see how a few days will make any difference.” The young woman was serious. She truly did not know why time was of the essence. She did not understand how her indecision gave England a yawning weakness.
“We must talk about how your marriage affects our country.” Charity drew in a breath. “We must talk about Lady Fitzroy.”
The princess stilled. She knew nothing, Charity realised. Despite the letters that had put a poison in her hand, she had not understood the woman. They had kept her ignorant, and that choice put them all in a position of harm.
“I told you already that I did not intend to meet with her. I could hardly give her the direct cut with the Grand Duchess there. A few words exchanged cannot be so dangerous.”
Charity didn’t laugh. “A few words were all it took for her to ruin the Marchioness of Normanby’s reputation.”
“You believe Lady Fitzroy orchestrated that? Why would she do such a thing?” the young woman asked, genuinely mystified.
How could one describe the way the woman’s mind worked?
“A thirst for power. And the lack of a conscience that would prevent her from doing evil,” Charity replied.
She told the princess about her kidnapping, the dark empire that she had hidden, and the attempts on her and Perry’s life.
And also how she bent her deeds to achieving her ambitions.
“It was her efforts that saw the poison you used on William placed in your hands, in order to help prevent this alliance between Britain and the Netherlands.”
The princess grew flustered. “I don’t understand. Why are you telling me all of this only now? Why didn’t you tell me when you realised she was behind the letters I received?”
“A desire to protect you—your family and me,” Charity said with remorse. “I wish I did not know first-hand of her treachery; it fuels my nightmares. We thought you were safer in the dark, but that has only made it possible for Lady Fitzroy to exploit your ignorance.
“She does not care about your happiness. She cares only about her ends. If she is doing something—whether that is encouraging you to dismiss William, or to shame the Marchioness of Normanby into hiding away from court—she is the kind of creature that you must always be thinking forward to the reasons why. Perhaps there is some country or some person wanting to sabotage our capabilities or improve their own. Do not let your distaste for William cause you to shirk your duty. You must always consider first what is best for the people of Britain.”
The princess rose from the sofa to pace along the carpet in front of the fireplace. Her brow was furrowed, her mouth pursed into a tight ball.
Charity’s stomach was doing somersaults.
The princess was starting to think more like a sovereign.
Watching her mature this way was bittersweet, because she was stripping away the princess’s innocence and freedom, forcing her to contend for the first time with the idea that this political marriage was the right choice for everything—except her happiness.
But at least Charity could give her some little reassurance that she would not necessarily spend the rest of her days in misery.
“Your Highness,” Charity ventured, her voice gentle, and the princess stopped and turned around to face her.
“Your grandmother and your father know what they ask of you. We all know. None of us had a real choice in our spouses. Neither did your friend, the Grand Duchess. But the Queen and King found great love together in time. I am seeking mine. Your father has found happiness of another sort. You will find your way to satisfaction too. I am sure of it.”
“How can you know that?” Princess Charlotte asked in a whisper.
“Because you are smart, kind, and passionate. Because your spirit is full of light. Do not fight duty; you will find peace with yourself in it. Then, with a clear mind, the path to happiness will present itself when it is time.”
The princess quickly brought her fist to her mouth, blinking away the shine of tears. Charity shifted forward to rise, but the princess waved for her to stay put.
“You are right, Your Grace. I have been selfish and let the obligation to our people go untended. I should not have dithered. I just… wanted a little more time.”
Before Charity’s eyes, the princess shed the last of her youth.
She drew herself up, raised her head, and then she marched over to her travelling desk, opening the lid.
From inside, she withdrew a roll of parchment.
Charity did move then, hurrying over to see.
Using a sharp quill and black ink, the princess signed her name to the betrothal agreement with a flourish.
She lifted it into the air to blow on it and then handed it to Charity.
“Take this to my father. I will meet you downstairs shortly.”
Charity longed to give the young woman a hug, to show some kind of softness. But the princess’s voice made it plain there would be no such niceties. So, Charity bobbed a curtsy and let herself out of the room.