Chapter 9 #2
Despite the princess’s command, Charity knew there was someone else who needed to be informed first. Out in the hall, Charity found a footman waiting to be of service and sought the Queen’s ear, a part of herself withering inside.
The Queen was pleased with Charity’s work. But there was not a single iota of remorse from the Queen about what she had done to her granddaughter to get it.
“Well done,” the Queen told her, holding the signed parchment.
“How fortunate we are that I decided to sit the couple beside one another? Tonight will be the first of many they will spend presiding over a table together. Enjoy yourself at the dinner, Duchess. Tonight, England goes forth boldly into the future that our enemies would prevent.”
Dinner was an intimate affair with a hundred attendees spread across three interconnected rooms. Charity was seated opposite Prince William and Princess Charlotte. The Queen, Prinny, the Tsar, and other higher-ranked guests sat nearby at another table.
The archbishop offered a blessing at the start of the meal, calling for an evening of celebration.
Hope for allies bonded through shared interests, and future holy unions.
Charity knew his words were aimed at the princess, but she could not help but imagine he also meant to include her.
After all, he was due to preside over her wedding to Perry the day after next.
Prinny stood after the archbishop finished, raising his glass in a toast. “It is with a happy heart that I proclaim the betrothal of my beloved daughter, the Princess Charlotte Augusta, to the Illustrious Prince William of Orange. Let no man put asunder that which both God and country have blessed.”
No man—and hopefully no woman, Charity thought.
As the footmen laid plates of oysters in front of each guest, Charity turned slightly toward her left-hand neighbour. “I do not believe we have been introduced, sir. I am the Duchess of Atholl.”
The gentleman inclined his head with restrained politeness. “Von Hollenberg, Envoy Extraordinary to His Majesty the King of Prussia.”
“A pleasure, Herr von Hollenberg,” she said.
He regarded her with polite curiosity. “And may I ask—how are you connected to Her Majesty? Are you engaged to one of her sons?”
“No, sir,” Charity replied evenly. “I have the honour of serving as one of her ladies-in-waiting.”
“Ah.” The syllable carried a soft but unmistakable drop in temperature. “I see.”
He pointedly shifted his attention to the person seated on his other side of the table, toward a uniformed Prussian officer. Charity was left with nothing but the faint chill of being neatly and publicly set aside.
On her right, Prince Augustus, the youngest of Prinny’s brothers, was deep in conversation with one of the visiting ladies from the Russian court. He was turned away enough that she hadn’t a hope of joining in their discussion.
Charity caught herself fiddling with her napkin and stilled her hands. She stared instead at a painting on the wall. Even the portrait of a younger Queen Charlotte failed to offer her a smile. She was an invited guest, but not a welcome one in this space.
Needing a distraction from her thoughts, Charity raised her glass and studied the princess over the rim.
Across the table, the young woman had her eyes focused on her plate, paying the empty oyster shells more attention than they warranted.
Prince Leopold made a remark, too quiet for Charity to hear, and drew a smile from the princess.
But just as fast, her face shifted back into a neutral mask.
For once, Princess Charlotte displayed no interest in flirting with other men of her age.
So she had truly committed to her future, Charity sighed with some relief. If a thought followed about how subdued the princess was, Charity purposely ignored it.
The fish course followed next, Dover sole in a rich cream sauce. Again, Charity was left to eat in silence. The closest she came to a conversation was when Herr Von Hollenberg asked her to pass the salt.
By the time the first meat course arrived, Charity would have welcomed any word at all.
A widow with no royal or political connections of note warranted no time and attention.
For once, even her beauty was not enough to garner more than a brief look.
Selina would know what to say, the voice in her head remarked, underscoring Charity’s failures.
Just then, Prince Paul of Württemberg, seated on William’s right, called the footman forward and asked for more of the red wine to be poured.
When the glasses were full again, he walloped Prince William on the back and encouraged him to drink deep.
“We must celebrate your forthcoming nuptials, now that they are certain.”
If the princess was stoic, Prince William was jubilant. Prince Leopold, seated on the other side of the princess, expressed more reserved congratulations and then frowned into his glass, looking displeased.
Perhaps it had not been only polite conversation when he had spoken to Princess Charlotte at the races. Leopold was the Tsar’s nephew. Had Lady Fitzroy been clearing the field as a favour for Russia? To put an ally on the throne at the princess’s side?
If so, it was madness. Leopold was the fourth son, a far cry from the heir to a throne. Far away from what Prinny would want.
“What say you, Prince Augustus? Are you looking forward to your niece’s wedding?” Paul asked, drawing the man at Charity’s side into the conversation.
Prince Augustus flicked a glance at his niece, but she did not meet his eyes. He forced a smile onto his face and then replied, “It will be an unforgettable occasion, I am sure.”
“We shall make it one for the ages!” Paul cheered and then walloped William again. Both men were swaying, already intoxicated.
“I am sure we have you to thank for getting the princess to agree to the match,” Augustus said in a low voice. After so long in silence, it took Charity a moment to realise he was speaking to her.
“I did as Her Majesty asked of me,” Charity demurred. “We must all do our duty.”
“I suppose.” Augustus’s voice trailed off. “Particularly my niece. After being foiled so many times by me and my brothers, my mother was bound to do whatever it took to get her way in this match. The line of succession reigns supreme in her mind.”
As the dinner progressed, Prince Paul seemed determined to turn the jubilation into a public spectacle.
Paul raised his glass high. “You Dutch are fine seamen,” he boomed, “but I’ll wager you cannot match a Württemberger for drinking!” He gave William’s shoulder a thump that nearly upset his neighbour’s wine, then waved a footman over before William’s own glass was empty.
Charity averted her gaze, and then guiltily forced herself to look back. The princess pushed a slice of beef around her plate, giving the appearance of eating, but did not lift it to her mouth. She was like a marionette, and her strings were controlled by her father and grandmother.
On Charity’s right, Prince Augustus sopped up the gravy from his plate with a piece of bread, all but licking the plate clean.
He had escaped the bonds of marriage by joining the army.
Seven royal sons, and only one legitimate child between them.
Had they done their duty? Was service on the battlefield more important than their obligation to the family line?
Prince Paul, as if intuiting the direction of her mind, raised his voice and glass. “To our victory over the tyrant!”
William drank, and Paul was ready with the next toast. “To the fine ladies of England—and the even finer unions to be made here!”
Paul’s own sips were moderate; William’s were dutifully deep. His posture began to slacken, his laughter grew louder and less timed to the conversation, and his once-crisp coat now sat askew across one shoulder.
The other men at the table began to wise up around the third toast. Baron von Gentz was seated by Prince Paul, and he shifted forward to observe what impact Paul’s efforts were having on the Dutch prince.
His posture reminded Charity of both Perry and Lord Ravenscroft, and the way they would forage for information in their surroundings.
From her place, Charity could not tell whether Paul was acting out of sheer mischief or calculation. Perhaps he was following out a whispered instruction from some malicious party. Using an accomplice to cause William or the princess humiliation was something Lady Fitzroy might easily orchestrate.
She was humiliated. Princess Charlotte hunched, curving around herself as to protect herself from the drunken spectacle of her betrothed.
Charity had only one ally at the table. She bumped her elbow against Prince Augustus’s arm. When he glanced her way, frowning at her faux pas, she murmured, “The toasts are more excessive than usual, are they not?”
Augustus scrunched his brow, not catching her meaning until she flicked a glance across the table, blanching at the state of Prince William. “Your Highness, perhaps we might give the toasts a rest,” he suggested, leaning forward to catch Paul’s attention. “The Queen—”
“The Queen,” Paul interrupted, “she would surely not begrudge her future son-in-law another glass in honour of his good fortune!” With a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he turned back to William without missing a beat. “To a friendship so strong it will bind our nations for generations!”
William roared his agreement and lifted his glass, sloshing half the pour down his cuff. Prince Augustus subsided with a sigh, his face tight with disapproval.
Paul was acting the scapegrace, and playing the part to perfection. But whether it was for his own amusement or another’s purpose, Charity didn’t know. And William, she noted with disgust, was playing right into his hands.
Gentz, The Propagandist, was also studying the scene—but he was watching the smirking Paul more than William. The look on his face was calculating, clearly wondering what Prince Paul of Württemberg’s aim might be.
The badly behaved princes held their glasses out to the footman for another refill. Princess Charlotte, unable to take any more, reached over and laid a hand on her betrothed’s arm.
“William, please,” she said, loud enough to be heard over their noise. “We will need to stand soon.”
Prince William was too far gone to see wisdom in her warning. Instead, her words added fuel to his fiery determination to celebrate.
“My dear, even when you are queen, you may not tell me when to sit and when to stand.” His tone was not cruel so much as chastising, as though the princess was a naughty child. “I am the man who will be king, and you will be the wife who smiles beside him.”
In the hush that followed, his words landed with an audible thud.
Princess Charlotte’s hand dropped from his arm as if scorched, her expression blanking.
People at the table either busied themselves with their plates or pretended to fall into intense discussions with their neighbours, as disconcerted by the situation as the princess.
Charity was horrified and ashamed. But those feelings were leveled at herself, not William.
This was the future to which she had consigned the princess.
Embarrassed, belittled, silenced. It didn’t matter whether Paul’s actions had been dictated by Marian Fitzroy.
Prince William was easy to manipulate with nothing more than a wine glass and a few choice words.
I have to rescue her, Charity thought, but she, the lowest-ranked guest in attendance, surrounded by veritable strangers, could not move. Social constraints bound her tighter than any rope.
Charity glanced at Augustus seated beside her, praying he would understand her silent request and do something bolder. But Prinny’s brother would not risk the Queen’s wrath by calling William to order and offending the Dutch prince. Even if it was for his own good.
Charity glanced along the table and was disturbed to find that Gentz’s assessing gaze had landed on her. Beggars could not be choosers, she supposed. Charity tilted her head towards William, silently pleading with Gentz to do something. Anything, to put them all out of their misery.
Von Gentz held still for a long moment, then he leaned back in his chair.
“You have proven your skills at toasting, Prince Paul. But I wonder how you fare in other arenas. I have a deck of cards whispering temptation in my pocket, and a coin that dearly wants to change hands.” His mouth took on a taunting slant.
“Do you play as boldly as you flatter Prince William?”
Paul laughed and leapt from his seat, tugging William’s sleeve. “What say you, my friend? Shall we show this diplomat what we can do with a few bits of pasteboard?”
“Lead the way to the game room, Baron. And prepare to lose.” William grinned in boozy confidence.
Gentz’s gaze flicked briefly at Charity, confirming she had seen his hook slide neatly into place. This was no mere act of gallantry. The Propagandist would use this opportunity for his own purposes. She could not find it in herself to care.
As the men left the table, the princess set her napkin on her plate and murmured her excuses to leave. Charity caught up with her before the young woman left the room.
“Your Highness,” she called in as soothing a voice as she could manage. “Wait—”
The princess ignored her pleas, hurrying up the main staircase to her room.