In the Shadow of a Queen, page 25
Mama was in conference with Mary Ponsonby and Lady Jane, probably discussing the various “suitors for Louise.” Last night as she was heading to her bedroom, Lady Jane had remarked, “Lord Lorne stands heads above the rest of the men, don’t you think, Your Royal Highness?”
Louise had only said, “He is very amiable.”
Now, dressed and ready for the day, she sat at the window seat of her bedroom and sketched the wooded hills of Balmoral. She entered in some depictions of the men stalking. The man wearing a kilt, his hair flowing to his collar, was definitely a born Highlander. She turned the page of the sketchbook and drew from memory those who’d crowded around the piano last night. A tap at her bedroom door brought her out of her memories.
Helena came in, carrying six-month-old Thora. “You are hiding out, I see. Everyone is talking about Lord Lorne, you know.”
“Which is why I’m hiding out.” Louise set her sketchbook down. “Perhaps I’ll spend the day with Thora.” She reached for the baby, kissed the top of her head, then cradled her close.
Helena perched on the window seat and gazed across the grounds. “The men will be returning soon for luncheon, and then several of the guests will leave.”
“Oh?” This surprised Louise. “Who?”
“Why, all your suitors. Except for Lord Lorne, since he’s just arrived.”
Louise pursed her lips. “He will surely notice their departure. You know what the pressure did last time, and now . . . I don’t want that to happen again.”
“Because you like him after all?”
Louise lowered her gaze and placed another kiss on Thora’s head. “He is very agreeable.”
“And handsome?” Helena pressed.
“What does handsomeness have to do with a happy marriage?” Louise’s neck warmed. Lord Lorne might not be the most strikingly handsome man of the peerage, but his charisma and intelligence were far more valuable to her.
“There’s no harm in having a handsome husband,” Helena said with a knowing smile.
Louise laughed at this, then she sighed. “I think the marquess and I are getting on so well because we’ve already canceled any progression toward marriage. Everyone is watching and speculating now that we’ve had some friendly conversations. Can’t we talk without all of the fuss?”
Helena’s brows arched. “Mama has schemed for you to accompany the riding party this afternoon, so you can talk without fuss then.”
Louise rested her chin atop Thora’s head. “This whole process is both taxing and embarrassing.”
“I’m truly sorry.” Helena rested a hand on her arm. “Everyone wants the best for you. No matter what you decide, I’ll support you and your laird.”
Louise kicked Helena. Not hard.
Helena laughed. “You’d better start your preparations, sister. Lunch is soon, and you haven’t even dressed. You are the attraction of the year, you know.”
“Maybe I’ll skip lunch and give everyone a chance to discuss me.”
Helena took Thora from Louise’s arms. “You wouldn’t dare. Besides I think you’re looking forward to seeing a certain Highlander.” She’d crossed to the door, then sent a smirk to Louise.
“See if I don’t appear,” Louise called after her.
Her attention was distracted by the arriving hunting party outside her window. She moved to the side so she wouldn’t be spotted if someone happened to look up to the second-floor window. She picked out John easily. He was wearing a tartan again, despite the cold of the morning. He and Rosebery were deep in conversation. Arthur was chatting with the other men. Leo must not have joined them. Had he had a bad night, then?
Louise dressed quickly, not admitting to herself that she cared how she looked this particular day, and headed to the library, searching for Leo. He was reading on the sofa, Frisky next to him, taking a nap. At her entrance, the dog raised its head and trotted over to Louise.
She bent to scratch the top of Frisky’s head. “What’s this, brother? You’re lazing about while the men do the real work of hunting for sustenance?”
Leo’s lips quirked as he set down his book. “If chasing a few grouse on foot constitutes work, then I’m guilty for being lazy. I’m not interested in getting briars and thistles stuck on my clothing.”
Louise laughed. “You are spoiled.”
He wrinkled his nose, but he didn’t laugh like he should have.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Are you ill?”
“I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.” He paused. “How is your headache?”
She shouldn’t have been surprised that her perceptive brother had remembered her complaint from the previous morning. “It’s gone. For now.”
“Does its absence have to do with the arrival of a certain marquess?”
“You’re worse than Helena,” Louise said. “And I’ve already had an earful from her. The only reason I tolerate her is because her children are darlings.”
Leo shrugged, his smile now in place. “You’re very good at deflecting conversations, sister. The marquess likes you, Loosy. I can tell. Even if he hadn’t sent you that poem, last night things were very obvious.”
“Things?”
“A man knows when another man is interested in a woman.”
Louise went quiet at this and let her gaze stray to the library door. Somewhere in the house the men were preparing for the luncheon, and then most would be leaving. John would be staying, and maybe . . . maybe . . . She sighed and looked at her brother. “I don’t know what to do, Leo. He’s a fine man—there is no denying that. But he has been put off once before, and I’d hate to—”
“Just be yourself,” Leo said. “If you are yourself, and he is himself, then you’ll know. You’ll both know.”
Louise swallowed back her next words of doubt. “I hope you’re right.”
“Once those other men leave, you’ll have fewer people vying for your attention,” Leo said, “and perhaps you’ll discover what answers you’re seeking.”
“Perhaps.”
Things didn’t quite happen as Leo predicted. Instead, Louise overheard a conversation between the queen and Lord Lorne coming from the drawing room. It was after luncheon, and indeed the other men of the peerage had taken their leave. Louise had been polite and friendly to all, but Lady Churchill had been correct. John stood heads above the rest in quality and appeal. “Did you read Lord Granville’s letter?” the queen asked Lord Lorne.
Louise paused before the doorway, keeping out of sight. She’d nearly walked into the drawing room but then stopped when she saw the queen sitting with Lord Lorne.
“I did receive the letter, Your Majesty,” Lord Lorne said. “I am not sure why Granville wrote to tell me how to behave around Princess Louise. Has my behavior been indecent in the past?”
“Oh, nothing like that,” the queen said. “But I want you to appeal to Louise and that means not being too loud or overtaking the conversation like some men do. She’s a princess and should be given deferential treatment.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Lord Lorne murmured. “I believe I have always done so and will always do so when I see her. But please tell me why Granville wrote to me of this matter.”
“Because you were coming to Balmoral, and Louise is here.” The queen paused, and Louise could only guess what was going through John’s mind. “I want her to change her mind about you.”
Louise stifled a groan. If only she could see John’s face. Or perhaps not. It was probably one of concealed surprise and discomfiture. The silence stretched, and Louise worried that the pair of them could hear the rapid tapping of her heart.
“If I am not myself, ma’am,” John finally said, “then how will Princess Louise, or anyone else for that matter, get to know me?”
“We all have different sides to our character,” the queen said matter-of-factly in a tone that Louise was well familiar with. “I am asking you to use your quiet side, sir.”
John must have agreed, as all peers do when given requests by the queen, because he was quiet during the luncheon. Gone was his easy conversation and witty charm from the night before.
And it made Louise furious.
She thought she did admirably well hiding her frustration, but she was sorely tempted to plead a headache—it wouldn’t be a lie—and stay home from the afternoon’s riding excursion.
But she didn’t because she decided to ask John about his conversation with the queen. That would settle his character once and for all. Would he confess? Would he smooth over what had really been said? If she were to marry him—not that she was considering it—she needed her future husband to not withhold anything from her.
Chapter 29
“Madam, May I ask Your Royal Highness to accept the Cross which I now send, made of the Iona Stone. This cross is out of a piece which I picked up in Iona last September and which was the only specimen which I have ever seen of sufficient size for such a purpose. Professor Maskelyne of the British Museum does not seem to be sure what the mineral is—whether a soft jade, or a soft serpentine. It is half transparent when held up to a strong light.”
Letter from the Duke of Argyll
to Princess Louise, April 26, 1870
September 1870
Louise, age 22
if there was one thing that put Louise at ease besides being in her art studio, it was riding a horse. She enjoyed riding by herself the most since she didn’t have a need for conversation. Yes, there was always someone to accompany her, but her lady-in-waiting knew enough to not bother her with chatter.
Lady Churchill, Arthur, Mary Lascelles, Lord Chancellor Hatherley, the Ponsonbys, Lord Lorne, and Louise all set off together in the warm afternoon. The wind was tame, and for that Louise was grateful. The ride was more leisurely than she preferred, but the number of people warranted it, and she couldn’t very well ride ahead of them all.
At first, she rode with Arthur, and as the ride continued toward the River Dee, the horses became more spread out, and pairings developed.
The Ponsonbys rode side by side, while Lady Jane and Mary Lascelles stuck together, conversing about something or other. Lord Hatherley trotted his horse alongside Louise. He was talkative and full of compliments—so much so that Louise sent a questioning gaze to Mrs. Ponsonby. It was as if Lord Hatherley were trying to get into her good graces for some reason. Did he have something he wanted her to talk the queen into?
Thankfully, Mrs. Ponsonby must have spoken to her husband because Henry soon rode up to join them and asked Lord Hatherley a question about Scottish law. That was all it took to fully divert Lord Hatherley’s attention.
Louise almost laughed aloud.
She increased her pace and was on her way to catching up with Arthur when she noticed another rider beside her.
“That was a clever escape, Your Royal Highness,” John said.
“Was it that noticeable?” She glanced over at him. He made a fine horseman.
John looked behind them, then his blue gaze settled upon her again. He was in his element, out here in the wilds of Balmoral. He rode easily, the reins loose in his hands, his back erect, yet his body moved confidently in control of the horse beneath.
“To me it was,” he said, “but I don’t think anyone else was paying such close attention.” His gaze moved over her, and Louise didn’t know if she should be flattered or annoyed at his unconcealed perusal. “You get this crease between your brows when you’re not pleased with something.”
Louise raised a gloved hand to her forehead. “I do?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “You do. Now, what was Lord Hatherley saying that bored you nearly to your death?”
Something warm bubbled in her chest. “How about I tell you all about our conversation after you tell me what Mama said while she had you sequestered in the drawing room.”
That made all humor disappear from his eyes.
Louise waited, wondering if he’d avoid telling her directly, change the subject, or brush it off as if it were nothing.
In a quieter voice, he said, “She requested that I not talk very much around you and not take the lead in conversation.”
Louise blinked. This was precisely what she’d overheard. “I don’t understand why Mama would dictate what you can or cannot say to me or when you must speak. I’m not a schoolgirl.”
Again his gaze assessed her. “No, you’re not. But Her Majesty believes that you don’t hate me as much as you used to, and that if I make enough of a good impression, you’ll add me back into your lineup of suitors.”
She gaped. “I don’t hate you—” She clamped her mouth shut.
John Campbell was smiling.
And she was blushing. She had to think of something to say—to cover up how this man’s boldness was affecting her. How had she entirely changed her opinion of him from the year previous? “The queen will be most disappointed that you are not being quiet at all this afternoon.”
John chuckled. “Like I told Her Majesty, if I am not myself, then how could anyone know whether he or she liked me?”
His words were so full of innuendo that Louise feared her heart might beat out of her chest. She tried to look anywhere but at him. He filled her vision anyway, despite the expanse of the wild countryside. She needed to ride faster, harder, let the wind tug at her clothing and hair. It was the only way to clear her mind of encroaching, and somewhat ludicrous, thoughts.
She cast him a sideways glance. “You make a fine form on a horse, Lord Lorne,” she said, using his more formal title on purpose, “but how are you at racing?”
His brows arched, and his blue eyes glimmered at her challenge. “I can compete.”
“Then I shall meet you at the valley’s edge.” Louise slapped the reins of her horse and nudged the mare with her heels. Soon she was passing everyone, including Arthur. Sailing ahead, she leaned forward, keeping her gaze centered even though she heard pounding hooves behind her. Then to the side of her.
John had caught up.
She knew the stable horses well enough to know that he could easily pull ahead of her if he wanted to. Perhaps he knew that as well. But he didn’t advance. They rode at a breakneck speed, matching stride for stride, until they reached the edge of a valley.
No one else joined in the race, which didn’t surprise Louise at all.
When Louise reined in her horse, she was well out of breath. John hadn’t even broken a sweat. But his hair was windblown now, which seemed fitting since darker clouds had gathered. And with the incoming clouds, the temperature dropped. She and John were fully out in the open, in view of the others, yet she’d never been so alone with him. Or with another man, for that matter. She could say anything, and not a soul in the world would hear it save for John.
“You could have easily beat me.” Louise eyed the man atop his horse.
The reins were loose in his hands, his smile relaxed. “I wanted to race with you, not against you.”
The words were like poetry, but this was not the time to think of that. So he was a poet and quite good with words—that shouldn’t be turning her thoughts inside out.
The silence between them stretched. It wasn’t an awkward one, not like things had been between them the year previous. The silence felt warm, if something like that were even possible. She focused on the approaching riders.
“Tell me, Princess Louise,” John said. “Is it too presumptuous for me to ask for a tour of your art studio?”
She snapped her gaze to him. He was much closer than she realized, and perhaps she did see a bit of perspiration on his forehead and on the hollow of his neck, where his shirt had opened from the wind. “There’s not much to see,” she said. “I keep most of my work at Windsor or Osborne. Here, I have scraps I’m working on. A few sketches. A half-finished painting that I’ve lost ambition for.”
“I’ve seen your work, you know,” John continued before she could exclaim her surprise, “at the Royal Academy at Burlington House.”
When he said nothing more, she said, “Well. Are you going to tell me what you thought?”
A single brow arched. “Are you going to tell me what you thought about my poem?”
He was teasing her, baiting her . . . She took a careful breath. “The poem was . . .” She searched for the proper words that would be kind but not too complimentary. “Well done.”
John gave a curt nod. “You’ve kept me in suspense for months only to tell me my poetry is well done?”
“You have been in suspense?” For some reason, her breath went shallow. Maybe it was due to the fact that John was closer now. Still feet apart, but closer. The blue of his eyes wasn’t easy to describe, nor would they be easy to paint. She’d have to use more than one color.
“I have been in very great suspense,” he said in a soft tone.
She didn’t look away from his direct gaze. “All right. I loved the poem. Now can we move on from the topic?”
His smile was slow, then grew wider.
“Wait.” Louise’s breath scattered. “Have you really been wondering what I thought?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes, and I am now greatly relieved to hear that you loved it.”
Her heart rate should be back to normal by now, yet it was far from that. “It’s your turn to tell me what you thought of my sculpture.”
John lifted his chin and gazed at the clouds now racing across the graying sky.
“You have to think about it?”
His mouth quirked. “No, I am narrowing down all the compliments I have in mind.”
The riders were getting closer now, making leisurely but steady progress.
Finally, John looked at her. “Surely you know how talented you are, Princess Louise, but I shall add to the accolades if I may.”
