Brighton, February 28, 1816
Lady Isabelle Fenwick saw panic in Princess Charlotteâs blue eyes as she stared at her reflection. âI w-want him to like me for myself, not only because of the crown.â The slight hesitation inherited from the House of New Brunswick was another signal of agitation.
âHe will,â Isabelle soothed. âHas he not shown remarkable constancy these past two years?â
They were speaking of His Excellency, Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, the man about to become the princessâs betrothed husband. Isabelle wasnât surprised at the Princess Charlotteâs sudden rush of nerves. She might be next in line for the British throne after her fatherâthe Prince of Wales, now the Prince Regentâbut the past two years had been fraught with difficulties.
Mrs Louis, the princessâs dresser, straightened the rose velvet bow at the back of the white satin gown and stepped back. âYou look lovely, Your Highness. His Excellency must be delighted.â
It was true. The white satin gown set off the princessâs milky skin to perfection and its cut made the most of her buxom figure. The dark golden curls arranged high on her crown with a few curls teased out at the temples gave her a pleasing but youthful dignity.
The princess stamped her foot. It was an impulsive impatient gesture left over from childhood. âThen why has he waited so long?â
Sometimes Isabelle, at twenty-three, felt ancient compared to the nineteen-year-old princess. But she did not blame her for her fears, knowing the disaster of her parentsâ marriage. âThe time wasnât right before now.â
Mrs Louis smoothed imaginary creases from the delicately embroidered skirts. âNow the gloves, Your Highness.â
The princess held out one plump hand with a sigh. She glanced at the door to the dressing room through which the other ladies-in-waiting would pass when they finished their toilettes. âI do wish I had spent more time in his company when he visited London two years ago.â
Mrs Louis put on her other glove. âI will fetch the pearls, Your Highness.â She disappeared into the bedroom next door.
âIf only my father had suggested him as a possible husband then,â Charlotte continued, âI might not have got into a scrape with Prince Augustus.â She thrust her chin out, another unfortunate mannerism she occasionally forgot to curb. âI am tired of being treated like a miscreant. Cranborne Lodge is little more than a prison. No one visits me there. At least this marriage is a chance to escape.â
Not the best reason to accept a marriage proposal. Guilt pressed heavily on Isabelleâs chest. âIf I hadnât left you alone withââ
Princess Charlotte put up a hand. She paced away from the mirror and swirled back to face Isabelle. âNothing happened. Prince Augustus flirted a little. Nothing more. It is because I would not marry that drunkard, William of Orange, that I am hidden away in the grounds at Windsor with no one to talk to but the queen.â
That was one way to look at it. But if Princess Charlotte hadnât been left alone with Prince Augustus, she might not have fallen for him, and if that hadnât happened, she might not have infuriated her father by severing her engagement to William of Orange. Topping it off with an impetuous midnight flight alone across London to her mother had sealed her fate. The princess had been confined to Windsor and all her ladies had been dismissed, except for Isabelle, who had been so new and so junior no one imagined she was responsible. In truth, it had all been her fault.
The princess had begged her to say nothing of the way sheâd been led astray by her own foolish heart. Count Nikkolae Grazinsky had tricked her shamefully.
âI am sure Prince Leopold is all you seek in a husband. He always appeared very kind when we met him,â she said, bringing the princessâs mind back to happier thoughts.
The princess stopped pacing and put her hand to her throat. âMy heart beats so hard it feels like a wild b-bird in my throat.â She laughed, the sound loud in the small dressing room. âI did like him when we met, I suppose, but I met so many gentlemen, I can scarce recall him. All I know of him, I know from his letters.â
The princess had been flattered by all the attention from foreign nobility visiting London that summer. Given the rampant neglect of her parents, it was hardly surprising she had fallen for any man who smiled her way. The quiet and serious Leopold hadnât stood a chance among the flashier noblemen, despite his impeccable lineage, handsome face and the dashing uniform of a Russian general.