Page 48 of A Torn Allegiance
His soft chuckle filled their now-empty carriage as it drove to their town house down the same street. “I don’t know, Your Highness.”
His reaction further irritated Hayes. “You are not giving my question the weighty response it deserves. If she were to be the perfect woman for my country and she could not be convinced to return with me... these are weighty matters indeed.”
“Perhaps. Even weightier, I would think, would be the answer to this question.” He adjusted his sleeves, and Hayes grew more agitated at the theatrics. The carriage was arriving at his town house.
“What is the question, man?”
“Is she the woman for you personally? Does she make you happy? Do you love her?”
“That matters more than my question of whether she would make an accomplished and successful Queen of Oldenburg?”
“In my mind, much more, for if the two of you can make a beautiful union, your country will be all the more blessed for it.”
Hayes considered him and knew he was correct. “But I feel like a ninny pining over a woman simply because I am drawn to her. It sounds much more the thing to be discussing her as pertaining to matters of state.”
Bartholomew’s laugh grew. He shook his head as he exited the carriage.
“And now where do your thoughts go?” Hayes quickly alighted from the carriage and caught up to Bartholomew at his front door.
“To her. I wonder how she would feel about being a matter of state.”
Hayes grunted because he suspected she would not appreciate it at all. “She is not easy to please.”
“And much more valuable for it.”
“So you approve?”
“Wholeheartedly. If, as you say, you can convince her to join you in Oldenburg.”
And therein lay the problem, for Hayes wasn’t certain he could.
Chapter Seventeen
Elsie tried to ignore apersistent bother, but just like all itches anyone forcefully ignored, the fester only grew. But was it altogether a fester? More like a delightful spring breeze. Except that it was unwanted, and the matter of it being delightful created the bother, like the kind of breeze that made a loose hair itch her nose. She didn’t wish to think kindly of Prince Hayes, but she also couldn’t avoid thoughts of him—any thoughts—and all were centered on how she could possibly be in his presence again. Oh, she was in trouble.
She and her mother spent the morning in preparation for their meeting and then had separated to finish last-minute touches on their attire, none of which had cleared her thoughts of Prince Hayes. Elsie was looking forward to their discussions today, very much so, for they had been reading Sir Walter Scott, and no one but Elsie, her mother, and Lady Sophie knew, but the man himself would be in attendance to do a reading.
She entered the drawing room, where they would hold their meeting. The servants laid out the items for an elaborate tea. The books on the table were placed carefully as a form of display but also as discussion pieces. She loved this part of her life. She loved the discussions that resulted from careful study of literature. She enjoyed celebrating intelligence. An exhilarating breath filled her. Yes. She reveled in celebrating intelligence. In meetings such as these, gone were the pleasantries of the ballroom, the tedious morning-caller discussions, the gossip, and the willful silliness of women. In these discussions, they talked of things that mattered.
And today, her most beloved author, Sir Walter Scott, had agreed to come. Her feet moved her to all parts of the room, forward and back, as she touched the table of books, Sir Walter Scott’s works foremost of all. He would linger for dinner and tell them of her beloved Scotland, and she would feel just that much closer to her homeland, just that much farther away from things that seemed to matter very little.
A tiny voice reminded her that Scotland would be that much farther from a certain prince as well, and as much as she tried to hush the voice, it grew in strength until she recognized it as a strong contender for precedence in her thoughts. Prince Hayes. She frowned. He had dismissed her questions, made light of her contributions in conversation, refused to talk of his experience with the French and the Scots, and in fact, was quite rude at the ball. Did he really think her unable to grasp the concepts men did? Or did he just wish to hide things? Was he colluding with Napoleon? What an absurd thought. But it was one that, as yet, had not received a definitive answer.
Her questions led her to think she ought to dislike the man, but she could not. Instead, she sat thinking of him, pining for him, even, when he was not around.
Then she laughed, thinking of their moments in the carriage. Really, he was quite charming. He’d already charmed her mother, her brother, and almost her father.
She determined that whatever her feelings were for Prince Hayes, they were certainly not mild.
With her thoughts a jumble, she craved a respite. Praise be, she would be spending the entire evening surrounded by her dearest conversationalists at the feet of Sir Walter Scott, and she needn’t think of Prince Hayes even one time.
Her mother entered the room, directing a servant who carried a basket of decorations. “I’ve invited Prince Hayes this evening. His brothers were otherwise engaged, but the Duke of Sumter will arrive with him.”
“Prince Hayes?” Elsie hardly heard her own voice in response as her thoughts stuttered through her.
“Yes, did you not hear me just now? His Highness and the Duke of Sumter will be here any moment.” Her mother reached for her hand. “Are you well?”
“I hardly know. Mother, must we invite him?”
