Page 16 of Promised to the Swedish Prince
“Well, for instance, I could say that your coat looks fine. While I might mean that as a compliment, someone may see that as an insult depending on how I say it. It took me a long time to feel comfortable conversing in social situations,” she replied.
This was a further piece of unwelcome news. “I will have to work on my English. Hopefully the baron knows someone who can help me to become proficient enough to be able to master its idiosyncrasies. If I am going to be a success as a diplomat, I need to be able to talk to people.”
Erika raised an eyebrow. “How good or bad is your English? Now, be honest with me, Christian, because I know you were never one for practicing it.”
There was a hint of disapproval in her voice, which Christian did not welcome. It had been two years since she and he had last seen one another, and during that time neither had written to the other. Erika didn’t know him as well as she might once have done. It was time to set the record straight. “Perhaps, your comment would once have held merit. Rest assured, I have been working hard at my English, but it is far from perfect.”
A blush of red appeared on her cheeks. “I am sorry, Christian. That was unkind of me. If I am honest, I’m still a little disappointed about the box. But that doesn’t give me the right to take it out on you. Forgive me.”
He reached across and offered Erika his hand. Freya protested, and after slipping off Christian’s lap, she settled in the far corner of the carriage and growled at him.
“I seem to be getting into trouble with all manner of females this morning,” he said.
Erika placed her hand in his. When their gazes met, he saw tears shimmering in her eyes.
“You have it wrong. You could never be out of sorts with me. Christian Lind, you are the best thing I have seen in a very long time. I am so glad you are in England.”
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Chapter Eight
As the carriage made its way through the streets of London, Erika took up the role of tour guide. She pointed out various landmarks of importance to Christian. To her surprise, he paid close attention. He was right. The Prince Christian she used to know would have easily tired of the discussion and more than likely curled up in the corner and gone to sleep.
This new version of him had her intrigued.
“How is your family?” she asked. While it was the polite thing to ask, she was also keen to hear any news from home. The few letters that did arrive in the diplomatic bag were usually for her father or the baron. In them there were scant details of what was happening in Stockholm.
“They are well. Mamma and Pappa are both in fine health. My sister Anna has just had her third child, a little boy,” he replied.
“That is wonderful news. I don’t get to hear much of the goings-on at the royal court. Baroness von Rehausen tells me what she hears from her husband, but at times it is like I am living on another planet.”
“I promise to fill you in on all which has happened during your absence. In lieu of the letters I was unable to send, it is the least I could do,” he replied.
If I had been allowed to write to you, I would have been able to keep you abreast of things in Sweden.
It seemed that his brother had not bothered to tell Erika anything of the events at home.
Funny, that she has barely mentioned Gustav at all. Not even politely asked after his health.
That was an encouraging thought.
They finally drew up into the rear mews of a town house in Manchester Square. Christian put his face to the glass and turned up his nose. It was a short, narrow building.
I hope this is not the baron’s home. It is small. Their ballroom must be a crush when they host functions.
“Welcome to Baron von Rehausen’s home,” announced Erika.
So much for hope.
Inside the house, they were greeted by a surprised Swedish envoy who quickly made his position clear. “While it is an honor to have you in London, I don’t have room for you, Prince Christian. My wife gave birth to our eighth child only last month. We are already stretched to the limit on space. My eldest son has been relegated to sleeping in the attic.”
So, now was not the time to enquire as to whether the house had a ballroom.
Count Jansson nodded his agreement. “Yes, this accommodation is not suitable for you, Your Highness. Perhaps you could stay in a hotel until you get settled?”
This was not what he wanted to hear. Staying at a hotel would not work. He didn’t want to be away from his fellow Swedes. He wished to be immersed in their day-to-day lives, to learn from them.
The King wanted the trade negotiations with Great Britain to be tabled as soon as possible in order to beat the Russians. Christian had to get up to speed quickly on the political and diplomatic layout of London society. There had to be another option.
