Page 18 of Promised to the Swedish Prince
And now Erika was trying to poison him with bright yellowish-green chicken.
“Try it,” she added.
With a tired sigh, Christian picked up his spoon and took a small amount from the serving dish. He put the food to his mouth, stopping just before to take a tentative sniff.
Erika leaned back in her chair and laughed. “Oh, come now. It’s not that bad. I will have you know I made that myself.”
He cringed, embarrassed beyond words to have insulted her. Where were his manners?
The first taste of the curry was surprising—it was utterly delicious. He hurried back for a second, larger spoonful. “That is wonderful. The chicken is tender, and the curry has just the right amount of bite to it,” he said, after finishing his mouthful.
Erika sat and grinned at him from the other side of the small dining table. The house was tiny in comparison to the state apartments at Stockholm Palace, but it held a homely warmth that Christian relished. For some reason, knowing Erika had cooked the meal made it taste that much better.
“I was thinking that we need to move forward with your English lessons. You have been doing well in the week or so since you arrived, but it’s time we started to get you out into society to mix and converse with native English speakers,” she said.
The last of the chicken curry stopped partway down his throat.
Up until now, all of this had been theoretical. He had only ever had to speak English to tutors and Erika. Moving about London society, representing his country while trying to master a foreign language, was about to become a reality. “Alright. But on one condition,” he replied.
She leaned forward, hands clasped together, an eager look on her face. “And what is that?”
“You have to come with me. At least for the first few public events. I don’t know anyone in London, but you do.”
It was a gamble. A throw of the dice to see if Erika would dare to step outside the boundaries which had been set around their friendship. To push the edges a little.
She could easily counter with an offer to ask either her father or Baron von Rehausen to guide him into the world of thehaute ton, but Christian was counting on Erika wanting to be involved in his plans. During his time with the advisory council, he had learned the art of dangling a carrot in front of those who may be weak to resist temptation.
Please say ja. Or even yes.
“Let me speak to my father. We will need him to accompany us at the start. But I am certain that once London society discovers they have a Swedish prince in their midst, they will be falling over themselves to invite you to all manner of events,” she replied.
It wasn’t a complete ja, but it was close enough. You know you want to do it, Erika.
Christian got to his feet. He crossed to the window, taking in the view of the street below. Parties and balls were one thing, but he wanted to gain admittance to those select events where the real power brokers met. If he was to get the English to even begin considering a trade agreement with Sweden, he had to establish relationships.
“I am serious about making a difference for our country. It’s why I pushed for this post. If I stayed in Stockholm, I would just be another prince among many, living a meaningless existence. Now that the war with France is over, I want to help Sweden regain some of its influence in Europe. The trade deal with the United Kingdom is vitally important. The timing of it is especially more so, now that we know the Russians are coming. Imustmeet people who can help us get the negotiations underway as soon as possible.”
He turned from the window. “And I have to be able to speak to them and be convincing. I can learn all the English I want from a book or a tutor, but out there is where it all happens.”
Their gazes met, and for the first time Christian sensed that Erika was taking him seriously. He pressed home the point. “I am not Prince Christian, foolish boy any longer. Help me, Erika. Help me to make my mark on the world.”
She rose from her chair and came to stand before him. The light which shone in her eyes filled him with hope. “I will speak to my father.”
Hope that the count would say yes.
And hope that the years apart had not left them strangers.
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Chapter Ten
Count Jansson sat back in his chair and considered Christian over his steepled fingers. He shifted once more, screwed up his face, then sighed. The man was clearly not happy with what he had just heard. “I still find it difficult to accept that King Charles has sent you to London to head up the negotiations for a trade agreement between Sweden and the United Kingdom.”
Christian couldn’t fail to hear the disappointment and hint of censure in the deputy envoy’s voice. He also couldn’t blame him. Few senior diplomats would take kindly to having a young upstart, royal or not, arriving on his doorstep and announcing that he had been tasked with the job of securing a major treaty.
It would have been bad enough if he was someone who had diplomatic experience, or even a reputation for handling delicate international matters. But the Prince Christian Magnus would remember was a foolhardy, rash youth who had permanently injured his daughter.
It was time for Christian to set the record straight. “This is not my first experience with trade negotiations. I helped finalize the treaty with Denmark. I take my role in this matter seriously. If I didn’t, His Majesty King Charles would not have sent me. He was at pains to send someone who can get things moving with the English because little progress has been made up to this point.”
