The privy was a long way away, down many yards of draughty corridors, and Beth took her time both getting there and back again. With luck they would be able to leave soon, she hoped, pausing by a glassed door which led on to an enclosed garden. The sun had come out, and the frost sparkled like diamonds on the bare branches of the shrubs and carefully pruned trees. She lingered a moment, reluctant to return to the stuffy atmosphere of the salon and the unending torrent of incomprehensible German.
"Are you fond of gardening, Lady Elizabeth?" came a voice from directly behind her. She let out her breath in a shocked gasp, and turned to find the person she least wanted to see at that moment standing directly behind her. He still wore his heavy outdoor coat and his face was flushed with cold and exercise. And pleasure at seeing her. She curtseyed deeply, taking the time to compose herself.
"Did you have a pleasant ride, Your Highness?" she said on rising, wondering if it would seem rude to edge past him and continue walking back to the salon.
"Indeed I did. The weather is most bracing, but I am glad I returned in time to see you."
Cumberland, deliberately or not, placed himself in a position in which in order to get past him, she would almost have to push him out of the way. She remained where she was, and answered his first question to her instead of commenting, as courtesy required, that she was glad to see him, too.
"I do not know much about gardening, Your Highness," she said. "In Manchester, my father employed a gardener and since I have been in London I have not had the time to indulge. But this garden seems very beautiful." She turned back to the view in order not to have to look at his beaming face.
"It is," he said. "I planted some of the shrubs myself, and when the war is over and I have a little more leisure and my own residence, I intend to take a personal interest in my own gardens. As for this one, although it is winter and most of the plants are therefore dormant, the holly is particularly delightful at the moment, as is the helleborus niger, a recent acquisition of ours."
"Very interesting," she said, having no idea to what plant the Latin name referred.
"It is, although you cannot see it from here. If you would care to accompany me in a turn about the garden, I will show it to you." Assuming acquiescence, he reached past her to open the door, and she moved back in alarm.
"I really must return to the salon," she said. "His Majesty and my husband will no doubt be wondering where I am."
"I am sure you will realise that I cast no aspersions on your considerable charms when I state that my father, if he is speaking of the forthcoming war, will hardly have marked your absence. And I'm sure Sir Anthony will not object to you taking the air for a few moments."
He wouldn't, but he would certainly object to the person she was taking it with. She looked out at the frosty garden.
"It's very cold," she said. "And I am just recovering from … "
In a gesture of the utmost gallantry he removed his coat and placed it tenderly around her shoulders, cutting off her excuse. The coat still held the warmth of his body, and smelt of horses and fresh air. If it had been Alex's she would have snuggled gratefully into it, relishing the unique smell of healthy, active male. As it was, it took a great effort of will not to fling it off her shoulders and run.
"There," he said, opening the door and smiling down at her, clearly finding the fact that his coat engulfed her diminutive frame charming in the extreme. He tucked her arm under his and led her out. "Come," he said. "It is surprisingly warm in the sunshine, and the fresh air will do you good."
Faced with no choice apart from the point-blank refusal Alex had told her to make, which seemed inappropriate in view of Cumberland's courteous behaviour, she accompanied him. With luck he would talk about gardening, show her the helleborus whatever-it-was, and then she could plead fatigue or a blister, or anything, and make her escape.
"Your father seemed to be telling my husband that he plans to return to Flanders at the earliest opportunity," she said.
"Did he?" replied the duke, apparently surprised.
"Well, he was speaking in German," she admitted. "But I recognised a few words, and his gestures are very eloquent."
"Ah, I see. Papa does tend to forget himself somewhat when speaking of his campaigns. Poor thing, you must have been very bored," said Cumberland, patting her hand sympathetically.
Damn. That was not what she had intended.
"Not at all," she put in quickly. "I am very interested in languages, and German is so … "
coarse and guttural.
" … much like English," she said. "I am sure I could learn it quite easily, if I put my mind to it. I must ask Anthony to teach me."
The duke frowned at the mention of her husband. Good.
"My father does not intend, I think, to command his troops in person this time. I hope to play a part myself, however," he said.
"I am sure that after your great bravery at Dettingen His Majesty could not fail to give you an important command," she said, hoping to engage him in talk of war, as the allegedly delightful helleborus plant did not appear to be making itself known, and there was little else to comment on in the leafless garden.
"Yes, I think I am not being immodest if I say the army could do with a little young blood. It could certainly do with some tightening up of discipline."
"Really?" she said. "Everybody says the British Army is a most formidable fighting force. Look at their achievement at Dettingen."
Soldiers were also generally considered to be the scum of the earth, too, although Beth thought it politic not to mention this.
"You are right. The British soldier, properly trained and disciplined, is second to none. But they are hard men and prone to unruliness unless set a good example by their officers. When I take command of the forces I intend to set that good example, and ensure my officers do the same. If the officers maintain the highest standards of discipline, the men will automatically imitate them. Ah, here we are," he said, halting beside a border.
Why couldn't he have just said it was a Christmas rose instead of showing off his knowledge of Latin? Beth thought irritatedly, looking at the plant. Nevertheless, she bent to examine the blooms, taking the opportunity to detach her arm from his.
"Oh, they're beautiful!" she cried. They were, the delicate yellow stamens contrasting with the creamy white petals. There were some buds too, their furled petals tinged with pink.
"A testament to the fact that even the most delicate of blossoms can survive in a variety of conditions," he said, stooping beside her and deftly plucking a flower. Before she could stop him he had carefully tucked the stem into her hair, allowing his fingers to brush her cheek lingeringly as he lowered his hand. "It is lovely," he breathed, "but your beauty eclipses it utterly." He bent his head to hers, clearly intending to kiss her.
How had they moved so quickly from military discipline to seduction? She reached up in panic and placed both her palms on his chest.
"Your Highness!" she cried. "You forget yourself. I am a married woman!"
He lifted his head but did not move away, and she saw with a sinking heart that he was undaunted.
"I have not forgotten that you are married," he said. "Nor have I forgotten your words to me that night at the opera. ‘If only I were not married,' you said. You gave me reason to believe that you returned my affection."
She had. Alex was right, it had been a mistake. He was not put off by her declaration. Quite the opposite, in fact.
"Indeed, I do have strong feelings for you, but I am married, Sir, indisputably so, and you would surely not have me be unfaithful to my husband?"
"Nobody's marriage is indisputable, Elizabeth," he said, smiling.
Her eyes widened in shock. Was he hinting that he would be willing to engineer a divorce for her, in order to make her his mistress?
"I am quite happy in my marriage, Your Highness," she said, putting as much ice as she dared into her tone. "My husband is considerate and generous and I could not wish for more."
"You are wrong," replied the duke, seizing her hand with uncharacteristic fervour. "You could, should wish for more. You should wish for love, and devotion, and passion. Mere kindness and generosity are not enough. You are a beautiful woman, Elizabeth; you need a man to awaken you to the sensual pleasures of life." He pressed her hand passionately to his lips.
She had a sudden urge to laugh, recognised that it was born of terror, and swallowed it back. She thought rapidly. He seemed to truly believe himself in love with her. He was younger than her in spite of his size and air of authority. Young enough to mistake lust for love.
What had Alex said? Hit him, or scream. No, it had not come to that, not yet. But she could see no way of extricating herself from this situation without offending him, and she hated him for putting her in this position.