The Princess and the Peer(2)

Taking the letter back from Mercedes, Emma folded it neatly in half. “If he could, I am certain he would have done so. Rupert loves me,” she added, trying to reassure herself as much as the others.

“Perhaps. But he loves his country more,” Ariadne said.

Emma drew in a breath. “Father is old and ill and Rupert will succeed him soon. He is simply doing his duty.”

Silence fell as the three young princesses contemplated Emma’s fate.

“I suppose your news is only to be expected,” Mercedes mused with a sigh of resignation.

“Mercedes, how can you say such a thing?” Ariadne turned to her, aghast. “Have you no care for Emma’s feelings?”

Before Mercedes could defend herself, Emma broke in.

“No. She’s right,” Emma said in a firm voice. “Having a marriage arranged for me should not have come as a surprise. It is the way things are done—at least it is if you are royal.”

“But, Em—” Ariadne began.

Emma shook her head, ignoring the knot of misery wedged like a stone within her chest. “Life is not like one of the Minerva Press novels the other girls are always sneaking into school. As much as each of us might dream of finding a true and perfect love, of meeting a gallant knight who will sweep us off our feet and give us a lifetime of happiness, such ideas are naught but fantasies. Other girls, even aristocratic ones, may hope to find affection in their marriages. We do not have that luxury.”

“We should,” Ariadne declared bitterly. “You’ve said yourself how wrong it is that women are bartered and sold into wedlock, no better than pawns on a chessboard.”

She met her friend’s outraged expression, a numbness spreading through her veins. “Yes, but the time has come to put aside girlish dreams. We are princesses, born to a life of privilege and wealth. With such rewards come obligations. Much as I might wish for more, for love, I shall fulfill my duties.”

“Without so much as a protest?” Ariadne said.

“What would be the point when I shall only lose in the end?”

Ariadne huffed in disgust. “Perhaps I am an idealist—yes, yes, I know that I am—but nothing shall ever change for our sex if we remain silent.”

“You’ve been reading too many texts by Mrs. Wollstonecraft and her like,” Emma remarked, well aware of the radical literature her friend managed to sneak into the castle with the help of a like-minded correspondent who hid the works inside the dry religious tracts Ariadne received in the post.

“The bluestockings are shockingly daring,” Mercedes remarked in a hushed tone. “Personally, I wouldn’t have the nerve.”

Ariadne sent her an encouraging look. “You have a great deal more nerve than you think, if only you would apply yourself to the effort.”

Mercedes shook her head. “You’re the brave one, Arie. I could never go against the rules. If my parents even knew we talked of such things…” She gave a delicate shudder.

“Or mine,” Emma agreed. “Which is why I must go when my brother sends the coach.”

Mercedes’s mouth turned down, and she dabbed at her suddenly damp eyes with her silk handkerchief. “The letter said you are to leave next week. Must you go so soon?”

The pain in Emma’s chest returned at the reminder. “I expect I must.” A sudden burst of fear rushed through her. Leaning forward, she reached for the other girls’ hands, clutching them inside her own. “Promise me we won’t lose touch. Promise me that, no matter what, we shall always remain friends. That we shall visit. That we shall be each other’s strength, comfort, and best hope.”

“Of course we shall,” Mercedes exclaimed. “I could not bear to lose you. You know that.”

Emma waited, unsure of her other friend’s answer, especially in light of their disagreement. But then Ariadne’s hand tightened around hers, gripping hard and fast. “Yes, you have my faithful promise,” Ariadne said. “The three of us are—and shall always be—the very best of friends. Sisters not by blood but by choice.”

“Sisters by choice,” the three of them solemnly recited together. “Forever.”





Chapter 1





“How is it possible that my brother has been delayed again?” Emma demanded nearly a month later, her nuncheon growing cold on her plate. “He was supposed to arrive by week’s end.”

“Unforeseen circumstances have arisen,” her chaperone, the Duchess of Weissmuller, responded. “The prince sends his apologies and begs your continued indulgence, Your Highness. As you know, he is an extremely busy man.”