Christian remained beside the chair, unsure as to whether he should approach Erika or not. There was a brittleness about her that called for him to close the distance between them and hold her in his arms. To offer the comfort that no matter what she had decided, he was there for her. And always would be. “I shall respect whatever you wish to do. None of this is easy. If it were, I would not have asked you to consider this ruse.”
“I know. Thank you. My answer is yes. You and I shall be betrothed for a time. During that period, I will do all I can to help you to secure the treaty. I do have one condition for our agreement—something which is non-negotiable,” she replied.
If that wasn’t an ominous statement, Christian didn’t know what one was. He was also not in a position to refuse Erika. He could only hope it was something minor—a matter easily overcome.
“And what is your condition?” he asked.
She pushed away from the railing and walked toward him, stopping only a foot away. When she raised her head and met his gaze, he could have sworn he saw tears.
“You are not to tell me that you love me.”
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Chapter Sixteen
As King Charles’s official representative, it was Baron von Rehausen’s role to announce the betrothal of His Royal Highness Prince Christian and Countess Erika Jansson. A letter was sent to the Prince Regent at Carlton House. Count Jansson wrote to King Charles and Prince Stefan informing them of this latest development in the trade negotiations.
Later that week, the first of the invitations arrived at Duke street. A newly engaged couple was more interesting to the matrons of London society than two unconnected foreign dignitaries.
While their betrothal might well be a ruse, there was still the matter of the façade which had to be maintained. Erika quickly found herself in the center of a whirlwind. Baroness von Rehausen became the mastermind of countless modiste fittings for new gowns, as well as endless shopping trips. It was nice to have new clothes, but the fact that Christian was funding her new wardrobe left a bitter taste in Erika’s mouth.
I have been sold for the good of my country.
“You cannot just announce your engagement to Prince Christian. You must be seen about town making preparations for the wedding,” the baroness explained.
The fact that there was not going to be any nuptials didn’t seem to matter. All that did was the appearance of a future wedding. The Jansson home soon became full of boxes—items that a prospective bride would be expected to gather. What Erika was going to do with all the linen, fine china, and manchester when Christian officially broke off their betrothal, she had no idea.
Hopefully Pappa will let me take it all back to Sweden when I leave.
Returning home from yet another long morning of shopping with the baroness, an exhausted Erika retreated to her sitting room. She stood at the door, peering over the multitude of boxes.
Will I ever see my comfortable sofa again?
Along one side of the miniscule room were boxes stacked almost to the ceiling. Erika could manage to get to her writing desk if she squeezed between the low walnut coffee table that the Spanish ambassador had sent as an engagement gift, and the oak sideboard that may or may not have come from the United States Minister to Great Britain.
“Thank the lord the baroness is managing the gifts and the thank you cards,” she muttered.
She was grateful for the efforts of Baroness von Rehausen—the envoy’s wife had taken on the role of de-facto mother of the future bride and was doing an outstanding job. If they did succeed in securing the treaty, it would be in no small part down to her efforts.
Her other concern at this very moment was a familiar one. Erika’s knee hurt. If she could have punched Christian once for every time her injury gave her grief, he would never heal from the bruises.
“Erika? Oh good. I was wondering when you would be home.”
Speak of the devil. I wish that for one moment you would stop being so handsome. If you did, my heart might stand a chance of surviving this madness.
The tall fair-haired man of her secret dreams inched into her sitting room. There was not enough legroom for him to step, let alone stride. His gaze roamed the small space, over the boxes and gifted furniture. “I think you might have enough to set up a whole house in here,” he remarked.
Erika raised an eyebrow. He was probably right. She took a deep calming breath and did her best to ignore her ongoing pain. “What can I do for you, Prince Christian?”
The smile disappeared from his face. “Why so formal? Are you still mad at me over this whole betrothal business?”
There were one thousand ways she could answer that question—few of them would do her any good. “No, just tired.”
Christian held a letter in his hand. He grinned as he waved it in the air. “Success! We have been invited to dine with the Prince Regent and some select guests at a private dinner at Carlton House. This is exactly what we need.”
Erika may have been feeling a tad out of sorts, but she had to agree with Christian—this was what they had been hoping for following the announcement of their engagement. Entry to the rarified air of the Prince of Wales’s inner circle.
She mustered her own tight smile. “That is good news. Congratulations, Christian.”
