Might. That was the problem. What might happen. He did not know. He never knew. All he knew was—he did not want to hurt her.
He could not hurt her. It was the most important thing. It had to be.
He made a decision.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said.
“For me?” Delight twinkled across her face. “What is it?”
“You will need to be patient. And you will need your cloak.”
“Is it outside, then?”
“Not exactly. Well, yes, exactly. You will see.” He took her hand and pulled her toward his mother, who was in conversation with members of the Mecklenburg-Strelitz delegation. “It is time we said our goodbyes.”
Charlotte glanced at all the guests, still merry and dancing. “Already?”
“We are no longer needed. No one can depart until we do, so really, we’re doing them all a favor.”
“George,” his mother said, once they’d reached her side. “You are looking well.”
The unspoken message being—sometimes you don’t.
George’s lips pressed together before he spoke. “It is my wedding day, Mother. Of course I am looking well.”
Augusta turned to Charlotte and curtsied. “Your Majesty.”
For a moment Charlotte appeared not to know what to make of this. Just that morning she had been the one curtsying to Augusta. Finally she nodded and said, “Your Royal Highness.”
“We depart anon,” George said. “I am taking Charlotte to see her present.”
“Her present?” Augusta frowned. “Oh, you mean—”
“Eh eh eh. Not a word. It is a surprise.”
“I must bid farewell to my brother,” Charlotte said. “I will return in a moment.”
“She is good for you,” Princess Augusta said once Charlotte was gone.
“Yes,” George said.
“And of course you are good for her. You are the King. You would be good for anyone.”
He did not really want to nod, but he did. He had to acknowledge her statement in some manner.
“You will bed her tonight?” Augusta asked. But it was really closer to a demand.
“Mother!”
“Every day you fail to produce an heir to the throne, our family’s position weakens.”
“Is that all a king is?” George countered. He was so bored of this conversation. It was one his mother introduced at least every other day. “A royal stud horse, trotted out for the chosen mare?”
Augusta just laughed. “Do not pretend you take umbrage. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
“I do not wish to have this discussion with my mother.”
“I do not wish to have this discussion with my son, but apparently I must.” The faint lines around her mouth tightened. “Do not forget your duty to this country.”
“I assure you, Mother, it is never far from my mind.”
“It is all so very modern now,” Augusta said. “In my day, there were seven people in the bedchamber on my wedding night to witness the marital act. To confirm that your father and I did what was necessary to make you.”
Dear God.
“Now,” she went on, “it is the thing to give the couple privacy. Which would not be an issue ordinarily. But the thing about you, George . . .”
He closed his eyes. “Don’t, Mother.”
But she did. “It is just that you have your own mind.”
The unspoken message being—and a strange mind it is.
George let out a breath. His hands felt funny. He needed to leave. And he was so bloody tired of all her unspoken messages. “Just say what you mean, Mother.”
She brought her eyes to his. “Do what needs to be done.”
“And damn the consequences?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
Augusta looked over at Charlotte, who was still saying goodbye to her brother. “She is lovely. Intelligent, too. That is a good thing, despite what most men say. She will make good babies.”
He shook his head. “Good night, Mother.”
She just tipped her head toward a spot past his shoulder. “She is coming back.”
“Thank you for waiting,” Charlotte said. “I am ready.”
“I am so glad to hear that,” Augusta said.
George shot her a look, one that fortunately Charlotte did not see. “Let us be away,” he said, tugging on his new wife’s hand.
“Is there no one else we need to bid farewell?”
“No one at all.” He started walking quickly, eager to be out of the palace after his conversation with his mother. He loved her, he did, but lately she always seemed to set him on edge.
Their carriage was waiting in the drive, and less than ten minutes later, they were at their destination.
“Where are you taking me?” Charlotte asked. “Are we there yet?”
“Don’t look. Keep your eyes closed.”
Charlotte obeyed. Almost. He saw one eye peek through her lashes.
“I see you peeking,” he said teasingly. “Do I need to send one of the footmen for a blindfold?”
“No, no, I swear,” she said with a laugh. “I will not look.”
He put his hand over her eyes. “I do not believe you.”
“I cannot get out of the carriage with my eyes closed.”
“You should have thought of that before you disobeyed me.”
“George!”
He loved the sound of his name on her lips, especially like that, tinged with a laugh. She would appreciate this gift. He knew she would.
It was for her own good.
She would understand.
She had to.
Charlotte
Buckingham House
London
“Are you ready?” George asked.
Charlotte nodded, trying to rein in the silly smile that kept tugging along her lips. He’d put his fingers over her eyes, something she’d never liked as a child, and yet tonight she did not protest. His hand was large and warm, and its strength hinted at something wicked and wonderful.
How could she have been so lucky? She knew what it meant to be ripped from one’s childhood home and sent off to marry. She may have been the first in her family to wed, but the other German nobles did not live so very far, and gossip traveled like the wind. Brides were bartered without a thought to their culture or language.
Or whether they cared for the groom. People were still talking about the dreadful match between Sophia Dorothea of Prussia and the “Mad” Margrave of Brandenburg-Schwedt, and that had occurred before Charlotte had even been born.
But George was perfect. Or maybe not perfect, because Charlotte was sensible, and she knew no one could be perfect. But he was everything she could have hoped for. And for the first time since Adolphus had informed her that she was leaving Mecklenburg-Strelitz, she was happy.
“Just a few more steps,” George said, once they’d stepped down from the ornate Gold State Coach that had taken them through London. “I want you to have the best vantage.”
“Of what?”
“Now, now, no need to be so impatient.”
She let herself be led across crunchy gravel. A drive? It must be; they had arrived in a carriage.
“Almost there,” George said. “One, two . . .”
And on three he lifted his hand to reveal a beautiful, stately home. Neoclassical in style, it was shaped like a U, with pillars and pilasters marching across its façade. A red carpet rolled down the stairs from the main entrance nearly all the way to the carriage.
“What do you think?” George asked eagerly.
“It is lovely.” She turned to her new husband, watching the flames from the torches flicker in his dark eyes. “Who lives here?”