Chapter Ten

A/N: Thank you to Candy Couture for reviewing the last chapter.

It had been three months since the Queen had come to Glamis and it seemed that not a minute had gone by without Elizabeth thinking about Bertie. He had sent his mother to come and visit her, to determine her suitability as a bride; there was no other explanation. Even so, the young woman could not help but smile a little. It seemed that she was not the only stubborn one.

The night after the Queen had left, Elizabeth had been set upon with questions from her mother, the woman seeking to analyse each miniscule detail of their meeting, what she had said, how she had stood, anything to deduce what sort of impression she may have given. She had answered shortly, with as little detail as possible, something that frustrated the woman no end. She continued to press for the next few days, but Elizabeth did not relent. It was bad enough to discuss her romances with the royal family, let alone her own.

When the postman came by with a packet of letters, Elizabeth watched anxiously while her father sifted through them, picking out a couple that would be sent upstairs to her mother, a couple to be shared between her brothers, keeping the ones meant for him balanced on the edge of his plate. He gave her a tired smile when he caught her staring, as she had done every morning, then shook his head. Once again, there was nothing for her, Bertie neglecting to address his interference. Once again, she was a little upset he had not replied.

Elizabeth had written to Bertie a few days after his mother's departure, her page littered with water marks and smudges, but she had not bothered to rewrite it. She wanted the prince to know just how much he had hurt her when he ignored her request to be left in peace. She would never be a royal duchess, would never survive living in the public eye, unable to be herself. She had told him all of this but he still would not let her go. The issue she was forced to address now was whether she really wanted him to.

"Lost in thought?" came a familiar voice from the doorway. Elizabeth looked up, plastering a smile onto her face. Of all the people she would have wanted to see at that moment, James Stuart was very low down on her list.

"I suppose you could say that." she answered, shuffling forward slightly to perch on the edge of the settee, the way her mother had taught her. When she was alone, she tended to sit on the furniture. "I wasn't expecting to see you."

"I was just popping in, thought we may be able to have a little chat." Elizabeth's smile faded as James came nearer. There was something about the way he walked, measured and controlled that made her wary- usually, James seemed to trip over his own feet half of the time, rather like her.

"What did you want to talk about?" the young woman questioned, feeling somewhat mechanical. They were both aware she was going through the motions; they both knew exactly what he had come to say.

"I've had an offer to go and work in America." James stated, speaking far quicker than she had expected him to, as if he could not wait to have the truth revealed. "It's an incredible offer, and the Palace are happy for me to take it up. I'm rather a lucky chap on all counts."

"Of course, of course." Elizabeth responded, trying to keep her voice light. Her eyes were still wide with shock. "It's all rather exciting, isn't it?"

"That's how I'm choosing to see it, yes." James agreed. He took a couple of deep breaths before he continued. "The matter is, Elizabeth, that I'm going to be living on the other side of the world. And I'm not sure if you feel the same, but I believe that might make it a little too difficult… for us."

Elizabeth inclined her head a little sadly. "I appreciate your honesty, James, it does you real credit. Most men would have done a bunk without giving it a second thought. But you're right, it would make things too difficult. I'm a British woman through and through, I doubt I would do all too well in America."

"I hope you will stay in touch, letters and the like." James requested, looking her tentatively in the eye.

The young woman smiled gently. "I would like that very much. I'll need to hear how you've taken the New World by storm, swept a young American lass off her feet."

"So I should hope." James laughed. For a moment, it was just like the cheering times they had spent together over the past few months. It was the first time Elizabeth realised she might have done well with James in the end.

The two stood in unison, sensing all the necessary words between them were said. There was an awkward moment's pause, but James was the first to overcome it, leaning forward to place a tender kiss on Elizabeth's cheek. That kiss was filled with all the words that had not been necessary, but still ought to have been acknowledged nonetheless. The kiss was filled with the promise of what might have been.

Inclining his head respectfully, James took his leave, his shoulders slumped with relief. He had barely reached the door, his hand poised on its handle, before he turned to face her once more.

"Elizabeth, I've not let anything hold me back. I'm taking a chance when it's presented to me, because it's the best chance I have of being happy." The brunette woman blinked at him, not quite understanding the significance. She had congratulated him on his achievement already, they had said everything they needed to say. "Promise me that you'll do the same."

With that, James left the room, heading off into the distance, and Elizabeth sank back onto the settee once more. She doubted she would ever see the man again, a dreadful shame for she had come to enjoy his company of late. But his message was a precious one, one she would try and live by. There was no point letting a chance pass her by, when she knew how infinitely happy it would make her. 'Sometimes the pleasure outweighs the pain.' she acknowledged. 'I ought to give it a go at least.'

The young woman stood, making her way to the writing desk set in the corner of the room and pulling a sheet of paper from a leather binder. She retrieved her father's favourite pen from the drawer, the same pen she had used to play at drawing with when she was a child; it was ironic, she supposed, that a memento from her childhood would play such a role in determining her adult life. Elizabeth took a deep breath to steel herself.

Then she began to write.

A/N: I think I quite liked James by the end and I was sad to get rid of him, but that was another historical detail I couldn't avoid (obviously, as we know where this is going!). Hope you enjoyed! Please review!