Chapter 16: Varying Passions

Music Room, Birmingham Palace, London, England. September 3rd, 1809.

Marianne did not have much to do during her days at the Palace. Being the new princess of England, she had to attend parties, socialize with the nobility of London, and simply put on a smile when she was with the prince. It was sometimes hard to be this person in public, but behind closed doors, she was always happy to go back to herself and to be with the dashing Mr. Dawson, as they liked to joke when they were alone. Prince James Schreave was for the public and Alexander Dawson for their privacy. Princess Marianne Schreave and Miss Barrington.

Right now, she was back to being Miss Barrington as her fingers danced on the black and white keys of the pianoforte, her eyes following the music sheet and her mind dancing as the music enveloped her. She loved those moments when she could be herself.

Marianne was so lost in her music that she did not hear the door open, or the boot steps that followed on the wooden floorings of the music room. But she did feel the light kiss that landed in the crook of her neck. She smiled and her heartbeat quickened a bit, but her fingers and the melody did not waver.

"Hello, my dear," she said softly.

"Do not stop playing," he whispered in her ear. He placed another kiss on her shoulder before sitting on the divan on the other side of the room, the perfect place where he could look at her playing the piano. Her profile was to him and her smile and her focus were quite endearing. He picked up the sketchbook on the low coffee table and quickly drew some lines, making his wife magically appear on his paper. When those first lines were done, he added in some details, keeping an eye on her.

Marianne knew he was drawing her, so she did not move from her position at the instrument and played on. She also knew that the music usually helped him calm down and unwind after a long day spent with his father learning the ins and outs of ruling England. He would be King one day, and she could only make his life somewhat easier wherever and however she could. Her mother-in-law, the queen, was not really fond of Marianne in the first place and had always declined to spend time with her. So Mari had not insisted.

When she finished the piece, she rested her fingers on the keys. "Are you finished?" she asked. "May I move, now?"

"Yes," he said. "Come see."

Marianne did not have to be asked twice and she walked as quickly as her dress permitted to her husband's side to see his drawing. "Oh! It is quite resembling, indeed!" She sat on his lap, wrapping an arm behind his shoulders

"Of course, it is, my dear," he replied. "I have come to know you so well by now, drawing you has become quite easy."

Marianne smiled and placed a kiss on her husband's lips just as he gently lay a hand on her stomach. She froze, ending the kiss.

"When was the last time you had your monthlies?" he asked in a whisper just for her. But Marianne was afraid to answer, afraid to hope. They had been married for more than a year, now, and still, they had no children. Every single month her monthlies had come like clockwork. But this time, she had missed a month. They were not simply late, but they had not come at all. Every single morning, she had made sure her bedlinen was unsoiled, daring to hope that she could finally carry their first child. Why was it so difficult? Her own mother had had many children; her first one, Marianne herself, had come precisely nine months after their wedding.

"Not since a couple of months," she replied, saying it for the first time out loud. Her lady's maid had not said a word, but she was also keeping track in a small pocket calendar.

"Could that mean…" James trailed off, hope filling his eyes and voice.

"Maybe," she said. "But I want to make sure; that is why I did not tell you yet."

James nodded, resting his hand on her stomach still. "We only need one, my dear," he said softly. "A boy. If having a child is so difficult for us, then we shall be content with only one."

"James," she said, sighing. "You need at least two boys: an heir and a spare."

"Twins?" James said trying to loosen the atmosphere of the room. "Only one pregnancy."

Marianne smiled sadly and slid off his lap. "I do not wish to bring your hopes up, husband. Let us not talk about this until I am entirely certain, alright?" She went back to the piano without looking at her husband. It was one of the conversations she dreaded the most. How many times had they imagined their lives filling up with children? But one was yet to come. She did not understand why she could not be pregnant when her mother had had it so easy each and every time.

She kept her eyes on the music sheet and played a melancholic piece without even realizing it. In his armchair, James drew again, but this time, he focused on drawing his hand and getting the lines just right. They did not speak again until dinner was served in the dining room and they had to face the rest of James' family, the King and the Queen.

/ / /

Music Room, Pavilion, Brighton, England; July 17th, 1815.

At long last, James was going to hear the harpist play for him. And as surprising as it was, he was actually looking forward to it. He was already in the music room, drinking tea, when Miss Henrietta Grace entered, dressed in a plain pale blue dress with a light silver necklace that had a single dark blue stone – a sapphire, perhaps? – and her brown hair contrasted well with the color of the garment. There was a long braid made with the upper half of the hair, tied at the bottom with a thin blue ribbon.

"Your Highness," she said curtsying perfectly.

"Miss Grace," James replied, bowing his head to her. "It is an honor to listen to you play."

"Thank you," she said. "But please keep your compliments for after." A small smile spread on her lips and she went directly to the instrument that had been uncovered and tuned for the occasion. James was surprised she was going to play without any music sheets, and he sat back with his cup of tea to listen. Henrietta placed her fingers on the strings of the harp and started playing. It was beautiful, and to his surprise, he really enjoyed the piece! Apart from the last time he had gone to the opera with Lady Davies, he could not recall the last time he went to a public concert, where he often used to go with Marianne, back in London.

The music filled the room and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to live the music and not simply listening to it. When it stopped, he opened his eyes and noticed that Miss Grace was not looking at him, but at her feet, waiting.

"Bravo," James said. "It was truly delightful."

"Thank you, my lord," she replied, bowing her head to the prince. "Would you like me to play another piece?"

"That would be wonderful, Miss Grace. After which you can join me for tea."

She nodded and placed her fingers on the strings again, summoning another piece in her mind and letting it flow on the instrument. James watched the young woman play, just as he used to watch Marianne on the pianoforte. He had always been captivated by people who could make music since he could not. His art lay elsewhere and he was always sensitive about any kind of art. His father had never been truly happy about that, claiming that James should spend his time in a better way. He loved visiting the museum or going to musical shows and operas. The King thought it was a waste of time and that he should keep his nose in the financial reports and focus on ruling the country.

James noticed when the music stopped because his train of thoughts vanished as well. He offered a smile to the lady. "I do thank you for playing for me, Miss Grace. I greatly enjoy music. Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, please," she said, sitting down and accepting the cup of tea the maid was offering her. "I did not know you enjoyed music so much."

"I cannot play any instrument or sing to save my life, so I am always awed by those who can."

"I see." Henrietta sipped on the tea in silence. "I am fortunate that I was able to learn at all." She paused, cutting through the small round cake on the table. "Would you like a slice, your Highness?"

"Yes, thank you."

So Henrietta proceeded to serve him a piece. "You said your art lay elsewhere, sir. What is it?"

"I draw. Charcoal mostly."

"How wonderful! I wish I could draw as well."

James let a small smile escape. "Why did you say you were fortunate enough to learn at all the harp, Miss Grace?"

"Oh, it is because I was lucky to be favored by the lady of the house my family worked for. She took me under her wing and considered me her own granddaughter when hers passed away." She paused, sipping on her tea. "She was very generous and offered me a full education fitting of a lady of the London Gentry. The harp was part of that education."

"I see, you were very fortunate, indeed." James also paused for a small sip of his hot beverage. "You speak in the past tense. Has the lady in question passed away?"

"Yes," Henrietta replied. "I am now between positions. Her eldest son offered to take me in to be his wife's lady's maid in his home in London," she explained. "I have yet to accept that offer, though…"

"Because you are here. Does he know?"

"Yes, he let me come here before I went back in his service."

"And if you married here?" James asked. "What about your position in London?"

"Married, sir?" Henrietta was suddenly very warm in the cheeks. Was he already proposing? "To you?"

"It is always a possibility, Miss Grace," he said. Though he had other plans in mind: if his friends came to his aid in two weeks, then one could marry her and she would not have to be a servant anymore. He was certain one of them would fancy her enough to marry her, and the other way around as well.

"Of course," she said looking away and sipping her tea. "I suppose I shall not be taking the position, then."

They were silent for a moment as they finished their tea and cake, and James looked at the time on the old clock on the wall. "It is getting late, Miss Grace. I do thank you for playing for me this afternoon, and I shall see you at dinner." He stood, took her hand in hers to kiss it, and walked away leaving her alone in the music room. If she wished to play some more, she could.

/ / /

On the road to Brighton, England. Later that same evening, July 17th, 1815.

After a lavish dinner composed of thirty-seven dishes, the prince had excused himself for the evening. He had not changed his clothes, deciding to keep his formal black suit, even for the ride to Brighton. Next to him, Clinton was riding in silence, alert to everything around them.

"I know his Lordship is angry with you, your highness," Clinton said, breaking the silence. "But asking him to accompany you to the Gentlemen's Club was a good sign of truce." He paused, waiting for the prince to say something. He did not. "But you knew he would not come."

"That is correct," the prince replied. "May I ask a favor of you, captain?"

"Of course, sir."

Their horses' hooves on the dirt path filled the silence before he spoke again. "Whatever happens tonight is highly confidential. Henry must not know what we are doing."

Clinton frowned in the darkness of the night. "Are we not going to the Gentlemen's Club, your Highness? But of course, you know I will not say a word, sir."

"Yes, we are going there," James replied. "Henry knows I regularly go there so my going there tonight is not suspicious to him, especially since I invited him to come." He paused. "No, it is what I did and what I am about to do that is a total secret."

"Now you are making me very anxious, sir," the redcoat dressed in civilian clothes said. "Are you planning on sleeping there and board on a ship in the early morning?"

James laughed. "If only that was the case. But no."

They rode on for some time in silence as the prince found the correct words to explain his plan to the captain and about those seventeen letters that were sent earlier that month.

"Christ!" Clinton said when James was done. "Henry is going to have your head! And that is not even talking about your father..."

"I am very aware of that, thank you," the prince replied bitterly. "Henry, I can deal with. My father is a whole other story."

"Are you meeting them tonight, then?" Clinton asked. "How many do you think will come?"

"No, not tonight, but in a fortnight. The worst-case scenario is that none of them come and I have to live with the shame that none of my friends and acquaintances would come to my aid." The prince paused, letting the horses' bridles tinkle in the night. Ahead of them, the Brighton lamps were coming into view. "Best case scenario, they all come and marry all of the remaining ladies, leaving me with only myself and my daughter. Most of the ladies came to marry, and marry they shall. Only not to me."

"I see. And the most realistic scenario, sir?"

"A few come and I still have to marry one of the ladies."

They fell into silence as they entered the small sea resort. The main street was well lit with burning lamps and a few couples were strolling on the promenade path, ignoring the two riders. The Gentlemen's Club was in town, in a street parallel to the main street and they veered right, making their way to the lavish club. Upon arrival, they slid off their horses and gave the reins to two grooms. Clinton and James patted the road dust from their clothes, straightened coats, cravats, and hats, and pushed the door open.

"Your Highness!" The owner of the club, Lord Melbourne, said upon entering, his arms wide open. "What a pleasant surprise indeed. There was a rumor you were in town, but I was not expecting you. Had you sent word ahead I would have sent invitations to all the gentlemen in town!"

"Thank you, Lord Melbourne, for your warm welcome," the prince said. "But there is no need for that. It is you I wish to speak with."

"Of course! What can I do for His Royal Highness?"

"Might we speak in private, sir?"

Lord Melbourne nodded, suddenly becoming very serious, a stark contrast to his bubbly welcoming self. "Of course, Your Highness. Follow me."

Clinton fell into step behind James, observing everything around them, from the forest green papered walls, the chandeliers above them on the walls, and the thick carpet under their boots, cushioning each of their steps. He memorized each face they saw and each door they passed. He might be clothed in a civilian suit, but he was still the prince's personal guard and must be alert and aware of their surroundings at all times. He followed the two gentlemen to the owner's office, a lavish room with a library full of magnificent books, a globe with the general ship routes, a mahogany desk, and of course the usual table laden with whiskey, glasses, and cigars.

"Please, do sit," Lord Melbourne said, offering them the two seats across from his desk. He also offered them refreshments and cigars, of which the Prince accepted only the drink. So did Clinton, but he barely touched his lips to it, wanting to keep a clear head since he was on duty, still. "So, tell me what I can do for you."

James shifted his position on the plush burgundy chair and without going into any detail about his plan, he simply said: "I have some friends coming over in a fortnight, and I wish to book some of your best rooms."

"Of course," the club's owner said, puffing on the cigar. "How many should you be needing, sir?"

"That is the problem, Lord Melbourne. I do not know."

"I do not understand."

"I invited seventeen friends, but I do not know how many will come." He paused. "How many rooms do you have?"

"Twenty."

"I see." James sipped on his whiskey. "I shall want to book seventeen rooms for the first three days of August, then," he said. "If less than seventeen come, then the rest of the rooms are free for you to use again and I shall pay those three nights per each room unattended. As for the rest, might you be able to book them for as long as the gentlemen need?"

"That should not be a problem, Your Highness," Lord Melbourne replied. "Anything else your Highness." He puffed another time on his cigar. "Do you know if these gentlemen friends of yours have Club memberships over England?"

"I daresay most of them must have one," the prince replied. "But I cannot say for certain."

"Alright, we shall see when they arrive."

"And I shall be there to welcome them to Brighton myself on August first."

"Excellent." Melbourne finished his whiskey in one gulp and then stood. "About the payment–"

"Ah yes," James said. He fished out a bundle of notes from his breast pocket. "I should think this will cover all expenses we talked about, food and drinks included, for seventeen rooms."

Melbourne grinned when he saw the money and reached out to take it. "I daresay it shall. You are one of our best patrons and sponsors, indeed, Your Highness."

James then stood, shook the man's hand – "I will see you in two weeks, then." – and Clinton followed the prince out of the maze of the corridors before stopping in the main room. James sat at a table with Clinton, offered him a drink, and they ended up staying the whole night playing poker, drinking whiskey, and talking politics with some of the other gentlemen there. If he had gone back straight away, Henry would have found it suspicious indeed, for the prince always spent most of the night there when he decided to visit the Club, usually paying at least for one round of drinks for everyone. And he could actually hold his liquor pretty well. Clinton did not drink once, keeping his head on duty.

/ / /

Pavilion Grounds, Brighton, England. July 18th, 1815.

James had spent almost the whole night at the Gentlemen's Club, glad for the change of being surrounded by men for once, and not young women who wanted to marry him. Granted, not all of them wanted to marry him, but it was still a nice change.

The sky was slowly becoming lighter in the East, announcing that dawn was coming and that a new day was going to start. He was looking forward to finding his bed again as he and Captain Clinton rode side by side. If he could at least have a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, he would be happy.

"Thank you, Clinton," James said as they both gave their horses to grooms, dismissing him until later. The captain bowed his head and walked away towards the barracks where he would get some sleep himself as well.

The prince was making his way towards the Pavilion, letting the early morning sounds surround him. The insects and birds were still sleeping soundly in the grass and the trees, but the summer breeze was already making the tree branches dance slightly around him. The gravel path under his boots crunched upon each step, adding a rhythmical sound to the night. The night was slowly fading away and he started to see things around him.

But he did not see the woman coming his way; he heard her, her soft footsteps echoing his own. She arrived at his side but he still could not see who it was in the dimness of the dawning light.

"Who is it?" he asked, his voice quite hoarse after inhaling the cigar smoke from the smokers in the Club.

"Diana," the lady replied. "Lady Diana Gray."

"Is it not rather early for a morning stroll, Lady Gray?"

The lady in question laughed, and it was quite an airy laugh. "I could say the same to you, Your Highness. Is it not early for a morning stroll?"

James thought he did not need to justify himself to the lady, for this was his own home. And he was entitled to do whatever pleased him. "Shall I accompany you back to the Pavilion, Lady Gray?"

"Of course," she said. They started to walk side by side in silence, their footsteps seeming quite loud in the lightning dawn. Around them, the birds and crickets were finally waking up, singing their morning song. "Did you know those were robins, singing in the trees?" she asked breaking their silent walk.

"No, I did not."

"I always wake up before dawn," she continued. "I find it is the perfect hour to think and prepare for the day that lay ahead."

"I see."

"I have seen so many sunrises all over the world for waking up this early every day."

"Every day?" James asked, surprised. "You never sleep in, then?"

"Rarely," Diana replied. "I find I have lost half of the day if I get up too late."

James nodded. To him, getting up early meant that he had not slept at all, or very little. Sleeping in meant he was entirely passed out from the exhaustion or from crying himself to sleep. He had not done that in a long time, though, and he was not about to tell the lady all that, so he kept his mouth shut for she was still talking about sunrises and morning birds and he had completely tuned her out.

"What do you think, then?" she suddenly asked, bringing him back into the conversation.

"Of course."

"You were not listening," she admonished.

"I do apologize; it is early and I have not slept one bit." He paused. "Would you please say again what you just said?"

"Of course," Diana replied. "I was simply asking you about what you thought the weather would be like these next few days. I think a day at the beach would be most delightful for everyone."

James chuckled softly, tucking his hands behind his back lest they brush against hers in an untimely manner. "I do not know about the weather for it can turn rather quickly around here," he replied, "but I do agree that a day at the beach would be quite delightful. I shall talk about it with Henry."

"Wonderful!" Diana said. "I simply cannot wait!"

By then, they were nearing the gardens and the patio and he excused himself to go get ready for the day, with maybe an hour or two of sleep if he could manage. But he was so tired by that point, that he did not doubt he would.

/ / /

The Seaside, Brighton Beach, England. Later that afternoon, July 18th, 1815.

Jemima Delaney was overly excited as she had been asked by the prince to spend the afternoon with him doing the best activity she could have thought of when Lord Windsor had asked what she wanted to do with him. Now, they were standing on the beach, waiting for the small sailing boat to be readied for them and brought to the beach.

"Have you ever sailed before, Highness?" Jemima asked in her thick Irish accent, unable to wipe off the wide smile from her face. Her untamable blond hair was tied back tightly with a pink ribbon and for once, she was not wearing an outrageous number of jewelry pieces because it would have been a shame to lose but one in the sea.

"Not on a ship such as this one," he replied. She could feel he was not very excited about the whole idea, but she could not care less: sailing was one of her favorite things to do in the whole wide world.

"A bigger one, perhaps, then?"

"Yes. Those used for long sea voyages." The prince lifted his hat to wipe his brow, for the heat that afternoon was quite heavy.

The small boat was now on the beach, and Jemima could not resist a moment longer: she had to go touch it and before the prince could stop this whole insane outing, she had climbed on it and was already taking hold of the sail's ropes. "Are you coming or not, then?"

James grunted something she did not understand, but he followed her inside, nonetheless. For Jemima, the boat was everything but wobbly, but the prince did not seem quite at ease. The sailor who had brought the boat helped them by pushing it out onto the water so they would not get stuck in the sand.

"Do not worry, my Lord," she said, "you will quickly get used to it."

"Hmm," he mumbled. "How far are we going?"

"To the Americas!" she replied. But by the look of terror on the prince's face, she quickly rectified that statement. "Not too far from the beach, Your Highness." She paused. "Can you swim?"

"Of course, I can swim." That sounded like he was considering her daft.

"Of course, I did not think you could not, I simply wanted to be certain. In case something happened…" she added lowly and he did not hear it.

While prince James held on for dear life on the sides of the small craft, Jemima took hold of the sails and let the wind blow them up so they could actually go somewhere, anywhere. She could feel his eyes on her from time to time, but for now, she needed to get them away from the beach and into the deeper waters. The current was quite strong, thank God, so it did not take them forever.

"Where did you learn to sail like that?" he asked, taking her out of her sailing reverie.

"My brother and my father both serve in His Majesty's Navy," she said, "and every time my brother comes home, he takes me out at sea in a boat a little bigger than this one and teaches me."

"I see."

The waves were becoming quite bigger as they sailed away from the shore and Jemima wanted to scream with joy. The wind was loud in her ears and she forgot everything about etiquette, manners, and decorum and became herself again.

"I've always wanted to be a pirate!" she said loudly over the wind, which made the prince actually laugh for once.

"I believe you quite alright," he replied. "You would be an excellent pirate."

"What makes you say that?" she said, laughing.

"You like extravagant jewelry, you have sun-kissed skin, and I can quite easily imagine you with a parrot on your shoulder and a saber in your hand."

Jemima burst out laughing. "That is very cliché, my lord. But I will take that as a compliment." She flashed him a smile and he smiled back, making her cheeks turn pink. She was always used to flirting with sailors and getting a kiss before moving on to the next man, but she was now flirting with the prince of England, and it was making her feel a little funny inside. What was she thinking?

They sailed in silence for a while, and she was surprised to see the prince picking up was she was doing and helping her: he was not that uptight man she thought he was at first, and he was ready to get his nice hands dirty and calloused.

"Oh no!" the prince suddenly said, making Jemima turn around only to see his top hat bobbing up and down in the water too far from reach.

She laughed. "I should have told you to take it before climbing in, sir," she said over the wind. "Do you want me to circle around to retrieve it?"

James shrugged. "I suppose the seawater has ruined it already. No, let us stay on course."

The Irish girl nodded and they went on. She figured the prince must have had dozens of top hats anyway. After a while, she slowly circled back to the beach and they moored on the sand where the sailor from before was waiting for them. He helped the lady out, and then the prince and that was it.

"I do have to admit it was… fun," James relented as they walked on the beach, the sun behind them.

Jemima laughed. "I did not know you knew how to have fun, Your Highness."

"I beg your pardon," he said, faking offense. "I have had my fair share of fun, back in the day."

"Oh, not anymore, then?" she replied, as they teased each other.

There was a slight pause before he replied. "Not as often as I used to, I admit."

They continued to walk in silence, their steps making footprints in the wet sand. Once in a while, Jemima would bend down to pick up a shiny shell and put it in her pocket.

"You would be surprised how much I understand wanting to be something else than what one is," he said out of the blue. Jemima thought he would not speak for a long while; she was wrong.

"You mean me wanting to be a pirate?" she said with a sly smile. When James nodded, she continued. "Wait. Are you telling me you do not wish to be prince, then?"

The prince of England shrugged. "Some days I wish I was a simple man, doing whatever he wished." He paused. "Other days I realize being a prince is all I know to be."

"What would you be instead?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"I have not the slightest idea," he replied a little sheepishly. "I have never really stopped to think about it. But I would probably go to another country if I could."

Again, the blonde girl laughed. "Then if you are ever in need of a captain for your ship to leave, I am all yours."

"I shall keep that in mind, thank you," he said with a smile.

Jemima looked at him, surprised. "You do not mind a lady captain, but you do not like a lady in trousers, then? We talk amongst us," she explained.

"Ah, I see," he said, wiping his brow with a kerchief fished out of his pocket. "Well, I am trying to broaden my horizons, and I will most certainly look beyond the outfit or the societal norm." He paused, looking at the sea and Jemima wondered what was going through his mind. "My wife used to have quite another perspective on the word and she was always showing me how different one could be, and how true to oneself that helped to be."

"She must have been quite the woman," Jemima said. "Is it true she was a farmer's daughter?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, then," she said. "I might have a chance after all." She winked at him and then smiled at the wind. James also smiled, though she did not see it, and not long after that they made their way back home.


Hello! so yay I finally managed to write this chapter. these past few days have been very chaotic at home, but I love getting back into the story a little every day and unwinding... thanks for still reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter ;) Thank you also for your reviews and just FYI, there are only 5-ish chapters left until we meet the dudes hehe. I can't wait to introduce them!

okay bye! see you next chapter!