Royal(11)

On the way back, Henry looked at her curiously. “Were there other things you wanted to tell me?” he asked her cautiously. He had a feeling that there were, and there were things she wasn’t saying that were weighing on her. She shook her head. She didn’t feel ready to tell him who her parents were. It was too big a secret to share so soon. He knew her only as Charlotte White, the daughter of a civil servant and a secretary in London. She knew he would be profoundly shocked by the truth. She would have to tell him eventually, but not yet. And his parents knew, even if he didn’t.

They left their horses in the stable, and hurried into the house. It was later than they’d thought, and there was suddenly an unspoken intimacy between them that one could sense, now that he had kissed her. Lucy was aware of it when they walked into the kitchen, and Henry’s mother when she saw them that night. As time went on, she worried more and more. They were so close and so comfortable with each other. Too much so, in her opinion. And Lucy was mournful and silent all evening. She felt left out by the two of them, as though they had a secret from her.

That night, Charlotte sat at her desk in front of a blank page for a long time, wanting to tell her mother about him, but she hated to do it in a letter, and wasn’t sure what to say. That she loved him? That he loved her? That he wanted to ask for her hand one day? Perhaps they could make a pact just between the two of them before he left, and then get engaged after the war. But he had to meet her parents first. She was thinking about it, and still hadn’t started the letter to her mother when she heard a soft knock on her door. She tiptoed to it, and opened it a crack, and Henry was standing on the other side, in the moonlight, and smiled at her.



“I wanted to kiss you good night,” he whispered. “Can I come in?”

“You shouldn’t,” she said, her heart pounding with excitement, but opened the door anyway. He walked in quickly on silent feet, and closed it behind him, and an instant later she was in his arms, and they were kissing again. His kissing her that afternoon by the stream had changed everything between them, and his admissions about his hopes for them had opened the floodgates that had been closed until then.

“I love you, Charlotte,” he whispered in the dark. Her whole body was shaking when she answered him. She didn’t want Lucy to hear him in her room.

“I love you too,” she whispered back. “Now you have to go.” No matter how much she loved him, she didn’t want to do anything foolish, and after several more kisses, reluctantly, he left. She didn’t write to her mother that night, but lay down on her bed, thinking about him. She closed her eyes for a minute, her heart full of him, and it was morning when she woke up.

They all went to church in the village that day, and Charlotte earnestly prayed not to do anything with him that she’d regret, and even more earnestly that he’d survive the war, and nothing bad would happen to him. Lucy had gone to church with them, and they all had lunch in the garden afterward, in the part that Lucy and the countess had worked hard to clear the day before, and the countess praised how hard she had worked, which cheered her up a bit. Afterward, Henry and Charlotte took a long, slow walk down to the small lake near the house. There was a larger one they often rode to. They didn’t invite Lucy to come and she looked hurt.



“I meant what I said yesterday, you know,” he said seriously to Charlotte once they were alone. “I’d like to get engaged before I leave, and I want to marry you one day, after the war. I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with your parents, if you think they’d be angry at your getting engaged to someone they don’t know.” He had thought about it all night, and in church, and so had she. “Do you think I should write to them, to ask their permission?”

She almost shuddered at the thought. “They’d be very angry if we got engaged without their meeting you. And I don’t think you should write to them. I know they would say we’re too young.” It was true. “I want you to meet them. But there won’t be any opportunity before you go. We talked about why. They can’t come here, and we can’t go to London, so we have to wait.” She was very firm about it. There was no way they could get engaged now. “They’re much too busy at their jobs.”

Henry narrowed his eyes then, and smiled at her, as they sat down on the grass. “I think your father must be a spy of some kind. You’re very mysterious about him. Does he work for MI5 or MI6?” He was fascinated by military intelligence himself and she laughed and shook her head.



“No,” she said simply, “and he’s not a spy. I told you he works for the government.” But she knew Henry would have keeled over if she said he was the king, and probably not believe her.

“That doesn’t explain anything. He could be a mailman for all I know.” She laughed.

“He’s not a mailman. I can promise you that. He serves his country and the people of Great Britain, and he’s very dedicated to his job.”

“He sounds like a good person.”

“He is,” she said solemnly, “and I think he will like you very much. And so will my mama. And Alexandra, my older sister. I can’t tell about Victoria. She’ll probably hate you because you’re my friend. Victoria never approves of anything I do, just to be difficult.”

“I want to be more than your friend,” he said and kissed her and they lay side by side in the grass and he pressed his body against her, and despite all her resolve, she didn’t resist or stop him, as his hand slipped under her dress. No one could see them in the tall grass, but she was afraid that what she was doing was wrong, and knew it was, but it was impossible to resist him. Suddenly, all she wanted was to be with him, and lie in his arms.