He Objects

Chapter 9: With My Life

Any hopes of a last morning of peace and pretending that my life hadn't gone up in smoke were dashed as soon as I walked into the dining room for breakfast to find the prince seated at table next to my father, dishes being hastily set before him by a terrified maid. I blinked once, then curtsied quickly before walking toward my own chair. "It's alright, Forbes," I whispered as I passed her, touching her briefly on her elbow. She took a breath and nodded once, steadying herself.

I did my best to ignore the prince's eyes on me as I kissed my father's cheek and sat down. Unfortunately, I was seated directly across from Prince Henri, so at that point there was nothing else to do other than look right at him. I finally did—albeit reluctantly—only to find his gaze still on me, impassive, but not unfriendly.

"Good morning," I said brightly. Too brightly. I swear my voice reverberated throughout the dining room, echoing back in my ears.

"Good morning, Lady Charlotte," Prince Henri said, dipping his head gracefully in my direction. "I trust you rested well."

"Fine, thank you," I said in return, though the reality was far from it. At the slight quirk of the corner of his mouth, I lowered my eyes to my plate. The lie must have been obvious. I surely still had dark circles under my eyes and a puffy face.

"So I sent for the ledgers yesterday afternoon," my father said, swinging his spoon with a tinkling crack into his hard-boiled egg. "They should arrive within the course of the morning. They had some organization to do," he added apologetically. I noted that, while he still seemed a little nervous, my father seemed vastly more comfortable in the prince's presence than he did yesterday.

"That's fine. I know this came as a surprise," Prince Henri replied.

The men fell into casual conversation while I picked at my food. My mother was nowhere in sight, no doubt hungover and keeping to her room. She had gone back and forth between elation and despair the entire evening, conversely drinking both in toasts to the prince and to dull her anxiety. I had stepped out, unable to bear their discussion, but I had overheard what my father said as the door swung shut behind me.

"This is about the dowry," he'd muttered to my mother, who was draped dramatically on the couch. "Whether or not the royal family needs the money isn't the issue. I'm sure they're more than comfortable. This is about whether or not they want the dowry falling into the duke's hands. He's already somewhat of a threat. They don't want him to gain too much power."

"Do you really think so?" My mother had replied hopefully. While my father reassured her that we had the upper hand, I myself felt differently. It was more like I was being pulled between the two noble families, a prize both wanted to win. But what would the damage be if both sides tugged too hard?

"Actually, I would enjoy a tour of the grounds around the estate," Prince Henri said, bringing my mind back to the breakfast table, touching the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

"Of course! I'll call for a couple of horses to be saddled," my father replied. "That is, unless you don't ride?"

"I ride," Prince Henri said mildly. "But I should hate to take you away from your work this morning, seeing as I'm the cause." He looked at me. "Perhaps Lady Charlotte could accompany me?"

"O-of course," my father said again, caught off guard. "She'll be happy to accompany you. Charlotte?"

My eyes widened.

"Do you ride?" Prince Henri asked. "Or would you prefer a carriage? Or walking, perhaps?"

I cleared my throat. "I do ride, if that is how you wish to see the grounds." I hoped I sounded calm and collected, instead of panicked, which was how I was actually feeling.

"Yes. We'll have Mrs. Phelps will accompany you," my father said, naming the head groom's wife. I relaxed slightly. While I wasn't necessarily worried about the prince taking advantage of me, I was grateful for the promised presence of Mrs. Phelps not only as a chaperone to protect my reputation, but also to act as a buffer against any awkwardness that was bound to occur. Only six years older than me, Mrs. Phelps was an accomplished horsewoman and a dear friend as well.

"There's no need."

My father put his fork down with a dull thwack on the tablecloth. "Excuse me?" I bit my lip. Go with the prince, one on one? How terrifying. Not to mention my father's reaction. To anyone that didn't know him, he probably sounded apologetic, nonconfrontational. But I knew him. There was the slightest edge to his voice, the small crinkles at the corners of his eyes, that made his displeasure clear as day to me.

"We won't leave the grounds. You have nothing to fear, from me or outside perceptions," Prince Henri said. How he was able to sound dismissive but also brook no argument was beyond me.

My father's mouth turned down, wanting to argue anyway. "If something happens to Charlotte..."

"Nothing will," the prince promised. "But if it does, I will pay for it."

My father glanced at me, checking to see if I thought Prince Henri was being as ridiculous as he thought he was. "How?" he finally asked.

Prince Henri's silver eyes flashed, his expression serious. "With my life."