Free The Wild Princess by Mary Hart Perry Page A

her incomprehensible mother. How could she look forward to a life of celibacy, in the company of a man who could only love other men? What was she to do ? If this had been a conscious plan on her mother’s part, had it been intended as punishment for her daughter’s past failings?
    Louise’s head began to pound in rhythm with the horses’ hoofbeats. Her throat felt raw and tightened with the effort to fight back tears. She wouldn’t succumb to self-pity. Certainly not here in front of everyone.
    The queen’s carriage set a rapid pace between towns, at Brown’s direction. Eventually they slowed down as they approached the industrial town of Leicester, more densely populated than others before it along the route. Smokestacks spewed gritty steam from the factories along the canal and the River Soar, but the air remained far less foul than the choking effluvium that hovered over London.
    And then they stopped.
    Victoria roused herself, opening her eyes. “What is it? Why are we not moving?”
    Louise leaned a little out the window to see beyond the horses that drew the carriage. “It appears to be market day. The streets are clogged with farm wagons and stalls.” Every few feet along the street a different display of winter crops lay in a cart, arranged on planks or on the ground: piles of new potatoes, purple turnips, plump rutabagas, green and red leafy chard, brilliant orange and emerald winter squashes. The air smelled of the earth, rich manure, and, more pleasantly, of pasties baking.
    Farther ahead of the coach and the mounted guard, a flatbed lorry loaded with sacks of flour straddled the road, unmoving, apparently blocked by something that kept it from negotiating the tight turn.
    Lorne roused himself to lean out the opposite window.
    â€œBother,” her mother fumed. “Brown promised we wouldn’t be caught on the road at night. This will put us off schedule for our first overnight with the baron and baroness.”
    â€œIt’s all right,” Lorne said, his voice soothing as he settled back into his seat and drew out a cigar. After a pointed glare from Victoria, he tucked his smoke away without lighting up. “They’re working to move the thing out of the way. Once we’re through the town, we’ll have open country again. Nothing to worry about, ladies.”
    But with the caravan at a halt, townspeople began to crush forward in a human wave, peering into the carriages, eager for a glimpse of the royal family. As word spread, more people burst from doorways, pressing still closer. Two little girls ran up to the queen’s carriage and tossed a nosegay through the window.
    â€œOh!” Bea cried, waking up when the posies landed in her lap. She smiled sleepily. “Pretty.”
    Another woman lofted a hand-worked doily through the window. “We love you. God save the queen!” she cried.
    Victoria looked down at the little scrap of ecru tatting on the floor of her carriage. “I suppose they mean well,” she murmured. “But these people make me so nervous.”
    â€œIt’s all right, Mama,” Louise comforted her. Her mother sometimes behaved as if commoners belonged to another species. One that frightened her but she felt compelled, on occasion, to appear before.
    Brown climbed down from the top of the carriage to curse the lorry driver and order him out of their way. Stephen Byrne leaned down from his horse to instruct their two footmen and closest guardsmen to ease the queen’s admirers back a few paces.
    Preoccupied with her own thoughts, Louise took in only a hazy view of all that was going on outside their carriage. There seemed little reason to be concerned as, sooner or later, they’d move on.
    She didn’t, at first, take notice of the young man who broke through the line of horse guards and rushed toward their carriage with something in his hand. No doubt , her subconscious whispered, another