* * *
—
There was a heat wave at the beginning of August, six weeks after Charlotte arrived. She felt at ease on the Hemmingses’ estate by then, and in their home. Henry took Charlotte swimming in a stream at the back of the property, near one of the farms, and they cavorted like children, splashing each other, and laughing as they doused each other. Charlotte had thought about inviting Lucy, but she had promised to stay with the countess, to clean up some of the gardens with one of the farm boys. The countess had decided to try and do what she could, and Lucy was willing to help, so Henry and Charlotte went swimming without her, and didn’t tell her where they were going so she didn’t try to join them. They felt guilty saying it, but agreed that Lucy was dreary company, although she was helpful to Henry’s mother, but no fun for them. And she couldn’t swim.
They were sitting on the bank of the stream, their horses tied to a tree, and Henry lay back in the grass, admiring her in her bathing costume.
“You’re so beautiful, Charlotte. I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” She blushed and looked away, not sure how to respond. She didn’t think of him in that way, just as a boy, and a friend.
“Don’t be silly,” she brushed off the compliment. “My sisters are much prettier than I am, especially Victoria. She’s a real beauty.” Something occurred to him then, an odd coincidence.
“Did your parents name the three of you after the royal princesses?” He had never thought of it before, and the question startled her. She was silent for a moment and then shrugged.
“I imagine they did. I never gave it any thought.”
“It can’t be an easy life, being royal,” he mused. “I would hate it. All those official events they must have to attend. And you have to behave all the time.”
“I suppose so,” she said vaguely, and then threw a handful of water at him to distract him, which proved to be effective. They got back in the stream again and swam some more. They were both smiling when they got out, and dried off in their bathing suits, and Charlotte noticed him looking down at her. He was very tall, which made her feel even more diminutive next to him, and before she could say anything, he slipped his arms around her, pulled her close to him, and kissed her. He hadn’t meant to do it, but couldn’t stop himself. A wave of passion for her had just washed over him. At first she was too shocked to react. Then she melted into his arms and kissed him back. When they stopped, she stood staring at him with a serious look in her eyes. She seemed even more beautiful to him.
“Why did you do that?” she asked in barely more than a whisper, and she was stunned at herself for responding so readily. She had never been kissed by a boy before.
“Because I’m in love with you, Charlotte, and I wanted you to know it. I’m going away soon, in a couple of months. I didn’t want to leave without your knowing how I feel about you. Maybe we could get engaged before I go,” he said hopefully, sounding innocent and childlike, and a ripple of fear and reality ran down her spine.
“I can’t do that. My parents have never met you.”
“Could we go to London to see them?” he suggested na?vely.
“You know we’re not supposed to travel. We can’t just go running down to London to see them, and they can’t come here. They’re too busy. If we ever get engaged, it would have to be after the war.” He looked disappointed, but willing to accept it. People were not moving around the country with ease, so she made sense. “Besides, we’re too young. We’re both just seventeen,” she reminded him.
“I’ll be eighteen soon, and you’ll be eighteen next year.”
“That’s too young to get engaged. My parents would be upset,” she said sensibly. She hesitated for a moment then, and looked at him. He could see that she wanted to say something more, but he had no idea what it was. “Besides, there are things you don’t know about me, about my parents, and my family. Maybe things you wouldn’t like.” He was surprised by that and tried to guess.
“Has your father ever been to prison? Has he murdered someone?” he teased her and she shook her head. “Is he a spy? Or a German?” She hesitated then and nodded.
“Not a spy, but we have German ancestors, quite a lot of them in fact.” The British royal house and her family tree had been heavily intertwined with Germans for centuries. Most of the Windsors, including Queen Victoria, were originally Saxe-Coburg-Gothas. There were German Coburgs on every throne and in nearly every royal house in Europe.