The Hellcat and The King E-Book

Barbara Cartland

• Herausgeber: Barbara Cartland Ebooks Ltd
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

When Queen Victoria, the 'Matchmaker of Europe' decrees that beautiful young Zenka must marry King Myklos of Karanya she is horrified. Not only because she's never even met him – but also because her sister Wilhemina has. And she reports that the King is "…a beast, rude, disagreeable, and horrible to look at! His face is deformed and ugly." Even worse, it's said that he holds depraved orgies at his Castle in Karanya! But her Godfather the Duke of Stirling and his new, much younger Duchess, who is bitterly jealous of Zenka's beauty and Royal Blood, have accepted the King's proposal on Zenka's behalf and insist there's no going back. She is trapped. But as Zenka journeys in the Karanyan Royal Train, towards her new life and loveless marriage in a foreign country, it seems Fate has come to taunt her in the shape of a charming stranger who appears under cover of darkness in her private carriage. A thief in the night, he steals a kiss that Zenka will never, ever forget.

Leseprobe

Author’s Note

The details of Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee in 1887 are correct and part of history. She was in fact known as ‘The Matchmaker of Europe’, where nearly every reigning monarch had an English bride.

In 1944 her known living descendants numbered 194.

The Crown Prince of Germany died in 1888 leaving the throne to his son, Wilhelm, who became the Kaiser.

He was a thorn in the flesh of Edward VII and, because of his hatred and jealousy of Great Britain, contributed to the escalation of the First World War in 1914.

Chapter One ~ 1887

“So many relations make me feel ill,” Princess Wilhelmina remarked.

Her cousin Zenka turned to look at her with a smile.

She knew that Wilhelmina always had something unpleasant to say whatever happened, but it would have been hard for anyone to find fault with the Queen’s Golden Jubilee luncheon at which she had entertained over sixty of her relatives.

Zenka had in fact found it, after her quiet life in Scotland, very exciting.

The King of Denmark had sat on Queen Victoria’s right, the King of Greece on her left and the King of Belgium opposite. The gold plate glittering in the centre of the table had given the whole assembly a golden aura.

“You would think,” Wilhelmina went on in her ugly, guttural voice, “that amongst such hordes of celebrities there would have been some young men for us.”

Zenka looked amused.

It was well known that Wilhelmina of Prussenburg, who was nearly thirty, had for the last ten years been combing the courts of Europe for a husband.

As she was fat, very plain and had an irritating, insidious manner. The Princes had a way of vanishing as soon as she appeared, while any overtures from her family on the subject of marriage came to an abrupt end as soon as Wilhelmina’s name was mentioned.

Because she did not wish to be unpleasant, Zenka seated herself on the sofa beside Wilhelmina and said,

“There are a few eligible bachelors in the party. What about Louis William of Baden?”

Wilhelmina looked at her scathingly.

“Louis William is engaged and is only waiting until after the Golden Jubilee to announce it.”

“I did not know that,” Zenka replied simply. “Then it seems we are left with Prince Devanongse of Siam!”

“Really, Zenka, you are being ridiculous!” Wilhelmina said. “I am sure he has a whole harem of wives already.”

“I should think that very likely is true,” Zenka agreed. “At the same time I cannot believe a Golden Jubilee is a good place to look for a husband.”

“The Queen is known as the ‘Matchmaker of Europe’,” Wilhelmina retorted. “If I were brave, I would discuss my marriage with her.”

Zenka laughed.

“I am sure you are not brave enough to do that. None of us would be.”

She thought as she spoke, that Queen Victoria was in fact very awe-inspiring, and it was well known that the Prince of Wales trembled when his mother sent for him.

She was a law unto herself and had even altered the rules appertaining to the Jubilee. She had obstinately refused to wear the Crown and Robes of State for the Thanksgiving Service in Westminster Abbey that was to take place the following day.

The Prime Minister had argued with her and when finally in desperation the Princess of Wales was sent in by her other children to beg her to change her mind, she came out of the room precipitately.

“I have never been so snubbed!” she told those who were waiting for the verdict.

Nothing and nobody would persuade the Queen to alter her decision to wear a bonnet.

She was well aware that Lord Halifax had said the people wanted “gilding for their money”. Mr. Chamberlain had added that “a Sovereign should be grand”. While Lord Roseberry, more scathing than the others, had averred categorically that the Empire should be “ruled by a sceptre, not a bonnet”.

Whatever the arguments, the Queen would not listen. Next day she drove to the Abbey in her bonnet and gave printed instructions for her ladies to wear ‘Bonnets with Long High Dresses without Mantle’.

Even so, it had been impossible not to admire her dignity and her self-possession as slowly she proceeded up the Abbey to the strains of a Handel march. Nothing, Zenka thought, could have been more magnificent than the escort that accompanied Her Majesty’s open landau.

First came the colourful Indian Cavalry, then the male members of her great family, three sons, five sons-in-law and nine grandsons. The crowd were thrilled by the Crown Prince of Germany, golden bearded and clothed in white and silver. With a German eagle on his helmet, he looked like a mediaeval hero. His relatives knew he was voiceless and whispered that he had cancer of the throat, and the Queen was deeply worried about the scandalous rumours being circulated by Bismarck and his spies about her beloved daughter Vicky.

The Service in the Abbey was long but very impressive, after which the Princesses kissed the Queen’s hand looking, everyone thought, extremely beautiful as they did so.

Luncheon did not begin until four o’clock and was almost a replica of that which had taken place the day before.

Now at any moment, Zenka was told, there would be a march past of the Blue Jackets which the Queen was to watch from a balcony, after that there would be present-giving in the ballroom.

“Here comes Her Majesty!” someone exclaimed, and Zenka rose to her feet as the Queen came into the room, the silk of her black gown rustling as she passed through her relatives and guests to the window.

It was much later in the evening, after a dinner at which the Queen had worn a sparkling Jubilee gown embroidered with silver roses, thistles, and shamrocks, before Wilhelmina continued her conversation with her cousin.

The Indian Princes and the Corps Diplomatique were being presented and there were enough men, Zenka thought, in brilliant gold-embroidered uniforms or diamond-clasped turbans to please even Wilhelmina!

But when they walked side by side towards the Chinese Room to watch the fireworks, she was still complaining.

“I hoped you were going to dance,” she whispered.

“Quite frankly my legs are aching from so much standing,” Zenka replied. “Oh, look at those fireworks! They really are magnificent! What more can you want?”

“If you want to know the truth,” Wilhelmina answered, her tongue loosened by the wines at dinner, “I want to marry a King!”

“A King?” Zenka repeated in amusement. “Why should you want to do that?”

“I would make a very good Queen,” Wilhelmina replied, “and when I look at the Princess of Wales’s diamonds, I know how much they would become me.”

Zenka repressed a smile.

The Princess of Wales was wearing the most magnificent diamond tiara and her necklace seemed to flash like moonlight every time she moved, but she was also undoubtedly the most beautiful woman in the Royal Family.

Looking at her moving across the floor, Zenka thought she floated rather than walked, that there was something swanlike in her long neck, while her infectious smile made her different from everyone else.

Wilhelmina had as much chance of looking like the Princess of Wales as jumping over the moon, Zenka thought, but aloud she remarked,

“I think Cousin Alexandra has a lot to put up with.”

“You mean the Prince’s love affairs,” Wilhelmina said in a rather ugly tone. “Everyone knows about them, but she has plenty of compensations.”

“I wonder,” Zenka remarked reflectively.

“I see nothing to wonder about,” Wilhelmina interrupted, “and I tell you, Zenka, I want to be a Queen! It is not fair that everyone else in Europe seems to have been married off except me.”

There was something so bitter in her tone that once again Zenka felt sorry for her.

“There must be lots of Kings and Crown Princes who are not here tonight,” she said. “What about all those Principalities and Royal States near you at Prussenberg?”

“The Monarchs who rule them are all married,” Wilhelmina whined.

Zenka racked her brains to think of one who was not.

It was true that all the most important thrones in Europe were already occupied by one of Queen Victoria’s daughters or granddaughters.

She glanced round the Chinese Room, seeing Vicky, the Crown Princess of Germany, Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, Beatrice of Battenberg, Helen of Schleswig-Holstein, and a whole number of other royalties, all of whom owed their position and the man who had been chosen for them as a husband, to the Queen.

‘There must be somebody,’ she thought to herself. Then aloud she gave an exclamation.

“I know, Wilhelmina . . . King Miklos of Karanya is not married!”

To her surprise Wilhelmina stiffened.

“I certainly have no wish to marry that man!” she said almost rudely.

“Why not? What has he done to annoy you?” Zenka asked.

Karanya was, she knew, a small country bordering on Hungary and Bosnia.

“He is a beast, rude, disagreeable and horrible to look at!” Wilhelmina replied almost spitting out the words. “His face is deformed and he walks with a limp.”

“But what has he done to you?” Zenka enquired.

“He was here last year at the State Ball.”

“Oh, was he?” Zenka said. “I do not remember him.”

This was not surprising, since the previous year she was only seventeen and had been obliged to leave early.

“What happened?” she asked curiously.

“The King had to sit because of his bad leg,” Wilhelmina answered, “and because I felt sorry for him, I tried to talk to him, to make myself pleasant.”

She paused and Zenka could see the anger in her eyes before she said, almost as if the words burst from her lips,

“I turned away for a moment to speak to somebody else and I heard him say to a man standing near him, ‘For God's sake keep that fat little Fräu away from me! She makes me feel worse than I feel already!’”

With difficulty Zenka repressed the laughter that rose in her throat.

“That was extremely unkind of him, Wilhelmina,” she said.

“He spoke in Karanyan,” Wilhelmina said, “so I suppose he thought I did not understand – but I did, and I decided that I would never, never speak to him again.”

“I do not blame you,” Zenka said.

At the same time she thought she could hardly blame the King. She knew how infuriating Wilhelmina could be and was quite sure the only reason for her wanting to talk to the King at all, was that he was a Monarch and she was determined to marry one.

“I have learnt a great deal about King Miklos since then,” Wilhelmina said spitefully.

“What have you heard?”

“That he gives orgies – yes, orgies – at his Castle in Karanya!”

“What sort of orgies?” Zenka asked curiously.

“I do not know exactly,” Wilhelmina replied somewhat reluctantly, “but Cousin Frederick was talking about them when he came to stay with us at Christmas.”

“I would not believe anything Cousin Frederick says,” Zenka remarked. “You know he is a scandalmonger and gets most of his information from that horrible wife of his.”

“I am sure what he said about King Miklos was true,” Wilhelmina argued.

“The only thing I know about orgies is what I have read about the ones the Romans gave,” Zenka said. “As far as I can make out, everybody got very drunk and tore their clothes off. If the King’s Castle at Karanya is anything like our Castle in Scotland it would be much too cold to take one’s clothes off, whatever else one did.”

She was aware as she spoke that Wilhelmina was not interested. She was still brooding over her hatred of the King.

“He has mistresses too – dozens of them.”

“That is not particularly surprising,” Zenka murmured, watching the Prince of Wales flirting with one of the more attractive of his cousins. Even in Scotland they discussed his love affairs, and since she had come to London for the Golden Jubilee, Zenka had heard of little else.

Wilhelmina was still following her own train of thought.

“I heard Cousin Frederick and Prince Christian talking one day,” she related.

That meant, Zenka thought, that she was doubtless listening at the keyhole – which was something she knew Wilhelmina did at every possible opportunity.

“Cousin Frederick said, ‘I wonder what has happened to Nita Loplakovoff. I have not heard of her for nearly a year and she was one of the most seductive Russian dancers I have ever seen.’

‘I believe she is having a wild affair with Miklos of Karanya,’ Prince Christian replied.

‘He would pick all the ripest plums from the trees,’ Cousin Frederick remarked. ‘I rather fancied her myself!’”

Wilhelmina paused for breath and Zenka remarked,

“I am quite certain that Nita Loplakovoff, whoever she may be, did not fancy Cousin Frederick.”

She decided she was bored with listening to Wilhelmina’s complaints and instead spoke deliberately to the Duke of Edinburgh, who was also standing and watching the fireworks.

“It has been a wonderful day, Cousin Alfred.”

“I am glad you have enjoyed it, Zenka,” he replied. “I am afraid the Queen will be very tired, but she was pleased with the reception she had from the crowd.”

“That is true,” interposed Princess Victoria, who was standing near them. “Mama kept saying to me how gratifying it all was and she was thrilled with her telegrams.”

Zenka saw that Wilhelmina was going to speak to her again and hastily she moved to another group.

She was related to almost everybody in the room. Her mother, Princess Pauline, had been English and her marriage to Prince Ladislas of Vajda had been a very happy one, until they had both been killed by a bomb thrown at them by an anarchist.

It had happened six years ago and it was on occasions like this that Zenka missed her mother desperately.

She would have so much enjoyed seeing all her relatives, being part of the big family congregated at Buckingham Palace, even though she had adored every moment of her life in Hungary.

Zenka had loved it too, and at first, she thought she would never get used to being away from the wild beautiful land to which she belonged and the horses that meant more to her than companions of her own age.

But her father’s greatest friend, the Duke of Stirling, who was also her Godfather, had made her his ward and taken her to live with him in Scotland. There she had been happy, very happy, until two years ago when the Duchess had died and in under a year the Duke had married again.

As soon as Zenka saw the new Duchess she knew she had met an implacable enemy.

The Duchess Kathleen was only thirty-five, much younger than her husband. She was attractive and would have been thought extremely beautiful, if there had not been the unfortunate rivalry of her husband’s ward.

It was impossible for people not to look astonished when they first saw Zenka and having looked at her once, not to go on looking and find it difficult to realise there was any other woman in the room.

While she had her mother’s small straight nose and fine bone structure, her red hair came from her father’s Hungarian ancestry and her very dark green eyes were a heritage from the same source.

Her eyes seemed to fill her small face and combined with an exquisitely fashioned body her whole appearance was enough to make any woman grind her teeth with frustration and jealousy.

The Duchess Kathleen had hated Zenka on sight and it had certainly not endeared her husband’s ward to her when, at the Golden Jubilee celebrations Zenka, because of her Royal Blood, took precedence over a mere Duke and Duchess.

Zenka had been asked to stay at Buckingham Palace, while the Stirlings had been forced to open their rather dull house in Hanover Square.

The Duchess Kathleen found it impossible to forgive that in the Abbey Zenka sat amongst the Royal Princesses and had been invited to be present at the family luncheons that were given both on the Saturday, after the Queen had arrived from Windsor, and on Sunday, following the Thanksgiving Service in Westminster Abbey.

She and the Duke were present now to watch the fireworks, but she was well aware it was only because of Zenka that they had been included in the few special invitations accorded to those who were not of the ‘Blood Royal’.

As some of the guests became somewhat tired with the fireworks, many of which were bursting out of sight, they came from the balconies into the drawing room, finding it more interesting to talk with each other.

The Duke of Stirling saw Zenka standing by herself and walked towards her.

He looked magnificent in his kilt, the huge cairngorm on his shoulder glinting in the lights of the chandeliers.

“Are you tired, Zenka?” he asked.

He was very fond of his ward and he thought, as did most other men in the party, that she was beyond argument a very beautiful girl.

“I am a little, Godfather,” Zenka answered. “Are you leaving now?”

“Kathleen is tired,” the Duke admitted. “It was so hot in the Abbey and we were rather closely packed in our seats.”

“The Queen must be exhausted,” Zenka said. “She did not stay long for the fireworks.”

“No,” the Duke agreed, “and she has another long day tomorrow. I suppose you will be accompanying her to Hyde Park?”

“I would hate to miss it,” Zenka answered. “There are to be Military bands, a treat for 30,000 schoolchildren and a balloon.”

“Then you must certainly go,” the Duke laughed, “but you will not be going to Windsor with the Queen?”

“No, of course not,” Zenka answered. “As soon as Her Majesty leaves London I will come to you.”

“Yes, do that,” the Duke agreed.

As he spoke the Duchess came to his side.

She was wearing every jewel the Stirlings had ever possessed, but there was a discontented droop to her lips and her eyes, when she looked at Zenka, were hard.

“I presume,” she said acidly, “that you do not intend to come home with us?”

“I am expected to stay until tomorrow,” Zenka answered.

“Which of course gives you a very inflated sense of importance,” the Duchess replied.

She turned away without waiting for Zenka’s reply but the Duke put his hand on his Ward’s shoulder.

“You look very attractive, Zenka,” he said. “The Prince of Wales congratulated me on having such a lovely ward.”

“Thank you, Godfather,” Zenka smiled. “I am lucky to have such a charming guardian!”

The Duke smiled, then once again he patted her shoulder and hastily followed his wife.

It was early in the afternoon of the following day when Zenka arrived in one of the Royal carriages at Stirling House in Hanover Square.

She had enjoyed accompanying the Queen to Hyde Park and had been amused, when as the huge balloon rose from the grass, a child had called out, “Look, there’s the Queen going up to Heaven!”

She had managed to avoid being paired with Wilhelmina, either driving to Hyde Park or walking around there. She knew it was unkind, but at the same time Wilhelmina, with her incessant whining and fault-finding was such a bore that Zenka decided she had had enough.

She remembered one agonising visit to Prussenberg when she had had to stay a month with Wilhelmina and her brothers and sisters and found them all equally unpleasant and tiresome.

She had never been asked again, mostly she thought, because Wilhelmina’s elder brother had paid far too much attention to her and she was not included as an eligible parti on the Prussenberg list for their children. Prince Ladislas may have transmitted to his daughter great beauty, but he had not been able to leave her a large fortune.

The European Royalties were very conscious, where wives for their sons were concerned, that money was more valuable than looks and a substantial dowry far more reliable than an ability to turn a man’s head.

As soon as she entered her Godfather’s house Zenka sensed that something unusual was about to happen. She did not know why, but she was curiously perceptive at times – almost clairvoyantly so – and although in Scotland they called her ‘fey’ she seldom paid much attention to such feelings unless they specifically concerned herself.

Now in the dim, rather ugly hall she was suddenly aware of a feeling of unease that was almost one of fear.

Although it was a hot day, she felt cold, and although she tried to laugh at herself, it was as if, as her Nanny used to say, ‘a goose was walking over her grave’.

She had for some unknown reason a wild desire to run away before she walked up the stairs to the large double drawing room on the first floor.

‘I must be overtired,’ she thought.

She pulled off her small straw hat and pushed her red hair that had been flattened by it, back into place.

Then in her pretty striped silk gown, which had aroused much admiration amongst the other Princesses, she walked into the drawing room.

The Duchess Kathleen was sitting on a hard upright sofa by the fireplace embroidering in a round frame. Her lips were pursed together in concentration as the needle went in and out of the canvas neatly and precisely.

The Duke was standing beside her with his back to the empty fireplace, and Zenka had the feeling that he would have liked to warm himself because, like her, he was feeling cold.

Then she forced herself to move forward smiling as she said,

“I am back, Godfather, and I am earlier than I thought I would be.”

“It is nice to see you, Zenka.”

He kissed her cheek and Zenka curtsied to the Duchess.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself with all your grand relations,” the Duchess Kathleen remarked, and it was quite obvious from her tone that she hoped nothing of the sort.

“It has been a great experience,” Zenka answered, “and something I shall always remember. The Queen was really magnificent in Hyde Park. She must be feeling very tired after three days of celebrations.”

“She is made of iron,” the Duchess remarked, and it was not a compliment.

As she spoke, she glanced up at the Duke as if to prompt him, and he cleared his throat before he said,

“Sit down, Zenka. I have something to say to you.”

Zenka drew in her breath.

It was true then what she had felt. Something was wrong, but what it might be she could not imagine. Again she felt that prickling of her flesh and her fingers were cold as she sat down on the sofa opposite to the one occupied by the Duchess and put her hat beside her.

“What is it, Godfather?” she asked.

“I had a short talk with the Queen on Saturday morning after she arrived from Windsor,” the Duke said.

Zenka’s eyes were on his face, but he did not look at her and she had the feeling he was embarrassed by what he had to say.

“Her Majesty, as you can imagine, had little time to spare,” the Duke went on. “She had flowers to inspect which had been left at Buckingham Palace – and very magnificent they were – and also she had to rest before the family luncheon.”

“To which we were not invited,” the Duchess interposed bitterly.

“We are not Royal, my dear,” the Duke answered.

“Of course not – not like Zenka!” the Duchess snapped.

“Why did the Queen wish to see you, Godfather?” Zenka asked.