“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to one of the private sitting rooms upstairs.”
“Thank you.” She and Sybil followed Mr. Whistler to the main staircase and up to the first floor, through a few more galleries, and to a small room near the back of the building. He showed her and Sybil inside, where Mrs. Boehm stood waiting. If the sight of Louise was a shock to the woman she didn’t reveal it, as poised in Louise’s presence as Mama used to be in public before Papa died.
The sinking feeling that this was not the first time Mrs. Boehm had faced one of her husband’s paramours almost made Louise abandon the plan, but she’d come this far in her sins. She could hardly avoid confession now.
“Your Royal Highness, may I introduce Mrs. Joseph Edgar Boehm?” Mr. Whistler said, returning, like Louise, to the required formalities.
The woman curtseyed, her manners impeccable. Given Edgar’s aristocratic clients, Louise wasn’t surprised.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Boehm. Congratulations on your husband’s great success. Her Majesty and the Prince of Wales are admirers of his work.”
“My husband speaks highly of your talents too.” There was no mockery or double entendre in the compliment.
“If you ladies will excuse me.” Mr. Whistler bowed out of the room and Sybil took up an unobtrusive place by the window, offering as much privacy as she could under the circumstances. If her presence troubled Mrs. Boehm she gave no sign of it, more than likely accustomed to lady chaperones “Thank you, Your Royal Highness, for everything you’ve done for Mr. Boehm’s career. Her Majesty’s patronage and yours has meant a great deal to him and our family.”
“It’s my pleasure to promote him. I care a great deal about Mr. Boehm.”
“I know.”
Oh dear. How Bertie managed this many times over, she didn’t know, but she couldn’t very well back out now. After all, she was a princess, the Queen’s daughter. If she could face Mama or Parliament, she could face a situation of her own making. “May we speak plainly, Mrs. Boehm, about the true reason for this interview?”
“If you wish.” Mrs. Boehm glanced at Sybil.
“You needn’t worry about Lady St. Albans. She’s as discreet as the grave.”
“Then may I be so bold as to explain the matter as it stands?”
“Please.” Louise might not know what to say until it was time to speak, but she was tired of all this dancing about.
“Mr. Boehm explained to me the nature of things between you. I feel it my duty to explain the nature of things between us. We were very young and impulsive when we married, I had not the dowry or connections to secure a good match and was in danger of being left on the shelf. Edgar was a foreigner and quite without a suitable income. My brother, who’d done little to help me secure a husband through his poor business dealings in Liverpool, was against the match, but I brought him grudgingly around. He had no idea what it was like to be looked down on and overlooked, to see his chances for a future, children, and home of his own fading year after year, and how wonderful it was when Edgar noticed me. It was as if everything I’d despaired of having was laid at my feet, and it was. While we’ve been happy in our own way, the initial passion did not last. I gave him four children, much to the detriment of my health, and the doctors recommended I have no more. While I find the arrangement satisfactory, Mr. Boehm, as a man, has natural needs and I’ve encouraged him to attend to them where he sees fit. I never thought he would reach so high in his interests, but I’m glad he has. Since securing Her Majesty and the Prince of Wale’s patronage, and Your Royal Highness’s friendship, my position among my friends and acquaintances, especially in my brother’s eyes and my old circle in Liverpool, has risen higher than anything I could’ve ever imagined. I’m not a heartless or scheming woman, Your Royal Highness, but I crave success as much as Edgar, and in this manner I’ve achieved it. My husband is a sculptor to royalty, and perhaps one day his talents, with your assistance, will earn him a title.”
Over Mrs. Boehm’s shoulder, Louise caught Sybil’s wide- eyed astonishment, her ability to pretend she wasn’t listening vanishing at Mrs. Boehm’s plain confession and none-too- subtle suggestion. Louise did everything she could not to mirror her friend’s expression but to remain placid. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it hadn’t been this. “I assure you, Her Majesty is very pleased with his works, and I expect more and better things for him, and you. A baronetcy, perhaps, and a position as Sculptor in Ordinary are not beyond consideration, especially with my and the Prince of Wale’s encouragement. It would be my pleasure to promote the appointment of Mr. Boehm to such a high estate.”
The woman’s eyes sparkled with possibility and Louise could almost see her standing before her brother and reveling in him calling her Lady Boehm.
“I’m glad we had the chance to come to an agreement, Mrs.
Boehm, and I wish you and your husband great success.” “Thank you, Your Royal Highness.” She executed a curtsey worthy of any peer’s daughter and backed out of the room, closing the door the behind her.
Sybil shook her head in amazement. “If I hadn’t been here to hear it, and you’d told me about this interview, I’d think you’d made it up,”
“So would I.”
“No wonder she does so well with Mr. Boehm’s contracts.
Such a force, and never once rude or disrespectful.”
“Or subtle. I admire her boldness. It’s earned her the respect and success she craves.” The same things Louise had been fighting for. She hoped, when the situation called for it, she would be as courageous in pursuing her ambitions as Mrs. Boehm.
“We should return before we’re missed.”
They made their way back downstairs, taking their time in the portrait gallery for Louise to settle herself before she was finally forced to rejoin the royal party. She stood before Professor Prinsep’s The Death of Cleopatra, the vivid oranges, reds, and blues of the Queen and her attendants’ togas bright against the faint hieroglyphics. Her despair at her defeat was palpable in the slouch of her body on the throne as she slipped from life, her dead serving woman sprawled at her feet. Louise never wanted to give up like that, to believe all hope was lost and there was no reason to carry on in the face of failure. “Prinsep outdid himself this year,” Edgar said from beside her.
Her body vibrated from the nearness of him and the faint scent of sandalwood hanging in the air between them. She longed to slip her hand in his, to feel his sturdy grip, to lean her head on his chest and hear again the thudding of his heart, to enjoy his strong arms around her, but they must re- main politely apart. “It’s perfect.”
“Nothing we create is, it can’t be or we’d never stop working on one piece instead of starting others. The curse of our craft is accepting imperfection.”
“We must find what happiness we can in our imperfections and restrictions.” She tilted her head to view him from the side, too afraid to face him and give away the passion making her skin flush. “It’s the most we can hope to achieve in our positions.”
He laced his hands behind his back and nodded, catching the meaning in her words, and like her unable to say what he truly wanted. “There’s danger in accepting them too, that our work won’t live up to other’s expectations.”
“All we can do is fight to glean from it what happiness we can, to steal from the imperfection whatever joy it offers. It’s a challenge I’m willing to accept if you are.”
His glance said more than any words could. “I am.”
From AN INDISCREET PRINCESS by Georgie Blalock. Copyright © 2022 by Georgie Reinstein. Reprinted by permission of William Morrow, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
AN INDISCREET PRINCESS by Georgie Blalock
A Novel of Queen Victoria’s Defiant Daughter
Before Princess Margaret, before Duchess Meghan, there was Princess Louise: royal rebel.
As the fourth daughter of the perpetually in-mourning Queen Victoria, Princess Louise’s life is more a gilded prison than a fairy tale. Expected to sit quietly next to her mother with down-cast eyes, Louise vows to escape the stultifying royal court. Blessed with beauty, artistic talent, and a common touch, she creates a life outside the walled-in existence of the palace grounds by attending the National Art Training School—where she shockingly learns to sculpt nude models while falling passionately in love with famed sculptor Joseph Edgar Boehm.
But even as Louise cultivates a life outside the palace, she is constantly reminded that even royal rebels must heed the call of duty—and for a princess that means marriage. Refusing to leave England, she agrees to a match with the Duke of Argyll, and although her heart belongs to another, she is determined to act out her public role perfectly, even if her private life teeters on the brink of scandal. But when a near fatal accident forces Louise back under her mother’s iron rule, she realizes she must choose: give in to the grief of lost love or find the strength to fight for her unconventional life.
Women’s Fiction Historical [HarperCollins Publishers, On Sale: September 27, 2022, Paperback / e-Book, ISBN: 9780063083288 / eISBN: 9780063083295]
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About Georgie Blalock
Georgie Blalock is an amateur historian and movie buff who loves combining her different passions through historical fiction, and a healthy dose of period piece films. When not writing, she can be found prowling the non-fiction history section of the library or the British film listings on Netflix. Georgie writes historical romance under the name Georgie Lee.
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