sight, leaving his daughter alone.
Turn around. Look at me. Let me see your face one last time.
His silent entreaty was rewarded when Erika stopped and looked back. Her gaze fell firstly on Gustav’s carriage as it moved away. A frown sat on her face. That expression quickly disappeared when her eyes then locked with Christian’s.
He offered a wave.
If he wasn’t forbidden to travel without the King of Sweden’s express permission, Christian would have raced up the gangplank and leapt onto the ship. Instead he stood and watched with a sinking heart as the last of the chests were loaded on board and the crew began to untie the dock lines.
She was leaving.
Erika waved, then put a hand to her face and wiped at her eyes. She was crying.
“Promise you will write!” she cried over the bellowing of the ship’s first mate.
He nodded. “Yes, I will!”
Without fail, Erika would receive a letter from him in the diplomatic pouch every month when it left Stockholm—of that he was most determined.
As they both waved their final farewells and the ship drew away from the dock, Christian made a vow. By the time Erika returned to Sweden, her heart would belong to him.
Chapter Four
Two months later
March 1813
* * *
The letter landed with a loud smack in the middle of the table. Christian reared back in his chair. He had been daydreaming, staring out the window of the sitting room at the snow falling in the central courtyard of Stockholm Palace.
“What is this?” demanded Prince Stefan.
Christian frowned. It was the letter he had written to Erika and placed into the diplomatic pouch bound for London.
“It’s a letter to Countess Erika. How did you come by it?” he replied.
His father picked up the letter and ripped it clear in two before throwing it back down. He motioned for Christian to rise from his seat.
“I took it out of the bag. What do you think you are doing, writing to Countess Erika Jansson?”
Christian got to his feet and faced his father. He had done nothing wrong—simply written a short letter informing Erika of the goings-on at the palace. His note included details of a recent ball and who had danced with whom at it—things hopefully she would find of interest. He had also made mention of the birth of his sister Anna’s baby.
There was nothing in the letter that could be construed as secret or against the interests of his family. “I told her before she left that I would write to her. I waited until now to let her get settled in England. What is the problem?”
Prince Stefan huffed. “Gustav is going to marry Erika once she returns to Sweden. You shouldn’t be sending her letters. It is not proper.”
“But I promised . . .”
His father’s hand, held out in warning, cut off the rest of Christian’s protest.
And just so there could be no further doubt about the matter, Prince Stefan scooped up the pieces of the letter and threw them in the fire. Christian turned away, not wishing to see his innocent overtures turned to ashes.
“No letters. Only Gustav has permission to write to Countess Erika. If I find you have been trying to circumvent my order, I shall be most displeased. Have I made myself clear?”
Christian nodded. “I understand. I will not disobey you, Pappa.”
Only after his father had left him alone in the sitting room did he dare to risk letting out a long stream of curses. Damn. If only he had waited until the day the bag was due to leave Stockholm and then slipped the letter in, he could have got away with it.
“But no, you had to make sure you put it in there as soon as the pouch was on the desk of the King’s private secretary. You really are a foolish boy,” he muttered.
The secretary would no doubt have made mention of the letter to the King, who then would have spoken to his younger brother. At which point Prince Stefan would have stepped in and seized it. And all of Christian’s plans had been laid to waste.
“Well done, Christian.”
How was he supposed to woo Erika from afar if he couldn’t communicate with her?
His problem was further compounded by the knowledge that Gustav would be sending a letter this month. Who knew what he would be telling her in his correspondence? There was a chance that he may decide to sprinkle in some sweet words in amongst his notes of guidance.
He crossed to the window, tracking his father’s