Читать книгу A Princess In Waiting - Carol Grace - Страница 11

Once upon a time in a small country called St. Michel, wedged between France and Rhineland, lived a beautiful ex-princess named Lise de Bergeron. The former princess didn’t live in the stately palace with its turrets and ballroom and bevy of servants. She lived in a small cottage on the palace grounds. This gave her the independence she wanted and suited the present queen—her father’s fourth wife—and her grandmother, the dowager queen. Lise had no crown and no legitimacy since her parents’ marriage had been declared invalid. She was not surrounded by maids who waited on her hand and foot. She was attended by her former nanny, the woman who had raised her when her mother had deserted her and her sisters. Nanny was old now and afflicted by arthritis and Princess Lise was more caregiver than pampered princess.

A lack of royal trappings did not bother the princess. What did bother her was that her father the king had just died, she’d been deserted by her husband, Wilhelm, of neighboring Rhineland, and she was three months pregnant. All in all, this past year had been a difficult one. The future was unclear. What was in store for her and her unborn child? She pushed the question to the back of her mind and concentrated on the problems at hand. Number one was stopping the leak in the roof of the cottage.

“Nanny, who said April was the cruelest month?” she asked the old woman in the rocking chair.

“One of those poets you’re always reading, I suppose,” said Gertrude, smoothing the afghan over her knees. “Perhaps the same one who said April showers bring May flowers.”

“It can’t happen soon enough,” Lise said, gazing out the small leaded window at rain pelting the vast green acres surrounding the palace.

“Ah, ma pauvre, is it really the weather that is making you melancholy or is it everything else?” the old lady asked with a worried frown.

“I’m fine really,” Lise said hastily. It wouldn’t do to make Nanny worry about her. “Let’s have tea. I must confess I’m ravenous. You know, if I keep eating like this for the next six months, I’ll be as big as a blimp.”

“Nonsense,” said the old woman. “You’re eating for two.”

Lise placed one hand over her still-flat stomach. It was amazing how much she looked forward to having this child. No matter how uncertain the future.

“When I was up at the castle this morning, the cook sneaked me some of her chocolate gateaux, so today we feast.” Smiling, Lise held the basket out so her old nanny could see the delicate frosted cakes.

Keep smiling, she told herself. Though inside she was in turmoil, she couldn’t let it show. Not to Nanny, who’d suffer for her, not to Queen Celeste who would think she deserved it, and not to her sisters who would feel sorry for her. No one must know the pain she felt at being deserted and divorced by her husband, the shame of being disinherited, of coming back alone to be at the mercy of the current occupants of the palace.

Today. She would think only of today, not tomorrow, not six months from now. She would take it one day at a time. At least she had a roof over her head, leaky though it was. The palace repairman said he couldn’t fix it while it was raining, he’d get to it when the sun came out and when it was convenient. She told herself she was lucky to have a job of sorts and she had her dear old nanny. Things could be worse.

Things had been worse when she was married to Wilhelm. Yes, they’d lived splendidly in Rhineland, where he, as a member of the royal family, had money and power. But he was a cold, arrogant, ambitious man who’d been chosen for her by her father for political reasons. If she had one thing to be thankful for, it was that she was rid of the scoundrel. She’d endure any amount of shame if she never had to see him again.

After handing Nanny a tray with her tea and cake, Lise sat down at the polished pine table in the kitchen and gratefully inhaled the steam from the fragrant brew.

“What news from the palace?” Gertrude asked. “Did you see the queen by chance?”

“No, I hear she’s keeping to her bed, preparing for the birth of her son.”

“Son? It’s going to be a son, then?” the old woman asked, setting her cup down with a clatter.

“So she says. But no one really knows. Not even the queen because she refuses to have a test to determine the baby’s sex. It seems talk of a boy is just wishful thinking. Because if it isn’t a son, she’ll lose everything—her power, her status…well, you know as well as I do, as well as the whole kingdom does, how desperate she is to bear a son.” What everyone knew was that according to the ancient law, the monarchy of St. Michel passes only through the male line.

Nanny nodded thoughtfully. “I guess everyone in the country is feeling desperate for an heir. Because if there is no heir, our beloved country will be absorbed by Rhineland.”

Lise shivered involuntarily at the thought. She and her husband had lived royally in Rhineland during the brief months of her marriage, but she had no happy memories of him or of his country.

“Now, child, don’t fret,” her nanny said when her sharp eyes noted Lise’s distress. “Isn’t it true that the dowager queen has sent the head of the security force, Luc Dumont, to find the missing heir? Perhaps he will find him.”

“Yes, maybe.”

“Ah well, something will save us, it always has,” Gertrude said. “In the meantime, if you’ll hand me my knitting, I must get busy on the sweater for your baby.”

Lise took away her tray and handed Nanny her knitting basket full of pale yellow yarn. After getting her settled next to the ornate cast-iron stove that gave off a comforting glow, Lise put on her smock over a turtleneck sweater and leggings and went to the adjacent greenhouse. It was there she did her best work as restorer of priceless artifacts of the Kingdom of St. Michel. Today she was painting an old cracked frame she’d restored.

Besides the peace and quiet, Lise appreciated the natural light that poured through the slanted windows of the greenhouse even on a rainy day. There were only a few leggy green plants left by a long-ago gardener, leaving the shelves free for her collection of glass mosaics, jars of acrylic water-based paint and a selection of bristle brushes and tools. The smell of the damp earth and paint pigment melded together in a heady blend that soothed and inspired her.

If there was any place she could forget her troubles, it was here. Mixing and blending the paint, she hummed to herself. The work was challenging, but her studies in London with a master craftsman had prepared her well.

An hour later she heard a car pull up in front of the cottage. She was still immersed in her work and hated interruptions when it was going as well as it was today.

“Nanny will take care of it,” she murmured to herself. She hoped it would be the delivery of her belongings from Rhineland. She’d left so suddenly, she’d taken only a small suitcase. Whatever it was, whoever it was, Gertrude knew enough not to bother her when she was at work.

However someone didn’t know enough. There was a knock on the door of the greenhouse. Lise pushed an errant strand of hair back from her face.

“Yes?”

“Lise?” It was a deep voice. Vaguely familiar. “It’s Charles. Charles Rodin.”

“Charles?” Charles, her husband’s twin brother? What on earth was he doing here. Anything, anyone connected with her ex-husband was upsetting and an intrusion in her new life. She’d left Wilhelm and wanted no reminders of the biggest mistake of her life.

“May I come in?” he asked.

As annoyed as she was, she couldn’t help but notice the difference. Wilhelm would have barged in. His brother waited to be invited.

She opened the door. And stared at the man who stood there. He looked disturbingly like her ex-husband and yet the expression on his face was nothing like Wilhelm’s arrogance. She barely remembered Charles from her wedding at which he had been the best man; she hadn’t seen him since that fateful day, but she knew this was a man who was self-confident but not arrogant. Maybe it was the way his rain-dampened hair fell across his forehead or the way he’d stuffed his hands into the pockets of his cashmere coat, still, the resemblance bothered her and brought back unpleasant memories. She wanted nothing to do with Wilhelm or any member of his family. She was doing her best to forget all of them. And now this….

“May I come in?” he asked again.

What was wrong with her? She’d been raised with better manners than to let a guest stand in the doorway. But he was so big, so broad-shouldered, so startlingly like his brother, she’d thought he was in.

“Of course,” she said briskly.

He stepped into the small greenhouse with the earthen floor and suddenly the glassed-in room was crowded to overflowing. She had no space, no room to breathe or think. There was a fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach. She tried to think of something to say, but her mind was blank. All she could do was to stand there and wait for him to say something.

After a long silence during which he looked her up and down with a shade too much intimacy and she continued to stare at him, she finally found her voice.

“What is it, Charles? What do you want?”

He frowned at her lack of civility. What did he expect, that she’d welcome him with open arms, after what his brother had done to her?

“I came when I heard the news, about the divorce…to see if…to see what I could do.”

“Nothing. You can do nothing. You can’t stop your brother from divorcing me, you can’t make my parents’ marriage valid, you can’t find an heir for our country, and you can’t bring my father back to life. So go back to your country and tell your brother I don’t need him or any of his family.”

Charles looked surprised at her angry words. “I haven’t been in my country for months nor have I seen much of my family. Perhaps you aren’t aware, but my brother and I have never been close. And now we are hardly on speaking terms,” he said stiffly. “We lead separate lives, both professionally and personally. I’m in charge of the wine business of Rhineland and Wilhelm is managing the family’s investments abroad. I’ve been in the U.S. for the past six months. When I ran into Wilhelm last week in Los Angeles he told me about the divorce. I couldn’t believe it. It’s only been, what…?”

“Eight months,” Lise said. “Eight months that I am doing my best to forget. So if you don’t mind, I’ll get back to work.” She pivoted on her heel and turned back to her frame. If only she’d been wearing a gown and a tiara, she might have pulled off this obvious dismissal and he would have left. She used the imperial tone. She had the movements down pat. Those years of training came in useful at times. But not today. He didn’t leave. He did just the opposite. He stepped forward. He was right behind her, leaning over her left shoulder.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a deep voice, so much like his brother’s she shivered involuntarily. And yet, the tone was altogether different. Wilhelm gave orders. Charles had asked a question as if he was interested. Wilhelm never asked about her work. Never wondered if she missed it or how she would fill the empty hours in Rhineland while he was working.

She sighed. “I’m doing some restoration work on an eighteenth-century frame for the palace archives,” she said. She couldn’t help it. She should have said it was none of his business, but she had so few people to share her enthusiasm for her work. Not that he cared. Of course he didn’t. He was just making conversation.

“I would guess it held a portrait at one time,” he said coming even closer, so close he brushed her shoulder with his arm. She felt a wave of heat sweep through her body.

“A portrait,” she repeated. “Yes, it did.” She wished he would move away. His warm breath fanned the back of her neck and made her knees weak. It was difficult to concentrate on the subject of the painting. “It was one of my royal ancestors. Frederic the Second.”

“Frederic the Bold, I believe they called him, for his acquisition of the lowlands,” Charles said.

Lise nodded slowly. She was impressed by his knowledge of history. It wasn’t even his history. She’d thought she was the only one who could keep the ancestors straight. How did he know?

“And for his wooing of my royal ancestor, Princess Gabrielle,” Charles added. Though she couldn’t see his face, she thought his voice held the hint of a smile.

“Which resulted in a royal scandal, because she was affianced to someone else. How do you know all this?” she asked, turning to face him. He was so close she could see that though his eyes were the same color as his brother’s, they were a softer brown, almost velvety. Wilhelm had the coldest eyes she’d ever seen, as cold as the stones from the river. She couldn’t drag her gaze away. She couldn’t stop comparing the two brothers. They looked so much alike, but acted so differently. Or was this just an act? He really hadn’t explained why he was here.

He shrugged. “My grandfather used to tell me stories. My parents were too busy with their own lives to pay much attention to me or my brother. Wilhelm had other interests, but I was fascinated by the history of my country. And Grandfather was a great storyteller. He’d walk me through the portrait gallery at the palace and tell me about the people in the paintings. Before he died, he wrote a history of Rhineland, which includes quite a bit about St. Michel. One can’t study one without getting involved with the other, as you know. We can’t ignore each other, whether we want to or not. We’re too close, have too much in common, too many ties going back over the centuries.”

The way he said it, the way he looked at her, with such warmth in his gaze, she felt the heat. Lise wondered if he was talking about their countries or themselves. She didn’t dare ask. Why was he here? If he wondered if she’d been devastated by the divorce, he could see she hadn’t been.

When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “History is your field, isn’t it?”

She was surprised he knew. Wilhelm had thought it a useless hobby, but it was her passion, along with art. “History and art restoration. I’ve been criticized more than once for living in the past.”

Get your nose out of that book, her mother had said.

You’ll never find a man in a museum, her father had cautioned.

What are you doing in the library all day? her husband Wilhelm had demanded.

“That’s ridiculous. Who was it who said if we don’t study history, we’re doomed to repeat it?”

She smiled. “It’s true, but you didn’t come here to discuss history,” she said. If he did, she could go on all day, having no one else to talk to about it, and neither of them wanted that. As much as she enjoyed sharing her love of the past with someone, even him, his presence disturbed her more than it should have. He looked like his brother, but didn’t act like him. He was tall and handsome and well-bred, but lacked the pretension of other members of his family.

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. Or why he was there in the first place. She didn’t know how to get rid of him. Or if she really wanted to. There were questions she wanted answers to: How many minds had his brother poisoned against her? How did his parents feel about her? What stories was his brother spreading about her? And yes, she had to admit she wanted to know, how did he, Charles, feel about her?

“No, I didn’t come here to discuss history. Although it’s an interesting topic and since Grandfather died I’ve had no one…” He paused as if he was unwilling to admit he’d had no one to talk to. “No, not history,” he continued.

Charles leaned back against a stone countertop and studied her for a long moment. He was trying to collect his thoughts, but just looking at the lovely princess caused his mind to wander and his heart to pound erratically. The last time he’d seen Lise de Bergeron had been on her wedding day.

He’d thought at the time that in her white satin gown and diamond tiara she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He’d been filled with an unbecoming rush of envy for his older twin. As usual, Wilhelm had succeeded in snatching the prize before Charles had had a chance to compete. He couldn’t help but wonder, even then, if his brother would be as careless with this prize as he’d been with all the others he’d won. The silver cup for polo, the gold medal for fencing—all tossed aside as soon as he’d gotten them. The contest forgotten, except for the bragging and the gloating that continued long afterward.

Marriage to Lise was a prize Wilhelm hadn’t even competed for. It had been handed to him by an official arrangement. Her father wanted to strengthen the ties between their countries; Wilhelm wanted the marriage because it would advance his claim to some of the Micheline royal lands, should the country revert to Rhineland control. Wilhelm was the elder brother by thirty minutes. In this case, those thirty minutes made all the difference between Charles’s loss and his brother’s success.

When his brother had found out Lise was illegitimate and would inherit neither her title nor royal land, he immediately divorced her. When Charles had heard that, straight from his brother’s mouth, he’d been stunned. His brother was not known for his kindness or compassion, he’d always had a ruthless streak, pushing aside anyone and anything that got in his way, but this time he’d gone too far. Charles was not only stunned, but he was ashamed on behalf of the family honor. Charles felt as if his brother had put a sword through his chest. He’d left the U.S. on the next plane and here he was, determined to do something to make things right.

Seeing the princess today, attired in the garb of a peasant with a smudge of paint on her cheek, her silky blond hair twisted in a knot at the nape of her neck, he found her even more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her in her wedding finery. He felt a rush of emotion he hadn’t expected. He’d thought he’d feel pity. But that wasn’t what he was feeling at that moment. Lise de Bergeron did not inspire pity. She was too confident and self-assured. What he felt for her was a much stronger emotion he dared not name.

He knew she needed help whether she’d admit it or not. Living in this humble cottage with only her faithful nanny was not suitable for a princess. Especially one pregnant with his brother’s child. Being deserted by his scoundrel of a brother was something that had to be righted. He was the one who could do it. He wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her away to the kind of life she deserved. However, she didn’t look as if she’d permit him or anyone else to sweep her off her feet.

She didn’t know why he was there, but he did. He’d planned his speech. He knew what he had to say, but now that he was there and she was looking at him with those incredible blue eyes, he could only stand and stare.

She’d changed. It had only been eight months, but she was not the same demure princess who’d so dazzled him on her wedding day. It wasn’t only her clothing, it was her manner. He’d thought she’d be meek and mild and jump at the chance he was going to offer her. Now he wasn’t so sure. She had a stubborn tilt to her chin, a proud look in her eyes and a certain tone to her voice. If he’d been infatuated with her before, he was fascinated now. He didn’t know what she was going to say next. He decided to put off his declaration.

He was saved by the entrance of her nanny.

“Lise,” Gertrude said, opening the greenhouse door just a crack. “Won’t you ask Monsieur Rodin in for some tea? I fear it’s chilly out there.”

Lise looked annoyed, but her manners didn’t fail her. “Of course,” she said. “Won’t you come in, Charles?”

He nodded. He was relieved, unwilling to leave without saying what he’d come to say, but not ready to say it. Not without some hope she’d agree to his plan.

In the cozy parlor a fire was blazing, the silver tea service was on the table and Gertrude was nowhere to be seen. Lise motioned to him to take a seat across from her on a chintz-covered love seat. He watched her pour the tea into two delicate china cups.

“Sugar, lemon?” she asked.

He shook his head. Though she was dressed like an artisan, she had the manners of a princess, and she always would. She’d grown up in a palace, but she seemed completely at home in this modest cottage. He wondered how much sorrow, how much disillusion she was hiding. He wondered if she still loved his brother. Or if she’d ever loved him. He knew it had been only a political match on his brother’s part, but what if he’d broken Lise’s heart? If he had, Charles would never forgive him.

“What are your plans?” he asked.

“Plans?” she asked.

“For the future.”

“Ah, the future. Good question. First I will call the repairman again about the leaky roof. When it rains, he’s always too busy, and when it stops and the sun shines, he goes fishing.”

He glanced at the ceiling.

“It’s in the kitchen.”

“Let me handle it for you. I know a man I can send. You shouldn’t have to live like this, you know.”

“I live very well,” she said so swiftly, he knew he’d said the wrong thing. Her blue eyes were cool and distant. “Much better than I lived in Rhineland. I have my nanny, my work and the freedom to do what I please, be what I please.”

“What about the baby?” He couldn’t help letting his gaze stray to her stomach. There was no sign of maternity there. Not yet. Yet he thought he noticed a slight rounding of her cheeks, a smoothing of her brow. But maybe he was just imagining the effects of pregnancy, of which he knew nothing. He’d always hoped to find someone, a woman to share his life with, to bear his children. But he’d always known he’d never find anyone as lovely as Lise de Bergeron.

“The baby will fit in to my life. I have a large bedroom.” She gestured toward a pair of French doors to her left. “Plenty of room for a cradle.”

He almost told her that babies grew up and needed rooms of their own, but he didn’t. She knew that and it was none of his business.

“Whatever happened to our star-crossed ancestors?” he asked, changing the subject to something safer and less personal. “Frederic the Bold and Princess Gabrielle. I don’t remember the end of the story. Or maybe I never heard it. Sometimes Grandfather got distracted or confused.”

“I don’t believe Frederic ever married,” Lise said. “He resisted all royal efforts to marry him off to one European princess or another. It’s too bad I didn’t follow his example.” Though her tone was light, a shadow fell over her pale face.

“Don’t blame yourself,” he said frowning. “There were reasons.”

“Of course,” she said. “There always are. Being small and defenseless, St. Michel has always needed alliances with foreign powers. Believe me, I’ve heard it over and over from my father and grandmother.”

“But it’s wrong to use humans as pawns in these games,” he said.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she refilled his cup. “And the beautiful Gabrielle?” she asked. “What became of her? Did she marry her fiancé?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll have to do some research and get back to you on that. If Grandfather were here…”

“You miss him,” she said simply, her expression softening.

Yes, he missed the old man in many ways. Someone he could go to with his troubles. Someone who’d listen with a sympathetic ear. Someone who cared about him when no one else seemed to.

“Yes. He was the one person…” He stopped abruptly. Why go into family matters? She’d presumably had her fill of the dysfunctional Rodin family while living in Rhineland with his brother. Talking about the distant past was safer and allowed him to keep the dialog going, to keep the connection between them. Maybe it happened a long time ago, maybe it was history repeating itself. Whatever it was, he knew he’d do anything to forge a bond between Lise and himself. A bond that had nothing to do with his brother.

“I mustn’t keep you any longer, Charles,” she said, glancing at the door. It was plain she was dismissing him before he’d said what he’d come to say.

He’d hoped to establish a mood and set up the appropriate atmosphere. He’d planned to lead up to it gradually, but he no longer had time. It was clear it had to be now. He stood and looked down at her. The silence in the room was deafening. It was now or never. He took a deep breath.

“I came today to offer you my hand in marriage,” he said.