Читать книгу The Making of a Princess - Teresa Carpenter - Страница 9

AMANDA SAT OUTSIDE in the cool morning air. Spring bloomed around her, vibrant colors spilling from trellis boxes and potted planters up and down the street. She enjoyed this spot high on the hill with its view of the ocean. She enjoyed sitting in the fresh air.

And still she fiddled with the ruffled cuff of her sweater dress. Darn Michelle for making her self-conscious of her wardrobe choice. The soft gray mini dress with three rows of ruffles at the hem, paired with black high heeled boots and a flowing purple muffler was the perfect look for an idle Sunday morning.

So maybe it wasn’t her clothes choice making her nervous at all. Maybe it was the fact her hot date was late.

Not that Michelle was off the hook. Amanda went through five outfits before deciding on the gray dress. Nothing had felt right. And that wasn’t like her, neither the indecisiveness nor the fussiness. She had a long, lean frame that clothes loved, and a sense of style drilled into her by a grandmother obsessed with decorum and good taste.

“Amanda.” The deep voice made her name a caress. She looked up and there stood Xavier silhouetted against the morning sun, his shoulders broad beams in an expensive suit.

“Xavier,” she breathed. Oh get a grip, girl. No man respects a pushover.

“Good morning.” He reached for her hand, bent over it before taking his seat.

It was Old World gestures like that that got to her. He got to her—his somberness offset by an edgy dangerousness. She had no doubt he was very good at his job.

But she prided herself on being mature, so it was time to act like it.

“Please forgive my tardiness. A last-minute call from home.”

“I understand. It must be hard to be away for months at a time.”

“Yes.” He waved over a waitress, ordered coffee and a Danish. “However, I am a soldier. And it is a prestigious assignment. I am honored to serve my country.”

“A soldier?” she asked. “I thought you were a security officer.”

“I am an officer of the Garde royale à la Couronne. As were my father and his father before him and so on, for six generations.”

“A personal guard to the crown—impressive. The exhibit is lovely.” She gestured to the newspaper she’d brought with her. “The preview is a great success. You must be proud to be trusted with your country’s treasures. Your Prince must have great faith in you.”

He was silent for a moment and she worried she might have insulted him. But then he leaned forward as he reached for her hand and played with her fingers.

“That is exactly so. Though many people have felt that it was a lowly assignment.”

“I can’t see you ever being given a lowly assignment.”

He smiled, this time with both his eyes and mouth. She felt he’d given her a special gift.

“A soldier does both the big and the small, because it is all necessary to complete the mission. Of all the generations in my family, I made Commandant at the youngest age.”

“And that’s an accomplishment?” she asked, though she could see it was.

“Yes. My father is proud of me, my grandfather a little upset.”

She laughed and pointed at him. “And you are happy with both reactions.”

He shrugged, but a small smile curved the corner of his mouth. “For six generations a son in my father’s line has joined the Republican Guard. My family is proud of the exemplary service they have provided to the crown. It is important I demonstrate great skills to honor the Prince’s faith in me, and my family before me.”

“Wow. But no pressure, right?” He spoke with pride, but there was something, an underlying tension she picked up on that made her wonder if there was more to his story. It prompted her to ask, “What would you do if you weren’t a soldier?”

His expression went blank. She actually felt the question stunned him. He shrugged. “An engineer, perhaps, because I have always liked knowing how things work. However, there was never any question of this. It is my duty and my privilege to serve the Prince.” He inclined his head again. “But I am a boring topic. We shall speak of you now. What is it you do, Amanda Carn?”

“I’m the assistant curator for the Children’s Museum of Art and Science.” She lifted her orange juice. “I just celebrated my first year anniversary.”

“Congratulations.” He touched his mug to her glass.

“A royal guard!” She exclaimed as a thought came to her. “That’s perfect. We’re doing career presentations at the museum all this month. Would you be willing to come and talk to the kids?”

He considered her for a moment. “When do you have these talks?”

“Tuesdays at four in the afternoon. Please say you’ll think about it.”

“I will look at my schedule.” He promised. “So you like children. Do you have any of your own?”

“No. But I’m an honorary aunt.” It thrilled her to say so. “Michelle, you met her last night, is marrying a man who has a child.”

“She is brave to take on a ready-made family.”

“Funny, I think she’s lucky.” And he’d hit on another of her fantasies, a big happy family. “I can tell you she’s very much in love.”

“Then she is, indeed, lucky.” He said it simply, sincerely. She liked that he didn’t jeer.

“Do you have children?” Turnabout was fair play.

“No. I have never been married.”

An interesting response. Was he just sharing information, or were children and marriage linked in his mind? “Do you feel one is a pre-requisite for the other?”

“In my family it always has been. Plus, Pasadonia is a small country. We are not as progressive as the United States.”

“Not everyone here is open-minded. I was raised by my grandparents. They’re not very progressive at all.”

“I understand. My mother would be disappointed in me if I did not treat a woman with respect in all things.”

“She sounds like a strong woman.” Amanda worked hard to keep the wistfulness from her voice. Her biggest regret in life was never knowing her mother. Her parents.

“She is tough. But she has a huge heart. She is the soul of our family.” He set his empty mug on the table. “Why were you raised by your grandparents?”

“They’re all the family I have. My mother died when I was just a baby.”

He watched her intently, his honey brown eyes focused completely on her. “I am sorry. You must miss her every day.”

She nodded, a lump forming in her throat at his simple understanding. Even though she’d never known her mother, Amanda did miss her every day.

“And what of your father? You have not mentioned him.”

She sighed. She hadn’t known him either, and yes she felt the hole he left in her life, but he was such a mystery that’s all she usually focused on. Except for those bitter, lonely minutes when she speculated he must be dead, too. Otherwise why wasn’t she with him? Why didn’t he come for her?

Xavier leaned forward, his interest apparent. And heady. Especially after the university boys she was used to.

Pleased by his undivided attention, she revealed more than she normally might.

“I don’t know my father,” she declared. “My mother never told my grandparents who he was.”

“How difficult for you. I cannot imagine not knowing one of my parents. Have you made any effort to find him?”

Xavier felt like a thief stealing an innocent woman’s secrets. He was a soldier, dammit, not a spy. He did not care for the subterfuge required for this assignment. He already knew the answer to all the questions he’d asked. He’d had a complete dossier of her in his hands before the exhibit ended last night.

After he sent the picture of Amanda to his Prince, His Highness admitted he’d met and wooed an American or two in his early twenties. The Prince also had a copy of the dossier and had viewed a picture of Haley Carn, Amanda’s mother. He admitted she looked familiar but could not state with certainty that he knew her twenty-six years ago.

He requested Xavier obtain and forward a DNA sample to Pasadonia. In the meantime he was to maintain surveillance and gather more information.

It was the thing of nightmares.

She shook her head in answer to his question. “I’ve thought of looking for him, but it always upset my grandmother so much when I asked that I stopped probing.”

“So your choice is to give up your search or cause your grandmother distress.”

Perhaps if she were a different person he’d find it easier. But he liked her. He found her refreshing, honest, giving, surprisingly bold. And loyal. She’d given up a personal quest to soothe the sensibilities of her grandmother.

“There was no reason to upset her over something I may never know the truth of. But now I’m out on my own, I may try to find out something more.”

“Do you have a clue where to look?”

He disliked deceiving her. His gaze landed on her full lips. Especially when he’d prefer to spend time with her for an entirely different reason.

Duty demanded his cooperation, so he would do as his Prince, his friend, requested. It was Xavier’s hope that he would quickly be able to prove that her resemblance to the royal family was simply a coincidence.

And then they could move on. She’d be none the wiser, and he’d spend the remainder of his time in this country pleasantly occupied in getting to know her better.

“I think I might. When I was getting ready to move, I took some stuff up to the attic to store. I started to poke around a little, and I found a box with some of my mother’s old diaries and journals.”

“Sounds promising. Do you think she put your father’s name in one of the journals?” That might answer the question for them all. But of course, the Prince would need the DNA proof as well.

“I doubt it. My grandmother would have looked. Unless she’s lied to me all these years, which isn’t totally impossible. She’s very protective of my mother’s memory.”

“But not of you?” He found it odd that the dead should take precedence over the living. Yes, we honored and missed those who went ahead of us, but not at the expense of those still with us. Or so he’d been taught.

Amanda dipped her head and played with a spot of water on the table. “My mother was her only child. I’m the one who stole her from my grandparents.” She lifted her gaze to his and he saw a world of loneliness in the depths of her sky blue eyes. “It’s not that they don’t love me on an intellectual level, it’s that they can’t allow themselves to feel so strongly again. They aren’t emotional people.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Some people are this way. My family is very emotional.”

“That must be nice.” Her eyes lit up. He was happy to chase the shadows away. “Do you have a large family?”

“Yes. There is mama and papa and my younger sister, and her entire brood of children. Plus lots of aunts, uncles, cousins.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

“Yes. And sometimes quite loud.”

“Wonderful,” she repeated. “So Uncle Xavier. Tell me about your nieces and nephews.”

“What is there to tell? There is one of each. Jon is the youngest at one. And Bridgett is four.”

“Ah ah.” She shook her finger at him. “You pretend disinterest but it’s obvious you dote on them. Especially the youngest, Jon.”

“Yes.” How did she know he had a special affection for Jon, who had his grandfather’s naughty grin? “I have missed them.”

“But no wife or children for you.” She sent him an arch glance. “Are you a player, Xavier?”

“I have no time for games in my life. And too much respect for my mother.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew Yvette LeDuc would be disappointed in his behavior, even though he acted in the line of duty.

Enough. Except for one last task, he had done all he could for now, all he was willing to do. He deliberately glanced at his watch.

“I must go.” He stood and she rose with him. As he hoped she would. He tossed money down to cover their meal and took her hand to lead her to the walkway out front.

She’d worn her lustrous mane of red gold hair free around her shoulders.

“I enjoyed this.” She smiled up at him, all innocent charm.

“As did I.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek, lifting his hand to her hair, feeling like a beast as he did so. The silkiness wrapped around his wrist, catching in his watch. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

She hesitated long enough for him to remember she’d issued this invitation for coffee at her friend’s prompting. Finally she nodded.

“Yes. Ouch!” She reached for her hair when he began to lower his hand.

“My apologies.” He stopped and carefully extracted his hand, taking care not to pull her hair once he’d caught a few strands in his watch. “Such lovely hair. And now I have a memento of our morning together.”

“Amanda, please carry the tray of dressed olives,” Ingrid Carn directed from the other side of the counter. Statuesque in a tailored navy pantsuit, her silver hair short and stylish, she was a striking woman. “I’m so pleased you could make it this evening. We haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I came for Sunday dinner last weekend,” Amanda reminded her grandmother.

Doing as directed, she picked up the tray and followed the older woman from the stainless steel and granite kitchen to the parlor where light walls and fabrics offset dark wood and heavy furniture. There was nothing dainty about Ingrid Carn.

“I do hope we’ll see you more than the occasional weekend,” Grandmother said tightly. “Your grandfather misses you. Posture, dear.”

Automatically Amanda straightened her shoulders as she sat. Always it was her grandfather’s emotions at risk, never her grandmother’s—an obvious detachment ploy, and to this day it hurt every time she did it.

Especially tonight, since Amanda had given up her date with Xavier to attend her grandmother’s little fête. Not that having a little extra time to consider her decision to see him again was a bad thing. She enjoyed her time with him, perhaps too much. His confidence, the way he listened, his dangerous air of alertness contradicted by his love of family made him fascinating—just as his accent and Old World courtesies made him charming.

A lethal combination for an unsophisticated girl.

What could he possibly see in her?

This is where Michelle would remind Amanda he was only in town long enough to have a good time. That left her with a good news, bad news scenario. The good news was he’d only be here for six weeks so she didn’t have to worry about trust and commitment issues. But what if she really fell for him? The bad news was he’d only be here for a few weeks.

So when Grandmother called this afternoon and demanded Amanda drop everything and join them for a small reception Ingrid was hosting for the Dean of Historical Studies, Amanda accepted in the hope that a little extra time would bring resolution to her internal struggle.

“I’m still getting settled into my new place.” Amanda made the same excuse she’d been using for six months. “Plus it’s a long trip for the middle of the week.”

Which explained why Amanda chose the apartment she did. She loved her grandparents but she craved freedom. Living too close to them would negate the independence she achieved by moving out of their home.

“Yes, I know how distressed you were to move so far away.” Ingrid settled on the couch beside Amanda. “That’s why I’ve invited the Dean here tonight. They’re looking for an assistant to catalog and digitize the History Library.”

Amanda’s heart sank into her stomach. This was an elaborate job interview instigated by her grandmother to get Amanda back in her domain.

No. Please no.

Amanda had spent her whole life under her grandmother’s thumb, subject to her strict standards, always conscious of the stringent scrutiny of being related to not one but two senior professors of the university. Always aware her behavior reflected on them as well as herself. It was a burden she felt acutely.

She’d just gained her freedom, and was revelling in the autonomy of big city life. She loved her little apartment and she wasn’t giving it up now she’d had a taste of liberty.

“Grandmother,” she said gently, because she may be resolute, but she didn’t want to hurt the other woman. “I’m very happy at the children’s museum.”

“I know dear, but this is a wonderful opportunity. You’d be able to move back here.”

“But I like my apartment. I like my job. We’ve talked about this. I’m twenty-five years old. It’s time for me to leave the nest.”

“This is a very prestigious position. I thought of you as soon as I heard about it.”

“Because it’s close to home. not because I’m suited to the position.”

She huffed. “You love to read.”

“Yes, and I enjoy a good library, but I don’t want to work in one.”

“Now, you’re just being difficult.”

“I’m not. I love you, and these were hard choices to make, but they were the right choices for me.”

“You’re too young,” Grandmother snapped. “I’ve said it all along, just as I said your mother was too young for that trip. I was right then, and I’m right now.”

“My mother?” The reference threw Amanda. Grandmother rarely spoke of Haley. Though she’d been on Amanda’s mind a lot after talking with Xavier yesterday and being reminded of the box she’d found with the old diaries.

Xavier had assumed Amanda had them, but she didn’t. Excited by the discovery, she’d asked Grandmother if she could take the box with her. Grandmother had said no, and had refused to discuss the matter further.

“What trip?” Amanda asked her grandmother.

“That year before she had you, some college friends of hers were going on a post-graduation trip to Europe. She had a bee in her bonnet about going with them. I was against it from the beginning. She was too young, too naïve. They all were.”

“Life brings experience.” It was one of her grandfather’s favorite sayings.

Grandmother closed her eyes. “That’s what she said. How could we argue with our own beliefs?”

“You let her go.”

“Yes. And she came back pregnant with you.”

Amanda flinched at the venom in the words. She knew her grandmother’s feelings about her mother’s pregnancy. She knew she was blamed for her mother’s death.

She lived knowing her grandparents would choose her mother over her every time. She understood. And at the same time she didn’t. Haley was their child. But Amanda was here. Why couldn’t they just love her? Isn’t that what Haley would have wanted?

Accepting the futility of fighting what couldn’t be changed, she pushed the ache aside and focused on what grandmother revealed about Haley. Maybe Amanda would learn something about her father after all.

“So she met my father in Europe?” How funny to hear this now, when Xavier had just been asking if she had any relations in Pasadonia.

“Yes.” Grandmother stood to straighten the glasses on the bar, to arrange the wine, open and breathing, precisely next to the bottle of Bourbon. “We never met the man who stole our baby from us.”

“Did she tell you anything about him?” Amanda asked softly, afraid to disturb the moment.

“They flew into England, made it their base. She called often to tell us all about their little jaunts. She did not mention meeting a man. I would have remembered.”

“Yes. So my father is English.”

“Possibly. She was gone for two months. They started out in England but bounced around from there. They also went to Ireland, Paris, Milan, Pasadonia.”

“My mother was in Pasadonia twenty-five years ago?” How was that for coincidence?

“Yes. They spent at least a week there.” Grandmother moved back to the sofa, rearranged the trays on the coffee table. “I don’t care to speak of that time.”

“Of course, I understand,” Amanda said, like she always did. But suddenly it wasn’t true. At what point did her feelings matter? Obviously never, if she didn’t push the issue. “I know it upsets you to talk about Haley. But I long to know her better. I didn’t even know she’d been on this trip, or that my father was European.”

“You don’t need to know anything about him except that he stole our child from us.”

“That’s not good enough anymore. I have questions. Who was he? Why didn’t she tell you anything about him? Did he know about me?”

“Do not take that tone with me, young lady.” Grandmother chastised her in icy tones. “I’ve said I don’t care to talk about it.”

“Then let me read her journals,” she said reasonably. “I can get my answers from them.”

“I said no.”

“Why not?” Amanda worked hard to keep the pleading from her voice. Grandmother would latch onto any sign of weakness.

“They’re private.” She stated stiffly.

“She’s dead, Grandmother.” Amanda made it a gentle reminder. “I think she’d want me to have them.”

“It’s out of the question.”

The no give attitude finally spiked Amanda’s temper.

“Now who’s being stubborn?” she demanded. “You won’t tell me about her, but I can’t read the journals. She’s my mother! Would you have wanted her to have no knowledge of you? Can’t you understand that my knowing her doesn’t take anything away from you?”

When there was no answer, Amanda shook her head sadly. “Enjoy your dinner. I’m afraid I can’t stay.” She walked to the closet for her coat and purse.

“Don’t you dare leave,” Grandmother snapped. “My guests are expecting to meet you.”

“Regarding a job I don’t want.” Amanda’s stomach roiled and her voice shook, but she stood up to her grandmother. Stood up for herself. “Just tell them I didn’t care to talk about it. That always works for you.”