The Girl in White Gloves

by Kerri Maher

  “She is a perfect hostess,” Rainier said. “The food was delicious, the surroundings homey and unpretentious. I know from your letters that your home life has been . . . more . . . complicated than what I saw last night, but I can assure you that my own unhappy parents would never have been able to accomplish an evening like that one without someone bursting into tears.”

  Her heart swelled for the boy this man must have been. Grace put her hand on his, and said, “It must have been very hard to grow up that way.”

  “My mother, Charlotte, was a bastard, you know. Her father, Prince Louis II, fell in love with the beautiful daughter of the family’s laundress and together they had a child out of wedlock—which did him no favors with his own father, His Serene Highness Prince Albert. Albert did his best to avoid recognizing my mother, but when it became clear that Louis would never marry another woman and produce a legitimate heir, he had to acknowledge her or else Monaco would fall into French hands.” Rainier paused here to gauge Grace’s reaction.

  “Go on,” Grace said, relieved to be hearing this story from Rainier himself. “I’ve done a bit of reading about Monaco”—in fact, I’ve read of this very situation—“and I know that if the current Prince produces no heir, Monaco will become part of France.”

  Rainier smiled at her, clearly pleased by her research, and nodded. “And of course no Prince or Princess can ever allow this to happen. But my mother was never meant to be Her Serene Highness. When my great-grandfather Albert passed the crown to my grandfather Louis, it was with the understanding that Louis would pass the crown to me. Never my mother. And to make matters more complicated, I have an older sister who feels she would do a better job as crown Princess than I could ever do as Prince.”

  Grace gasped—this she hadn’t read anywhere. “Has she tried to depose you?”

  “There have been whispers of it, but no proof yet. She and I are not close.” The terseness and hurt in his tone was unmistakable.

  This put the petty jealousies of the Kelly clan to shame, Grace thought. At least on Henry Avenue, there was no country at stake.

  Squeezing Rainier’s hand, Grace said, “I can see all the more why you want to give your own children a carefree youth.”

  Rainier sat up a little straighter from his reclining position, and took his hand from hers in order to tuck a lock of her still-bouncy hair behind her ear.

  “When I am with you, I feel . . . understood,” he said, his hand lingering on her cheek. It felt warm and reassuring, and Grace closed her eyes and inhaled his cologne once again—though today it was brighter, a spicy mixture of pine and cardamom and citrus.

  “As do I,” she murmured.

  It was strange, but even though they traded flirtatious compliments and she was undeniably drawn to him, their connection felt much more chaste than her relationships in the past had. She thought about this in the back of her mind as they walked and talked for another hour or so, their hands occasionally brushing against each other’s. She purposely left off her gloves, even though it was chilly, because she’d been hoping for the frisson of skin-to-skin contact with this man so that she could figure out if the chemistry between them was real enough, strong enough. A few years ago, she’d have said that it wasn’t, that this gentle tug of attraction was nothing compared to the lusty magnetic pull she’d felt toward Clark, or Ray, or Oleg. And why should she settle for less?

  But passion had gotten her nowhere, earned her nothing except heartache. She was attracted to Rainier, especially his voice, and oh, how he made her laugh—not with the kinds of corny jokes so many men in her profession relied on for easy laughs, but with funny allusions to their shared knowledge and sometimes a hilarious observation about a person or a situation they passed, like when they saw a man wrestling playfully with his golden retriever in McMichael Park, and Rainier remarked wryly, “I think they would make lovely puppies together, don’t you? Though I must admit I think the bitch could do better.” Grace had laughed hard at this unexpected gallows humor, which reminded her of the side-street theater Uncle George had taken her to as soon as she was old enough. She was impressed that Rainier didn’t seem to be a snob despite the circumstances of his birth.

  As the day wore on, she wanted more and more for him to kiss her. She was surprised he had not yet, especially as there had been opportunities throughout the day, and she wondered what was holding him back. If he was trying to stir her desire, it was working, though what she felt for him was at bottom girlish, strangely pure in a way. The thought of the passion she’d shared with other men made her feel exhausted. There was something energizing, if not exactly enthralling, in what she felt for Rainier—she felt an excitement about being with him, having children with him, living with him until they grew old together. Surely passion fizzled anyway after a few years? None of the old married couples she knew seemed ready to carry each other off to bed at the drop of a hat. No, that wasn’t what sustained a couple. Shared values and shared laughter were what bound two people for life.

  She had a feeling she had found that with Rainier Grimaldi. Prince of Monaco, Grace thought incredulously. And if she got to be a princess into the bargain of a happy marriage—well, what was so bad about that? She could accept a bodyguard if it meant a husband, children, the whole picture of domestic contentment she’d wanted for so long.

  Reflexively, she could just see the odious gossip columns, hear the malicious whispers at parties from which she’d been excluded, speculating on her choice: “Cover Girl to Princess”; “Hollywood Royalty Not Enough for Grace Kelly”; “Hitchcock’s Princess Dumps Him for Another.”

  Stop it, she told herself. You know there’s no point in entertaining any of that nonsense.

  As she was mulling all of this over from the squishy comfort of her childhood bed, there was a knock at her door, and her father asked, “May I come in?”

  “Of course,” she replied, sitting up and swinging her bare feet to the floor.

  Grace couldn’t remember the last time—if ever—her father had crossed the threshold into her bedroom. She had a feeling she knew what had prompted this rare appearance, and the somber but not unhappy expression on his face confirmed it. He took the chair from her desk and flipped it so that sitting on it, he would be facing her. He was so tall, the chair looked ridiculously small.

  “I raised you to be a smart girl,” he began, looking at his hands between his knees, then at her. “So I guess you know what I’m about to say.” He paused, as if waiting for her to say it.

  “Is this about Rainier, Daddy?”

  “You know it is.”

  “I love him,” she said. How strange that she should say these words out loud for the first time to her father, of all people.

  “Well, that’s good, because that priest told me last night that Rainier plans to ask you to marry him.”

  “A girl might like to be surprised by her proposal, Daddy,” she said, feeling both unsettled and annoyed by this conversation. She’d regularly dodged little lectures by her father in childhood by running to the bathroom with a stomachache or saying she was so tired, she needed to turn in early. Then she’d escape into this very room to read, play with her dolls, and daydream about what life far away from Henry Avenue would be like.

  “Under regular circumstances, I would agree with you,” said her father. “But this is anything but regular. You mother and I talked about this, and we agreed I should ask you before I give any kind of . . . permission.”

  “Has he asked you for permission?”

  “Not yet.”

  “But you want to make sure I’d say yes?”

  Her father nodded, and Grace felt a sudden gush of gratitude for her father. He was giving her an out, if she wanted one. He was willing to be the one to deliver the bad news, man to man.

  “It’s very sweet of you to ask, Daddy,” said Grace. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before sayi
ng, “But I plan to say yes.”

  Jack leaned back in the chair, which crackled under the pressure of his long, lean body. He studied his daughter, folded his arms across his chest, and said, “You’re sure about this, Grace? How long have you known the guy?”

  The guy, as if he were a basketball player who wanted to take her to prom. Am I still failing your tests, Daddy? “We’ve been corresponding, sometimes two letters a week, for more than six months,” she reminded him. “Seeing him after all that writing has just confirmed the feeling that has been growing in my heart.”

  This time, Jack Kelly rubbed his chin with two fingers, and Grace could see him move his tongue over his teeth behind his closed lips. After a while, he said, “Well, I couldn’t have designed a better husband for any of my daughters. Catholic, never married, close enough to your age, successful, smart, and—it’s hard to ignore—royal. I never would have imagined that for one of you girls, but now that it’s an option, I can’t deny it’s far better than a Main Liner, who’d be a WASP in any case.”

  “So you approve?” Grace’s heart was thudding hard and loud in her chest and ears. She wanted her father’s approval, very much.

  “I do,” he said, and without even thinking, Grace leapt up from her bed and hugged her father.

  “Thank you, Daddy,” she said.

  He returned her embrace and said, “I wish you every happiness, Gracie. You’ve done this family proud.” His hug was so tight and affectionate, a tear of relief rolled down Grace’s cheek, which she just had time to wipe away before he let her go.

  Chapter 26

  The following week was full of so many momentous events, Grace constantly had the sense that something was escaping her notice, that her life was slipping ever faster away from her. The fact that she wasn’t sleeping more than a few hours a night didn’t help; she made sure to carve out nine hours of rest every night, but she found herself lying awake, feeling a pendulum swing inside her between incandescently happy and vertiginously afraid.

  The best of the happiness was in New York City, where Rainier accompanied her because she had to begin the singing lessons for her single with Bing—a previously looming concern that now seemed infinitesimal compared to her other cares. In her favorite city, Rainier finally kissed her, at the door to her apartment on Fifth Avenue, and she was very pleased to discover that he knew what he was doing, how to hold and stroke her face and back as his lips explored hers. They stood and kissed for quite some time, but she did not invite him in, much as her body hummed with desire and curiosity.

  On their second night in Manhattan, he took her for dinner at the Waldorf Astoria, where he was staying, and he was jumpy and distracted all evening, then seemed deeply irritated when they bumped into a doctor acquaintance of Rainier’s, and his nurse, who invited themselves along for their planned walk in Central Park. Grace had a feeling she knew why Rainier was in a mood—it had already been two days since her conversation with her father, and even she’d begun to wonder when (or if!) Rainier was going to get around to popping the question.

  At last, he grabbed her wrist on Park Avenue and literally jumped around a horse-drawn carriage, stranding the doctor and the nurse at a red light. He led her into the southernmost piece of Central Park, and stood very close to her and took both her hands more gently in his and said, “My dear Grace, I am sorry I’ve been miserable company tonight. It’s only that I’ve been so nervous because I want to ask you, the most intelligent, accomplished, and beautiful woman I’ve ever met, to be my wife. Will you marry me, Grace? Please say yes.” His face was so hopeful, like a child asking Santa for a special toy, and Grace felt her love for him explode in her heart like firecrackers.

  “Yes, Rainier. Yes! I will marry you!”

  His kissed her then, for only the third time since they had met. Somehow the fact that they had kissed only a few times made this romance even more like the fairy tale she had been refusing to tell herself about their relationship—with her playing the screen “princess” to his prince from a land so gorgeous and far away, it was the stuff of a children’s storybook. The chasteness of their love made this story feel true, and made her feel somehow new again, as if her past was so irrelevant as to have not existed.

  * * *

  The sense of their love erasing her past made the fact that she had to submit to a gynecological test all the more jarring. “You have nothing to fear,” said Rainier the day after his proposal. “It’s only to see if you can have children.”

  Grace looked down at her hands. On her left was the brilliant diamond-and-ruby band Rainier had slipped on her finger the night before, whispering in her ear, “The real ring isn’t ready yet. I’m so sorry. But I hope you’ll be pleased with this placeholder. I didn’t want to wait another day to make you mine.”

  They were sitting in her apartment, sharing breakfast at the gleaming and hardly used dining room table, and Grace fiddled with the hem of her Dior jacket, as she wondered fleetingly if she’d be able to bring this table with her to Monaco. She’d agonized so long over choosing it. But more urgent emotions swirled in her like a hot, bubbly mixture in a witch’s cauldron. Part of her felt that this test was absurd—if he loved her and wanted to marry her, that was that. It shouldn’t matter if she could have children or not. But then—he was a prince. And he’d made it perfectly clear that the crown prince of Monaco must produce an heir in order for the principality to remain independent. She was a practical enough person to appreciate that for Rainier, marriage was more than a matter of the heart; much as she disliked it, it was also his most important matter of business.

  The truth was, she was far less worried that they would find her to be barren (after all, her mother had produced four children, her older sister two, and she was almost positive Lizanne was pregnant as well) than that they would inform Rainier she was not a virgin. She was fairly sure he knew this already, just as she knew that after his many years with Gisèle Pascal he wasn’t, either. But to have his doctor and priest know it about her as well—and potentially judge her for it, as Oleg had? No, she had to find a way of asking if this detail would matter.

  “Are you sure that’s all they want to know?” she asked him. “I can assure you and them I’m perfectly healthy.” Oh, just be honest. There’s no use in starting your marriage with deceit. “It’s just that I’m . . .” For heaven’s sake, just say the words.

  Rainier smiled indulgently, and Grace sensed he was happy to see her struggle to say what she wanted to say. “I know, Grace,” he said smoothly. “And to be perfectly honest, I’m glad. I love you for your independence, not to mention your allure, and you didn’t come by those traits by being a good little girl all the time. I promise that’s not what the doctor is looking for.”

  Thank goodness. Almost instantly, she felt awash with relief. “All right,” she said.

  The test itself was little more than a standard annual physical, with the addition of plenty of questions about the reproductive history of her family. The following morning, when she saw Rainier and Father Tucker, no one mentioned it. She must have passed the test because almost immediately, the next order of business was on the table, and it had her father shouting at her on the phone.

  “That son of a medieval bitch wants two million dollars for you! As if getting my daughter isn’t enough, he wants a dowry. It’s going to be nineteen fifty-six in a few days, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Now, Daddy,” she began, wishing Rainier had warned her that this was part of the marriage contract. He’d already told her that there would be a contract, and that she would have a copy later in the day. Did her father already have his copy? How did he know this about the dowry already? “Daddy, remember, Prince Rainier is European royalty, and they do things differently from us.”

  “And don’t even get me started on your mother,” he railed on. “She’s beside herself that the wedding can’t be in Philadelphia.”

 
This, at least, Grace had been prepared for. She’d even broached the subject with her mother before she’d left Henry Avenue, but her mother had been so feverish with excitement about the impending engagement, Grace didn’t think her mother had heard a word she’d said.

  “Daddy, we’re all going to have to make some compromises to make this work, and—”

  “Two million dollars is not a compromise, Grace! It’s highway robbery! Are you sure this guy has any money of his own? What’s he need two million of ours for?”

  It was too much. Grace managed to get off the phone quickly, begging off on account of rehearsals for High Society, which she really did need to get to. But what she wanted to do was crawl under the covers and cry. Or sleep. It was only money. What was money compared to a lifetime with a man who made her happy? When would she ever have an opportunity like this again? This one had taken so long to arrive. . . .

  But she had no time to indulge her distress. She put on her winter gloves, and took some comfort in the familiar sight of her hands encased in soft brown leather, even in the way they covered the temporary engagement ring. She was still herself.

  On a break from her singing lesson, she called Maree, who was mercifully free for lunch. Grace had already made a series of euphoric phone calls to inform her closest friends about the engagement, but she had yet to have a good long chat with one of them. And today, with the tears threatening at every moment, she needed someone to whom she could admit her fears and frustrations about the test and the contract, and now her father acting menacing about Rainier. They arranged to meet back at Grace’s apartment, because she just couldn’t cope with the idea of the press hounding her elsewhere. She had Chinese food from a few blocks away delivered, and opened a bottle of wine, and when her friend arrived, she hugged her tightly.

  “How’s the future Princess?” her old friend asked. “You’ve come a long way from the Barbizon.”