The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren

by Hollingsworth, Suzette

  “And how do those failings compare to secrecy, dishonesty, and duplicity?” he asked lightly. Keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard, he added, “It is your subterfuge, as usual, Lady Nicolette, which is responsible for this misunderstanding. How could I have known your true identity if you did not reveal it to me? It is entirely unorthodox.”

  “You did not know…” She spoke with a smile on her face, as if she were discussing the Covent Gardens or the Palace of Versailles. “…that I was a British peer deserving respect instead of a wanton requiring your censure and bribery?”

  “I never thought of you as a wanton.” He cleared his throat. “Until I actually met you.”

  “Oh, you . . . you . . . “ she exclaimed, and it seemed as if smoke might come out of her ears.

  Then she started giggling!

  It was settled; she had gone mad.

  “I beg you will calm yourself, Lady Nicolette…”

  “I am perfectly calm.” And, indeed her voice was sultry and low. He felt the temperature of the room rise suddenly and he swallowed hard.

  The soup was removed, and the next course was brought, a Turbotin au Champagne.

  “I noticed a very beautiful carpet in the hallway, Lady Ravensdale,” Alejandro remarked in a raised tone of voice to his hostess. He wished to limit his interactions with Nicolette.

  I have complete control of myself except in the presence of this woman. Determined to ignore Nicolette and whatever new insult she had contrived, he caught the eye of Lady Ravensdale and brought up the only subject which came to mind. Women generally liked to speak of the decor of their homes, though he had to tread carefully: he didn’t wish to imply he found anything amiss in this unusual style of decorating.

  “I remarked it also,” added Esteban, across from him. “The design was unusually intricate. What is its origin?”

  “The carpet was woven in Tibet,” Lady Ravensdale beamed. “The background to the flower—the chrysanthemum, which confers honor, your highness—is an endless knot pattern of muted vermilion and ochre. No doubt you know that brocade was more prized than gold during the time of the Silk Road and was therefore an effective bribe with tribal lords to keep the peace. Being in possession of the carpet brings friendship and harmony.”

  It is difficult to picture harmony in a domicile where Nicolette dwells. But Alejandro mentally applauded Lady Ravensdale for extending every effort.

  “I was gratified to see the fountain in your entryway, Lady Ravensdale,” Esteban added. “It reminds me of home, though it would be tiled in bright colors in Spain.”

  “There is no shortage of bright colors in this chateau, Senor Esteban, as I am sure you have noticed.” Lady Ravensdale laughed easily, and Alejandro could not help but be charmed by her genuine manner. “To be honest, the house is decorated in French design influenced by our years of living in a Buddhist country.”

  “Few westerners know that a Buddhist temple is actually rich with color,” added Lord Ravensdale. “We have rock inlays, fountains, marble, and plants, all with much color.”

  “The grounds are very pleasing,” Madame Delcassé added, fluffing her bountiful skirt around herself.

  “Oh, yes, I simply must know who your gardener is.” Madame Loubet smiled. “I will immediately set out to steal him away from you.”

  “You cannot have her,” stated Lord Ravensdale with finality. “My wife does almost all the gardening herself.”

  “You can't be serious,” remarked Madame Loubet incredulously.

  “It is only a few hours per day and excellent exercise. It is wonderful sharing the outdoors with my son while he plays. And, of course, the servants assist me as needed.”

  The invited ladies looked at each other in astonishment.

  “Knowing my great love of gardens, my husband found this nest for me,” Lady Ravensdale continued graciously. “Sometimes we lean towards simplicity, sometimes not, but always peacefulness and warmth. I could not be happier here.”

  Alejandro glanced at Nicolette.

  How did such a nice woman beget a demon-child?

  Nicolette smiled sweetly at him, even as the main course arrived, a Filet de Boeuf La Vallière. Alejandro wished he might enjoy the delicious dinner, but his mind was elsewhere.

  He cleared his throat and looked straight ahead. “I noticed that the entry-way, though done in stone-work, looked more like pebbles than geometric squares.” Frankly, he was surprised he noticed anything.

  “That was my design,” explained Lord Ravensdale, his expression turning noticeably somber. “It reminds me of the walk to the Tibetan monastery.”

  Lady Ravensdale took her husband’s hand, surprising at a formal dinner party. Also surprising that they sat next to each other instead of at opposite ends of the table. The only discernible pattern in this family was that convention flew out the window. No sense of tradition whatsoever.

  “You see, your highness, everything in our home has a special meaning for us,” Lady Ravensdale added softly. “And do you enjoy your home, your highness?”

  “My home?” he repeated. Am I destined to lose speech with this family?

  “She refers to the palace,” Esteban said encouragingly.

  “Ah yes, the Palacio de Real,” repeated Alejandro. “It serves its purpose.”

  “It serves its purpose?” Nicolette giggled. “Your highness, you jest. The Palacio de Real must be the finest palace in all of Europe. It is a regular art museum.”

  “Have you seen it, Lady Nicolette?” he asked with interest.

  “No, I have not had the pleasure.”

  “It is magnificent,” Alejandro stated with finality.

  “Since you have expressed an interest, would you like Nicolette to give you a tour of our humble chateau after dinner, your highness?” asked Lady Ravensdale.

  Alejandro paused for perhaps too long. He wasn’t certain he wished to be with the hoyden unsupervised. Should he take Esteban along as his bodyguard? Ah, well, Esteban was never far behind anyway.

  “That would be delightful, Lady Ravensdale,” he replied stiffly. He was probably safe. Between Esteban and himself, they could likely deflect any damage Nicolette would no doubt inflict.

  And I do have a doctor on my staff for minor cuts and abrasions. He rubbed the side of his leg involuntarily.

  Nicolette cast a dazzling smile upon him, but he knew very well it sprang more from self-satisfaction than from any real warmth. He looked forward to giving her a much-deserved set-down, something clearly overlooked in her upbringing, to her own detriment and to his.

  He longed to turn that…breathtakingly…beautiful…smile into thoughtful reflection.

  Suddenly the prince relished a private tour. He would let Esteban know he was not to be disturbed.

  The last course was served, a light and delicious soufflé. Nicolette conversed easily with everyone, he noted with irritation. She reserved her most meaningless and formulaic remarks for him.

  Alejandro supposed he should be grateful. But he found it aggravated rather than pleased him.

  Everyone seemed to be engaged in private conversations as generally happened at these affairs. The party began speaking as a group, then they formed small tête-à-tête’s, and, finally the group re-configured after dinner for coffee.

  Following the pattern, Nicolette turned abruptly towards him, speaking in low tones. “You claim that you in no way misjudged or devalued me. And yet, you said yourself that the stage singer Nicolette Genevieve could not accompany you to a formal diplomatic dinner. And yet, here I sit, the same woman. At least be honest with me, Prince Alejandro, you owe me that. The very talent which touched your being caused you to judge and diminish me, did it not? How do you reconcile this within yourself?”

  “I never intended any slight to you, Lady Nicolette. I simply did not know who you were. I lay that at your door. You certainly know who I am.”

  “No one does. Least of all you.”

  He frowned.

  “A
nswer me this: how could my singing both elevate your soul and seal my character in your eyes? As the daughter of an earl, I am acceptable. As a stage singer, I am a loose woman. You said as much to me in the lobby when we met. And when I suggested I join you this evening you repeated the assessment.”

  “Do not blame me for societal convention. I am as much a slave to it as you are.”

  “I do blame you, your highness. Because you accept and comply with it, you endorse and promote it. If you cannot admit to your part in the unfair treatment of women, at least admit it is wrong for society to assassinate character based on a worthy profession. Are male singers treated thus? Of course not. The slander is a vehicle for misogyny.”

  “How absurd! This has nothing to do with the hatred of women.”

  “Doesn’t it? The hatred exists. It only needed a vehicle. How else do you explain the degradation of opera singers?”

  “Kicking me under the table does not prove the presumption wrong. Be the lady you claim you are.”

  Her smile faded and daggers flew from her eyes.

  Alejandro rubbed his neck with his hand, reassuring himself it was still attached. “Your temper is showing, Lady Nicolette.”

  “The insult to my person I can bear but I can never endure the insult to the music.” Fire leapt from her eyes. “Now you know why I was reluctant to sing for you privately…your highness.”

  He glanced about the table smiling to ensure others were not listening to them. In fact, everyone appeared absorbed in their own conversations. But he knew very well it was simply pretense. All would note their whispers and implied prior relationship with interest.

  Alejandro had no intention of leaving the conversation there. He took a sip of cold water.

  “Please enlighten me.”

  “I have been trying to do so since met, to no avail.”

  “Why were you reluctant to sing for me, may I inquire?” he asked patiently, looking past her, which he knew would annoy her.

  “You must revere her to receive her, Prince Alejandro.” She shook her head, her eyes large and glistening. “The music.”

  “Believe me, I do, Senorita Nicolette.” He moved a bite of soufflé to his mouth. Inadvertently, his hand brushed hers, something he had meticulously avoided.

  She appeared suddenly shaken, as if she had lost her voice momentarily.

  “I beg you will forgive me, Lady Nicolette, as I will forgive you for kicking me.”

  “That is very good of you, your highness, but I will not forgive you.”

  “That is no surprise, Lady Nicolette. It would be too civilized.”

  “Your highness, did Spain sunk the Maine? Please do give us the definitive answer that we might abandon all heresay.” Hamilton Bromberg, a lawyer from the Americas, interjected into Prince Alejandro’s and Lady Nicolette’s private conversation after they retired into the sitting room for coffee. “One acquires so much misinformation; it is marvelous to be able to go to the source for the truth.”

  This question had been put to Alejandro in many forms over the past six years, with easily as much insincerity. Even so, he was taken aback by the abruptness of the inquiry. He felt as if a cobra was attempting to hypnotize him as the snake charmer played his pungi.

  29

  The Gamble

  “He who risks much

  Often wins much”

  - THE MAGIC FLUTE by Amadeus Wolfgang Mozart

  A hush fell over the dining room and all eyes turned towards the crown prince.

  Alejandro was momentarily engulfed by the aroma of dark French coffee, vanilla and caramel, as crème brule´ and fresh raspberries were set before them.

  “Possibly this is not an appropriate venue for that conversation,” stated Théophile Delcassé flatly, clearly annoyed with Bromberg.

  Alejandro narrowed his eyes. Though he preferred to take Bromberg by the throat and choke that smug expression off his face, it behooved him, as a future king, to reply cordially.

  “The Spanish government and Spain’s sovereign ruler denied sinking the Maine.” Alejandro nodded politely to Delcassé. “There is your answer, Mr. Bromberg. Spaniards value their honor above all else and would never deface it with lies.”

  “Interesting. President Roosevelt said—quite forcefully, in fact—that Spain sunk the Maine,” Bromberg replied, his manner now more blatantly challenging.

  “We will die to protect our honor, Senor Bromberg,” Esteban added softly. “You therefore can well imagine how insulting it is to a Spaniard to question his word.” Alejandro was surprised to see the muscles in Esteban's face twitching.

  “Americans care about their honor as well, Prince,” Bromberg retorted.

  “Of course,” intonated Alejandro with a polite nod.

  Alejandro noted that Lady Ravensdale frowned. He turned back to Bromberg who appeared pleased with himself. Six years ago, no one would have dared or wished to speak thus to Spanish royalty.

  But no doubt Bromberg would later boast of his rudeness with pride. Since Spain had lost the war of 1898, and thereafter lost Cuba and the Philippines, the once-great imperial power was transformed overnight into a second-ranking nation state. All Alejandro cared about was the welfare of the people of Spain—he did not personally care if the ignorant sneered at Spain—but every contact was potentially important to a politician.

  “And how could President Roosevelt have known?” inquired Alejandro politely, though this interchange tested all of his control.

  “Excuse me?” demanded Bromberg.

  “Theodore Roosevelt is a brave and honest man who lives by his convictions, an impulsive and energetic man, but he is not omniscient. How could he have known, Mr. Bromberg?” Alejandro repeated. “The truth of the matter is that, between 1895 and 1898, the United States Navy itself experienced thirteen ship fires caused by spontaneous combustion. Numerous American personnel—including naval officers, explosive experts, nautical engineers, and ship architects—testified to reporters the very unpopular opinion in opposition to their own president that it was their belief a spontaneous combustion in the coal bunkers had very likely destroyed the Maine.”

  “That is to say, an accident,” said Lord Ravensdale.

  “Coal bunker fires are notoriously treacherous,” Dr. Stanton agreed, commenting on his field of study. “An undetected fire could have heated the bulkhead which separates the coal from the powder. The result would be an explosion. Alternatively, the explanation that Spain set an underwater mine beneath the Maine is far less plausible. It is scientifically unlikely that an underwater mine could have set off the Maine's munitions in the shallow water which moored the Maine.”

  “I know you wish to believe your American hero, Mr. Bromberg—and I respect him myself—but, if my word is not good enough for you, do not these facts at least raise the possibility of Spain’s innocence in this matter?” Alejandro smiled.

  “And yet it is an undisputed fact that the United States Navy sunk the Spanish fleet at Cavite and Santiago de Cuba, a deliberate retaliation for a probable accident,” remarked Lady Elaina with unabashed clarity. Alejandro could well see why she was a renowned political hostess.

  Alejandro glanced at Nicolette, wondering what she was thinking, which struck him as odd. Why do I concern myself with the thoughts of the deceiver?

  “And yet,” noted Prime Minister Combes, “I do not support the Spanish position either. Forgive me, your highness, but to go to war against one of the world's leading naval powers, without the backing of a single ally, was unwise.”

  Alejandro thought so as well, but he could not very well be expected to criticize his king and father. His composure remained unchanged.

  “No doubt those in power knew they could not win before they went to war with the Americans,” remarked Nicolette matter-of-factly, moving a piece of beef onto her fork.

  Alejandro turned abruptly and stared at her, red flowers peaking out from behind her ear. He was astonished at her observation.

  The truth
was that Spanish politicians and the monarchy had well known it was a war which could not be won and had yet used every tool at their disposal to incite the general population to support the war with patriotic fervor.

  But how could Lady Nicolette have an inkling of this? It showed a remarkable insightfulness.

  There were mutterings with some light laughter, but he noted Nicolette was nonplussed. She appeared unaffected by the slights of European heads of state.

  “You intrigue me, Lady Nicolette,” Alejandro remarked reservedly. “You think Spain went to war with the Americans knowing She would lose?” Again there was a murmur of disbelief.

  Alejandro bestowed his haughtiest look upon her. He wanted to see if she would wilt under his stare.

  She did not.

  “How could the government not have known?” Nicolette asked with nonchalance. “I knew. Everyone here knew.”

  There was, again, a quiet murmur of voices.

  “The conditions were not favorable,” agreed President Loubet. “And Spain's military was not on par with the American's.”

  “Those in power were well aware of that fact, I have no doubt.” Nicolette popped a raspberry in her mouth.

  “Then why did Spain go to war, Lady Nicolette?” asked Alejandro without expression.

  “You answered that question yourself, your highness.” A slow smile came to her lips as she moved to take a sip of coffee.

  “Did I?”

  “Honor.”

  “I see.”

  “Why does anyone go to war?” She quizzed him.

  “Pride, revenge, acquisition. On rare occasion defense,” stated Lord Ravensdale.

  “I see your point, Nicolette. In this case, Spain could not concede defeat to the Americans without a fight,” added Lady Elaina. “To turn and run with one’s tail between one’s legs—or so it appeared to Spain's politicians—was unacceptable.”

  “The politicians' reputation and their honor, not to mention their elections and their standing, might thus be salvaged. And at no personal cost to themselves.” Nicolette shrugged.