“Cracking,” Emily nodded, her expression glowing.
Nicolette envied Emily’s feeling. She, the daughter of an earl so close to the fulfillment of all her dreams, envied a servant girl.
I do not wish to marry but I do want this one experience of rapture.
And I want it with Alejandro, no one else.
Emily handed Nicolette a chemise to put over her head. The maid then moved to fix her hair, even as Nicolette continued sipping her tea.
“And are you engaged to be married?” Nicolette asked.
Emily’s eyes opened wide as she bit her lip.
“I wish you very happy.” Nicolette sighed.
“Thank you, mar'm”.
Oh dear God. These feelings were so new to her that she truly did not know if her reaction was licentiousness pure and simple—which did not alarm her. She loved being a passionate, spirited woman.
But love? That was far more frightening than the possibility of being a wanton!
Alejandro de Bonifácio, the crown prince of Spain. She shook her head. She had truly gone mad.
“Excuse me, Miss Nicolette. Is anything wrong?” Emily skillfully pinned Nicolette’s hair atop her head, forming waves and weaving dried flowers among the curls.
“Yes, Emily, a great deal is wrong. And everything is right.”
“Are you…forgive me, ma’rm…are you in love? Is that where these questions come from?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Emily. I am married to the stage.”
“That don’t mean you can’t turn a head or two.”
“It is my job to do so.”
Nicolette’s eyes followed the trail of the sunlight until it rested on her nightstand where her books were piled. The Tipitaka, the Bible , the Bhagavad Gita, the Koran, the Upanishads, and the Veda.
All the books people both based their lives on and utilized to determine who they would hate and kill. As inspirational as these books could be, they were used by man for his own ends.
Do any of these books have the power to unite me with my Maker? To transform?
Is this not the only goal?
Music does this for me. Music was her muse, her life, her reason for being, her connection to the Divine.
Am I evil? Am I a lost woman?
I will make no apologies. She gave herself fully to life, she was open to everything, and these were the moments when she felt the presence of the Divine.
I must follow my heart above all else. In the end, if she was wrong, she would set a new course. For now she would live according to her convictions—and her heart.
Emily finished the coiffure and stepped back to admire her work. “Do you like it, Miss Nicolette?”
“It’s lovely. You know, Emily, when you get married, you don’t have to leave my employ if you don’t want to. You are a very skilled lady’s maid.”
Emily looked aghast at the idea.
“I never understand why a woman can’t have an occupation and a family, do you, Emily?”
“No, m’arm.”
“I mean, the man does it.”
“Well, you can’t keep me on if I’m w’ child, ma’rm,” she said, as if it were obvious.
“Why not?’
Emily looked aghast. “Because I would be big!”
“As long as you can do your job, I’m sure I don’t care how big you are.”
“Miss Nicolette, are you a’right?” Emily held out stockings, which Nicolette put on while seated in her chair.
Why Alejandro? Questions kept nagging at her. Why not someone who could return her love?
Emily began to lace Nicolette into her corset.
Because I sense something wonderful in him, something so far above the usual. Nicolette ran her fingertip gently along her lips, trying to recapture a sensation.
Nicolette sighed, regret filling her.
It is a shame. They were both incredibly passionate people within an inch of each other. Rather like an eternal sleep, side by side, with their fingers almost touching.
Her toilette was interrupted by the distinctive sound of her mother knocking at her door.
“May I come in? I believe it is an event of some great urgency.” There was misgiving in Lady Ravensdale’s tone, audible even through the thick mahogany wood.
Nicolette jumped from her seat, unaccustomed to hearing anything but perfect calm in her mother's voice, hurriedly putting her silk dresser on. Emily rushed to open the door.
Lady Ravensdale entered carrying a glorious flower arrangement of a dozen white roses, a dozen red roses, and a single fire and ice rose in the center. Accompanying her was her maid Yvonne carrying a large and somewhat cumbersome elaborately wrapped package.
Speechless, Nicolette opened the elaborately wrapped package.
“Oh, my,” Lady Ravensdale murmured. “Impressive. Antonio Muñoz Degrain.”
Nicolette stared at Sancho and Don Quixote discussing their windmill adventure on a lonely stretch of road.
Frantically she opened the white linen envelope sealed with Spain's royal seal. As you requested, flowers and a painting. To the incomparable Lady Nicolette, who transformed a ravaged soul and reawakened a lost life. You are truly my angel and the fire to my ice.
Ice? Hardly. An image of Alejandro flashed before her eyes. Nicolette somehow managed to release her breath.
She continued reading. You gave me the ability to dream again.
“What is it, Nicolette? Is anything wrong?” asked Lady Ravensdale, her countenance far from her usual tranquility.
“Oh, Mama.” All too soon Nicolette knew the reason for her mother's uncharacteristic anxiety.
Nicolette gasped, even as the finality struck her. “Alejandro is gone.”
“Oh, dear. Is it a family emergency?”
Nicolette nodded. A great sadness overtook her as she felt the full impact of the missive. “Yes. Prince Alejandro has returned to Spain unexpectedly. The king is taken ill.”
42
Last Rites
Cardinal Carlo Nocella made the sign of the cross over the sovereign ruler. All of his family was present: Queen Léonie Helene, their two sons Alejandro and Francisco, and their two daughters Bianca and Isabella. Also present was the king’s doctor and his most trusted advisor Sánchez de Montojo.
Alejandro had been given the place of honor, standing next to King Don Bartolomé de Bonifácio XII along with Cardinal Nocella.
“Do you have anything to confess, Don Bartolomé?” Cardinal Nocella asked.
“No. My conscience is clear.” The king coughed for some moments.
Alejandro hesitated to touch his father’s hand. This was a formal ceremony, even up to the end.
There was no warmth here, no sense of family, except for Isabella who sobbed quietly in the background, the queen occasionally frowning at her.
This is my last chance to speak to my father, to tell him the things in my heart. Alejandro, who stood to gain much from the death of his father—power, position, wealth, and prestige—could think of nothing but the sadness of the lost relationship.
I always loved my father and wanted him in my life. But it was not to be.
“I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth…”
Cardinal Nocella led them through the Apostle’s Creed. In spite of the religious ceremony, Alejandro felt this was somehow not the scene the Heavenly Father would wish for this man, an end devoid of companionship.
These prayers did not come from the heart. They were from a book.
Alejandro loved the prayers he loved the service, but none of this felt right. It was a formal ceremony in place of an expression of connection, of a life shared together.
This is our last chance to talk to our father.
Maybe if the father had taken advantage of the prior fifty-five years to speak to him, Alejandro would feel differently.
“…And in Jesus Christ his only Son our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pont
ius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried…”
In the end, he is not a king, but a man.
“…He descended into hell…”
We all will face our maker without our earthly awards and positions.
Alejandro touched his father’s hand in the middle of the rite. Don Bartolomé turned to him and managed a smile. There was pride in his father’s eyes. Not a warmth born of knowing each other, but a warmth born of respect.
I have done my job well. You will be the king I hoped for. Don Bartolomé’s eyes seemed to say.
Alejandro took some comfort knowing that all was well in his father’s world.
“I believe in the Holy Ghost; the holy catholic Church; the communion of saints; the forgiveness of sins; the resurrection of the body; and the life everlasting. Amen.”
Taking the holy oil, Cardinal Nocella embarked upon the anointing of the sick, followed by the Lord’s Prayer.
“Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven…” Cardinal Nocella prayed. He turned to the king. “Can you take the Eucharist, Don Bartolomé?”
The Last Supper.
Doctor Zamora rushed forward at the suggestion of the sacrament. “His royal highness cannot take the bread. He cannot take solid food. He would very likely choke on it.”
“I must have the body of our Lord,” Don Bartolomé objected.
“Do not distress yourself, my son.” Cardinal Nocella bent his head reverently. “The Eucharist may be administered with the wine alone. Christ exists in His entirety both in the wine and the bread.”
The king seemed to relax in his bed. The Eucharist appeared to be his last and final wish.
Cardinal Nocella continued. “This is my body, which is given for you. Take this, in remembrance of me.” While Alejandro lifted his father’s head, Cardinal Nocella lifted the wine to Don Bartolomé’s lips.
The moment when their eyes met had passed—a memory which would always be precious to Alejandro, a moment he had longed for since his childhood.
But his father had what he needed, this was Alejandro’s consolation.
After the wine touched the king’s lips, some of it spilling out his mouth, Don Bartolomé somehow managed to pick up the cross hanging on a gold chain around his neck. He then kissed the cross, held it next to his heart, and, in a forced whisper, murmured “Espána”.
With the word still on his lips, Don Bartolomé de Bonifácio XII died.
* * *
Alejandro closed his eyes momentarily, now filling with tears. Slowly he lowered his father’s head to the bed, Dr. Zamora coming forward to assist.
Cardinal Nocella made the final sign of the cross over the body, before raising his arms to the heavens. “Most merciful and loving Father, remember all who are sick and dying, and grant that in the solitude of suffering each may truly “come to himself,” and like the Prodigal of the Gospel may at last discover Thy love and return to a Father’s heart.”
43
En Guard, Diablo!
“My room is a squalid den
I’ve no fire
The cold north wind comes in
and blows all round
She sings and smiles,
and remorse assails me”
- La bohème by Giacomo Puccini
“En Guard, Diablo!”
Devil? Alejandro picked up his rapier with instinctive swiftness. “Your majesty might be a more appropriate greeting—absent the sword, of course.”
“Prepare to perish, your majesty!”
Ah, there it is. One must never omit the niceties. Society would otherwise fail to flourish.
“I shall do no such thing.” Alejandro sliced the air with his sword in a figure eight.
His attacker lunged his saber towards Alejandro, the double-bladed weapon reminiscent of the Napoleonic wars, built for war.
Alejandro was happy to oblige. He needed something to awaken him. A fight to the death might be just the thing.
But I will not die today. Duty and drudgery called, an existence he had fully accepted before meeting Nicolette. She had opened his eyes—no, his heart—and now he truly knew what he was missing.
A life which is impossible.
“You have seduced my wife, you scoundrel!” his opponent boomed.
Oh, how I tire of hearing those words.
“You mistake the matter, sir.” Alejandro shook his head. “She seduced me. I merely obliged her.”
“You lie!”
“If you would satisfy her, I should not have to,” Alejandro muttered under his breath.
Momentarily, the tinkling of swords was the only sound in the secluded park, perfect for just such a meeting.
A trying fellow indeed. There was not the slightest hesitation in either his tone or his movements, swift and unforgiving.
“Vete al demonio!” Go to hell!
Believe me, I do not have to. I am already there. Alejandro staved off his assailant, but he did not go on the offensive. There was so much to do and he had little energy for anything. His body and soul ached for Nicolette.
She who is utterly unattainable.
His challenger closed and the two swordsmen found themselves locked together hilt to hilt, pushing strongly against each other for the advantage. Alejandro quickly sidestepped, leaving his challenger pushing against thin air. The man was too good to stumble, but he was forced to swing a wild slash behind him, hoping to parry a thrust that did not come. His expression deadly serious, he returned to Alejandro with a furious assault.
As the clinking sounds of the clash of swords grew louder, Alejandro resolved to see Nicolette one last time.
Assuming that he survived.
I need to see her. I must devise a way.
Allow yourself to receive love. He heard the words coming from her lips yet again and they thrilled him, captivated him, filled him with the hope of something he never thought he would have.
The maniac lunged again and a furious battle ensued, traversing across the grounds. He met the aggrieved man's onslaught with ease, as if he were painting a canvas in delicate strokes rather than combating lightning fast thrusts from a rapier. Sidestepping again, Alejandro evaded a treacherous slash and placed the edge of his weapon against his opponent's jugular. The gentleman fell back.
Alejandro knew he should deal the final blow, but what was the point?
I have no heart for anything. Instead, Alejandro turned and walked away.
“Is that the best you can do?” the gentleman rasped.
“It will suffice.” Alejandro looked over his shoulder and studied the fallen man.
“You did not give your best.” Esteban rose from the ground, dusting his knees. “Your mind was elsewhere.”
“I beat you, Esteban.”
“You began winning when you were sixteen years of age. I did not say I was the victor. I said you did not give your best. What is the matter?” He studied Alejandro with concern.
“Nothing which can be resolved, mi compadre.” Removing his mask, Alejandro set his saber down on the edge of the Fuente del las Conchas in the royal gardens, a fountain sculpture of three children holding conches, each ignoring him as they stared at their shell treasures.
As a small child Alejandro loved the fountains of the Royal Palace, as well as the shady trees, and winding paths of the Campo del Moro royal gardens. To behold them now was a strange mixture of nostalgia and a reminder of being banished from his beloved home.
But who belonged at the palace more than the king? He glanced into the trees and saw guards keeping their distance but nonetheless surrounding him.
“There is a solution to every dilemma, Alejandro.” Esteban took some of the fountain's water in his hands and splashed it on his face.
“Not always.” Alejandro shook his head, letting his eyes wander to the top of the statue marked by a child hugging a dolphin. The sea-green water flowed through the fountain and he was instantly reminded of Nicolette's eyes.
I m
ust conquer this relentless longing. “Sometimes there is only compromise and acceptance. It takes wisdom to know the difference.”
“I thought for a time you had changed, Alejandro.” Esteban studied him, worry in his eyes.
“I am changed, Esteban,” he replied softly. “But no one can expect more than one miracle in a lifetime,”
“You seem heavily burdened again.” Esteban stroked his beard.
“Ave Maria, Esteban! Of course I am heavily burdened! The king has died, my coronation is two weeks away, and I must build a coalition between parties of the far right and the far left, in all likelihood impossible.”
“This view does not serve you as king. You must have hope. Plodding ahead while believing you are doomed to failure is not inspiring. Or effective.”
“I think I know that which can be changed and that which cannot.” He added resolutely under his fallen breath, “And that which must be attempted anyway.”
“You are different, my king…” Esteban shook his head, stretching his legs out before him and shaking his now wet hair. “And yet, I fear you still view events through the eyes of one who believes happiness is not for him…”
“Yes, some things remain the same.” Alejandro returned his eyes to the children so focused on their treasures.
“That child who thinks that nothing is for him,” Esteban murmured.
“No, Esteban, I have you. That is far more than nothing. At certain times, it is everything.”
“I hope it is enough.”
“And what if I am saddened, despaired?” Alejandro shrugged. “Even as a child with a broken heart I courted political alliances with both the left and the right.”
“You did all that through sheer determination, Alejandro. I have never seen a person with a stronger will or with more discipline. You have done all these things in spite of having no hope, not because of it.”
Alejandro let his hand trail in the water and the temperature began to cool him. “And what would you have me do, Esteban?”
“Whatever it is that concerns you, believe there is a solution. Such an outlook opens the way for wisdom to reveal itself to you.”
The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren Page 32
