A Royal Wedding

by Trish Morey / Caitlin Crews / Nina Harrington / Raye Morgan

  “No! No one ever told me.” Julienne shook her head, stunned. “But he never did get married, did he? What happened to her?”

  “She died. It was very sad.”

  And Andre was back, so their conversation ended. But the revelation was shocking to Julienne and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Was it true? Giselle had intimated that she might have been paired with Andre instead of Alphonso if the timing had been right. The very concept took her breath away.

  “We’d better get going,” Andre was saying. “We want to make it to the lake house before dark.”

  “Ah, you’re going to the lake house?” Giselle shook her head with a bemused smile. “So many happy summer memories, so many years ago.”

  Looking at her, he realized the current practices his family engaged in needed updating. Why not invite Giselle and her girls to the lake house? Why not let a new generation start building those happy memories for themselves? It wasn’t as though she was the enemy, just because she’d reached for something else out of life.

  But he couldn’t make policy on his own. He would need the King’s approval. That was something he was going to have to look into once this wedding situation had settled down. Still, he couldn’t help mentioning it and suggesting he was going to talk to his father. Seeing his cousin with her girls, he knew they were exactly what the lake house was meant to host.

  “We do need a vacation,” Giselle admitted. “We are working much too hard. We’re going to have to figure out some way to take some time off. But at least we’re here and we’re together and we have our girls with us all the time. I couldn’t ask for a better life.”

  Andre looked skeptical, but he didn’t challenge her on it.

  As they were preparing to leave, Giselle came up to give Julienne a personal farewell.

  “Julienne, you’re so beautiful. Your decision must involve both your heart and your head. The heart shows us the path to joy; the head shows us the way to wisdom. You need both to find happiness.”

  “Thank you so much.” The two women shared a warm hug. “And I hope to see you and your family again soon.”

  A moment later they were back roaring across the countryside, but they hadn’t gone far before Andre called back a message.

  “We’re going to take a short detour,” he told her, pulling to a stop at a crossroad intersection.

  “What kind of detour?”

  “I want you to see the mining district. The fountain of our country’s wealth.”

  “Oh.”

  They rode over dirt and rutted roads, breathing dust and bouncing painfully. And finally they reached a lookout point where they could gaze down at the mining activity below. Huge gashes in the earth made way for big trucks and men with handcarts. It was a beehive of activity.

  “There you see it,” Andre told her. “The backbone of our economy, the foundation of our royal houses, the reason we’ve gone to war with each other through the centuries. It all comes down to wealth and power, as always.”

  “But there is peace right now,” she said.

  “And that peace is based on a balance of power between the Royal Houses that depends on you marrying Alphonso. If the Rubiats sense a weakness in our commitment to getting that done, they’ll attack again. It’s just what they do.”

  She sighed. It always came back to that. “Why don’t I have to marry someone in the Rubiat family?” she asked out of curiosity.

  “They don’t have anyone who is right for you to marry. They haven’t been able to produce a successful new generation in a long time. That’s why they have to pick fights to get their way.”

  She looked down at all the miners, working so busily. “Is it all gemstones?” she asked him.

  “Not at all. Much of the mineral material is actually used in technological and industrial ways. The gems are only the flashy, public relations side of the industry.”

  “The fun stuff?”

  “Exactly.” He turned to look at where she sat behind him on the bike. “And this is a big part of your legacy.”

  Her legacy. What a tiresome phrase that was getting to be. Right along with “her destiny.” But she didn’t talk back, and soon they were on their way again. She was growing more and more excited. She’d always loved the lake house, but for the last few years it had been so disappointing to go during the summer, be told Andre would surely come this time, and wait and wait, only to be forgotten again.

  And then, finally, it was just ahead, a huge old brooding house, filled with comfortable rooms and memories, the place where everyone came eventually, every summer. It was late. The light was fading. She hugged Andre tightly as they rode up to the door. At last they were home.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE morning dawned like Christmas, with a gift in every scene. There was the sunlight on the lake, the sound of birds flying by, the scent of spring flowers in the air, the prospect of a ride out on the water in a rowboat, just the two of them.

  It was early in the season and there were no servants yet, no other inhabitants to spoil the fun. In just a week or two the place would be crawling with royals and their staffs. But for now they had the place to themselves.

  Julienne cooked a nice breakfast of Belgian waffles and cinnamon syrup—totally delicious, if she did say herself, but Andre didn’t comment. That either meant he hadn’t noticed, or that he didn’t want to encourage her interest by letting her know how good she was. She couldn’t quite decide which it might be.

  They took a walk through the orchard, with its peach trees just setting fruit, then down along the water, skipping stones and laughing at each other. Andre went out to survey some broken fenceposts he’d noticed as they rode in, and Julienne went exploring in the house.

  Every room seemed to have a treasure trove of mementoes from past summers. She found amazing things everywhere, and then she pulled a beautifully bound copy of The Highwayman from the shelf. The Alfred Noyes poem about the tragic love between a robber and a landlord’s black-eyed daughter had always been a favorite of hers, and she opened the book, prepared for a treat. But the first thing she saw was that the flyleaf had been torn out, as though someone wanted to either preserve or destroy whatever was written there. She frowned, then noticed there were indentations on the next page. A note had been written, and with enough pressure to leave a pretty good impression. Searching a nearby desk, she found a pencil and proceeded to shade it lightly across the pertinent area. The missing note sprang into view.

  “Hah!” She couldn’t help but give a little crow of victory. Then she put down her pencil and attempted to read the note.

  “My darling A,” it began.

  She bit her lip, wondering if it had been written to Andre.

  You are my Highwayman, and, like Bess, I’ll be waiting by moonlight. Your first love, your true love, Denise.

  She stared at the note. Now she was certain it was meant for Andre. Her teeth began to chatter, and it was a moment before she realized she was trembling. She shook her head, trying to shake it off. How silly of her. Of course he’d had women who’d adored him. Who knew how old this was? What did she expect?

  And yet somehow it just got into her heart and twisted it. Pure pain. Jealousy? Maybe. Why not? Of course it hurt to think of him with another woman, no matter how silly that was.

  Clasping the book to her chest, she went in search of him and found him, just back from his trip around the estate.

  “Who’s Denise?” she asked bluntly, not waiting on niceties.

  “Denise?” He frowned, then his brow cleared. “Oh, Denise.” He glanced at her quickly, his eyes sharpening. “What do you know about Denise?”

  “I found this book.” She held it out to him. “It looks like she dedicated it to you.”

  “Ah.” He smiled, then quickly erased it.

  “Did you love her?”

  He rose slowly, turning away and looking out into the sky. “I thought I loved her. She was very beautiful. I was very young.” Turning back, he met her
gaze candidly. “We were both young, and we were thrown together, and we did what young people do.” He hesitated, then shook his head ruefully. “Okay, here’s what happened. Her father was the lake house butler. A summer romance. It was over by the time the leaves turned.”

  She stared at him, but what she saw was the entire story playing out in her head.

  Summer magic.

  “Did you want to marry her?”

  “Marry her? Why would I want to marry her?”

  “Ah, yes. She was the butler’s daughter.” Julienne made a significant face.

  But he laughed at her. “Julienne, you’re too old to live in a dream world. Face facts. We didn’t make the world the way it is and we can’t do much to change it. We are royal. We have to follow a certain path in life. Live with it.”

  She felt her lower lip coming out in rebellion. “No.”

  He shook his head, not sure what she meant. “What do you mean, no?”

  She flashed him a look. “I think you know what I mean. I won’t do it.”

  So she was talking about the Alphonso thing again. He gritted his teeth in annoyance. “The hell you won’t.”

  She glared at him, then flounced off to sulk in the kitchen. And while she was there she whipped up a pan of delectable pastries such as he had never had before. He ate a few, then ate a few more, and had to admit she had the knack. But he still wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of hearing it aloud.

  “Tell me what happened with the butler’s daughter,” she coaxed, once he was full of pastry and groaning with pleasure.

  He looked at her and shook his head. “Okay, Julienne. Here goes. I was crazy about her that summer. She was gorgeous, with thick red hair and a wide red mouth that just begged to be kissed.”

  Julienne turned away, biting her lip and hating this. Too much information. But she had to know.

  “We pledged to meet in the fall in Cairns,” he said. “I was going to university there. She was going to dental assistant school. I got to town early and raced over to find her apartment, hoping to surprise her. And there she was, in bed with some skinny grad student.” He shrugged. “The end. She betrayed me and I never saw her again.”

  “She betrayed you?” She had a flash of intuition. Was this one of the seeds of his cynicism about love, about marriage? Could be.

  He grimaced. “Well, it was hardly fair to even call it that. Looking back, I saw that she realized sooner than I did that it was never going to work. Only pain and unhappiness could result. It was time to move on, and she did just that.”

  Suddenly he realized that she’d come up next to him and was lacing her fingers with his.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes huge and dark with sadness. “I’m so sorry your heart was broken.”

  He meant to laugh at her, to tell her how naive she was being, but something in those big brown eyes wouldn’t let him. Instead, he just smiled and let her comfort him.

  Looking at her, he was reminded of the feeling he sometimes had as his work-weary gaze settled on a rolling green lawn. A calm serenity seemed to gather around her like a haze, and then her face would turn his way, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and he would think of her as a spray of colorful wild flowers dancing in a spring breeze instead. It just made him happy to look at her.

  What a contrast she was to the life he’d been living, with all its boredom, cynicism, and backbiting treachery—the sort of thing he had to deal with every day. It had been exciting at first. He’d reached an important level of power early in his life and he’d used it. Now he didn’t feel so powerful anymore. The excitement was gone. All that was left was the endless responsibility.

  And she thought she was caught in a trap.

  A half an hour later, they were out on the lake in the rowboat, drifting happily in the noonday sun.

  “So, were you ever engaged?” she asked him out of the blue.

  He thought about it for a moment.

  “I guess I was. At one point, a long time ago, I was supposed to marry an Italian princess from an old royal family.”

  She looked at him earnestly. “But you didn’t?”

  “No. She died.”

  She nodded. “Giselle told me about it.” She looked up at him. “She also said that they would have made the betrothal between you and me instead of Alphonso if it hadn’t been for your engagement to the Italian princess.”

  He frowned. “She shouldn’t have said that. I’m not sure it’s true.”

  She stared at him. He was so darn obstinate. “So what exactly happened to the Italian princess?”

  “I only met her once, fleetingly.” He frowned again, remembering things best forgotten, things he hadn’t thought of for years. “She seemed very frightened,” he said softly. “I always wondered …”

  There was a shiver in the air between them.

  “How did she die?” Julienne asked, tensing for the answer.

  He looked at her, hollow-eyed. “She drowned. In the estate swimming pool. She went swimming alone late at night.”

  He stared into Julienne’s eyes and knew they were both thinking the same thing. Did she drown on purpose? Did she love someone else? Did she hate the idea of marrying Andre so much that she would rather die than submit?

  “We’ll never know,” he said, so softly she blinked, wondering if he’d really said it aloud or if they had both thought it. It made her catch her breath, the way they seemed to be able to invade each other’s thoughts at times. Like some kind of magic. Could he really read her mind? Could he see how she really felt about him? And could he stand it?

  “Will you ever marry?” she asked him.

  He shook his head emphatically. “No.”

  His easy acceptance of that outraged her. “Why not?”

  He looked at her, his eyes haunted. “The only thing that would make me marry would be if I needed to do it for the good of my country.”

  She winced. “Like I’m expected to do, you mean?”

  “Yes. Like you.”

  She shook her head, laughing softly. “So you’re willing to throw yourself on that grenade if it gets tossed your way? But you won’t go looking for it on your own?”

  He shrugged. “Something like that.”

  They were silent for a long moment, listening to the splash of the water lapping against the sides of the boat, and then she said, “I think you should marry. And right away, too.”

  He looked up at her, bemused. “Really?”

  “Yes. I think you should marry for love.”

  He stared at her, his blue eyes hooded. “What if I don’t ever love anyone?”

  Did he really think she was going to buy that at this point?

  “Well, that’s your misfortune,” she snapped. “Try loving someone, why don’t you?”

  He shook his head, half smiling at her response. “What do you know about love? You don’t love anyone. Or do you?”

  She threw out her hands, palms up. “Only you, my liege.”

  Closing his eyes, he threw back his head and sighed deeply. “I never know for sure when you’re being serious,” he said softly. “Tell me the truth.”

  “I’m being as honest as I know how,” she countered quickly, wishing she dared reach for him. “Ever since my parents died you have been the one person in the world whom I adored. I clung to you, needed you … loved you.”

  He looked at her as though that wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear. “That’s a different kind of love,” he said gruffly, looking away.

  “Is it? I don’t know. You were the center of my universe.” She watched him avoid her gaze, and then went on. “And then you stopped coming to see me. You stopped answering my letters. And it was as if everything in my world died.”

  “Julienne!”

  He stared at her, transfixed. What could he say? It was for her own good that he’d done that. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. In fact he’d only meant to save her from what might happen if he saw her too much. He should have been more open about his
motives. He should have explained why they were necessary. She was so young—how was she to know the dangers that could lurk in the male heart?

  But he should have been more careful. He should have made sure she had someone to turn to. Looking at her now, he ached with regret.

  Taking her hand in his, he looked into her eyes. “Julienne, I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I didn’t realize you would be so hurt by my neglect. You are so … so charming and lovely, and everyone loves you. I thought you would hardly notice if I just faded into the background and left you alone. Everyone was so enchanted by you.”

  She stared into his eyes, sank into their depths. “I didn’t want everyone. I wanted you.”

  Those were the words that stuck with him as the day began to fade. She’d said it starkly. There could be no doubt as to her meaning. And yet there was nothing he could do about it. The future was set in stone.

  When they were back in the house he tried to talk to her about Alphonso, about giving him a chance, about trying to like him.

  “You do know he collects insects, don’t you?” she told him, when she’d had about enough of his goading.

  “He collects what?” He leaned closer to try to hear what she’d said.

  “Insects,” she said, as clearly as she could. “Those things with too many legs.”

  He sat back, nonplussed but interested. “Well, good. He has a scientific turn of mind.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It’s not like that. He has them in little bottles. All over his room. With little name tags.”

  He shrugged. “Latin names?”

  She sighed. “Andre, try to focus. There are no scientific notations on these bottles. There are names. Nicknames. Like Fred—and Cindy. Those are two beetles he introduced me to. These little bugs aren’t part of an experiment. They’re pets.”

  His face began to mirror distaste at last. “Oh, my God.”

  She nodded, glad he finally got it. “Well might you say so.” She flipped her hair back and flashed him a look. “And you want me to marry this man.”