Royal Marriage Of Convenience

by Marion Lennox

  The gunfire stopped as abruptly as it had started. There was a sudden lull, and then a vast, roaring cheer of approval.

  It went on and on, but finally it grew muted. The roar subsided and sounds of confusion took its place. People yelling. Individual voices growing closer.

  Was this what war was like? Rose had stopped thinking about how close she was holding Nick. If he tried to pull away now she’d fight him. And by the feel of his arms he was feeling exactly the same as she was.

  The shouts grew louder. People yelling to each other. Jubilant yells. But why jubilant?

  They stared at the locked door as if it was a time bomb. The minutes ticked by.

  And then a shout of approval from just through the door. Men’s voices, shouting, demanding. The sound of a key in the lock.

  The door swung inward, and a crowd of people stood in the doorway.

  Facing them was the earnest young reporter who’d interviewed them the night before. Behind her was the cameraman, his camera raised over his head, flash flaring.

  And pushing through was a child-the boy with the scraggy collie from the night before. There was a man holding the child by the shoulders, trying to make him stay back a little, but he was still pushing through.

  ‘Let him through,’ the man said earnestly as the door swung wider still and people started surging in. ‘The boy has the lady’s dog.’ He pushed hard, the reporter gave way and the child burst into the room.

  He was holding out Hoppy. Rose gasped. And then she smiled.

  ‘Hoppy!’ she said, and knelt and held out her arms. ‘Oh, Hoppy. I might have known I’d be rescued by a dog.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  H ER wedding day dawned as the day most brides dream of. It was a perfect spring day. When the maid pushed back the drapes, she turned to Rose and she beamed her approval.

  ‘Happy is the bride who the sun shines on.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Rose groaned and thrust back her covers. Revealing Hoppy. This was a huge and scary palace, and Hoppy had decided his mistress needed round the clock protection.

  There really was no need of it. The murmurings of dissent had grown to a full-throated roar the night of their arrival. The population had arrived at the castle to voice their dissent. Hundreds had turned to thousands. There’d been one burst of gunfire over the head of the crowd, to try and stem the rush, but they’d still kept coming.

  Jacques and Julianna had disappeared, their heavies with them, only agreeing because they were forced to that the succession be decided by the international panel. The panel had yet to meet, but there seemed little chance that Erhard would be proved wrong. As long as this marriage took place, the throne would go to Rose.

  Was it too good to be true? Maybe. Rose was still uneasy, as was Nick, but there was nothing that could be done but continue what they’d planned.

  A wedding. Today.

  ‘Prince Nikolai breakfasted before you, ma’am,’ the maid said, beaming romantically. ‘For a groom to see the bride before the ceremony is bad luck.’

  Well, we wouldn’t want that, Rose thought. Not now.

  For this was going exactly as planned. Nick would marry her today. The succession would be organized. Nick would be free to leave her, and return to his career.

  So why wasn’t she happy?

  It was just…Well, living happily ever after as reigning sovereign was starting to feel a bit empty. What would she do?

  ‘The hairdresser will be here in an hour,’ the maid told her. ‘And your dress will be ready at twelve. Photographers at two.’

  See, that was the problem. She hadn’t factored in the ‘princess’ stuff.

  Nothing to do but reign.

  Without Nick.

  Her mother had been a royal bride, and she’d been isolated for ever. Was that what she was condemning herself to?

  Yeah, but…Yeah, but…

  ‘I wanted to be by myself,’ she told Hoppy as the maid left, but Hoppy gave her a quizzical look, leaped off the bed and trotted to the bedroom door. They’d been here only a week, but already Hoppy knew and approved of her routine. Breakfast with Nick. A couple of hours in the office working through the reams of paperwork, trying to get her head around stuff that Nick understood better than she did. But he wouldn’t be here for ever to help her. Then maybe a long hike in the woods. With Nick. A swim with Nick-yes, as the old Prince had lost authority his son had installed a pool. A magnificent pool. Nick was teaching her, and already she could dog-paddle.

  Then maybe a picnic.

  Then dinner and conversation long into the night. And then…

  Bed alone.

  He is going to be your husband. A little voice had been saying that over and over to her in the past week. It wouldn’t hurt to…

  But it would hurt.

  ‘I’m getting the happy-ever-after without the prince,’ Rose told her dog, firmly stifling the doubts. ‘And the last step I have to take before I can start my happy-ever-after is to marry.’

  So get on with it.

  He stood alone at the end of the aisle of the palace chapel. This chapel was no grand architectural statement. Unlike the rest of the palace it had been built with love-making it a place where humans could seek sanctuary from troubles surrounding them. It seemed almost intimate. Apart from the crowd of dignitaries filling the chapel to almost bursting. And the television camera broadcasting their union to the world.

  Rose entered the church-and she paused.

  Up until now it had seemed a dream. An escape. She’d been running from a situation that had threatened to overwhelm her. From the time she’d walked in to the restaurant five weeks ago things had moved in fast motion, a blur of things that had had to be done. Organisation. The chaos of arriving here. The fuss associated with this royal wedding.

  This dress alone; the royal dressmakers had spent hour upon hour with the heirloom wedding gown, altering the fragile lace, fitting it so that it seemed like a second skin. The people wanted a fuss. The people were desperate for a royal bride. That’s what she’d been told over and over since she and Nick had been let out of their underground prison.

  ‘The news that you are here has inspired the country as nothing else could. A clean sweep without bloodshed-oh, my dear, how wonderful. And you and Prince Nikolai…You’re such a romantic couple. There won’t be a dry eye in the country.’

  She’d blocked that comment, expressed by the chief dressmaker but seemingly echoing the sentiments of the populace. But now, as the organ was swelling into the first chords of the bridal march, she paused and took a breath.

  What was she doing?

  The last time she’d heard this music, she’d been in a tiny church in Yorkshire and Max had been waiting for her.

  Now Nick was waiting for her. The whole sweet trap.

  And it rose up to catch her. She caught her breath in panic. Her feet refused to move.

  Nick was at the end of the aisle, but he was a blur, seen through misting eyes, too far away to see her panic, too far away to help.

  An elderly man rose from the pew beside the door. He placed a hand on her arm, and she turned in shock.

  Erhard.

  She hadn’t seen him for five weeks. She’d been told he was convalescing from illness. He’d made a couple of organisational phone calls but he’d stayed away. She and Nick had both worried, but he’d refused to let them see him.

  For him to be here now seemed almost magic.

  He’d shrunk a little, but in other ways he’d expanded. He was wearing full military uniform. Tassels and braid everywhere. A dress sword. And he was smiling.

  ‘Nikolai isn’t the same as Max,’ he said softly, and his grip on her arm was surprisingly strong. ‘You know that.’

  She looked into his face for a minute and he met her look, unflinching. How had he known?

  ‘He’s waiting for you,’ he said.

  She turned to look towards Nick. Panic cleared.

  Nick was concerned. She could see that even from here
. He was watching, waiting, but there was a slight furrow in his brow that said he knew she was troubled.

  How did he know that? How could he tell that from here? And how could she know that he knew?

  He looked fabulous. He was wearing the same uniform as Erhard, rich, deep, deep blue, with red and gold braid, tassels, a golden sash slashing across his chest, and a dress sword hung by his side.

  Nikolai de Montez. A prince coming home. He looked the part.

  He should be sovereign and not me, she thought, starting to feel hysterical. He looked fabulous. He looked royal. He looked so far apart from her world that she felt giddy.

  The whole chapel was waiting for her to start walking. To go to her bridegroom. But Erhard’s pressure on her arm wasn’t insistent-he was waiting for her to decide. Letting her take her time.

  Nikolai was waiting.

  And then Nick smiled. He stooped and lifted something from the floor.

  Hoppy.

  She’d left Hoppy in the care of one of the palace gardeners. The little dog had made friends of everyone here, so much so that Nick had suggested the reason for the country’s insurrection was that Jacques had kicked the dog. It was a tiny thing in the scheme of things, but it had been caught on camera, and Jacques had not been seen in public since. Hoppy, however, had been in demand. For every photo call there had been the request: ‘and the little dog?’

  Rose had thought he had no place here today in this most formal of ceremonies. But Nick obviously had had other ideas.

  The furrow of worry had disappeared from Nick’s brow. He was smiling. Hoppy was tucked under his arm, and then, maybe lest she thought it was some sort of enticement for her to come to him, Nick set the little dog on his three feet.

  He’d been washed and brushed until he shone. He looked almost regal. There was a gold and blue riband stretched around his chest, matching Nick’s to perfection.

  He waved his tail like a flag, seemingly aware that the eyes of the world were upon him, lapping up the attention.

  ‘Go to Rose,’ Nick said.

  The bridal march was still playing. Hoppy looked up at Nick enquiringly, then gazed around the church while all the dignitaries, officials and palace staff held their collective breath.

  Hoppy had watched her dress. He knew that this confection of white-and-cream lace and ribbon was his mistress. His disreputable tail gave another happy wag and he set off down the aisle at full tilt.

  Hop-along Hoppy.

  Rose giggled and bent down to greet him. Hoppy reached her and bounded up into her arms, wriggling all over. She gathered him to her, then straightened and looked ahead at Nick. He was still smiling.

  And suddenly this was as far as it was possible to be from that long-ago wedding to Max. She remembered it-the tiny church in Yorkshire, Max waiting looking thin and gaunt and anxious, and his parents sitting by him, fretting that everything was as it should be.

  The bride’s guests sat on the left, the groom’s on the right. That was the way it should be, and Max’s mother had strictly enforced it. ‘Are you Max’s friend?’ she’d directed the ushers to ask, and if the friend said yes, regardless of the fact that she and Max shared many friends, then they’d been directed to the right as well.

  So she’d walked into the church and there’d been three lone stragglers, friends who’d defied her mother-in-law’s rules and sat on her side regardless.

  It had been Max’s wedding. It had been nothing to do with her.

  It had been Max’s life.

  But here both sides of the church were crowded, even if it was with strangers. Erhard was beside her, calmly smiling, giving her all the time in the world. Hoppy was trying to lick her face.

  Nick was smiling.

  This was her life. That flash of certainty she’d had when Erhard had first put this proposition to her, when she’d sat across the dinner table from Nick and looked at the way he’d talked to Erhard, courteous, kind, sensitive…

  There were no strings here. This was no golden net waiting to catch her, hold her, as it had held her mother. Nick was doing this to free this country. Sure he’d kissed and held her, and he’d been her rock during the past few days, but there were no conditions.

  She could marry him and he’d walk away and leave her to it.

  He was watching her, hopeful but uncertain. The whole church was watching her uncertainly. What was she doing? Having second thoughts in front of the world’s press? Giving Erhard and Nick heart attacks? If Julianna and Jacques were watching her now they’d beam with delight. Or say really loudly to the nation, see, she’s vacillating.

  It was only the thought of marriage that had her vacillating.

  ‘Are you right to go?’ Erhard whispered, and she managed a smile.

  ‘I like to make my bridegrooms sweat,’ she said, and his old face wrinkled into a smile of delight. He looked along the aisle to Nick and she intercepted that look again: women-we don’t understand them but we love them anyway!

  ‘It’s not a real marriage,’ Rose whispered, tucking her hand securely into Erhard’s. ‘This is Nick. Love ’em and leave ’em Nick. I can do this. Let’s get this ceremony on the road.’

  It wasn’t a real marriage. The problem was, though, that it was starting to feel like one. They were standing in church and Nick was making vows that felt…right.

  Do you take this woman…?

  Rose was beautiful. Not just now, he thought, though beautiful would certainly describe her almost ethereal appearance as she made her vows beside him. The first night in the restaurant she’d taken his breath away. He knew now what lay behind the façade, and it was with almost stunned disbelief that he heard her responses

  ‘I, Rose-Anitra, take you, Nikolai…’

  It was mockery. Make believe. Til death do us part? No, only until divorce.

  But it surely didn’t feel like that, and for once he let himself go.

  Forget the control. Forget the isolation bit.

  He took Rose’s hands in his and he held them. Erhard looked on from the sidelines. Hoppy looked on from underneath. And he spoke the words.

  ‘I, Nikolai, take thee, Rose-Anitra…Forsaking all others, keeping myself only unto you, as long as we both shall live.’

  It didn’t matter, Nick thought almost triumphantly as he kissed her tenderly on the lips in front of the whole congregation. It didn’t matter what had been said before or what had been planned for the future

  No matter. Things had changed.

  He, Nikolai de Montez, was a married man.

  The formalities of the wedding were tedious. Signing, signing and more signing, made longer because Nick decreed there wasn’t one document to be signed without checking the wording. Then photography and more photography. And then…

  Fun.

  A great dance out on the front lawns of the formal palace. At Erhard’s suggestion, made by telephone from his convalescence bed, their guest list for the party comprised representatives from every walk of life, from every corner of the country. As many people as were safe to fit squeezed into the grounds, and the festivities were beamed out over the country to where similar celebrations were taking place over and over. The locals looked at their television sets, toasted the bride and groom and allowed themselves to hope. Nick and Rose were dancing their hearts out in each other’s arms. This seemed a turning point for this desperately poor principality-it was a new beginning for them and a new beginning for all the country.

  Then, as the late hours turned to the small hours, as Rose sagged in exhaustion until all that was holding her up was her husband’s arms, the bride and groom were escorted back into the castle and cheered every step as they made their way up the vast marble staircase to the bedchambers beyond.

  Nick and Rose. Alone. Even Hoppy had retired long since, sneaking off to find a warm kennel with the kitchen dogs. Tomorrow he’d have Rose to himself, and a dog had to have some beauty sleep.

  So for now Nick had Rose all to himself. As they reached the f
irst landing she tripped slightly on her train, and before she knew what he was about he’d swept her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way. She squeaked in protest, but there was a roar of approval from the crowd below.

  ‘Say goodnight to our friends,’ Nick ordered, smiling wickedly down at her and swinging her round so they could both look over the balustrade to the people below. ‘Wave.’

  She was too dazed to do anything else. She waved.

  Nick grinned, swung his bride around and pushed open the first bedroom door.

  His.

  The door swung closed behind him with a resounding slam.

  Another cheer from below, which was just as well, as it disguised the squeak of indignation and the imperious, ‘Put me down. Now!’

  He put her down. It behoved a man to tread warily when he thought he was married but he wasn’t sure where the woman was in the equation. The earth hadn’t moved for her, then?

  ‘I thought separate bedrooms might be frowned on tonight,’ he said.

  ‘By who?’

  ‘By everyone downstairs. You know both our doors are visible from the entrance hall.’

  ‘Then we’ll wait until everyone goes away and go to our own rooms.’

  ‘Right,’ he said, still cautious. ‘You know, you look beautiful.’

  ‘You look pretty gorgeous yourself,’ she retorted. ‘Gold tassels and a dress sword. Wow.’

  ‘I did scrub up well,’ he admitted, and thought fleetingly that if his foster brothers had been here they would have looked at the dress sword and given him a very hard time. But Blake and his brothers had been told not to come-not to a mock wedding; that would have been crazy.

  But thinking of his foster family was for later. For now he had to placate his bride-who showed every sign of retreating to her own bedroom.

  ‘I need to go,’ she said. ‘Even if people see me.’