Of course, with his ties to the monarchy, there were definite perks.
When Philippe had heard the company’s offer, he’d come to Xavier first, offered him dibs on the early research, knowing how interested Xavier was in all things botanical.
Progress was slow of late, which made him feel guilty. The anti-emetic could have far-reaching benefits, ones that made Xavier believe it could help with the nausea woes that plagued chemotherapy patients, but he was on a go-slow because of his love life. Hardly justification to the rest of the world, but to him…?
A dopey grin curved his lips, because it had been so long since he’d had a love life that any guilt he felt was actually wiped away. It was about time there was more to his days than just his plants. His research was vital, but all work and no play made Xavier a lonely boy.
The sound of a throat clearing was his first clue that he was no longer alone.
His staff had varying means of breaking his concentration; throat-clearing was the most polite, and usually the one that failed the hardest.
“Yes?” he asked lazily, uninterested in being disturbed.
“Her Majesty is here, your grace.”
That had his shoulders straightening. “The Queen is here?” he demanded, standing and turning to face the entrance to the conservatory where he worked.
Over six thousand square feet of the ducal gardens had been transformed into a glasshouse where he could work year-in, year-out. This was more than just his office: this was his refuge.
It contained rare ferns he’d planted himself, housed flowers whose roots he’d spliced. There were trees that soared forty feet into the air, each inch lovingly tended by him alone.
This was where he worked, played, and generally lived.
But for Marianne to be here... it spoke of a situation too delicate for potential eavesdroppers to overhear at Masonbrook Castle.
Marianne never visited his estate; she disapproved of his work too much to come to the scene of his many crimes against the Crown—well, in her eyes, anyway.
She didn’t particularly approve of the idle rich, but nor did she wish the largest dukedom to be managed by a man more interested in his plants than his people. He wouldn’t say she considered him a hippie, but it was close.
“Aunt?” he murmured when he saw her standing beside his butler. Surprise welled in him at the sight of her.
On the rare occasions she’d visited in the past, she’d always waited for him in one of the estate’s many salons.
The Chinese Lily Salon had always been her preference when his mother and father had been alive.
He blinked at the sight of her standing there, looking faintly bored, but elegant as always. Her pantsuit was neat and well-tailored. She showed off her slim lines as well as the regalness of her posture—no one but royalty stood so tall and proud.
After gawking at the powder blue intrusion into his office, he remembered his manners.
He strode forward, but hesitated when he came close to her. Though he wasn’t dirty, she didn’t know that. And seeming to understand his dilemma, she tilted her face to the side to allow him a kiss.
His lips curved in a smile as he anointed her cheek with a small peck.
“To what do I owe the honor, Aunt?”
“I wish to speak to you about… Perry.”
The slight hesitation had his brow puckering, but otherwise, discomfort filled him. Perry? He highly doubted his aunt was aware of the unusual nature of Perry’s relationships with her sons and nephew, but why else would Marianne come out of her way to speak to him about Perry unless the conversation was going to be delicate in nature?
He nodded. “We should retire to the Chinese Lily Salon.”
She pursed her lips as she took a glimpse around his lab then sighed. “That would be more comfortable.”
Hearing her disapproval, he barely refrained from sighing himself.
To his butler, he murmured, “Please, serve afternoon tea in Her Majesty’s favorite salon.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” To Marianne, Rodgers bowed, then disappeared with a gently uttered, “Your Highness.”
Xavier watched him go, then holding out his arm, offered, “We shall walk there now.”
“I think I’d prefer to walk around this monstrosity of yours for a bit, Xavier. I feel the need for some greenery to soothe my nerves.”
At that wistful reply, Xavier’s unease soared. Marianne liked greenery as much as he liked life at court.
She had a fondness for acacias. That was pretty much it. She was useless at flower arranging, even though that had been an important skill for her generation at the finishing schools she’d attended. And though the royal household could consult with her over the gardens of Masonbrook, they never did.
Marianne simply wasn’t interested.
“Is everything all right, Tanta?” he asked softly, using the Veronian word for “auntie.”
“No. It isn’t,” she admitted, equally as softly. She tucked her arm through his in what was, for her, a particularly affectionate gesture.
Though she was warm with family—could even be gentle and tender at times—as a Queen, she wasn’t known for it. She was seen as a little demure, a lot detached.
The Veronian Royal Family was popular with most of its people, save for the scant few who were totally against the notion of a monarchy. But Marianne’s chilly disposition hadn’t won the DeSauviers any fans over the years.
George’s supposition that having Perry for a Queen would ease public opinion, and have them sway over more to their favor with her down-to-earth nature, wasn’t totally ridiculous.
That being said, Marianne’s emotive display on national television, when Edward and George had been kidnapped, had destroyed the dissidents’ support in one fell swoop… she was capable of affection, was even loving, but was always a little aloof.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to be patient when he wondered why she wasn’t just stating what the problem was, here and now.
“It’s your uncle.”
Xavier frowned; she was here to talk about Perry. Wasn’t she? “What about Philippe?”
“He’s keeping something from me.”
Tension filled him. “Something… like what?”
She shrugged, wriggling her shoulders in a way that was distinctly unlike Marianne, who was always cool and calm in a crisis.
Imagined or otherwise.
“I’m not certain. But he’s being secretive. I don’t like it when he’s being secretive.”
Xavier cleared his throat. “No, I can see why you wouldn’t appreciate it.”
She let out a small laugh. “The last time he was secretive, I found he had some slut holed up in a penthouse in Bayera.” She pursed her lips as he let out a shocked splutter that petered out into a cough. “Come, Xavier, don’t be childish.”
“Childish?” Xavier retorted, still astonished at the idea of his uncle cheating on his aunt. And her knowing about it. “Are you certain he was having an affair?”
Marianne’s jaw tightened. “Sadly, yes, I’m certain. However, after the last debacle, he promised he wouldn’t do it again. I fear he’s broken yet another promise to me.”
Xavier shook his head, and despite himself, tugged free of her gentle clasp on his arm. He didn’t do it to distance himself from her; if anything, he did it so he could move toward the glass wall and rest against it.
The world had, quite suddenly, toppled on its head.
“No. I can’t believe it,” he stated dumbly, staring blindly at his aunt, almost pleading with her for reassurance.
There was a look that was close to pity on his tanta’s face, and that alone gave him reason to believe her.
“Do George and Edward know?” he asked, his voice quite hoarse.
She shook her head. “Of course not. They adore their father.” She sniffed. “He can do no wrong in their eyes.”
Floored by the bitter cynicism in her words, he whispered, “You think he’s c
heating on you again?”
She sighed, turning her head to the side to gaze at a particularly beautiful Deathcap fern. It had flowered earlier than seasonally it should have, but it was flourishing in the tropical and steady temperatures of the glasshouse. It was one of his pride-and-joy plants, but if her disinterested glance was anything to go by, she wasn’t impressed. “What is that?” she asked, pointing at the fern.
Or, maybe not.
“It’s called a Deathcap fern. It’s native to Veronia.”
Her head tilted slightly to the side. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“It’s quite rare. They don’t always develop properly and need a perfect climate to flourish.” He shrugged. “With global warming being as it is, the perfect climate can only be found in places such as these.”
Her mouth tautened with distress. Then she surprised the hell out of him: “Such a shame. It’s really rather beautiful.”
The deciduous tree was beautiful. It was tall and grand, with arching branches that spread wide like long fingers, and each one was dosed with millions of tiny fronds.
It could have been mistaken for a Christmas tree with its shape and coloring, but when it flowered, it took on a whole other life. The fronds became almost fluffy, making the tree look like the branches were loaded down by feathers.
“Still, I’m not here to discuss your projects, pretty though they may be.” She cut him a look, stared him dead in the eye, and said, “I’ll assume whatever secret he is keeping from me isn’t to do with a woman. Considering you look pole-axed at the notion of Philippe being adulterous, I would further assume you are not aware of what I’m speaking, which means it must be to do with Perry.” Her mouth tightened. “Totally unsuitable.” Then, she relented enough to sigh. “But I’ve not seen Edward smile so much for a very long time. Too long. So, I suppose she’s worth the hassle for that alone.”
Had he not been pole-axed before, he certainly was now. “I-I know UnReal sentiment is on the rise, Marianne. I know Philippe’s intent on protecting the family from their reach. But that is all I know,” he told her earnestly, needing to meet her truth with hard facts, while choosing to ignore her comments regarding Perry.
His aunt was a prideful woman. Too prideful, his mother used to say. But for all that, he’d always liked her. She was strong and brave. Tough, yes, but at her core, she was gentle. She could be hurt and he found himself inordinately enraged at the notion of his uncle cheating on her.
No one knew the truth of a relationship behind closed doors, and he himself could imagine Marianne being rather cold… it was why she’d liked Arabella, Edward’s first wife. They were two peas in a pod. Similar heritage, similar schooling, and similar future… until Arabella’s death, of course.
Still, there was a softness to Marianne that was found in the love she had for her children. Xavier had always appreciated that about her.
“I wish I knew more,” he told her truthfully. “But if there are secrets, they pertain to the UnReals.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What kind of activity?”
“Are they engaged in, you mean?” When she nodded, he sighed. “Edward might be at risk again.”
A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Again?” She raised a hand and cupped her throat—the protective and self-comforting gesture didn’t escape him.
He winced at the sight, wishing he hadn’t hurt her, but also knowing that keeping Marianne out of the loop was beyond ridiculous.
His uncle had acted foolishly by not sharing such information with her.
They’d get nowhere if one of them was misinformed.
They all needed to be on their guard—especially the queen, as she had more duties outside the palace walls than the rest of them combined. Unlike Philippe, whose work kept him inside for the most part, and Edward, who had always handled the family’s ties to governing the nation.
A soft breath escaped her lips. “I think I’d have preferred for him to be cheating on me again,” she whispered, her eyelids drooping as she bowed her head and stared at the pebbled path beneath her feet.
“I’m certain all will be well,” he said, trying to reassure her and moving away from the wall to approach her once more.
Now that the notion of Philippe cheating had settled in, albeit uneasily, Xavier found he was firmer on his feet again.
Well, he thought he was, until the idea of Philippe in such a position bewildered him all the more. He’d always believed in his uncle. Though he’d never thought him to be perfect, or even an angel, he’d never imagined Philippe would be a serial adulterer.
It was totally out of character.
Unless it wasn’t, and Xavier had only ever seen what he wanted to see.
As he reached for her, he tucked his arms around her, pulling her against his chest to try and transfer some comfort to her.
That she didn’t pull away or complain about the smell of the earth on his clothes from his work told him how emotionally frail she was at that moment.
How hurt she was.
Both about the secrets her husband was keeping from her, as well as the fact her son was in danger.
But then, when hadn’t Philippe kept secrets from his wife? From them all? And when hadn’t Edward been in danger? George too?
Those three issues were part and parcel of being Queen.
A king always kept secrets, and the heirs to the throne were in constant peril…
Still, that didn’t make it hurt any less. And though it could never be said that Marianne was anything other than a wonderful queen, she was still a woman. Still a wife and a mother, and capable of being grievously hurt.
He sighed, pained on her behalf. “Tanta? Are you all right?”
She propped her chin in the air as she stepped back out of his arms. “I’ll be fine, Xavi.”
That she’d used his childhood nickname told him she was the exact opposite.
“Would you like some tea?”
“Not particularly.” Her smile was tight. And he saw the same militant look that often appeared on Edward’s face when a matter of great importance was suddenly up for discussion. “What do the UnReals want this time?”
“Who knows?” he said softly. The trite answer was the dissolution of the monarchy, but that was a ridiculous prospect. The monarchy would not be dissolved just because a pissed-off group of a few hundred had decided that was what they wanted.
It’s all so bloody pointless, he fumed inwardly.
So much terror, so much suffering and heartache, and all for nothing. The foolish wants of some idiots who didn’t realize the only thing they were messing with was fire.
“I think I should return to the castle. I postponed a meeting to come here.”
Considering how dutiful Marianne was, he frowned. “Why?” he asked, knowing something must have triggered her suspicions for her to have canceled a meeting.
“Philippe was being more secretive than usual this morning. George had disappeared with Perry somewhere, and Edward was busy. But, regardless, of them all, you’re the only one who’d answer me anyway. You always were a good boy.”
“Good is a relative concept,” he muttered dryly.
She peered around the greenhouse, her smile wry. “Your parents wouldn’t be happy with the addition to the estate, but your mother always did have appalling taste.”
The catty statement seemed to perk her up. His aunt and his mama had been exactly that—cats. Two angry cats whenever they were locked, figuratively, in the same space together.
Christmases and Easters had been a nightmare, he recalled with some fondness.
“I’ll speak to you later, Xavi.” She reached over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t judge your uncle too harshly, child. He isn’t the only one who’s made mistakes in our marriage.”
With that, she departed, leaving Xavier sputtering.
What the hell had that meant? Had she cheated on Philippe too? Or had she done something to make his uncle cheat?
&
nbsp; Of course, that started an internal moral debate on whether one person in a relationship could ever make the other cheat…
As he pondered those thoughts, he retreated to his workspace. After scrawling down some notes that had more to do with sociology and the psychology of marital relations, his butler cleared his throat.
Again.
“Dammit, Rodgers! Not another intrusion.”
A soft snort was his butler’s answer as Xavier spun around irritably. Spying Perry, he blinked. Then, to Rodgers, he nodded briskly but with an apologetic narrowing of his eyes, and when the butler had disappeared with a stalwart glance and a faint, “Tea has been served, sir,” Xavier turned to Perry.
The woman who had turned his world on its head.
He folded his arms across his chest, and he grinned as she mimicked his posture.
“What’s this I hear about tea?” she demanded, slouching back and angling herself against the back wall in a way that reminded him of MC Hammer back in the day.
“Marianne was here.”
She stood up straight at that. “She was? Why?”
He shrugged, hiding a smirk as she peered around, checking to make sure the Queen was no longer in the vicinity. “She left, Perry. Don’t worry, she’s not here to reprimand you for slouching.” When she rolled her eyes, he stopped hiding his smirk. “She wanted to ask about the UnReals.”
“Why did she ask you?”
“Because I don’t treat her like she’s made of kid gloves, that’s why.”
She shot him a knowing look. “That’s the scientist in you. I do love that about you.”
He cocked a brow. “The scientist in me purrs with approval. The man, less so.”
She snorted as she stepped toward the workspace. The distance between them displeased him, even when she rested against the desk, further mimicking his posture.
Said distance put him on edge, and he wasn’t entirely sure why.
“I didn’t expect to see you here today,” he said casually.
“No? Then you’re in for a welcome treat, aren’t you?”
Her Highness, Princess Perry: Contemporary Reverse Harem (Kingdom of Veronia Book 2) Page 3
