The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Hollingsworth, Suzette

  “I pinch myself, I reread the letter, and still I do not believe it.” He waved linen stationery before her, which he pulled out of his jacket pocket, and her heart stopped as she observed a red seal waving in front of her. Could it be? She mustn’t let her heart betray her.

  “Please, Monsieur Beaumaris, tell me,” she pleaded of the man who was known for his direct communication. Oh, she hoped Monsieur Beaumaris did not expire before he told her!

  “I tell you now!”

  “Please do!”

  “We shall be going on tour! A most illustrious tour!”

  “Where? Where shall we be going?”

  “I must prepare our repertoire! Where is Caruso? He may very well extend his singing engagement with us before traveling to New York City to accept his position at the Metropolitan Opera. Oh, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” He turned to yell at his assistant, who was standing some six inches behind him, staring at him as if he had seen a ghost. “A pen and paper if you will. Rapidement! I must consult with Puccini!”

  “Monsieur Beaumaris, may I beg you to tell me where we are going?” Nicolette strove to capture his attention before he floated off, trailing along beside him like a puppy too long departed from its master.

  He stopped dead in his tracks, finally giving her the attention she craved. He studied her, as if he expected her to know that answer. Slowly a smile came to his lips. “Don’t you know, Mademoiselle?”

  “No! No I don’t! And I fear I never will!”

  “But Spain, of course!”

  “Spain?” She swallowed hard. Somehow she found her voice. “But why?”

  “Why?” He laughed heartily. “A personal invitation from the king of Spain. For the coronation.”

  Nicolette covered her hand with her mouth, afraid that she would scream. Oh, but she should not feel this way. Why was her heart racing in her chest? She was an expert at combating nervousness, and yet none of her techniques were working.

  Breathe, breathe, she told herself, but her heart just pounded faster.

  She could not go to Spain. She simply would not. She had only started to get her life back, to feel like herself again, to feel peace again. She was never so confused as when she was with Alejandro.

  “The principles of the opera troupe are to stay in the Palacio Real de Madrid.” Monsieur Beaumaris was grinning from ear to ear. “The personal guests of the king. Think of it, Mademoiselle Nicolette! The Royal Palace of Madrid. It is unheard of! It is a great honor.”

  “But, Monsieur Beaumaris, how…when…?”

  “The invitation comes from King Alejandro himself.” He waved the letter in front of her face. “We will be singing in the beautiful Teatro Real, of course, a magnificent opera house, as a part of the coronation-week festivities.”

  “King Alejandro wrote the letter himself? No, surely you are mistaken. The Teatro Real? Truly? Oh, it is magnificent, I have heard…”

  “Oui, oui. The Teatro Real is magnificent. But, even more than that, you—you, my angel—will sing a solo at the coronation itself!”

  “I shall sing at the king’s coronation?” she gasped.

  “I must prepare our repertoire.” He bestowed a knowing smile upon her, winking as he did so. “I know to whom I owe this honor, of course.”

  “But Monsieur Beaumaris, I am as stunned as you are.” Nicolette shook her head.

  “Oh, are you, Mademoiselle?”

  “Why, yes, I…” I can’t. I mustn’t.

  “Never mind, never mind.” He turned to his assistant, yelling at the top of his lungs. “Find Caruso! I must persuade him to stay! To go! Oh, just find him!”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  How should you understand

  All the love that’s in my heart?

  How should you know that I have proved it,

  Even at the price of your contempt?

  But the time will come when you will know,

  When you’ll admit how much I loved you

  God save you then from all remorse!

  Even after death I shall still love you

  —Giuseppe Verdi, La Traviata

  “It’s positively breathtaking!” Caruso took her arm—not with the elegant ease of a gentleman but with a forceful strength, which indicated his doubts about the solidity of her footing. On her other arm was her grandmother, moving forward with more speed than was comfortable. As Nicolette entered the magnificent Palacio Real, she reveled in a sense of amazement at her circumstances.

  “It is incomparable, is it not?” stated Lady Elaina, ever the political hostess, who would have eaten nails rather than miss the opportunity to accompany her to Spain for the king’s coronation.

  “Everything is irreplaceable,” noted Caruso.

  “And uniquely astounding,” Nicolette added, somehow finding her voice.

  “The art collections alone are worth the visit,” Lady Elaina added, her head seeming like a twirling top as she took everything in.

  “True.” Nicolette nodded, feeling dazed. “Thus far I have already seen Velázques, Gasparini, Caravaggio, and Goya.” She glanced at the hallway before her. “And it seems to go on forever!”

  “It does go on forever,” remarked Lady Elaina with finality.

  “There are over two thousand rooms in the palace,” Caruso clarified with a raised eyebrow. “The Palacio Real is the largest palace in all of western Europe.”

  “Not only is the palace stunning,” added Lady Elaina, “but, as you have noted, Mr. Caruso, the royal collections are of great historical importance. The world’s only complete Stradivarius string quintet is here in the palace.”

  “Despite having seen much of the world, I am impressed.” Her head began to swim as the full impact of the priceless art, the magnificent architecture, her unanswered questions, and her anticipation at seeing Alejandro mounted.

  “I beg you will not forget the famous collections of tapestries,” Caruso interjected.

  “Tapestries?” Nicolette giggled, grateful for the diversion, as she turned to face Caruso. It never failed, Enrico always eased the tension. His unmistakable boyish charm, not to mention his tendency to mischief, was just plain fun company.

  “I don’t think one could forget the Hall of Mirrors or the Hall of Tapestries!” Lady Elaina chuckled. “It has taken us no small amount of time to traverse them.”

  “Umm…yes. The tapestries astonish me.” Nicolette sighed, studying the red velvets, deep blues, and huge gilded mirrors lining the walls. “They are indistinguishable from masterpieces in oil. So rich.”

  “‘Rich’ is the right word, Signorina Nicolette!” Caruso laughed, his thick, dark moustache dancing all over his face. His hair was brushed back high on his head, and he definitely looked the stage star. “And what of you, my little fire-eater? You seem more subdued than usual.”

  She nodded as her breath caught in her chest. She would see him again soon. The supporting members of the cast had already been situated, and the principals were being led to the royal throne room. Her heart quickened despite a lifetime of experience managing nervousness. She had not felt this nervous when she had faced the terrifying Red Sultan—otherwise known as the Great Assassin—at eleven years old!

  “Ah, the Royal Armory.” Suddenly Caruso’s attention was diverted, and he seemed to be of two minds. He bowed to Nicolette and Lady Elaina. “Its weapons date back to the thirteenth century. Do excuse me for a moment, signorina.”

  “Only be a moment, Enrico, I beg you. We are expected in the royal throne room,” Nicolette advised, surprised that she could find her voice as their proximity increased. In an instant tuxedo tails had flown into the Royal Armory, disappearing from view.

  “Are you looking forward to seeing the king, Nicolette?” Lady Elaina whispered to her, resplendent in a gown of pink liberty satin and white taffeta glace, a dashing sight against her auburn hair, particularly with a large pink hat tilted on her head.

  “The king?” She gulped, turning to her grandmother. �
�You mean Alejandro.”

  “I mean the king. Alejandro was the king of Spain from the moment his father died.” Lady Elaina’s pink lips formed a smile. “The coronation ceremonies are a formality only.”

  “Indeed. The king.” She felt her legs growing weak, and she tightened her grip on her grandmother’s hand. “I hate to admit it, Grandmamma, but something has been missing from my life ever since he left. Paris, that is.” Despite having known Alejandro for a very short time, he had changed everything in her world. She felt that she was, somehow, not whole without him.

  “You who are so independent.” Lady Elaina’s eyebrows raised starkly.

  “Something in him reaches out to something in me. That is all.”

  “Oh, is that all, my dear? An everyday occurrence for the king of Spain, I should think.” Lady Elaina stopped to glance into the Gasparini Room, intricate designs of inlaid wood swirling across the floor. Stylized vines in silver-and-gold silk embroidery climbed the walls. Nicolette thought she might like to join them.

  “One thing is certain, I am glad that he has finally found useful employment,” she murmured under her breath.

  The two stared at each other for an instant before bursting into laughter, simultaneously covering their mouths as they approached the royal throne room.

  “This is not a new position for the king, my dear.” Lady Elaina lifted the white lace overlay hanging from her wide pink hat and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “He has been preparing for this role all his life.”

  “Preparing, yes. But he faces enormous challenges.”

  “Very true.” Lady Elaina nodded. “Spain never industrialized as did England, Germany, and Italy, and the literacy rate is low. In politics, there is no middle ground, no consensus. Spaniards are a passionate people who never do anything halfway.”

  “An apt description of Alejandro,” murmured Nicolette.

  “It is Spain’s curse and Her blessing.”

  “Somehow, I never envisioned Alejandro in a setting such as this.” Nicolette looked around her, stunned by the opulence of her surroundings. “The ruler…of all of this. It doesn’t seem like him, somehow.”

  “The royal chapel was awe-inspiring was it not, my dear?”

  “I wonder if singing is allowed in that venue, Grandmamma.”

  “You could certainly ask your friend, the king.”

  Nicolette nodded distractedly as she pretended to study another painting. There was no shortage of priceless treasures to pretend to look at. Oh, where is Enrico? She could use another arm at this time.

  As she heard the familiar footsteps, she felt more anxiety than relief. It is time. She smoothed the plaited skirt of her aqua voile gown trimmed with gold-cord buttonholes and gold buttons. Shaking her hands, she loosened an abundance of white lace frills, which flowed from the lapped Eton and bell sleeves just beyond the elbow. She checked her aqua box hat perched on layers of shiny black curls, a white feather protruding forward in just the right spot. She hoped.

  “You look lovely, my dear.” Lady Elaina squeezed her hand. “And it doesn’t matter. He only wants to see you.”

  “Oh, I don’t think…” She bit her lip.

  Caruso rejoined them, and they entered the royal throne room together.

  “Oh my,” she whispered as the full impact of the throne room hit her. Her eyes searched for Alejandro, but he wasn’t there. Only the queen mother, Maria Katrina de Bonifácio, sat on one of the two thrones at the front of the huge receiving room. The throne reserved for the king was empty.

  “The queen is very beautiful,” Lady Elaina noted.

  “Hmmm.” She studied the queen mother with interest. The matriarch did not smile. She wore a deep-purple silk evening gown with a square collar and matching jacket, and a blue satin sash across her torso that joined at her hip in a rosette. A diamond-and-platinum tiara was perched on her white-blonde hair. For jewelry she wore pearl earrings, a pearl necklace, and a pendant of some sort.

  She was tall and slim with a patrician nose, doing honor to her Austrian ancestry. Nicolette knitted her eyebrows. It struck her as odd that the queen mother of Spain should look so non-Spanish. She had heard the rumors of Alejandro’s Spanish ancestry, supported by his appearance. If true, he was nonetheless related to all of European royalty through his mother. Two royal parents were not needed to maintain the bloodlines—they were all cousins anyway.

  She sighed heavily, anxious for Alejandro’s entrance at the same time it filled her with apprehension. Once she had ascertained that he was not present, she let her eyes take in the room, which was opulent in every way. It appeared that the walls were lined in embroidered red velvet. The predominantly blue-and-red carpets were exquisite, as was yet another painting covering the vast expanse of the ceiling from which hung sparkling crystal chandeliers. Gold was everywhere, serving as a mold for paintings, mirrors, and furniture. Four bronze lions framed the two thrones.

  They were seated in their respective places, lining the entrance to the throne. She wasn’t sure how she managed to get to her seat.

  She caught her breath when she saw him entering through the doors. She knew instantly that she was not alone in her reaction. She could almost hear the collective gasp among the ladies in the room. She felt she would lose her breath even as she bent her knee and her head in unison with all who stood and bowed or curtseyed.

  Glancing sideways while in her curtsey, she saw that he wore his ceremonial dress—a naval uniform with gold braids at the shoulders and sleeves, a light-blue sash across his muscular torso, and a red sash around his trim waist. To the left of the blue sash were pinned his medals, and the Order of the Golden Fleece was around his neck. A pendant of some type hung from the point where his collar connected, probably the Order of the Immaculate Conception of Vila Viçosa as she knew from her father that the king of Spain was a distinguished knight of this order. Alejandro wore his brown hair long and wavy as usual, his deep-brown eyes intense as he surveyed the room. She knew the minute he found her.

  As he passed by her, Nicolette could not help herself. She looked up through her eyelashes and saw him staring at her. His expression was stoic, but his eyes captured hers and lingered there, holding her as fiercely as if his arms had been around her.

  Breathe. In the moment their eyes met, she felt herself gasping for air. All this from a glance.

  She watched him, so comfortable in his role, so comfortable in all this opulence.

  They were led separately to be presented to the king and the queen mother.

  Monsieur Beaumaris proceeded first. When it was Nicolette’s turn, she felt her knees go weak. She reminded herself that it was Alejandro whom she had once kicked under the table. Had tried to seduce. She was not afraid of anyone.

  But she was afraid of something.

  As she gazed into the intensity of his eyes, nothing helped. Somehow she made it to the twin thrones and managed to execute her curtsey. King Alejandro surprised all present by standing and taking her hand to kiss it. The murmurs and gasps were subdued, but she heard them.

  “Lady Nicolette,” he stated, his voice so resonant it made her tingle. “I have never been happier to see anyone.” His eyes were full of feeling, and the fervency she saw there took her aback.

  “Your Highness,” she murmured, curtseying. She saw the displeasure in his eyes instantly. Oh, I am a fool! He had singled her out with a very personal remark, and she was responding as if he were a statue. Why was she treating him as if she did not know him?

  “May I introduce my mother?” Suddenly he turned to the queen mother. “Queen Maria Katrina. Mother, this is Lady Nicolette, the Earl of Ravensdale’s daughter.”

  Nicolette curtseyed again, still unable to think of a suitable response.

  But the queen mother was not so tongue-tied. She nodded, smiling slightly, her movement so slight that her tiara appeared immobile. “We look forward to hearing you sing, Lady Nicolette,” she enunciated distinctly in a pinched voice. Her word
s were polite, but there was no doubt in Nicolette’s mind that the queen’s intent was to clarify her place. “There are many events planned for the coronation week’s festivities.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she replied warmly. She would not give anyone the pleasure of intimidating her, and the queen’s disdain fanned her courage. Maria Katrina appeared intelligent but disapproving. She wondered if the queen was as out of touch with the changing times as her husband had been. As a result, there were many in Spain who disapproved of the monarchy. There was much unrest in Spain, and stabilizing the country required an innovative and flexible ruler.

  Observing them together, it was difficult to believe that this was his mother. There appeared to be little or no bond between them. The queen mother was very protective, but Nicolette supposed that she was protective of the throne rather than of Alejandro.

  She suspected that the queen mother thought her a conniving fortune seeker. Nothing could be further from the truth! She would have to be crazy to want anything to do with ruling a country. There was not a more difficult, thankless job on the face of the earth. She lived to be in joy not in headache.

  “I have taken the liberty of having you seated next to me at dinner, Lady Nicolette,” Alejandro added with enough shyness to seem completely out of character. “I hope this does not displease you.”

  “To the contrary, Your Majesty.” A sudden surge of pleasure flowed through her veins. How vividly she recalled the time when all he wanted from her was to hear her sing. The arrangement was most unexpected, but despite feeling flustered, she was relieved that she had found words and was up to the task of behaving with decorum. At last it appeared that she had not been performing every night on the stage for two years for nothing. “I am most pleased. But I had understood that I would be singing?”

  “I have arranged for Caruso to sing this evening,” Alejandro replied uneasily. “If you have no objections, Lady Nicolette.”

  “No, of course not, Your Majesty.” She was strangely disinterested in being the performer on this first evening together. And she was happy that Enrico should have the honor. She found that she longed for some private time with Alejandro. All of this required formality was stifling.