A Royal Proposition

by Marion Lennox

  ‘Rose.’

  ‘Even though he knows you’re called Penelope?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ll be Princess Rose?’

  ‘I guess so.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He says…he says he won’t call me Penny-Rose because I’m worth much more.’ She didn’t add that the way he called her Rose made her feel odd-like he was deliberately distancing himself from who she really was.

  But Heather loved it. ‘Then he is special,’ Heather said soundly. ‘And…’ Penny-Rose could imagine her sister’s glee on the other end of the line. ‘Is he very rich?’

  ‘Um, yes.’

  ‘Specialler and specialler.’

  Penny-Rose grinned. ‘Specialler… Is that good grammar?’

  ‘Always the big sister. Leave my grammar alone. When do we get to meet him?’

  ‘The wedding’s in six weeks. Alastair will send you plane tickets, if you can come.’

  There was a squeal of delight from the other end of the phone. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Oh…’ A long sigh of pure pleasure. ‘Try and keep us away. Can we be bridesmaids?’

  ‘I’m not having bridesmaids.’

  ‘Princesses always have bridesmaids.’

  ‘Not this one.’

  ‘But…’ There was a slight pause. ‘It is going to be a royal wedding-right?’

  There was only one answer to that. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Fabulous.’ Another sigh, then… ‘Help, we don’t have anything to wear.’

  This had already been discussed. ‘Alastair’s sending you a cheque,’ she told her sister. ‘So…so you can get something wonderful to wear.’ When she revealed how much the cheque would be for, there was a moment’s silence.

  ‘Is this guy for real?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does he have any brothers?’

  That brought another grin. ‘No.’

  ‘He must be wonderful,’ Heather said at last, when she’d caught her breath. ‘It’d take a special sort of prince to look at you in your disgusting work clothes and see the gorgeous Penny-Rose underneath.’ She sighed once more. ‘You’ll be able to stop stone-walling.’

  ‘If anyone asked you to marry him,’ Rose said carefully, ‘would you stop wanting to be a doctor?’

  That halted her sister’s romanticism in its tracks. ‘Um, no.’

  ‘Then leave my career alone.’

  ‘Alastair’s happy for you to stay a stone-waller?’

  ‘It’s what I am.’

  There was a long, thoughtful silence, and then a sigh so deep it was almost a blessing.

  ‘Oh, Penny-Rose. Oh, love, I’m so happy for you I’m starting to cry.’

  There was nothing Penny-Rose could do to prevent her siblings’ reactions.

  There was also nothing she could do to stop the media frenzy. Even though no formal announcement had been made, their evening at Lilie’s had been noticed.

  ‘Stay at the castle from now on,’ Alastair told her, and she had no choice. Photographers were camped out at the castle gates. Their night at Lilie’s, along with Belle’s hasty departure, had been noticed and put together with glee. The media knew how urgently Alastair needed a bride, and Penny-Rose was obviously it.

  And she didn’t like the sensation at all. The conversion of Penny-Rose to Rose…

  ‘I’m beginning to feel like a poor little rich girl,’ she said as she sat down to dinner with Marguerite and Alastair two days later. Reluctantly, she’d moved into the castle guest quarters. At knock-off time she therefore bathed away her grime and presented herself at the dinner table as a normal guest.

  A normal guest? Ha! She didn’t feel in the least normal. She’d never seen so much glass and silverware in her life, and it took all her courage to stay dignified in front of the servants. Now, as the butler moved away with the dinner plates, she grimaced. ‘I can’t go anywhere?’

  ‘You couldn’t afford to go anywhere before this anyway.’ Alastair smiled across the table at her, his gentleness robbing his words of offence. ‘And at least we don’t serve you turnip soup.’

  ‘I know. I’m not complaining.’ Her sense of humour reasserted itself. But she wished he wouldn’t smile like that. It put her right off what she was thinking.

  What was it? Oh, right. Not complaining…

  ‘Or at least, not very much,’ she added, hauling herself back to the matter in hand. ‘I just need to remember not to take my wheelbarrow close to the boundary while I’m working. And I dread long-distance lenses.’

  ‘They haven’t placed you as one of the stone-walling team,’ Alastair told her. ‘Heaven forbid that they do. You’re sure the team will stay silent? And the Berics?’

  ‘I’d imagine your money will ensure that,’ she said dryly. ‘Talk about buying silence. So you’re right. As long as I stay here I’m fine.’

  ‘But…’ Alastair was thinking this through ‘…there is one problem. You’ll need to take a trip to the city.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You need clothes.’

  She bristled. ‘What’s wrong with my clothes?’

  He hesitated, and then he smiled again, seeking to lessen offence. ‘Your dress…’ He motioned to her sundress. ‘I know I’m not supposed to notice, but it’s the third night in a row that you’ve worn it.’

  Her bristle turned into a glower. ‘So? I like my dress.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘And you have a wardrobe of different evening-wear?’

  ‘I don’t need-’

  ‘A stone-waller may not need, but my intended bride does,’ he told her. ‘Friday is official announcement time, and you should look great.’

  ‘She looks great now.’ Marguerite’s warmth and approval were the one constant in this arrangement that was making Penny-Rose feel OK with what was happening, and it came to the fore now. ‘The media will love her.’

  ‘Rose was photographed leaving Lilie’s in that dress,’ Alastair said stubbornly. ‘She needs another.’

  Marguerite was like a defensive mother hen. ‘I’m sure she has another.’ And then she frowned at her son. ‘Why do you call her Rose? Her name is Penny-Rose.’

  ‘Penny-Rose is hardly a name for a princess. Rose is much more dignified.’

  Much more not me, Penny-Rose thought. Still, this marriage was all about keeping their distance. If that was the way he wanted it…

  It seemed he did.

  ‘Do you have anything else to wear?’ he asked, deflecting his mother’s query nicely.

  ‘Um…’ Penny-Rose turned pink. ‘Actually I don’t.’

  ‘Oh, my dear…’ Marguerite sounded horrified.

  ‘Don’t let it bother you,’ she said hastily. ‘I don’t understand what women see in choice. It makes dressing a whole lot more complicated.’

  ‘But it also makes it more fun.’ Marguerite had swung to her son’s point of view in a moment. ‘Now, where will you go to shop? You can’t go anywhere in this principality. You’ll be mobbed before you reach the first boutique. There’s nothing for it. Alastair, you’ll have to take her to Paris. You need a few days on the rue du Faubourg Saint Honoré…’

  ‘Hey…’ The idea startled him. ‘I don’t have time to go to Paris. It’s not me who needs clothes.’

  ‘She can’t shop here.’

  ‘No, but-’

  ‘But Paris it must be. Are you saying that you won’t take her?’ his mother demanded, and fixed him with a look.

  ‘I could have Belle take her…’

  There was a collective intake of breath. And then Alastair had the grace to grimace. ‘OK. Bad idea. Belle’s well known and there are media problems everywhere.’ He sighed and appealed again to his mother. ‘But you’re the obvious one to go.’

  ‘No, dear.’ His mother shook her head. ‘The press has seen you once together. The more romance we can imbue this with, the better. I’m not saying I hope the photographers find you-you need a couple of days’ grace-but if they do eventuall
y track you down, it’d be so romantic to have you photographed strolling down Paris streets, hand in hand.’

  ‘Hey, I don’t intend holding anyone’s hand,’ Penny-Rose retorted, and Marguerite sighed again.

  ‘You two aren’t very good at this romance business, are you?’

  ‘We’re fine,’ Alastair said.

  ‘Right. Good. So hold hands.’

  ‘Mother…’

  ‘You need to get used to it.’ His mother looked from Penny-Rose to Alastair and back again. ‘In six weeks someone’s going to say, “You may kiss the bride.” If that means one chaste kiss on the forehead, the lawyers will label this marriage a sham and the castle-and the estate-will be lost. To us and to the villagers.’

  ‘They can’t-’

  ‘This marriage has to appear real,’ Marguerite said with asperity. ‘Alastair, stop treating the girl as if she’ll bite. Penny-Rose, stop treating the man as if he’s your boss. Get friendly.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Penny-Rose said, and she managed a smile. ‘I’ll do what I can.’

  ‘Alastair, take the girl to Paris. And start calling her Penny-Rose.’

  ‘Um…’

  ‘Don’t “um” me,’ his mother snapped. ‘Get a handle on this. You never know, you could just enjoy yourselves.’

  ‘Rose could enjoy shopping on her own.’

  ‘Call her Penny-Rose.’

  ‘It’s not a princess’s name.’

  ‘And she’ll only be a princess? Not a friend?’

  ‘We need to keep things formal.’

  ‘Fine,’ his mother said, exasperated. ‘Just take what’s-her-name to Paris.’

  His exasperation equalled his mother’s.

  ‘What’s-her-name can go alone.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Penny-Rose said, grinning slightly at their matching belligerent expressions. They really were very alike. ‘But I…I suspect I might need some help. I don’t exactly have much experience in shopping.’

  They stopped glaring at each other and turned their stunned attention to her.

  ‘No experience in shopping.’ Marguerite gasped. ‘Oh, my dear…’ She sounded as if she’d just heard Penny-Rose had been deprived of something of major importance. Like a leg.

  ‘So where did you find the dress you’re wearing?’ Alastair demanded in disbelief. All women shopped!

  ‘Actually, I made it myself. I sew all my own clothes.’

  That stunned them even more. Alastair stared at her as if she’d announced that she’d come from another planet.

  ‘You’re kidding.’ Sewing your own clothes… He’d hardly heard of such a thing.

  ‘I’m not kidding.’ She met his look head on, defiant. ‘I don’t just stone-wall. I have other skills, too.’ She grinned. ‘I can also whistle loud enough to call the kids home from a mile away. Want to hear?’ And she put two fingers to her mouth and prepared to whistle.

  ‘No!’ Marguerite and Alastair spoke as one, and she chuckled and desisted, but Alastair was still looking at her dress in awe.

  ‘But…’ His critical eyes appraised her workmanship and found no fault at all. ‘It’s lovely.’

  She twinkled. ‘Thank you.’

  He was still having trouble believing her. ‘And…your overalls?’

  ‘I made them, too.’

  ‘You really have never shopped for clothes?’

  ‘Sometimes at welfare places,’ she said diffidently. ‘But not…not at real clothes shops.’

  ‘Oh, Alastair!’ Marguerite’s eyes were shining. ‘What fun. To introduce your bride to shopping!’

  ‘To introduce your future daughter-in-law to shopping,’ he retorted, but despite himself his imagination was caught. ‘I don’t suppose…’ His thoughts were heading off at all sorts of wondrous tangents. A woman who’d never shopped…it was almost unbelievable. ‘Things like lacy negligees and so on…’ he said slowly. ‘I can hardly help her there.’

  ‘Of course you can,’ his mother said soundly. ‘Now…you’re to leave tomorrow morning. You’re to stay at the Hotel Carlon, which Belle tells me is the most splendid hotel in Paris. You’re to spend a fortune and you’re to have a very good time. That’s an order. Any questions?’

  ‘No, ma’am,’ Penny-Rose said faintly. ‘Except…’ She blinked. ‘There’s Bert. I need to ask Bert for a couple of days off.’

  ‘Bert and I have an arrangement,’ Alastair told her. ‘He’s a very understanding boss-and employee.’

  That didn’t please her. ‘You mean you’ll just bribe him to keep me on the team with no questions asked.’

  ‘I need do no such thing. He’s not about to sack you.’

  ‘He mustn’t. If I lose my spot on the team…’

  ‘Because you’re out buying frilly knickers…’

  ‘If you so much as tell him that…’ She was aghast.

  ‘I won’t.’ Alastair smiled at her.

  Drat! His smile was really starting to get to her. For heaven’s sake-she’d been living in Alastair’s home for only two days. She had over a year of this mock marriage to go, but there was something very strange going on already. Every time the man smiled at her, something in the deeper recesses of her middle did some sort of stupid lurch…

  It was just that he was so darned attractive, she thought wildly, and the number of deeply attractive men she’d spent any time with in her life numbered approximately zero.

  Or maybe it was just that she hadn’t had time to notice, she decided, forcing herself to be practical. Maybe there were plenty of gorgeous guys out there, and after this wedding farce was over-after her twelve-month marriage-maybe she could see for herself…

  With her frilly knickers!

  The thought made her grin, and Alastair saw it and smiled back.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘What are you laughing at?’

  ‘The thought of me in frilly knickers underneath my homemade overalls,’ she confessed. ‘Some things are too ridiculous for words.’

  ‘But you’ll come shopping with me?’

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  ‘No.’

  She spread her hands. ‘OK. One shopping hit. But it’ll have to be just the one. Let’s get it all over in one shot. Can we buy a wedding dress while we’re at it?’

  ‘I have an idea about that.’ Marguerite had been watching the interplay, a small, self-satisfied smile playing on her lips. Who knew what was behind that smile? ‘I thought…’ She hesitated. ‘My dear, if you don’t mind, I thought you could wear my wedding dress.’ She flickered a questioning look at her son. ‘You’ve always loved the photographs of your father and I being married. The dress I wore belonged to your grandmother before me, and it’s lovely. If Penny-Rose agrees, it’d be wonderful for you to have your bride wear it.’

  ‘But won’t Belle…?’ Penny-Rose started, but was silenced by the sudden frown snapping down on her future mother-in-law’s face.

  ‘Belle would die rather than wear an old dress of mine.’

  Belle would. The thought of the svelte Belle wearing a traditional, pre-loved wedding gown seemed almost ridiculous.

  ‘I… It seems very personal,’ Penny-Rose said, looking sideways at Alastair to see how he was taking it. ‘I mean, it is a wedding of convenience. It is only for a year.’

  But, somewhat to her surprise, Alastair liked the idea. ‘I bet it’d look gorgeous on you. And it’s very economical.’ He smiled. ‘That should appeal to your parsimonious streak!’

  ‘If it’s your money, I don’t mind spending it,’ she replied, and got a bark of laughter in response.

  ‘That’s very generous.’

  ‘I can be,’ she agreed blandly, and just for a moment they were grinning at each other like fools.

  Or like…friends?

  Or something more.

  Which was crazy. But the moment stretched on, for far too long…

  It was Alastair who came back to earth first. Penny-Rose’s insides were still d
oing some type of aerobic act she couldn’t define. ‘You’ll wear my mother’s dress?’ he asked, and if his voice was a trace unsteady it was only Marguerite who noticed. Penny-Rose’s thoughts were way too unsteady all on their own.

  ‘Penny-Rose needs to see it first,’ Marguerite decreed, smiling complacently at them both. Things were going very well here. Very well indeed! ‘She’s only wearing it if she loves it. But meanwhile… Eat your supper, turn in for an early night and then head off to Paris in the morning.’

  ‘For knicker shopping,’ Alastair agreed, a wicked gleam lurking deep in those dangerous eyes.

  ‘In your dreams, Alastair de Castaliae,’ Penny-Rose muttered. ‘You buy me frilly knickers? Over my dead body.’ She hesitated. ‘And maybe it’s just as well if we buy me a wedding dress. I’m really not comfortable wearing your mother’s.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s real,’ she said frankly. Her insides had somehow settled, but with that crazy lurching had come a realisation. Alastair was holding her at arm’s length. She needed to do the same. ‘Some day you might meet someone even more special than Belle.’

  ‘That’s silly.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ She turned to Marguerite. ‘You must understand. Wearing your wedding dress makes the whole thing personal-and this wedding has to be impersonal or it can’t work.’

  ‘I’d like you to wear it,’ Marguerite told her, and with a shock Penny-Rose realised what she was saying.

  And she knew she was right in her decision.

  ‘I can’t,’ she told her. ‘It’s for Alastair’s true wife to wear.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Alastair was looking from one to the other. ‘You will be my true wife.’

  ‘As I said,’ Penny-Rose retorted. ‘In your dreams, Alastair de Castaliae. In your dreams.’

  The next day was a dream all by itself.

  First there was the journey to Paris.

  Penny-Rose and her co-workers had taken the train through France when she’d started working in Alastair’s tiny border principality, and she’d expected that she and Alastair would take the same train back to Paris. Or they’d drive. Either way, it was a full day’s journey.

  But they did neither. After an early breakfast, Alastair ushered her into his Ferrari. Ten minutes later they were boarding a private jet, and thirty minutes after that they were at Charles de Gaulle airport.