“That, my dear girl, is a tale for another day. All I can say is that unless Lutéce decides to be nice, the prince isn’t going to want anything to do with her.” Now it’s my turn to lie.
It would seem that the more cantankerous Miss Choate is, the more I’m intrigued by her.
Chapter Thirteen
Sheila
“Why in the world would Lu go off with Geoffrey’s sisters when his brothers were so eager to spend time with her?” Sheila demands after stopping to smell a large orange rose during a walk in the rose garden.
“Maybe because she isn’t interested in either of the princes in a romantic sense,” her husband responds with a hint of warning in his voice.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Phillipe. Andrew and Alistair are every bit as charming and attractive as Geoffrey. Can you imagine what it would be like to have both of our daughters married to princes?”
Taking a seat on a stone bench next to a small fountain, Phillipe pulls his wife down onto his lap. “The next thing you’re going to suggest is that we set Romaine up with one of Geoffrey’s sisters.”
“I never thought of that. What a wonderful idea!” Sheila exclaims.
“I was joking, dearest. I think you need to leave Lu and Romaine alone and focus your attention on the wedding at hand.”
Shaking her head, his wife says, “That’s not going to happen. Lu wants a baby and I want that child’s father to be a part of her life. She deserves to have her dreams come true.”
“Life doesn’t always have a storybook ending,” her husband says. “Which doesn’t mean Lu can’t still have a very happy life.”
Ignoring his comment, Sheila says, “Won’t it be fun to spend time here once Claire and Geoffrey are married?”
“Spending time with you is fun anywhere.” Phillipe kisses his wife on the cheek before slapping her on the butt. “Now, let’s get you back inside, or you’re going to be late for your meeting with the queen.”
Lutéce
We’ve been offered all sorts of entertainment today—tours, horseback riding, and cricket, to name a few—but I’ve opted to spend the day alone walking around the capital city. It’s no London or Paris, but it’s still delightful. According to the sign welcoming you when you enter the town square, only twenty-five thousand people call it home.
Walking into the first bakery I pass, I buy myself a hot chocolate and a croissant. Then I sit at an outdoor table to enjoy my treat when I hear a telltale ping. Pulling my phone out of my purse, I see a message from my mother.
Busybody: Lu, where are you? Claire and I are meeting with Queen Charlotte in the drawing room. I thought you were going to join us.
Me: I decided to walk into town and check out the local hot spots.
Busybody: What local hot spots? Are you at a bar or something?
Me: Strip club. You wouldn’t believe all the hot Malquarian men shaking their man business up on the stage.
Busybody: …
Busybody: …
Busybody: …
Me: Relax, I’m just kidding. I’m having a cup of hot chocolate and a pastry while watching old ladies feed pigeons by a fountain.
Busybody: How boring. You’d have a much better time here at the palace. I’m sure that Andrew or Alistair would be happy to show you around.
Me: Turning my phone off now, Mom.
Busybody: …
And click. Phone off. It’s not hard to imagine me as one of these old gals someday, wandering off to a fountain to feed pigeons. It’s sad and sweet at the same time. I’m about to join them and give the birds part of my croissant when I see something across the square that causes my heart to swell.
A man is twirling his little girl around and around under a large shade tree. The ancient stones of the courtyard are dappled with sunlight breaking through the overhead covering. The whole scene is remarkably captivating, and I can’t seem to look away.
I can’t hear what they’re saying, but the little girl throws her head back and laughs when her father gives her one last spin before bowing down in front of her. I used to dance with my dad just like that.
The little girl curtsies before walking into the medieval-looking building next to them. The man turns around and heads in my direction. He’s practically upon me before I realize I know him. It’s Alistair.
I hurry to lower my eyes, hoping he doesn't recognize me, but I’m not fast enough. He lifts his hand and waves in a tentative fashion like he doesn’t know whether his greeting will be well-received. “Lutéce, good morning.”
“Alistair.” I can’t think of anything else to say. Was that Alistair’s daughter? If so, where is her mother? Is he still involved with her?
“Are you enjoying our little town?” he asks.
“I’ve just gotten here, but so far, I can highly recommend the hot chocolate.” Like he needs my recommendation.
“Yes, Julia makes wonderful chocolate. Would you like some company, or are my sisters joining you?” He lifts his eyebrow in a supercilious way.
This man is so arrogant and full of himself, I want to knock him down a peg. “I’m alone, by choice.” Put that in your pipe, Alistair. I don’t want you here.
“Well then,” he pulls out the chair across the table from me and sits down, “I’ll join you.”
I jump to my feet and say, “I was just finishing up.”
“Lutéce, sit down.” His tone is forceful.
I don’t want to sit down, and I’m sure as heck not going to do it because he commanded me to. But when he quietly adds, “please,” my knees weaken, and I sort of collapse back onto my chair. “I’m not your enemy,” he says.
“I never said you were.” I sound bratty, even to my own ears.
“Yes, but you treat me like a wad of chewing gum on the bottom of your shoe, and I can’t figure out why.”
“You mean because I’m not falling down at your feet in awe that you’re a prince?” Heat-infused anger burns my cheeks.
“I don’t know what I’ve done that has caused you to dislike me so much. I certainly don’t require that you worship me, but as your future brother-in-law, one might think there would be some familial kindness in you somewhere.”
“You’re not my future brother-in-law, Geoffrey is.”
“But Geoffrey is my brother, so that must make us …” He picks a piece off the corner of my croissant and puts it into his mouth.
I’m totally captivated as I watch the morsel pass his full lips and land on his tongue. “That makes us nothing,” I assure him while trying to force myself out of my trance.
“Would you feel better if I told you that I have no romantic interest in you? I just want to be friendly and get to know you in the vein of a distant relation.” Oddly, that doesn’t make me feel better.
“You’re very flirtatious for someone who claims to only have friendly intentions.” I sound like a Victorian maiden on the verge of having the vapors.
“I’m a friendly man, Lutéce. I’m also a fairly bright one. I promise to take your lack of interest to heart. But just because you aren’t interested in a wild, passionate affair doesn’t mean that we can’t be cordial. Wouldn’t you agree?”
My brain jumps straight to an image of having a wild, passionate affair with Alistair. My mouth goes as dry as the Sahara. “I… I… that is to say… I…” I have no idea what to say.
“Why don’t you let me show you around a bit. I promise I won’t do or say anything the least bit untoward.” A wave of something like disappointment washes over me.
Well, damn, now what do I do? If I say no, I’ll look petulant and prissy, not that I should care. “I suppose that would be okay,” I finally manage.
“Why don’t we start with the fountain?” He stands and offers me his hand. I take it, but only as a support while I get on my feet, then I drop it like a hot potato.
As we walk across the cobble stones, Alistair announces, “This fountain was built over two hundred years ago by King Charles. It was to honor his
great love of birds.”
Said fountain resembles a giant three-tiered bird bath with stone birds perched all around the perimeter. “It’s very nice,” I somehow utter without my throat closing on me. Alistair is standing so close our shoulders are touching, and I’m left once again trying to exorcize the image of a passionate affair with the man.
“I used to come here with my siblings, and we’d take our shoes off and wade in the water. Do you want to try it?”
“Is that even allowed?”
He winks at me while kicking off his loafers. When he bends down to roll up his pant legs, I look around, expecting a police officer to blow a whistle. After his mission is accomplished, Alistair stands up and walks barefoot the few feet to the fountain, then he gets in. “Come on!” he calls out.
I want to, I really do, but I don’t want him to think it means anything. As though reading my mind, he adds, “It will just be two future non-relations cooling their toes. Nothing more.”
Kicking off my flats and leaving them next to his shoes, I tentatively join him. One toe in confirms the water is icy cold and very refreshing. But when my foot hits the bottom, it nearly slides out from under me due to all the coins that have been tossed in the water. “What are the coins used for?” I ask as he reaches out to help steady me.
With his hands around my waist, he says, “The sisters at the abbey collect them once a year and use them to purchase Christmas presents for those in need.”
“That’s lovely,” I say, pulling away from him and almost falling again. “I think I’ll just sit on the edge.”
His eyes twinkle in a way that causes my stomach to react in something I call the roller coaster effect. “It takes great skill and technique to run in a fountain full of coins.” He takes one slow step, steadies himself, then slowly picks up speed until he’s full on splashing around in a circle. The whole scene looks as ridiculous as it does enticing. I can’t help the laughter that bursts out of me.
“Hey now, you there, shoo!” the old lady calls out. “You’re scaring the birds away.”
Alistair stops running and replies, “I’m terribly sorry, madam.”
“You should be. All you kids think about is your own fun, but you never stop to consider the birds.” Her arms are crossed in front of her like a genie about to nod her head and make him disappear. I wonder if she knows who he is.
“My family has a great love of birds,” he tells her.
“Your ancestors did, but you lot have been scaring these poor creatures away since you were wee ones.” Ah, so she does know him. I like how she doesn’t treat him with deference.
Alistair bows his head. “You have my most humble apology.”
“Psh, I don’t need your pretty manners. I need you to get out of that fountain and quit disturbing my friends.”
As he follows her orders, I cannot help but tease, “I don’t think she’s a fan of yours.”
He winks before answering, “You should get her phone number. The two of you could have hours of fun sharing your many reasons for disliking me.”
And while the truth is that I want to dislike Alistair very much, I can’t help but find him charming at the same time.
No good can come from this.
Chapter Fourteen
Queen Charlotte
“Andrew and Alistair both seem to enjoy Lutéce’s company,” the queen says while passing her guest a tray of bite-size tarts.
“I was telling my husband the same thing just last night.” The corners of Sheila’s mouth turn up in a smile before she adds, “He told me to mind my own business.”
“Alfred told me the same thing. What do you say we ignore them?” Queen Charlotte pours a cup of tea and hands it across the small coffee table.
“I never take bad advice. Do you have a strategy in mind?”
Stirring a spoonful of sugar into her cup, the queen answers, “As Andrew is the future king, he should really marry a woman from our country. For that reason alone, I suggest we set our sights on Alistair.”
“I don’t think Lutéce likes him very much.” Then with a laugh, Sheila declares, “Which actually makes him perfect for her.”
“How so?”
“Lu has a long history of claiming to dislike men she’s really drawn to. It goes back to Tommy Langham in the eighth grade. She spent all year claiming he was the stupidest, vainest boy in the whole school. Then Tommy asked her friend to their promotion dance and Lu spent the whole summer crying over it.”
“If what you’re saying is true, then I think it’s safe to assume Lutéce is more drawn to Alistair than Andrew,” the queen replies.
“Now, all we have to do is figure out how to get her to admit that what she’s feeling is attraction and not annoyance. Any ideas?”
With her eyes shining brightly, Charlotte declares, “Oh, I have ideas.”
Alistair
After getting kicked out of the fountain, I sit down on a bench next to Lutéce to let my feet dry before putting my shoes back on. “That same old gal has been feeding the birds here for as long as I can remember.”
“Ah, so this wasn’t your first rodeo with her, huh?”
“I’ve never heard that saying before, but I’m hoping I’m not the bull in your scenario.” I love American colloquialisms. Even though they rarely make sense, they’re always colorful. My favorite is when they say something is a piece of cake. As there’s often no cake involved, I finally had to break down and do an internet search to discover its true meaning.
“What I meant is that she’s obviously kicked you out of the fountain before.”
“Ah, yes, several times. I’ve never seen her here with another person. I wonder if she regards the birds as her family.”
“How sad.” Lutéce’s brow furrows.
“Not if you like birds,” I tell her.
“I meant, how sad that she doesn’t have anyone else.”
“Again, not if she actually enjoys birds more than people.” I seem to be missing her point.
We both sit quietly for several moments, when my companion finally says, “I sometimes worry about winding up alone.” She seems to regret the comment immediately because she jumps to her feet. “I think I’ll head back to the palace now.”
“Nonsense,” I say while putting my loafers back on. “You’ve never been to Malquar before, and there are several sites you should see.”
“I don’t want to take up all of your time,” she says, clearly hoping I’ll let her go.
“I have nothing on my schedule for the rest of the day.”
“Other than visiting your daughter, you mean.” What is she talking about?
“What daughter?”
“The little girl you were dancing with across the courtyard.” She points in the direction of the abbey.
“That wasn’t my daughter, that was Millicent.” Does Lutéce think I’ve fathered children outside of wedlock? What kind of cad does she take me for?
“Who is Millicent?”
“She’s one of the orphans at Shepherd’s Home. I’m their sponsor.”
“You sponsor an orphanage?” She sounds genuinely surprised, which once again offends.
“Why is that such a hard thing for you to believe?”
“It just doesn’t fit my impression of you is all,” she says bluntly. Too bluntly.
“What is your impression of me, Lutéce?” I demand.
“You’re rather arrogant.”
“Don’t hold back,” I snap. “You’ve met me twice, and in that vast amount of time, arrogant is the only adjective you’ve come up with?”
“No. I also think you’re overly flirtatious and stuck-up.”
Why am I bothering spending time with this woman? “First of all, arrogant and stuck-up are the same thing. As far as overly flirtatious, I can see why you don’t have a man in your life.”
“What a horrible thing to say.”
“Why? Men are generally flirtatious with women they find attractive. If you think that’s a
bad quality, then clearly you’re not interested in men.” A light turns on in my brain and I chuckle. “Why didn’t I see it before? You’re not interested in men at all are you?” Before she can answer, I decide, “You’re a lesbian.”
“I’m not a lesbian.” She rolls her eyes like that’s outside the realm of possibility. “Just because a woman doesn’t fall at your feet doesn’t mean she’s gay.”
“I’ve got nothing against gay people, which you must clearly know as you were at my sister’s wedding to her wife.”
“I’m not a lesbian, you ass!” she yells loudly enough that the old ladies are now staring at us and not at the pigeons pecking at their feet.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself.” In truth, I believe her, but I’m still smarting from her blatant disregard. It’s not like I’m a hardened criminal who has done something atrocious like put pineapple on pizza.
“I’m going to get going.” Lutéce turns on her heel and walks away.
“Fine!” I yell after her. “I don’t want to spend any more time with you, either.” I sound like a child in a full pout, but I can’t help it. This woman brings out the absolute worst in me.
My tantrum has drawn more than the old ladies’ attention. Three university-age girls who are sitting at a nearby table jump up and practically sprint in my direction. One of them asks, “Are you Prince Alistair?”
Before I can answer, another wants to know, “Can I get your autograph?”
“I would be delighted to give you my autograph,” I tell them. Then, horror of horrors, I call out, “Did you hear that, Lutéce? These beautiful young ladies don’t seem to dislike me. They want my autograph!” Even as I yell this, I realize how juvenile I sound.
Lutéce doesn’t look back. She just walks away like I’m nothing more than a pesky fly. A smart man would take the hint and give up trying to prove his worth to an unappreciative audience.
Unfortunately, my mind seems to have gone on holiday.
You're So Vain: A Royal Haters to Lovers Romance (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 4) Page 7
