Royal Affair

by Alice Gaines

  *

  Someone had graciously ordered coffee for Friedrich’s interrogation. Standing in the gold sitting room—the site of so many family confrontations over the years—he poured himself a cup and waited for the others to arrive.

  Dev appeared first and went directly to the coffee service. “Not an occasion for brandy?”

  “Too early in the day.” Friedrich took a seat on one of the divans and tasted his coffee. “Besides, I don’t think I’ll need the fortification.”

  Dev chose an armchair and sat. “What’s this all about?”

  “I’ll let my youngest explain. He called this meeting.”

  The other two arrived. Kurt appeared in his usual calm mood. Ulrich, on the other hand, had obviously rushed dressing because his shirt wasn’t buttoned to the top, and his socks didn’t match. He must have thrown on whatever he found.

  Kurt also served himself some coffee and selected a seat near Friedrich. After a moment, he glanced up at his younger brother. “Are you going to tell us what his is all about?”

  “You would not believe,” Ulrich began, “where our dear, upstanding father slept last night.”

  Dev arched an eyebrow. “In the palace, I assume.”

  “Of course, in the palace.” Ulrich let out a huff. “Where else?”

  “I don’t know,” Dev said. “If you’re going to play guessing games, that’s my best effort.”

  Kurt tried to suppress a chuckle, but it came out as a cough.

  “I suppose you all think this is very funny,” Ulrich said.

  “How can I when I don’t know what it’s about?” Kurt said.

  Friedrich remained silent, sipping his coffee from time to time. He’d have to tell his children about his plans to marry Marta at some point. That’s where he’d been headed since the beginning of their affair. He’d want them all to be happy about the match, but he wouldn’t allow any of them to keep him from the woman he loved. If Ulrich objected now, he’d come around. Most likely his reaction came from shock to discover that his father had engaged in the marital act. No child liked to think about a parent having sex.

  “Our father spent the night in the arms of Lady Marta. No, in her…” For a moment, Ulrich appeared as if he’d choke on the word. “…bed.”

  Dev’s eyes widened. “Do tell.”

  “I found him leaving her suite early this morning, and he hadn’t changed clothes since the night before.” Ulrich pointed an accusing finger toward Friedrich. “Obviously, he’d spent the night with her.”

  “Father, you scoundrel.” Kurt’s face broke into a grin. “I never would have guessed.”

  “That was the whole point of keeping it quiet,” Friedrich said.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything to defend yourself?” Ulrich demanded.

  Friedrich calmly set his cup on the table at his elbow. “Why should I? It’s all true.”

  “Well done, Father,” Dev said. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “I’m getting old, but I’m not dead,” Friedrich said.

  Ulrich made another one of his grand gestures. “What about your heart?”

  “My heart is perfectly fine,” he answered. “As you well know.”

  “If you’re worried about his health, love will keep him younger,” Kurt said. “Sex, too.”

  “By God, I thought I’d noticed a spring in your step,” Dev said. “This is wonderful, Father. Just wonderful.”

  Ulrich gaped at his brothers as if they were speaking a language he didn’t understand. “Aren’t you two forgetting something?”

  “I’m sure you’ll remind us if we are,” Kurt said.

  “They’re not married.” Ulrich threw up his hands in pure frustration.

  “And you’re the arbiter of decency now, little brother?” Dev said. “As I recall, you got around pretty well before you met Dixie.”

  “That was me. This is…well…him,” Ulrich said.

  Dev rose, went to his little brother, and put a hand on his shoulder. “He’s a man just like us. He’s been lonely for a long time.”

  “Have you, Father?” Kurt asked.

  All three of them stared at him, waiting for an answer. What could he tell them? He’d thought himself happy all these years.

  “I had you. I had Danislova,” he said.

  “That’s not enough, though, is it?” Dev said.

  “I thought it was.” Friedrich shrugged. “I was wrong.”

  Still, he wouldn’t regret those years. They’d made him into who he was today, and they’d brought him around to Marta. Finally. No, he’d taken the right path, even if it had proved a long one.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” Kurt said. “We didn’t know.”

  “You couldn’t have.”

  “Well, at least, he ought to marry her,” Ulrich said.

  “I have to agree with him on that,” Dev said, and Kurt nodded.

  “I gather you’d all accept her as Princess Royal, then,” Friedrich said.

  “Yes,” Kurt said.

  “Hell, yes,” Dev added.

  The two of them looked at Ulrich, who held up his hands in surrender. “Of course I would. I’m not the idiot you all think I am.”

  “Sometimes you surprise us,” Kurt said. “Other times…”

  Ulrich let out another huff and finally went to the coffee service and poured himself a cup. Display of outrage over, it appeared.

  “Of course, the lady has to agree,” Friedrich said. “She wouldn’t be marrying me but an entire nation.”

  “She’s perfect for the job, Father,” Kurt said.

  “Gut. Then, I’ll ask her to marry me. Wish me luck.”

  Chapter Six

  Yet another royal wedding. This time, Marta wore the new gown she’d kept to herself so she could surprise Friedrich with it. The sapphire silk bared much of her shoulders, emphasizing the length of her neck. It plunged a bit in the back, but otherwise covered every inch of her body, including sleeves that went all the way to her wrists. She’d indulged herself with the diamond tiara she’d inherited from her grandmother, and a sole, finely cut stone hung from a chain at her neck. And she’d found some expensive perfume that gave off the scents of a rose garden on a warm day. When they danced, he wouldn’t miss the connection to the scent of her shampoo that he’d commented on so many times.

  Official duties kept him busy for the ceremony and the beginning of the ball. So she stayed with Felice and Casey until their husbands escorted them to the dance floor. Now she took her usual position and watched all the other couples swirling in a waltz.

  Of course, an occasion like this served as a hunting ground for one of Friedrich’s less savory relatives, and the man himself appeared with two flutes of champagne. With a little bow, Vaclav offered one to Marta. “Dear lady, you appear to need refreshment.”

  “Thank you.” She took the champagne and sipped it. She’d dealt with this one before, and though the chore was always tedious, she’d never had any problem with him she couldn’t handle.

  “What a lovely dress, Marta,” he said. “Have I seen it before?”

  “I don’t believe you know my entire wardrobe.”

  “I was right, then. I would certainly not forget how that…” His voice trailed off as his fingers roamed dangerously close to her shoulder.

  She stepped far enough away to let him know not to touch her. Although he gave her an oily smile, he didn’t follow.

  He did sigh. “Another beautiful American lost to mankind.”

  “You mean Dixie Beaumont?”

  “A jewel in the rough,” he said. “I could have polished her to such brilliance.”

  No doubt, but what woman wanted that kind of polishing? “How did your pursuit of her mother go?”

  “Bah. Her boor of a husband arrived. Coarse beyond endurance.”

  Which meant, no doubt, that Mr. Beaumont had given Vaclav an earful about why he should stay away from Mrs. Beaumont. Well deserved.

  “So, sadly, I find
myself alone on such a joyous occasion.” He placed his hand over his heart and hung his head.

  “Odd. I thought more than twenty people accompanied you from Rosnia.”

  “Ah, but I see them all the time. They hold no mystery.”

  “Surely, there must be one lady—”

  “None as beautiful as you,” he said. “Let’s dance, shall we?”

  And suffer the same treatment he’d given Casey at a ball? His hands had landed on her derriere, prompting some very salty language from Casey. If only Marta had that kind of courage. Instead, she held up her glass. “I’m still drinking my champagne.”

  He finished his in one gulp, but he couldn’t make her do the same. As long as she had wine in her glass, she was safe.

  And then, rescue arrived in the person of Friedrich. No man in the world looked better in formal dress than him. The tailcoat fit his shoulders perfectly, and the satin sash across his chest marked him as royalty. Surely, fairy tales were written for princes like him.

  He took one glance at Marta and Vaclav and sized up the situation. Of course, he’d had experience with his cousin. Vaclav made a slight bow, which Friedrich reciprocated.

  “You promised me this dance, I believe,” he said to Marta.

  “Why yes, I did.” She handed her glass to Vaclav. “Thank you for the refreshment.”

  Vaclav struggled for words briefly, but before he could get any out, Friedrich had led her onto the dance floor and taken her in his arms.

  They’d danced so many times before, and she’d always savored the strength and warmth of being close to him. He led her in the steps without any apparent effort, and soon they were swirling on a cloud of his making.

  This time meant so much more. He’d told her he loved her. They’d enjoyed a far more intimate dance and then the tender touches and sounds that followed. Those sensations came rushing back to her now, when she had to behave like a lady, not the wanton he’d created inside her. It was almost too much—as if she should get away before she did something to betray all the feelings trying to burst out of her.

  He didn’t speak for the longest time, and she had to imagine he felt the same way. Still, she held herself back, not bringing herself firmly against him nor laying her head on his shoulder.

  “I’m getting quite used to these weddings,” he said finally. “They’re actually enjoyable once everyone relaxes.”

  “Dixie did beautifully, and Ulrich managed to get through the service in one piece.”

  “He did.” A bit more of a pause. “I wonder if we shouldn’t have another wedding soon.”

  Her heart seemed to stop for a full second. With no more sons to marry off, the only person remaining in his family was himself. She couldn’t make herself speak, so she kept dancing.

  “Ulrich was quite scandalized by our affair,” Friedrich said.

  “Was he?”

  “He demanded I marry you,” he said. “My other sons agreed.”

  She gazed up into his face. “You discussed this with them?”

  “They did catch me coming out of your suite in the early morning.”

  They had, or Ulrich had and told the others. She hadn’t helped matters by sticking her head out into the hallway and taunting him. Still, Friedrich might have made his intentions clear to her first.

  Oh good heaven. Her dream was coming true. Why should she care about who he spoke to and in what order?

  “Well then, I suppose we’re thoroughly disgraced if we don’t wed,” she said. Had she just agreed to marry him so glibly? And what kind of proposal started with a command from his son?

  “So if you would be good enough to make an honest man of me, I’d be honored if you’d become my wife,” he said.

  “That does seem the prudent thing to do,” she said. “So, yes.”

  Everything she’d ever wanted in the world slid right into place. She’d have the man she loved, and she could share his children. She’d be a grandmother. She should be laughing and kissing him and hugging him, not minding the steps of a dance. They’d do all that later.

  Finally, he looked down at her and gave her the sort of smile that lifted her off her feet. “Thank you, Liebling. I’ll make you happy. I promise.”

  “You already have.”

  “We’ll have to introduce you to the people as Princess Royal, but Grigori sees no problem in that.”

  “You spoke to him about this, too?”

  “I had to consider Danislova,” he said. “A Prince Royal can’t simply follow his heart in these matters.”

  She could point out that Dev had. But why? They came from different generations, and Felice wouldn’t become Princess Royal for many years, God willing. The people would have to accept Marta now.

  “Have I done something wrong?” he asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “Good, we’ll make the announcement in a week or so.”

  The music stopped, and he studied her for few seconds. Then, he smiled, curled her arm around his and led her from the dance floor. As they walked, he bent to place his lips to her ear. “Ich liebe dich.”

  “And I you,” she answered softly.

  And that was it. She was engaged to him. And his family and Danislova. He hadn’t dropped to his knee and declared his undying love. He hadn’t recited poetry or sworn that he’d shrivel and die without her. She should be used to the men of her generation by now—not demonstrative but showing their dedication through their actions. He’d been an excellent husband to Cecile, and he would to her as well. And she could share his bed and his life every night and every day.

  “I’m happy,” he said. “What about you?”

  “Delirious.” And she was. She truly was.

  *

  Now that the family knew their news, Marta could be freer with Friedrich, at least at the palace. There had been no official announcement for the public yet, but she’d stood by his side with his arm around her as they’d said good-bye first to Dixie and Ulrich as they headed out on their honeymoon in the Danislovan countryside and then to Kurt and Casey as they returned to New York. That had felt so good.

  She’d let him bid farewell to the Beaumonts on his own, thank you very much. But at least they’d left.

  Now she could sneak into his study in the middle of the day for a kiss if she wanted, and she always wanted. They’d made it into a little ritual.

  A few days after all the departures, the weather was so lovely, she’d decided to pull him away from his work long enough for a walk in the forest that surrounded the palace. Away from the public eye, they’d walk hand in hand down to the river where Kurt loved to fish.

  She’d grasped the knob to his study door and opened it an inch when she caught an unusual sound. A sob. Friedrich’s voice. He was crying?

  She quietly let herself in and closed the door behind her. Sure enough, he sat behind his desk, his eyes red. He swiped a tear away, started to shove some papers into his desk drawer and then changed his mind, leaving them on the surface.

  “Come in, please,” he said.

  “Friedrich, what’s wrong?” Such a strong man, she’d never imagined that anything could make him cry except for a tragedy. Something terrible must have happened. “Your sons are all right, aren’t they? Their wives? Felice?”

  Oh, God, Felice. Had she lost the child? Oh, no. Her heart pounding, Marta sank into a chair across from him and waited for him to speak.

  “It was a long time ago,” he said. “When I was very young.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re frightening me.”

  “Read this.” He handed one of the papers to her. It was a hand-written letter.

  “Esteemed Prince Royal, Friedrich VonRamsberg,

  We never met, but early in my marriage my wife confided in me that the two of you had become lovers whilst on holiday in Italy.”

  “What is this?” She reached for the envelope, turned it over and found a return address in England.

  “My first love. A woman named Pamela,�
�� he said.

  Indeed. She continued reading.

  “I’m writing to inform you that Pamela died in her sleep early this morning. She’d had cancer for several months and was in considerable pain, but her passing was a peaceful one.”

  “This would have been before your marriage,” she said. It would have to have been. He never would have cheated on Cecile.

  “Before my parents’ death,” he said. “I shouldn’t have allowed it to happen, but I was so young.”

  He’d loved someone before Cecile, and he hadn’t told her about the woman. She’d told him everything, even about loving Etienne and their clumsy attempts at sex. Why was she only learning about this now?

  “Pamela asked me before she died to send you a picture of us with our children and grandchildren,” the letter went on. “She wanted you to know that her life had been a full and happy one.”

  “There’s a picture?” she said.

  He passed a photograph across the desk to her, and she found herself staring at the face of a woman he’d loved so profoundly that her death brought him to tears decades later.

  Pamela and her husband sat surrounded by several pairs of adults—their children and sons- and daughters-in-law, no doubt. Some held babies in their arms. Pamela was a striking woman with golden hair shot through with white. She’d obviously been very beautiful when young.

  “It was good of him to send you this,” Marta said. But her voice seemed to come from somewhere outside of her. The right words. She always knew the right words. Her thoughts, though, were swirling in chaos. Why hadn’t he told her? Why did he care so deeply after all this time? Did he still love this other woman? Was her own upcoming marriage to him only to be for comfort and—yes—sex?

  And she couldn’t keep her treacherous mind from remembering—why had he proposed the way he did? Why had he consulted with his family and his advisor before telling her he wanted to marry her?

  She shouldn’t read any more, but some devil inside her demanded to know everything. So she continued.

  “I never doubted that she loved me with her whole heart,” the letter continued. “But you were always her fairy-tale prince. Not many women have the opportunity to experience that dream, and I want you to know I’m grateful you could enrich her life in that way.”