Princes and Princesses: Favourite Royal Romances

by Barbara Cartland

  “When would you wish us to leave, Monsieur?”

  She found it difficult to address him in any other way. She had grown so used in the last eight years to saying Madam or Monsieur to everyone to whom she spoke that it came automatically to her lips.

  It was just the same with Magda who she was certain would never remember to call her anything but ‘M’mselle Ilona’.

  “We wish to leave immediately, Your Royal Highness,” the Foreign Secretary had replied, “but there is one thing I must mention.”

  “What is that?” Ilona asked.

  “His Majesty would not expect you to be wearing black!”

  “But that is because His Majesty did not know that my mother was dead, and I am in mourning,” Ilona replied.

  “You have my deepest condolences,” the Foreign Secretary replied, “but nevertheless I would not be doing my duty if I did not impress upon you that it would be impossible for you to arrive in Dabrozka wearing the gown you have on.”

  “But why, Monsieur? Will you not explain your reason for making such a statement?” Ilona enquired curiously.

  “His Majesty has decided that too much time is wasted on funerals and the tending of graves,” the Foreign Secretary replied.

  “Too much time?” Ilona exclaimed.

  “Yes, Your Royal Highness. He has therefore closed the Church-yards, and once people have been buried they may no longer be visited by their relatives.”

  “I have never heard anything so absurd!” Ilona declared.

  “It is His Majesty’s decree, no Dabrozkan is allowed to show any sign of mourning by wearing black, and the Prayers for the Dead have been deleted from the Church services.”

  Ilona sat very still.

  She was horrified at what she had heard. At the same time to express her feelings too forcibly would, she knew, be considered by her mother to be over-emotional.

  After all, she reasoned with herself, although she missed her mother unbearably, she was certain that she was not dead.

  More than once when she had been alone she had felt that her mother was near her and knew that her love still encompassed her.

  “I have few clothes,” she said aloud, “and the only new ones I possess are black. What little money my mother and I had during the Siege of Paris was required to buy food.”

  “I was empowered by His Majesty before we left to pur- chase anything you require,” the Foreign Secretary replied. “I therefore suggest that Your Royal Highness furnishes yourself with everything you need.”

  Ilona thanked him politely but there was an irrepressible little gleam of excitement in her eyes.

  What woman could resist after years of pinching and saving to be able to buy without any restrictions the delectable, smart, elaborate gowns for which Paris was famous?

  She started out early the next morning with Magda and they visited all the great Couturiers who until now had only been names to her.

  During the years she had been in Paris it would have been impossible for Ilona not to know of the extravagance, the luxury and the exotic splendour which had flourished during the reign of Louis-Napoleon.

  The Empress Eugénie had set the fashion in a dozen different ways by wearing the first crinoline which had astounded and beguiled the male population, by ordering velvet from Lyons, lace from Normandy.

  She created employment for thousands of workers in the silk, cotton and feather trades, besides encouraging Jewellers, Hatters, Silversmiths and tradesmen, of every sort.

  Even at the Convent the girls had talked of the huge parties given at the Tuilleries Palace: and in every great mansion in Paris.

  What is more, Ilona would have been blind when she rode in the Bois if she had not noticed Ladies who were certainly not aristocrats but who drove behind the finest and most expensive horses, and whose costumes and jewellery made them look like glittering birds of Paradise!

  “Such women area disgrace!” Maagda had declared.

  But Ilona had thought them very pretty and colourful.

  Because she felt that her father owed her something for all the years of obscurity, for the privation and suffering she and her mother had endured during the Siege, Ilona bought herself an entire trousseau.

  There were gowns for the evening, gowns for the afternoon, for morning and for every other possible occasion.

  There were wraps edged with swansdown or fur, embroidered with sequins and gold thread.

  There were hats trimmed with feathers, flowers and ribbons to perch on top of her head and small sunshades decorated to match, edged with real lace.

  She bought shoes, gloves and reticules, silk stockings and underclothes that were of such fine silk that they would easily pass through a ring.

  It was all a delight -and an excitement she had never expected and when finally she looked in the mirror she found it hard to recognise herself.

  Never before had she recognised the beauty of her dark red-gold hair which she had inherited from her mother.

  Never before had she been aware that her skin was so white or that her eyes in certain lights were a definite shade of green.

  Her small waist, her curved breasts had never been seen to advantage in the gowns or cheap materials which were all her mother could afford.

  She had seen the admiration in the Foreign Secretary’s eyes and the gentleman with him when they had called as arranged to escort her to the Railway Station.

  There were huge trunks of clothes filling up the hall of the tiny house, but Ilona told them they contained only a part of her purchases, and the rest when they were ready would be sent on to her.

  She knew that the Foreign Secretary had looked slightly shocked when he glanced at the great sheaf of bills that she presented to him.

  But she told herself that if she was to revert to her Royal rank at least she must be dressed as befitted a Princess.

  What she would hardly dare admit to herself was that her new clothes gave her confidence.

  She had a feeling that to return to her father’s protection looking shabby and poverty-stricken would be almost an invitation for him to crush her, to make her feel subservient and even more afraid of him than she was already.

  “I will not let him know that I am frightened,” Ilona told herself a hundred times as the train carried her away from Paris towards a new life.

  She was old enough now to realise what her mother had suffered before she had with almost incredible daring left her husband and refused to return.

  The Queen had been certain that had the King been able to find her he would have dragged her back to Dabrozka by force.

  But they had covered their tracks well and the Queen’s close friends would never have betrayed her.

  Dabrozka was also such a small country that it was not of much interest to those who lived in Western Europe. Yet in its own way it was of great political importance because of its independence.

  It had been left alone by the Turks when they had extended their Empire from Greece to the boundaries of Rumania, when the Austrians subdued Hungary they had ignored Dabrozka.

  Perhaps its almost impregnable barrier of high mountains had something to do with it, besides the fact that the Dabrozkans were known to be fearless and ferocious fighters.

  Whatever the reason, Dabrozka, with its precipitous mountain passes, its deep gorges and smiling valleys, was still an independent State with its own Monarchy and its own age-old customs.

  As Magda finished fastening the exquisite gown of pale green silk which reminded Ilona of the grass on the steppe she walked to the window to look out at the incredible view.

  From the heights of the Palace she could see for many miles over the surrounding country.

  Yet through some freak of fate the Siros land which her father so detested was nearer than most other parts of his Kingdom.

  The river which lay below passed through the centre of the Capital of the country, Vitózi.

  On this side of it, Ilona could see the Cathedral, the Houses of P
arliament and a large number of impressive Municipal Buildings.

  On the other side lay both the rich and the poorer residential part of the city.

  There were white Villas surrounded by colourful gardens and narrow streets flanked with high wooden houses.

  Beyond them, half-hidden amongst the trees, were the peasants’ huts built of straw but nevertheless picturesque with their small-holdings in which they kept their sheep, pigs and goats.

  And beyond the City, high on a hill, and yet by no means as high as the Palace, was Sáros Castle, the home of the Princes of Sáros for centuries of time.

  She could just see its towers and turrets above the trees and the flag of its owner fluttering in the breeze.

  It looked very picturesque, for behind it rose one of the highest mountains of the Kingdom and down one side there ran a huge waterfall which after a torrent of rain would be haloed by a rainbow.

  The rich, undulating valley and the wooded slopes all lay below Ilona in the brilliant sunshine.

  Nothing, she knew, could be more fertile than the valleys which, protected by the mountains from the cold winds of Russia, could grow amazing crops which would make any country prosperous.

  And yet, unfairly and without a thought for justice, her father had imposed the penal taxes of which the Colonel had spoken.

  Ilona was certain that it would be impossible for the peasants to give away half their harvest and yet have enough left for themselves.

  “I shall have to speak about it to Papa,” she told herself.

  But although the words were brave she knew the mere thought of encountering his anger was enough to make her shiver with fear.

  “You are ready, M’mselle?” Magda asked. “It would be best not to keep His Majesty waiting too long.”

  “You are right, Magda, as usual,” Ilona smiled.

  She bent to kiss the old maid, adding,

  “Do not look so worried. Even if I am five minutes late he cannot eat me!”

  Yet when she walked down the great staircase with her hand on the gold bannister she felt apprehensive.

  But there was no sign of it when a footman in the Royal livery opened the door of the Salon where she knew her father would be waiting for her.

  He was standing at the far end of the room in front of a large stone fire-place which in the winter burnt logs as thick as beer-barrels.

  As she walked slowly towards him with the frills of her bustle rustling behind her over the carpet, she had to admit he was both very impressive and still an extremely handsome man.

  He had the square forehead and clear-cut features that were characteristic of the Dabrozkans, and while his hair was grey his thick eye-brows were still dark over his deep-set eyes, and his chin was square beneath his long moustache.

  He did not speak until Ilona was nearly at his side. Then he asked harshly,

  “Where the devil have you been? I sent for you an hour ago!”

  “I am sorry, Papa, to have kept you waiting,” Ilona replied, “but I told you that I was going riding and I did not learn that you desired to see me until my return.”

  “You should have come to me as soon as you arrived back at the Palace,” the King said.

  “I wished to change,” Ilona replied, “and I wished also, Papa, to show you one of my new gowns from Paris. I hope you admire it.”

  She turned round as if to let him see the full beauty of the gown with its bustle of cunningly contrived frills and the tightness of the bodice which gave her such an exquisite figure.

  “I have no time for such frivolities,” the King said impatiently. “There is a Deputation here to see me and I have kept them cooling their heels until you condescended to appear.”

  Ilona raised her eye-brows.

  “A deputation, Papa? What do they want?”

  “God knows! I expect they wish to complain. I seldom hear anything else! But if you are to take Julius’s place, then you had better be present when I grant them an audience.”

  Ilona was silent for a moment.

  She had found it difficult to believe what her father had meant when he told her on her arrival in Dabrozka what her position was to be.

  “Your brother is dead,” he had said abruptly. “Killed by those Sáros devils on whom one day I shall wreak revenge for their crime.”

  He spoke with such violence that Ilona replied,

  “I understood that Julius died by accident, Papa.”

  “Accident? When was the death of the heir to a throne ever an accident?” the King roared. “It was premeditated murder, and one day I will kill Aladár Sáros as he killed my son!”

  “Is it to tell me this that you brought me back from Paris?” Ilona asked.

  “No, of course not!” the King had answered. “I brought you back to take your brother’s place!”

  He had seen the worried expression in Ilona’s eyes and continued,

  “I have to have an heir and he must be a Radák. Because your mother was such a weakling and no fit wife for a robust man, she gave me only two children.”

  Ilona had clenched her fingers together at the insult to her mother, but because she knew she must control her feelings she had managed to say in an expressionless tone,

  “Will you explain, Papa, exactly what you expect of me?”

  “You will prepare yourself to reign over this country on my death,” the King answered, “not that I am thinking of dying as yet, but I was training Julius and now that he has gone I must train you!”

  As if the idea upset him the King kicked over a stool and as it crashed to the floor he said harshly,

  “God knows what a woman will do on the throne, but at least you are my own flesh and blood, and there is no-one else I can trust.”

  He had gone on to abuse violently Prince Aladár and all those who supported him.

  He was working himself up into one of his rages which Ilona remembered only too well were usually a prelude to violent action of some sort.

  Somehow she managed to mollify him and make him talk more sensibly about the country and the manner in which he wished it governed.

  She wished now she knew more about what he had done and why he had suddenly passed new laws.

  ‘Surely,’ she thought to herself, ‘someone could have persuaded him that they would cause so much suffering and resentment?’

  Aloud however she said demurely,

  “I shall be very honoured, Papa, to accompany you to receive the Deputation. Have you informed them of my arrival?”

  “Informed them? Why should I?” the King asked in a loud voice. “They will find out soon enough. Everything that happens in this damned valley is talked about as if it was shouted from the tops of the mountains!”

  That was true, Ilona thought, and she was quite certain that soon everyone in Dabrozka would be aware she had returned home.

  What she had meant was, had the Prime Minister and his Government been told of her new position?

  At the same time she was well aware that having told her she was to be his heir her father was quite capable of changing his mind.

  Her mother had told her often enough how unpredictable he could be in every way.

  His friend to-day was his enemy to-morrow, a public appearance arranged months ahead would be cancelled at the last minute.

  “It all caused so much unnecessary trouble and distress,” the Queen had said almost pathetically. “That is why, Ilona, you must always keep your word. You must never go back on a promise. Your integrity must never be in question.”

  “Come along! Come along!” the King was saying sharply. “If we have to see these blasted people let us get it over. I have something better to do than listen to their whining and their everlasting petitions!”

  Ilona followed him across the Salon.

  When they entered the Great Hall with its ancient weapons decorating the walls and its flags hanging from the bannisters, they turned down a wide corridor which led to the Throne Room.

  It was a very impr
essive room, re-built by her grandfather who had taken as a model the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles.

  The long windows which looked out over the formal gardens were reflected and re-reflected in the mirrors on either side of the room and the crystal glass candelabra and the gold embroidered curtains were exquisite.

  Not far from the door through which they had entered stood a dais on which there were two extremely impressive thrones.

  They were of gold set with amethysts and cornelians, all three mined in the Dabrozkan mountains, and mounted by a canopy also emblazoned with the same precious stones.

  The Queen’s throne was a smaller replica of the Kin; s and Ilona following her father onto the dais knew without asking that was where he wished her to sit.

  As soon as he had seated himself she sat down holding her back very straight, aware that the frilled train of her gown curved elegantly beside her.

  She looked with interest at the men standing in front of them.

  The spokesman who stood a little in front of the others was, she was certain, the Prime Minister, and she knew his name was Andreas Fúlek.

  All the Statesmen, and there were a dozen of them, bowed low to the King before Andreas Fúlek said,

  “We have asked to see Your Majesty on a matter of great importance.”

  “You always say that,” the King growled.

  The Prime Minister was not much older than forty, Ilona decided. He was not a tall man but he bore himself proudly.

  She had the feeling, even before she heard his quiet voice, that he was not afraid of her father as most people were. She could see the other Statesmen eyeing the King nervously and she was quite sure they were speculating as to what mood he was likely to be in and if their petition had any chance of being successful.

  “We have come into possession, Sire,” the Prime Minister went on, “of some extremely alarming information with regard to the intentions of the Russians towards our country.”

  “What do you mean - you have come into possession of information?” the King asked contemptuously. “Tell the truth, man, and say that what you have heard came from your gypsy spies, that scum you employ to tell you tales that have no substance in fact.”