A Princess In Waiting

He knew she needed help whether she’d admit it or not. Living in this humble cottage with only her faithful nanny was not suitable for a princess. Especially one pregnant with his brother’s child. Being deserted by his scoundrel of a brother was something that had to be righted. He was the one who could do it. He wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her away to the kind of life she deserved. However, she didn’t look as if she’d permit him or anyone else to sweep her off her feet.

She didn’t know why he was there, but he did. He’d planned his speech. He knew what he had to say, but now that he was there and she was looking at him with those incredible blue eyes, he could only stand and stare.

She’d changed. It had only been eight months, but she was not the same demure princess who’d so dazzled him on her wedding day. It wasn’t only her clothing, it was her manner. He’d thought she’d be meek and mild and jump at the chance he was going to offer her. Now he wasn’t so sure. She had a stubborn tilt to her chin, a proud look in her eyes and a certain tone to her voice. If he’d been infatuated with her before, he was fascinated now. He didn’t know what she was going to say next. He decided to put off his declaration.

He was saved by the entrance of her nanny.

“Lise,” Gertrude said, opening the greenhouse door just a crack. “Won’t you ask Monsieur Rodin in for some tea? I fear it’s chilly out there.”

Lise looked annoyed, but her manners didn’t fail her. “Of course,” she said. “Won’t you come in, Charles?”

He nodded. He was relieved, unwilling to leave without saying what he’d come to say, but not ready to say it. Not without some hope she’d agree to his plan.

In the cozy parlor a fire was blazing, the silver tea service was on the table and Gertrude was nowhere to be seen. Lise motioned to him to take a seat across from her on a chintz-covered love seat. He watched her pour the tea into two delicate china cups.

“Sugar, lemon?” she asked.

He shook his head. Though she was dressed like an artisan, she had the manners of a princess, and she always would. She’d grown up in a palace, but she seemed completely at home in this modest cottage. He wondered how much sorrow, how much disillusion she was hiding. He wondered if she still loved his brother. Or if she’d ever loved him. He knew it had been only a political match on his brother’s part, but what if he’d broken Lise’s heart? If he had, Charles would never forgive him.

“What are your plans?” he asked.

“Plans?” she asked.

“For the future.”

“Ah, the future. Good question. First I will call the repairman again about the leaky roof. When it rains, he’s always too busy, and when it stops and the sun shines, he goes fishing.”

He glanced at the ceiling.

“It’s in the kitchen.”

“Let me handle it for you. I know a man I can send. You shouldn’t have to live like this, you know.”

“I live very well,” she said so swiftly, he knew he’d said the wrong thing. Her blue eyes were cool and distant. “Much better than I lived in Rhineland. I have my nanny, my work and the freedom to do what I please, be what I please.”

“What about the baby?” He couldn’t help letting his gaze stray to her stomach. There was no sign of maternity there. Not yet. Yet he thought he noticed a slight rounding of her cheeks, a smoothing of her brow. But maybe he was just imagining the effects of pregnancy, of which he knew nothing. He’d always hoped to find someone, a woman to share his life with, to bear his children. But he’d always known he’d never find anyone as lovely as Lise de Bergeron.

“The baby will fit in to my life. I have a large bedroom.” She gestured toward a pair of French doors to her left. “Plenty of room for a cradle.”

He almost told her that babies grew up and needed rooms of their own, but he didn’t. She knew that and it was none of his business.

“Whatever happened to our star-crossed ancestors?” he asked, changing the subject to something safer and less personal. “Frederic the Bold and Princess Gabrielle. I don’t remember the end of the story. Or maybe I never heard it. Sometimes Grandfather got distracted or confused.”

“I don’t believe Frederic ever married,” Lise said. “He resisted all royal efforts to marry him off to one European princess or another. It’s too bad I didn’t follow his example.” Though her tone was light, a shadow fell over her pale face.

“Don’t blame yourself,” he said frowning. “There were reasons.”

“Of course,” she said. “There always are. Being small and defenseless, St. Michel has always needed alliances with foreign powers. Believe me, I’ve heard it over and over from my father and grandmother.”

“But it’s wrong to use humans as pawns in these games,” he said.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she refilled his cup. “And the beautiful Gabrielle?” she asked. “What became of her? Did she marry her fiancé?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll have to do some research and get back to you on that. If Grandfather were here…”

“You miss him,” she said simply, her expression softening.

Yes, he missed the old man in many ways. Someone he could go to with his troubles. Someone who’d listen with a sympathetic ear. Someone who cared about him when no one else seemed to.

“Yes. He was the one person…” He stopped abruptly. Why go into family matters? She’d presumably had her fill of the dysfunctional Rodin family while living in Rhineland with his brother. Talking about the distant past was safer and allowed him to keep the dialog going, to keep the connection between them. Maybe it happened a long time ago, maybe it was history repeating itself. Whatever it was, he knew he’d do anything to forge a bond between Lise and himself. A bond that had nothing to do with his brother.

“I mustn’t keep you any longer, Charles,” she said, glancing at the door. It was plain she was dismissing him before he’d said what he’d come to say.

He’d hoped to establish a mood and set up the appropriate atmosphere. He’d planned to lead up to it gradually, but he no longer had time. It was clear it had to be now. He stood and looked down at her. The silence in the room was deafening. It was now or never. He took a deep breath.

“I came today to offer you my hand in marriage,” he said.

Chapter Two

There, it was out.

Lise turned pale. She braced herself with her hands on the seat cushion of her chair. Her mouth fell open in surprise. Good thing she was sitting down, because he was afraid she was going to faint. He went down on his knees next to her and held out his hand, but she ignored the gesture and leaned back against the cushions. Her eyelids fluttered.

He cursed himself for being so blunt. He’d obviously said it all wrong. How did he know? He’d never proposed to anyone before. Never wanted to settle down with any woman he’d ever met. Only one. And she was taken. Now she was free.

His view of marriage had always been shaped by that of his parents. He wanted no part of any institution that was designed to bring together suitable mates to ensure political stability. His parents were polite to each other, but he’d never witnessed much warmth or affection between them. But this was a different situation. There was no doubt in his mind this was his obligation, his duty. If it were only that, he could explain it to her rationally. But there was nothing rational about the way he felt about her. Nothing rational about the way the desire surged through his veins.

“I’ve taken you by surprise,” he said, getting to his feet and clasping his hands together behind his back. He couldn’t tell her he loved her or that he desired her, that would only frighten her and she surely wouldn’t believe him. He had to present it from another angle. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but surely you see the logic of it. How advantageous it would be.”

“Oh yes,” she said, leaning forward, the color rising in her face. “Because I married for political advantage the last time, it seems obvious to you I should do so again. But I’m not the same woman I was. I’m on my own now. My father is dead, God rest his soul, and from now on, I make my own decisions. I have learned many painful lessons in these past eight months. One is this: I will never marry again. Not for any reason.” Her blue eyes shot sparks of determination. He stared fascinated. This was not what he expected. An inner strength forged by what had happened to her.

“My brother has done this to you,” Charles said. His brother had turned a sweet young girl into a stubborn young woman. He’d never forgive him for destroying her innocence. It was up to him to make it up to her. To show her all men were not like his brother.

“I agreed to the match so I bear some responsibility,” she said. “Yes, I did it to please my father, but I could have resisted. I didn’t. He was very strong-willed.”

“It seems to run in the family,” he said. He had to admit he admired her willpower, in spite of the fact that she was using it against him.

“Perhaps,” she said with a rueful half smile.

“If you won’t think of yourself, think of the child. I want to give it a home, a father.”

Her smile faded. “You want to be the father of my child,” she said flatly, in obvious disbelief.

“Yes.” He couldn’t stop his gaze from resting on the striped smock that covered her stomach, imagining the life underneath, imagining the swell of her belly, the transformation that maternity would make on her hips and her breasts. A jolt of desire hit him along with a fistful of doubts. What kind of a father would he be, he who’d grown up with parents who were more concerned with their image than their children? What was his real motive here, was it to take his brother’s bride and make her his or to take care of her because his brother didn’t? Or did it have something to do with the irrational desire to take her away and make love to her so passionately she’d forget anyone else had ever touched her?

“Because you feel sorry for me,” she said.

“Because I feel responsible for you,” he said. Say it. Tell her. Because I desire you. Because you’re the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen. Because I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you.

“I’m sorry, but that’s not good enough. I appreciate the thought, but the answer is no.”

“Won’t you think it over?” he asked.

“I don’t need to think it over,” she said. “I have more important things to think about.”

Brave words. She was a brave woman. And a stubborn one. He knew he couldn’t push her any further. If she decided to marry him, she would have to come to that decision on her own. He had to admit, her summary refusal hurt him more than he’d thought it would. If his brother had plunged a knife in his chest, Lise had just twisted it with her refusal. He wasn’t sure what he’d pictured, perhaps tears of gratitude, perhaps joy and happiness at being rescued, but not this.

“Very well,” he said brusquely. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.” He turned to go.

“Charles, wait.” She stepped forward and put her hand on his arm as he reached for the door. “Don’t think I’m not grateful to you. I appreciate your concern for my welfare. My answer has nothing to do with you personally. It would be the same no matter who you were. I don’t expect you to understand, but I’ve been through a very bad period and I need time to recover.”

He turned to face her. A surge of hope sprang from her words. Of course, she needed time to recover. He’d spent a lifetime recovering from his brother’s oppressive presence. He wanted to smooth the tiny worry lines in her forehead and tuck a stray curl of hair behind her ear. He wanted to trace the outline of her soft cheek with the pad of his thumb. He wanted to hold her close and tell her she would recover and that she needed him. He wanted to feel her body pressed close to his. But he knew she wasn’t ready for that. Maybe she never would be. Why couldn’t he have been the one to marry her in the first place? He knew the answer to that one. Wilhelm was the oldest, the fair-haired boy. The boy who always got everything he’d ever wanted.

“Take all the time you need,” he said. He could only hope she would come around, she had to. For her sake. For the baby’s sake. For his sake.

“All the time in the world will not convince me to marry again,” she said firmly and his hopes went down just as fast as they’d risen a moment ago.

“I understand,” he said. “I won’t trouble you again.” He opened the front door and stepped out into the rain while Lise stood in the doorway. “But if there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know. I am determined to make amends for my brother’s grievous behavior.”

“The only things I want from your family are my belongings. I left Rhineland so precipitously, I brought with me only a small suitcase.” She looked down at her leggings, knowing she could get by perfectly well if she could only stay in her workshop all day, but unfortunately, one of these days, she hoped later rather than sooner, she’d be forced to take her place in the world again and attend some social functions, and then she’d need all those dresses, shoes, riding outfits and sailing garb. On the other hand, she wondered how much longer her clothes would fit.

“Consider it done,” he said soberly.

“Thank you. Good-bye,” she said. “Bon voyage.”

“Bon voyage?” he said, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“But I thought you’d be going back—”

“Not to Rhineland. Or to the U.S. Not now. It is not only you but my work that has brought me back to Europe and to St. Michel in particular. I am setting up a joint venture with the vintners of your country, producing wine under our label. I have an office here and I’m looking for a place to live.”

“Oh.” She paused for a long moment, trying to digest this news. Charles was staying in St. Michel. It was a small country, an even smaller city on the banks of the river. If he was here, she didn’t know how she could avoid seeing him, even though she was currently leading the life of a hermit. It could be awkward. She felt awkward at that moment, not knowing what to say.

She didn’t dare give him hope she’d change her mind, because she had no intention of doing that. Perhaps he was hoping she’d be pleased at this news, but she couldn’t feign any emotion at all.

He seemed just as awkward as she did. The silence hung as heavily as the leaden skies above them.

“Well, then,” she said at last, “please ignore everything I said. I don’t need my things I left behind in Rhineland very much after all. I won’t say good-bye, just au revoir.”

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, and then he was gone.

Lise stood in the doorway until his car disappeared from sight. Then she went back to the kitchen, sat down at the kitchen table and buried her head in her hands.

What kind of a man was he to accept her refusal so graciously? No temper tantrums, no rages or threats. No reminders of what her future held as a single mother in St. Michel without a husband or a father or protection from the palace. He looked so much like Wilhelm, it frightened and confused her. And yet he didn’t talk or act like Wilhelm. He seemed nothing like his brother, but how could she be sure? She was just recovering from the worst mistake of her life and was not about to make another. If only she could erase the memory of the look on his face and the kiss on her cheek that lingered no matter how long she sat there.

Her instincts told her she could trust him. But her brain told her not to take a chance. She would be just fine on her own. Marriage was risky. Marriage to another Rodin brother was the riskiest of all.

For the next two weeks she tried to put Charles and his surprising offer of marriage out of her mind. She might have succeeded, if a whole crew of workmen hadn’t arrived one clear, sunny day to fix her roof. When she tried to pay them, the chief said it had been taken care of by Monsieur Rodin.

Charles. Charles was as good as his word. But she didn’t want to accept charity from him. She was too leery of taking favors from anyone in his family. She’d been fooled once and she refused to be fooled again. But she didn’t know quite how to get in touch with Charles to repay him for his repairmen’s work, and she didn’t really want to see him again. She might have forgotten the favor he’d done her, if it weren’t for Nanny.

“Wasn’t that kind of Monsieur Rodin?” she exclaimed at least once a day, gazing upward at the repaired roof.

“Yes, Nanny, he is undoubtedly a kind and wonderful man,” Lise answered, trying to hide the cynicism in her voice.

“Nothing like his brother,” she said.

“No, not at all,” Lise agreed.

“It’s not everyone who can be counted on these days,” the old woman said sagely.

“I know, I know,” Lise agreed. There was no point in disagreeing with Nanny. Gertrude had a habit of being right about these matters, and who could deny the man was as good as his word. Lise ended the discussion by going back to work on the picture frame so she didn’t have to continue talking about Charles. It was obvious that Nanny was quite taken with the man. Lise had been careful to keep his offer of marriage to herself, but Nanny had a look in her eye that made Lise wonder how much she’d overheard that day. Fortunately her beloved nanny was much too tactful to ever bring up the subject of marriage or the future.

When Lise had finished painting the frame, it was time for the frosting on the cake of her restoration project. With the light coming through the windows onto her work bench, she installed the portrait of Frederic the Bold back where it belonged. It had been stashed in the archives at the palace for many years. Lise felt the thrill of accomplishment.

In the natural light from the bright spring sunshine, Lise studied the portrait. No doubt about it, Frederic was a handsome man. But there was something about his eyes, a certain sadness that caught her attention. Was this painted after he lost his Princess Gabrielle? Or did he really lose her at all? Now that the portrait was framed, she wished she had someone to show it to. Sharing it with the queen was out of the question. She was consumed with hopes of producing an heir, the dowager queen was involved in the search for the missing heir. There was Nanny, of course, who never failed to support her work, but it was obvious the only other person who’d care, who would appreciate the work she’d done, was Charles.

It was too bad. They might have been friends. If he wasn’t the brother of her ex-husband. If he hadn’t asked her to marry him. If he hadn’t had such a disturbing effect on her.

Ah, well. If her work didn’t give her pleasure and satisfaction on its own, she wouldn’t be doing it. She refused to worry about the future. She was just happy to be home in St. Michel again, with her divorce final and the memories of her brief, disastrous marriage behind her. Next weekend was the dowager queen’s official seventy-fifth birthday party. Though her real birthday was in October, it was always celebrated in May when the weather was usually nice enough for a garden party.

Lise hoped everyone would be too busy scrutinizing the dowager queen at the party, wondering if she’d had yet another face-lift, and debating whether the reigning pregnant queen would even put in an appearance, or gossiping about the missing heir to the throne, to pay any attention to her. She wanted to stay out of the limelight, avoiding questions about her marriage, her pregnancy, her illegitimacy and more condolences on the death of her father. She was looking forward to a reunion with her two sisters: Marie-Claire, who’d been traveling abroad with her new husband, Sebastian, and Ariane, who was living in Rhineland with her husband, Prince Etienne. But after she’d had a chance to see them, she planned to slip away, back to the solace of her cottage.

The problem was she had nothing to wear to the party. Ideally, no one would notice her at all. But if they did, she didn’t want them to feel sorry for her. She wanted to look her best in a quiet, subdued, unobtrusive way, though without her wardrobe left behind in Rhineland, she didn’t know how she was going to pull that off.

“Maybe I won’t go to the party,” she said to Nanny very casually over dinner one evening. Though Nanny insisted on serving Lise, Lise insisted they eat together. How ridiculous to have the old woman eating alone in the kitchen. Besides, Lise was grateful for her company.

Gertrude laid her fork down. “What? Not attend the queen’s birthday party?”

“Well, you know, I don’t think I’d be missed.”

“You would most certainly be missed. You’ve forgotten how many friends you have here at home.”

Home. Yes, this was her home. Home, the place where no matter what you’ve done, whether they want to or not, they have to take you back again. They’d taken her back, however reluctantly, and she’d better make the best of it.

“All right. But what will I wear? I scarcely have any dresses and the ones I have are getting a little tight.”

Nanny suggested altering one of Lise’s few dresses or making her a new one, but Lise didn’t want the old woman to take on yet another task, so she assured her she’d make do somehow and put it out of her mind.

But the morning of the party, she stood in her small bedroom staring at herself critically in the full-length mirror. Yes, her pants were getting a little snug in the hips. Though she was still not quite ready for maternity clothes, it wouldn’t be long before her regular clothes didn’t fit at all. She opened her armoire and frowned at the meager selection of dresses in her closet. There was absolutely nothing appropriate for a garden party. She sat on the edge of her bed and sighed. How ridiculous she was, worrying about a dress when she had so many other things to worry about. Her future. Her baby. Her country’s future if the heir wasn’t found.

When she heard the sound of a vehicle arriving in front of the cottage, she jumped up and peered down through the second-floor window and saw a large pickup truck piled high with trunks she recognized. Her things. Her personal belongings had arrived. At last. Just in the nick of time. Surely there’d be something she could wear to this party.

Not only did the men bring the trunks into the house, they carried them upstairs to the extra bedroom. When she offered them a generous tip, they waved her efforts aside, saying they’d already been paid. She didn’t ask, but the words buzzed in her brain. By whom? Who had paid the delivery men? Who had arranged the transfer of the trunks when all her efforts to recover her things had gone unanswered? She knew the answer. It was Charles.

The only things I want from your family are my belongings.

Consider it done.

He was as good as his word. But how to thank him? She was not about to start asking questions about him, such as where she could find him, thus raising suspicions of why she needed to know. This was no time to dwell on the hows and whys and wheres regarding her personal belongings. She unlocked the trunks and began her search through the piles of silk, satin, wool and leather. Her trousseau clothes. All reminders of a life that was gone. The life of a princess. A legitimate princess with a bright future as the wife of a prominent Rhinelander embarking on a life of ease and luxury.

The memories came flooding back as she sifted through the clothes—parties, balls, dinners. The memories of Wilhelm, who viewed her, not as a person with feelings or needs or desires, but as a trophy to be shown off in her matching shoes, her hand-painted scarves and her designer dresses. The memories brought her nothing but sadness. Where was that young, naive princess with her whole life ahead of her? Lise stood up and paced back and forth in the small bedroom. That princess was gone forever. In her place was an older, wiser woman who would not dwell in the past. Who would learn from her past mistakes. Who would allow no one to force her into another marriage of convenience.

She told herself she was better off now than before. Anything was better than being married to Wilhelm. She would wear one of these dresses—hopefully one still fit—and not think of anything but the present. She would go to the party and face the future with her head high and show the world she was not ashamed of what had happened. After all, it was not her fault her marriage was over and she’d been cast out and returned home.