A Royal Marriage of Convenience

‘A marriage of convenience,’ she said at last, as if the thing was worthy of consideration.

‘Yes.’

‘That’s what I thought you meant after I read the letter. I guess it’s why I came. It seemed that this way I might be able to help. But…’ She smiled up at Walter as he delivered their meals, and she nodded absolute affirmation when he offered her wine. ‘Are you sure Julianna and Jacques won’t make good rulers?’

‘I’m sure they won’t,’ Erhard said.

‘Don’t you know your sister?’ Nick asked, curious.

‘We were friends when we were little,’ she said, sounding suddenly forlorn. ‘Julianna was pretty and blonde and cute, and I was carrot-headed and pudgy. But despite that the old Prince liked me. He indulged me. He’d call me his little princess, and Julianna hated it. So did my father. It got so that I hated it too, and when it all blew up I was glad to go. I got to stay with my mother, my great-aunt and six crazy cats in London, while Julianna got to be a princess.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘So she got what she wanted. But she never answered my letters or returned my calls. It was like she and my father just wiped us. You say she’s married?’

‘Yes,’ Erhard said. ‘To Jacques, who wants control of the throne.’

‘I see.’ She gave herself an irritated shake. ‘I guess I expected no less. But how can I believe what you say of her intentions?’

‘I can verify them,’ Nick told her, feeling it was time he helped out. Erhard was looking so strained he looked like he might collapse. ‘I’ve spent the last week researching the place. Alp de Montez is in serious trouble, and it will take a sovereign to help. There’s never been the slightest interest in ruling the country properly from either Jacques, the presiding council, or from Julianna herself. Corruption is everywhere.’

‘Oh,’ Rose said in a small voice. She swallowed, and then suddenly seemed to make a conscious effort to shake off dreariness. ‘This food is wonderful.’

It was wonderful. Nick had chosen steak, and somewhat to his surprise Rose had too. He was accustomed to women ordering something like grilled fish with a salad—or just a salad—and then not eating most of it, but there was none of the dainty eater about Rose. She tucked into her steak with enjoyment. There was a bowl of roast potatoes to share, fragrant with rosemary, and she reached for the last one before he did.

‘Ladies first,’ she said, and she smiled at him again, and the odd warmth he was feeling intensified.

Erhard, who had been the one to settle on grilled fish, chuckled quietly at the pair of them. ‘This could be some match,’ he said.

Hey, hold on. Nick jerked back to the issue at hand. He needed to put his hormones to one side and concentrate. ‘We’re far from deciding here,’ he retorted. ‘The thing seems a fairy tale.’

‘None of us believe it’s impossible, or we wouldn’t be sitting here,’ Erhard said smoothly. ‘Rose thinks so too.’

‘Rose isn’t committing herself,’ Rose retorted. ‘I only said I’d meet him.’

‘And you have met him, and he makes you smile.’

‘Just because I beat him to the last potato. That’s hardly a basis for a marriage.’

‘Shared intelligence is a basis of a marriage,’ Erhard said calmly. ‘And shared compassion. Now I’ve met you both, I believe the thing might be possible.’

‘Is there really no other way?’ Nick said cautiously. But he wasn’t feeling cautious. Ever since Erhard had walked into his office, a bubble of excitement had been growing inside him that refused to be suppressed. At first it had been the idea of having some say in turning around the fate of a nation. But now…

He’d never thought of marriage. Why should it be suddenly immensely appealing?

‘Let’s get this straight,’ he said. ‘Why not just Rose?’

Erhard nodded. He’d obviously prepared his responses very carefully.

‘On the upside she’s first in line, and once upon a time the people loved her,’ he said. ‘The downside is that as soon as the old Prince was unable to react Eric shouted from the rooftops that Rose wasn’t his. Rose and her mother left the country fifteen years ago and never looked back.’

‘Why not just Julianna, then?’

‘On the upside, Julianna lives in the country and the people know her. But they don’t like her. Or they don’t like her husband, and Julianna does what her husband says. The inference that Rose isn’t royal must also taint Julianna’s claim. There’s no proof. And Rose is older.’

‘Why not just Nick, then?’ Rose demanded.

‘He’s an unknown,’ Erhard said flatly. ‘I didn’t know him myself until a week ago. He’s been to the country as a tourist, but nothing else. The people will never accept him.’

‘Maybe I could support Rose’s claim without marriage,’ Nick heard himself say, albeit reluctantly. There was a crazy voice in the back of his head saying ‘take her and run’. He suppressed it with an effort. He had to be sensible. ‘As someone in line myself, even if further away and the child of a royal daughter and not a son, I can surely add weight to Rose’s position?’

‘So can the President of our Council,’ Erhard said bluntly. ‘He supports Julianna. Julianna is a citizen of Alp de Montez, and she’s married to another citizen. Rose was a people’s favourite in the past. The press loved her, portraying her as a natural, friendly kid who always had a stray animal attached. But that knowledge of Rose has faded, and her father’s vitriolic denunciation of her stands in her way. It will take a huge factor to swing the thing in Rose’s favour. The only thing that will do it is your marriage.’

‘And you?’ Nick said, turning to Rose, puzzled. There was so much about this woman he didn’t understand. ‘You’d seriously consider marriage to gain a throne?’

She froze at that. She’d been smiling, but now her face stilled.

‘Whoa,’ she said. ‘Let’s not paint me a gold-digger.’

‘I never said…’

‘Yes, you did,’ she said bluntly. ‘So let’s get things clear. Erhard’s letter made me think. I’m not the least bit interested in playing the Crown Princess—-that was always Julianna’s preferred option—but there’s not so many times in your life that you’re presented with an option that just might be for the greater good.’

Then she smiled up at Walter, who was clearing the plates from the main course. ‘Do your puddings match your mains?’

‘They certainly do, miss,’ Walter said, and he beamed.

‘I’d like something rich and sticky.’

‘I believe we can accommodate that, miss.’ Walter was smiling down at her like an avuncular genie. It was as if she had him mesmerised. Well, why not? Nick thought. He was feeling pretty mesmerised himself.

‘Pudding for you, too?’ Walter said, beaming still, and Nick nodded before thinking about it.

What was he doing? He seldom had pudding. He had to get his mind back into gear. Now.

‘I don’t know the first thing about you,’ he said weakly to Rose as Walter headed off to fetch puddings for all. ‘How can we think about marriage?’

‘Are you worried?’ she asked. ‘I’m not an axe murderer. Nor a husband beater. Are you?’

He ignored the question. ‘Erhard says you’re widowed.’

‘Yes,’ she said in a voice that suddenly said ‘don’t go there’.

‘There’s no impediment to marriage,’ Erhard said, stepping into the breach.

‘Except that I don’t much want to be married,’ he said. Or he didn’t think he did. He hadn’t thought he did. There seemed to be two strands of thought here. The strand that he’d had before meeting Rose, and the post-Rose strand. Actually the ‘post-Rose’ was a really convoluted knot.

‘Neither do I,’ said Rose. ‘Isn’t that lucky? We wouldn’t need to stay married, would we, Erhard?’

‘Of course not,’ Erhard said. ‘This isn’t a happy-ever-after scenario I’m demanding of you. The idea is that you marry almost immediately. I’ll put the necessary paperwork in train, and then we present you to Alp de Montez as the Jacques-Julianna alternative. I’ve had private words with the committee. Nick, you stay in Alp de Montez for a few weeks, until things seem settled. Maybe a month. Then you use the excuse that you don’t want to give up your profession and return to London. Rose then stays in Alp de Montez until we can get things in train to get a decent government sorted. When affairs are under control, you can quietly divorce.’

‘You’d depend on Rose to get the affairs under control?’

‘You’re the international lawyer,’ Erhard said shrewdly. ‘I’m willing to wager you know exactly what can be done.’

He did. He’d been thinking about it all week. The chance to make a difference….

He’d never belonged. His mother, Zia, had left Alp de Montez as a troubled teenager. She’d ended up in Australia, addicted to drugs, pregnant with him. His childhood until he was eight had been a struggle to survive, lurching from fleeting intervals living with his increasingly erratic mother, to extended periods in a long string of foster homes.

Then Ruby had found him. She’d plucked him off the streets of Sydney, and from then on his base had been with Ruby and her tribe of foster sons. Ruby had given him security, but still he felt rootless.

At some really basic level Erhard’s proposition left him breathless. What had Rose said? An option ‘for the greater good’. It just might be the chance to make a difference.

He thought back to the frightened girl who’d been his mother. She’d want this. He knew she would. She’d been desperately homesick for Alp de Montez but there was no way her increasingly disgusted family would have funded her to go home.

He could go home on her behalf now. With this woman by his side.

Marriage. It wasn’t such a frightening thought if it was done for the right reasons. But were Rose’s reasons right? How could a woman like this want to marry a complete stranger?

She was his cousin.

No. She wasn’t even that, he thought. She was the product of his aunt-by-marriage’s affair with someone they knew nothing of.

It didn’t matter. She was gorgeous.

‘What about Julianna?’ he asked, looking for catches. ‘You can’t convince her to do the right thing?’

‘Julianna won’t speak to me,’ Erhard said.

‘But you?’ he asked Rose. ‘You’re her sister.’

‘She doesn’t speak to me either,’ Rose said sadly. ‘I know it’s dumb, but there it is.’

‘So this really is a serious proposition.’

‘It seems like it.’ She smiled ruefully into her empty wine-glass. ‘You know, I swore I’d never marry again.’

‘That’d be a waste.’

‘Says you, who’s never married at all,’ she retorted, suddenly sounding angry.

‘I’m sorry.’ But his thoughts were elsewhere. ‘I wouldn’t need to stay in Alp de Montez,’ he said slowly.

‘You would for a few weeks,’ Erhard said. ‘Could you use a holiday?’

A holiday. Strange concept. With Rose?

She really was the most extraordinary woman. Stunning.

‘Maybe I could,’ he said. ‘And you?’ he queried Rose. ‘How long would you have to be away from your vet practice?’

‘A year,’ Erhard said, answering for her. ‘At least. Maybe longer. I’m sorry, Rose, but it’d be more your commitment than Nick’s. You’d rule jointly, but it’s you who’s first in line. Unless anything happened to Julianna…’

‘Which isn’t going to happen,’ Rose said, and shivered. And then braced herself. ‘No matter. I’d have to close my doors anyway, and there are…reasons why that’s not such a terrible idea.’

‘I guess the idea of playing princess for a year would be fun,’ Nick ventured, and she frowned.

‘Now you’re being insulting,’ she retorted, and he paused.

Maybe he was.

There’s not so many times in your life that you’re presented with an option that just might be for the greater good.

She met his look with calm indifference, almost scorn. His gaze fell to her hands. Here was another difference—a huge difference—from the women he dated. This woman’s hands wouldn’t have looked out of place on a woman twenty years older. Work-worn hands, not something he saw a lot of.

But she was looking down at his hands, and he suddenly realised she knew exactly what he was thinking. His hands were those of an international lawyer. There was not a lot of work wear there.

If she was to have fun for a year, maybe there were reasons she deserved it, he thought. She’d lost a husband…

On the far side of the restaurant, a band struck up. It was a simple quartet, playing softly enough to not disturb the diners on this side of the restaurant. There was a small dance-floor, and a couple of diners rose and started dancing.

To Nick’s surprise Erhard rose. But not to dance.

‘No,’ he said as Nick rose as well. ‘I’m sorry.’ He sighed. ‘I’m not…completely well. If you’ll excuse me for a moment…’He looked across at the dance floor, almost wistfully. ‘Maybe you could dance while I’m away.’

‘I don’t—’ Nick started, but Erhard shook his head.

‘You do. My informants say you do. And so does Rose.’ He gave an uncertain smile at them both, but there was discomfort behind his eyes. ‘Excuse me. You go on.’ And he pressed his napkin to his lips and headed towards the rear of the restaurant.

Rose watched him go in concern. ‘He seems a nice man,’ she said. ‘He’s ill. I wonder what—’

‘He’s probably doing this to manipulate us,’ Nick retorted, and she smiled, but absently, still looking concerned.

‘I don’t think so. Even if he is, he’s doing it for the right reasons, and there is something wrong. I think.’

The silence stretched on. Behind them the band launched into a lively Latin-swing number.

Nick was already standing. He went to sit down again but then thought it seemed surly.

The woman before him was beautiful.

‘You don’t look like a country vet,’ he said, and he must have sounded accusing because she smiled again.

‘I’m not manipulating,’ she said gently. ‘I promise.’

But any woman who looked like she did tonight was making a statement, he thought, whether it was manipulative or not. And maybe his thoughts were transparent, because her smile gave way to a flash of anger.

‘Stop looking like that. I have the right to wear what I like.’

‘Of course you do.’

‘My husband bought this for me on our honeymoon,’ she said, still angry, and he stilled.

‘So it is a sort of statement.’

‘I guess it is.’

‘A statement that you’re available?’

The flash of anger stilled and her eyes were suddenly ice. ‘I don’t think I want to be married to you,’ she snapped. ‘Of all the boorish comments…If you wear a nice suit, is that an advertisement of availability as well?’

‘No,’ he said, horrified. He was suddenly way out of his depth. How could he have asked her such a question? As well as being insulting, he’d also hurt her. He could see it in the way she’d withdrawn.

‘Rose, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I have no idea why I said that, but it was way out of line. Hell, marriage or not, we seem to have crossed some sort of barrier that’s launched me somewhere where I’m not sure of the rules any more. I know that’s no excuse. But please—I’m sorry.’

Her face softened—just a little. ‘It does seem crazy,’ she admitted. She glanced down at her dress ruefully. ‘But maybe this is some sort of a statement. Maybe that’s why you’ve made me angry. You know, this dress has sat in a camphor chest in my parents-in-law’s house for the last five years. It’s been like…well, I was locked up with it. Tonight I did wear it as a kind of declaration—not that I’m available, but that I’m free. If that makes sense.’ She shook her head. ‘No. It barely makes sense to me. But the last thing I want is more attachments. I’ve done family for life. I am free.’

‘Diving into the royal goldfish bowl of Alp de Montez is scarcely freeing yourself,’ he said cautiously.

‘It all depends on what your prison has been,’ she said. ‘Are you going to ask me to dance?’

‘I…’ What the hell? ‘Yes.’

‘Excellent,’ she said, and she smiled, rose and took his arm, altogether proprietary. It seemed as if he was forgiven. ‘If I’m going to get the camphor smell out of this dress then I need to swirl it round a bit.’

She didn’t smell of camphor.

Rose was an intuitive dancer, light and lovely on her feet. Nick had been taught the rudiments of dance by his determined little foster mother, and he’d always enjoyed it. With great music and a good partner one could almost lose oneself in dance.

But not tonight. He didn’t want to lose himself when he was dancing with Rose.

The Latin music gave way to a gentle waltz. Erhard had still not returned to their table so suddenly Nick was holding her close, steering her around the dance floor, feeling her body mould to his in perfect time with his steps, in perfect time with him.

And she didn’t smell of camphor. She smelled of Rose.

What was she doing? She’d brought this dress with her on a whim, walking out of the house feeling as if she’d betrayed everyone. She hadn’t been worried about what she was wearing. But as her mother-in-law’s weeping had increased, as her father-in-law had wrung his hands and said, ‘Rose, you can’t leave. We love you. You’re our daughter. What would Max think?’ she’d abandoned her distress as too hard and she’d let anger hold sway.

She’d lifted the lid of her camphor chest and had retrieved the dress and shoes that had lain there for what seemed almost a lifetime.

And then, before she’d closed the chest again, she’d taken Max’s photograph from her bedside table and put it where her dress had been.

And had closed the lid.

Then she’d walked out of the house. Free.

No, not free. Still guilt-ridden. Seemingly obligated in some weird way to a country she’d left with the royal family’s scorn following her.

But she wasn’t going back to Yorkshire except to finalise things. No family. No ties. Nick’s question as to her availability couldn’t have been more wrong. If ever anyone else told her they loved her then she’d run a mile.

But she was in this man’s arms.

Yes, and that was great, she told herself as she let him swirl her round the dance floor with an expertise that made her feel wonderful. Erhard’s long letter had filled her in on who Nick was. A loner who’d pulled himself up the hard way. A man whose intelligence was extraordinary. A man with an Aussie accent overlaying his smooth French-Italian native tongue, and a laid-back charm that could knock a girl sideways. Nick was a sophisticated international lawyer who’d come from a background even more dysfunctional than her own.

He was a man who knew where his boundaries were.

So it was fine. Yes, she could marry him to keep Alp de Montez safe, and she could keep her independence. It would finally make her free.

Please.

Five minutes later Erhard returned to the table. The musicians took a break. There was no reason to stay on the dance floor, but as Nick led her back to the table he was aware of a sharp stab of regret.

Only because he loved dancing, he thought. Only that.

Erhard was smiling, watching them weave their way through the tables to join him. The strain had eased from his face a little.

‘Two wonderful dancers,’ he said softly as they sat down again. ‘You see, this thing becomes possible.’ He settled back into his chair and took a long sip of water. ‘Well?’

Nick looked at Rose and found she was watching him. Intently.

It seemed a decision needed to be made. Now. Did that mean Rose had already decided?

‘You need to trust me,’ Erhard told him softly. ‘This is a big ask. We need to trust each other.’

‘It’s fine,’ Rose said, suddenly sounding impatient to move on. Sounding as if she was annoyed. ‘I’m willing to take a chance, so it’s up to you, Nick. If you don’t choose to take part, then say so now. Let Erhard go into damage control and see if there’s another solution.’

‘There’s no other solution,’ Erhard said flatly, and they both went back to watching him.

She’d flung her hat in the ring, just like that. She’d agreed to marry him after knowing him only a matter of hours.

His foundations were shaken, he thought, and it wasn’t just this crazy proposition that was shaking them. It was the way he’d felt, dancing with Rose. The way she’d felt…

He needed a cold shower, and then some good legal advice.

‘You’re holding a gun to my head,’ he snapped, and the old man shook his head.

‘That’s what we’re hoping to avoid. Guns.’

‘You’re serious?’

‘I’m serious,’ Erhard whispered, and the grey look flooded back. How ill was he?

‘So tell us,’ Rose said to Nick directly, with a sideways glance of concern towards Erhard. ‘Are you in or are you out?’

‘I need to do a little more research…’

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Research away. I spent a week on the internet myself. But if you come up with the conclusion I came up with—as you will—are you ready to have a go at fixing things?’

‘You’re seriously asking me to marry you?’

‘I thought you were asking me to marry you.’

‘I guess it’s mutual.’

‘Only I’ve said yes, and you haven’t,’ she said. ‘Go on. It might even be fun.’

‘I don’t do fun.’

‘Neither do I,’ she snapped. ‘Not for years. So we’re perfectly compatible. I’m willing to take a risk on the rest. What about you? Yes or no?’

And there it was. Not a gun pointing at his head, but just possibly a chance to make a difference.

Rose was waiting for him to come to a decision, her grey eyes calmly watchful.

Erhard was waiting too. Two people he instinctively trusted who were trying to do good.

So what was a man to say?

‘Yes,’ he said, and there was a moment’s stunned silence, and then they both beamed.

‘There it is, then,’ Rose said. ‘Proposal accepted. Congratulations to us all, and here comes pudding. Do you think I might have some more champagne?’

CHAPTER THREE

ROSE finished an excellent pudding, but it signalled that the night, for Rose at least, was over. She excused herself without waiting for coffee.

‘I was up before dawn, and I need to walk a bit before bed after all that champagne,’ she told them. ‘No, I don’t want company. I need head-space to plan the next few weeks. There’s so much I need to do. Finding someone to take care of a thousand square-miles of farm animals is the least of it.’

‘If there are no hitches then you can marry in four weeks,’ Erhard said. ‘Marrying in Alp de Montez is the wisest course. Can you be ready then?’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Rose said. She hesitated, and then she stooped and kissed the old man gently on the forehead. ‘You take care of yourself. Please. For me.’

And she left without another word.

Nick watched as she wove through the tables, smiling as a waiter paused to let her pass, smiling at the doorman as he opened the door for her, smiling as she went out into the night.

‘She’s some lady,’ Erhard said gently, and Nick came back to earth with a jolt.

‘Sorry. I was just thinking.’

‘She’s worth thinking about.’

‘I don’t…’

‘No, you don’t, do you?’ Erhard said. ‘I’ve had you thoroughly checked. The longest you’ve ever dated one woman is nine weeks.’

That took him aback. ‘You know that?’

‘The investigative agency I hired is very thorough.’

‘So you know all about me.’

‘It wouldn’t have been worth my while to approach you if I’d found you were another Jacques. But the reputation you have in legal circles is for integrity. You try to select cases where there’s moral imperative, as well as financial. Also, the woman who fostered you since you were small—Ruby—says that you’re honest, kind and trustworthy. As a reference I thought that was the best.’

‘How the hell did you get Ruby to talk about me?’ he demanded, and Erhard gave a small smile.

‘The investigative agency has an operative who enjoys macramé,’ he confessed. ‘She infiltrated your foster mother’s macramé group.’ His smile broadened at Nick’s astonishment. ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures. Ruby seemed to be the best person to give a character reference, but she’d never have answered an official request with such honesty.