A Royal Proposal

Below, the lights of Montaigne glowed warm and bright in the snowy setting.

‘I can’t believe this.’ She was grinning as she turned back to Rafe. ‘It’s so incredibly picture perfect.’

‘There’s a remote control here beside the bed.’ Rafe picked it up and demonstrated. ‘It makes the glass opaque for when you want to sleep.’

‘How amazing.’ Charlie watched in awe as the glass grew dark and then, at another flick of the switch, became clear again. ‘It’s magic. Like being in a fairy tale. Aren’t you lucky to actually live here?’

His smile was careful. ‘Even fairy tales have their dark and dangerous moments.’

‘Well, yes, I guess.’ Charlie wasn’t sure if he was joking or serious. ‘I suppose there are always wicked witches and wolves and evil spells.’ And in Rafe’s case, a wicked Chancellor and evil miners who wanted to wreck his country. ‘But at least fairy tales give you a happy ending.’

‘Unless you’re the wolf,’ suggested Rafe.

Charlie frowned at him. ‘You’re very pessimistic all of a sudden.’

‘I am. You’re right. I apologise.’ But Rafe still looked sad as he stood there watching her.

Charlie wondered if he was thinking about his father who had died so recently. Or perhaps he was thinking about Olivia, wishing his real fiancée were here in his castle, preparing for their marriage. Instead he was left with an improvised substitute who would soon leave again.

Or were there other things worrying him? He’d mentioned the mining threat, but he probably had a great many other issues to deal with. Affairs of state.

She was pondering this when he smiled suddenly. ‘I must say I’m not surprised that you believe in happy endings, Charlie.’

She thought instantly of Isla. ‘It’s terribly important to think positively. Why not believe? It’s better than giving up.’

He dismissed this with a shrug. ‘But it’s a bit like asking me if I believe in fairies. Happy endings are all very well in theory, but I find that real life is mostly about compromise.’

Compromise?

Charlie stared at him in dismay. She’d never liked the idea of compromise. It seemed like such a cop-out. She never wanted to give up on important hopes and dreams and to settle for second best.

She wanted to protest, to set Rafe straight, but there was something very earnest in his expression that silenced her.

She thought about his current situation. He’d been forced to arrange a hasty, convenient marriage to save his country, instead of waiting till he found the woman he loved. That was certainly a huge compromise for both Rafe and for Olivia.

When Rafe looked ahead to the future, he could probably foresee many times when he would be required to set aside his own needs and desires and to put duty to his country first.

It was a chastening thought. Charlie supposed she’d been pretty foolish to come sailing in here, all starry-eyed, and immediately suggest that living in a castle was an automatic ticket to a fairy-tale life. She was about to apologise when there was a knock at the door.

A young man had arrived with their supper.

‘Thanks, Guillaume,’ Rafe said as the fellow set a tray on the low table in front of the fire. To Charlie, he said, ‘I thought we’d be more comfortable eating in here tonight.’ When Guillaume had left, he added, ‘You don’t mind if I join you?’

‘No, of course not.’ After all, it was what the servants would expect of an engaged couple.

They sat on sofas facing each other. The coffee smelled wonderful, as did the chicken soup, and the setting was incredibly cosy. Charlie looked at the flickering flames, the bowls of steaming soup and the crusty bread rolls.

The scene was almost homely, hardly like being in a royal castle at all, and for Charlie there was an extra sprinkle of enchantment, no doubt provided by the hunky man who, having shed his overcoat, looked relaxed again now in his jeans and dark green sweater.

Rafe’s comments about compromise were sobering though, and no doubt they were the check she needed. Royals might not be dogged by the money worries that had plagued her for most of her life, but their money came with serious responsibilities.

Was that why Olivia ran away?

* * *

When they finished their soup, Rafe called for a nightcap, which was promptly delivered, and as he and Charlie sipped the rich, smooth cognac he watched the play of firelight on Charlie’s curly hair, on her soft cheeks and lips. It was only with great difficulty that he managed to restrain himself from joining her on her sofa.

But man, he was tempted. There was a sweetness about Charlie that—

No, he wasn’t going to make comparisons with her sister. He couldn’t waste time or energy berating himself for the error of judgement that had landed him with Olivia Belaire. Regret served no useful purpose.

‘Tomorrow, when you’re ready, my secretary, Mathilde, will bring you a list of your engagements,’ he said, steering his thoughts strictly towards business. ‘Including your shopping and hair appointments.’

Charlie looked worried. ‘But I won’t have appointments for shopping, will I?’

‘Yes. The stores find it helpful to plan ahead. They can make sure that the right staff is available to give you the very best assistance.’

‘I see.’ Charlie still looked worried. ‘Will your secretary also give me a list of the sorts of clothes I need?’

‘No, Monique at Belle Robe will look after that. If you show Monique your list of engagements, she’ll be able to advise you on dresses, shoes, handbags or whatever.’

‘I—I see.’

Was it his imagination, or had Charlie grown pale?

Why? Surely all women loved shopping? Her sister had enthusiastically embraced the shopping expeditions he’d paid for. Unfortunately, Olivia had also taken all those clothes with her when she left. They would have fitted Charlie perfectly.

‘You’ll have to try to enjoy the experience,’ he said.

‘Yes, of course. I’ll try to behave like Olivia. I suppose she loved shopping.’

‘Yes, she had quite a talent for it.’

Charlie lifted a thumbnail to her mouth as if she wanted to chew it. Then she must have realised her mistake and quickly dropped her hand to her lap with her fist tightly curled. ‘So I need to be enthusiastic,’ she said. ‘I can do that.’

‘And don’t worry about the expense.’

To his dismay, Charlie looked more worried than ever. ‘What’s the matter, Charlie?’

She flashed him a quick, rather brave little smile. ‘No problem, really. It’s just that I’m so used to living on a budget and it’s hard to throw off the habits of a lifetime.’

Rafe couldn’t remember ever dating a girl who was cautious with money. This was a novel experience. ‘These clothes won’t have price tags,’ he reassured her. ‘So you needn’t know the cost. And remember they’re just costumes. They’re your uniform, if you like, an important part of the job.’

‘Of course.’

‘And you don’t have to worry about jewellery either,’ he said next. ‘There’s a huge collection here in the castle vault. All my mother’s and grandmother’s things.’

‘How—how lovely.’

‘I imagine that sapphires and diamonds will suit you best.’

Charlie fingered one of her simple, pearl stud earrings, and Rafe suppressed yet another urge to join her on the couch, to trace the sweet pink curve of her earlobe, preferably with his lips. Then he would kiss her smooth neck—

He sat up straighter, cleared his throat. ‘And you’ll have a driver to take you everywhere.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a maid as well? A female companion?’

Charlie shook her head. ‘If I had another girl hanging out with me, I’d be sure to chatter and give myself away.’

He smiled, knowing that this was true. Charlie was so honest and open, but he wished she weren’t still looking so worried. He felt much better when she was smiling. He’d been growing rather used to her smiles.

He hoped his next suggestion wouldn’t make her even more worried. ‘I was hoping you might be able to visit a children’s hospital,’ he said carefully. ‘It would be very helpful for your image.’

The change in Charlie was instantaneous. Her shoulders visibly relaxed and she uncrossed her legs and, yes, she actually smiled. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I’d love that. I love kids. That’s a great idea.’

The sudden reversal was puzzling until Rafe remembered that his men had reported Charlie visiting a hospital in Sydney just before she’d made her final decision to accompany him to Montaigne.

What was her interest in hospitals? He hadn’t asked his men to follow up on this, but now he recalled the upsetting phone call from her father and wondered if that was the connection. He would have liked to question Charlie about it. But if she’d wanted to tell him, she would have done so by now, and there were limits to how far he could reasonably expect to pry into her private affairs.

After all, their relationship was strictly business.

Charlie yawned then, widely and noisily, and Rafe was instantly on his feet. ‘It’s time I left you. You need to sleep.’

‘I am pretty stuffed,’ she admitted with a wan smile.

They both stood. Beside them, the fire glowed and danced.

‘Goodnight, Charlie.’

‘Goodnight, Rafe.’

Her eyes were incredibly blue, their expression curious, and he supposed she was wondering if he planned to kiss her.

He certainly wanted to kiss her. Wanted to rather desperately. He wanted to taste the sweetness of her soft lips. Wanted to kiss her slowly and comprehensively, right there, on the sofa, by the warmth of the fire. Wanted to feel the softness of her skin, feel the eagerness of her response. Rafe imagined that Charlie’s uninhibited response would be rather splendid.

‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ she said, eyeing him cautiously.

Rafe came to his senses. ‘Yes.’ He spoke brusquely, annoyed by his lapse. ‘I usually have breakfast at seven-thirty, but you will be tired from the jet lag, so sleep as long as you wish. There’s a phone by your bed, so just call for a maid when you wake. Have coffee, breakfast, whatever you want, brought here to your room. Take your time.’

‘Thank you.’

Stepping forward, he kissed her politely on both cheeks. ‘Bonne nuit,’ he said softly, and then turned and left her without looking back.

* * *

Don’t do it, Rafe told himself as he walked away. Don’t mess with this girl. You know you’ll only end up hurting her.

Problem was, the habits Rafe had developed during his years of freedom were strong. He’d grown used to having almost any girl he fancied, usually without any strings attached.

Now he was surrounded by restrictions and almost every breath he took had a string attached. The press was watching him. Chancellor Pontier was watching him. For all he knew, the whole country was watching him. His enemies were waiting for him to stuff up, while his people were waiting for him to step up to the mark.

At times the weight of expectation and responsibility pressed so heavily Rafe could barely breathe. Even Charlie, despite her willingness to help him, was just another responsibility.

For her sake, he had to remember that.

* * *

Charlie checked her phone before she went to bed, but there was no message from her father. She pressed the remote to darken the window and climbed into bed. The sheets were smooth and silky, they smelled of lavender and were trimmed with exquisite lace and embroidery. The pillow was soft but firm.

Nevertheless, she lay awake for ages, worrying about Isla. Did no news mean good news? Or was her father too busy to bother with texting? Were he and Skye and Isla already in the air on their way to Boston?

How was Isla?

She remembered the lecture she’d given Rafe about positive thinking. She should follow her own advice. She had to believe that all would be well. Isla’s tiny heart would survive the long plane flight and the highly skilled doctors in Boston would make her well. The money Rafe had so generously handed over would be put to good use and this whole crazy venture would be worthwhile.

The money...

This was another thing for Charlie to worry about. How on earth could she afford the clothes she needed to carry off the role of Prince Rafael’s fiancée? Why on earth hadn’t she foreseen this problem?

Anxiously she tossed and turned, playing with the notion of coming clean, of telling Rafe about Isla and explaining what she’d done with his money. But there were problems with this revelation.

First, there was a chance that Rafe might not believe her and they could end up having a row about it. It was an unlikely outcome, Charlie admitted. Rafe appeared to be quite generous and reasonable.

But Charlie certainly didn’t want to take advantage of his good nature. The thing was, she’d struck a deal with him and now she had to keep up her end of the bargain. To ask for more money on top of his ample payment would feel totally shabby.

Besides, if she tried to tell Rafe about her baby sister’s condition and the impending surgery, she would almost certainly offload all her fears and then blubber all over him.

This was the last thing Prince Rafael of Montaigne needed. He hadn’t brought her here to listen to her problems.

He had enough problems of his own.

Once she’d thought things through to this point, Charlie felt calmer. Lying in the darkness, she watched the flickering firelight and she thought about the lovely evening she and Rafe had spent together. She remembered the moment before he’d left when he stood there in the firelight, looking at her. So tall and dark and sexy, with an expression in his eyes that had set her heart thumping.

So intense he’d looked. For a giddy moment, she’d thought he was going to kiss her. Properly. Passionately. Her heart had carried on like a crazy thing, thrashing about like a landed fish.

Such a ridiculous reaction. Perhaps she could blame the jet lag. Tomorrow she’d feel much more like her old self.

CHAPTER SIX

WHEN CHARLIE WOKE the next morning, she took a moment to get her bearings. She couldn’t remember another time she’d ever woken to such sumptuous surroundings.

She reached for the remote and pressed the button, and—hey, presto! Bright sunlight streamed into her room.

She wondered how late she’d slept and snatched up her phone to check the time. It was nine o’clock, and there were four new messages on her phone.

Three messages were from her father. One told her that he and Skye and Isla were leaving for Boston. Another gave her their flight’s departure and arrival times. A third message asked where she was.

Charlie didn’t answer this specifically.

Have a safe flight, she wrote. Sending my love to you and to Skye and Isla. All’s well here. C xxx.

She’d crossed so many time zones, she didn’t even try to calculate where they might be by now. It was just good to know Isla was on her way and, at this point, all was well. Charlie sent up a prayer.

Keep Isla safe. Hang in there, sweetheart.

The last text message was from Rafe.

Good morning. I hope you’ve slept well. My secretary, Mathilde, would like to meet with you at eleven. Is this suitable?

Quickly she typed back that this would be fine.

Great, wrote Rafe. Any problems, give me a call.

Charlie wondered where he was. Then her tummy rumbled. She needed breakfast. Rather nervously, she lifted the phone beside the bed.

Immediately a woman’s voice at the other end said, ‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle Olivia.’

‘Oh,’ said Charlie. ‘Bonjour.’ In her best French she asked, ‘Could I please have some coffee in my room?’

‘Certainly, mademoiselle. Would you also like breakfast? An omelette perhaps?’

‘An omelette would be lovely. Merci.’

‘It will be with you very soon, Mademoiselle Olivia.’

‘Thank you.’

This done, Charlie heaved a huge sigh of relief. Her first hurdle might have been a rather low bar in the scheme of things, but at least she’d cleared it without mishap.

* * *

A much higher hurdle came later, after the secretary Mathilde had given Charlie her engagement itinerary. She was expected to start clothes shopping this very day.

Not only did Charlie need a warmer overcoat, a new outfit was required for dinner this evening, another to wear for a daytime engagement the next day and a special gown for a gala event to be held in the castle in two evenings’ time.

Charlie almost whimpered when she saw the list. She knew Rafe never dreamed that she would be paying for these clothes out of her own money, but she felt she had no other option. The problem was, her bank account wouldn’t stretch to four expensive items of clothing, all fit for a princess. She would be lucky if she could afford one of these outfits, which meant she had no alternative but to get a cash advance on her credit card.

Ouch.

* * *

Shivering inside her inadequate coat, Charlie stepped out of the castle to find that fresh snow had fallen during the night. Now, in the early afternoon, it was clear and sunny, but the air was freezing. A chauffeur was waiting for her at the foot of the steps.

He was understandably surprised when Charlie asked him to take her to a bank before delivering her to Belle Robe, but he discreetly refrained from making any comment. Fortunately, the bank teller didn’t seem to recognise her as the Prince’s intended bride. Her cards were accepted without a hitch and she was able to withdraw a sickening amount of money.

Belle Robe was around the next corner.

Gulp.

Charlie had seen expensive clothing boutiques in Sydney, so she was used to store windows decorated with elegant mannequins dressed in glamorous gowns, but she’d never been inside one of these places before. Now she tried hard not to be overawed by the top-hatted doorman, the wide expanses of cream carpet, the gilt-framed floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

Madame Monique, who’d been assigned to attend to Charlie’s needs, was pencil thin with cut-glass cheekbones and she was dressed in a severely straight black dress of fine wool. She also wore glasses with trendy black and white frames and her iron-grey hair was pulled tightly back into a low ponytail.

Another woman might have looked plain in such restrained attire but Monique managed to look incredibly elegant. No doubt her bright scarlet lipstick and nail polish helped.

Charlie supposed she should have painted her nails, too. She wondered if Olivia had always worn nail polish. It was another detail she should have checked with Rafe.

Monique was very organised and had a page set aside for Charlie in a thick gold-edged notebook. ‘Welcome back again, Mademoiselle Olivia,’ she said with a careful smile.

‘Thank you,’ said Charlie. ‘How are you, Monique?’

Surprise flashed briefly in the woman’s eyes, as if she hadn’t expected this question. ‘I’m very well, thank you, mademoiselle.’ Her smile brightened. ‘And now, His Highness has ordered quite a few more items for you, I believe.’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

Monique looked a little puzzled at this and Charlie winced. Afraid so? Had she really said that? What an idiot she was. She would have to behave far more confidently if she wanted to convince the people of Montaigne that she was Olivia Belaire. She was supposed to adore shopping.

She laughed quickly to try to cover her gaffe. ‘So,’ she said, brightly. ‘I’m sure you have some wonderful suggestions.’

‘Of course,’ said Monique. ‘I have a very good idea what suits you now, so I’ve made a few selections to get us started.’

‘Lovely,’ Charlie enthused. ‘I can’t wait to try them on.’

* * *

They started with the coats and it was so hard to choose between a beautiful long red coat with a leather belt and another in black and white houndstooth. Eventually, with a little prompting from Monique, Charlie settled on the red.

For this evening’s dinner, she chose a timelessly styled blue dress made from exquisitely fine wool. It was rather figure-hugging and designed to catch the eye, but Charlie supposed it was the sort of thing Rafe wanted her to wear. She tried not to blush when she saw her reflection in the mirror, but, heavens, she’d had no idea she could look so glamorous.

‘Do you know what the daytime event for tomorrow will be?’ asked Madame Monique, watching Charlie closely.

Charlie was relieved that she could answer this. ‘I believe I’ll be visiting the children’s hospital.’

The woman’s eyebrows rose, but she made no comment as she showed Charlie a rather demure dress in grey with a box neckline and a wide band around the waist.

‘Hmm,’ said Charlie. ‘That’s lovely, but do you have anything that’s a bit more—fun?’

‘Fun, Mademoiselle Olivia?’ Madame Monique was clearly surprised.

Charlie wondered if she’d used the wrong French word. ‘Something more appealing to the children, something a little more—relaxed?’

‘Oh, I see, of course.’ Monique went back to her racks, frowning.

Charlie followed her. The clothes were extremely elegant, but there were rather a lot of beiges and greys and blacks. She was wondering if she would be better off just wearing a pair of jeans and one of her own sweaters when something caught her eye.

‘What about this?’ she said, lifting out a hanger to inspect the dress more closely. It was a feminine shift dress with elbow-length sleeves and a delicate all-over print of little red sail boats with white sails on a navy-blue background. ‘This would be perfect. Do you have it in my size?’

Now Monique looked worried. ‘But, mademoiselle, don’t you remember? You already have this dress. You bought it two weeks ago.’

‘Oh.’ Charlie wished she could sink through the floor. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said shakily. ‘How silly of me. I—I took it home to Saint-Tropez, you see, when I—when I visited my mother—and I—’

It was awful to lie so blatantly and just saying the word ‘mother’ felt terribly wrong. She couldn’t quite finish the sentence, but if Monique was baffled, and Charlie was sure that she had to be, she discreetly covered the reaction.

‘What about this?’ Monique lifted out a white dress with black polka dots and a short black jacket. ‘I think this would suit you beautifully. And it certainly looks...détendu.’

This outfit did indeed suit Charlie very well and it had the right playful vibe she’d been hoping for. It was added to the stash, along with an oh-my-God evening gown of pale sea-green satin that was the most elegant and glamorous thing Charlie had ever clapped eyes on, let alone worn.

She felt a little faint as she wondered what the price tag might be.

‘And now for your shoes,’ said Monique.

The fainting sensation grew stronger for Charlie. Oh, dear. She had to sit down.

Monique fussed. ‘Mademoiselle Olivia, are you all right? What can I get you? A glass of water perhaps? Coffee?’

‘Perhaps some water,’ said Charlie. ‘Thank you.’

Monique tut-tutted when she returned with the water. ‘Perhaps you are not well, mademoiselle.’

‘No, I’m fine,’ Charlie insisted, after taking several reviving sips. ‘It’s probably—’ She was about to use jet lag as an excuse when she remembered that her sister, Olivia, hadn’t been flying halfway across the world in a jet. ‘I’m just a bit tired,’ she said instead. ‘And I was wondering—before we start on the shoes, would you mind telling me how much I have spent so far?’

This time, Madame Monique didn’t try to cover her surprise. Her eyebrows shot high above her black and white spectacle frames. ‘But you know there’s no need to concern yourself, my dear. This goes on the St Romain account, does it not?’

Charlie had no idea what arrangement Rafe had made with Olivia. All she knew was that he’d paid her, Charlie, an extremely generous sum and she wouldn’t dream of asking him for anything more.

‘I’m paying for today’s purchases,’ she said, but as the words left her mouth she saw Monique’s expression of jaw-dropping shock and knew that she’d made yet another mistake.