Royal Marriage Of Convenience

‘Yes,’ said Rose, chuckling more than the girl had chuckled, and hugging Hoppy as she rolled back out from behind the settee. ‘I believe they’re my knickers you’re standing on, sir.’

He bent and picked them up. They were pink and white and lacy, with butterflies embroidered on them.

‘My God,’ he said with reverence. ‘And I stood on them. Why didn’t I notice these last night? Were these special for your wedding?’

‘Of course,’ she said, and then she giggled again. ‘Nope. I tell a lie. I wear knickers like this all the time.’

‘You’re kidding me.’ He held them to the light as one might hold up a piece of priceless art. ‘You wear these? As a country vet?’

‘I wear brown, grungy overalls and mud, and I smell like cattle,’ she said. ‘I have to be a girl some time.’

‘It’s a tragedy,’ he said, awed. ‘All that time they’ve been under brown overalls?’

‘Um…’ She choked back another giggle, then thought about what the girl had said and suddenly it was easy to stop laughing. ‘She said Julianna was here.’

‘And Ruby,’ Nick said, in a tone of deep foreboding.

‘Ruby?’

‘If it’s the Ruby I think it is, it’s my foster mother.’

‘Your foster mother.’ She gathered her duvet round her and rose awkwardly to her feet. ‘I didn’t…’ She frowned. ‘You didn’t ask her to the wedding?’

‘I sort of did. I told her she was welcome but it was a political move, business only, and there was no reason for her to come. Did you ask your in-laws?’ he retaliated.

‘As a matter of fact I did,’ she said. ‘Not only did they know why I was coming here, I told them the date of the wedding, and I told them they’d be welcome. Gladys slammed the phone down on me. So why does Ruby’s arrival make you sound scared?’

‘Because.’

She grinned. ‘You sound about ten years old. Because why?’

‘Because she’ll care.’

‘I see,’ she said cautiously. ‘And this would be a disaster?’

‘She’ll hate that it’s not a real marriage,’ he said. ‘She’ll hate that it’s a fraud.’

It was like a slap. Rose stilled.

‘A fraud,’ she whispered. ‘I…Oh, yes. Sorry.’

‘She’s always wanted her boys to marry,’ he said, not seeing her dismay as he concentrated on the possible consequences of Ruby’s arrival. ‘She married for love, and it’s her ambition to see us fall in love just like her. She’d never understand why we did this. But Ruby knows I go my own road. Why she’s here now…’

‘And Julianna,’ Rose whispered, pushing aside Nick’s troubles in the face of her own. ‘Why would she be here? She was invited to the wedding, but she didn’t come either. I haven’t seen her since that awful night.’

‘And they’re all waiting for us in the conservatory,’ Nick said morosely. ‘You think we ought to knot sheets and escape through the window?’

‘It’s hardly dangerous,’ she said.

‘If Ruby’s mad at me it might be.’

‘If Ruby’s mad at you then you deserve something dire.’

‘Hey, you’re on my side.’

‘Says who? Can I have my panties, please?’

‘Are you going to put them on?’

‘I think bluebirds today,’ she said with dignity. ‘Can I remind you-sir-that this is my bedroom, and all my clothes are here, and everything you own is in your bedroom down the hall? Therefore you should leave.’

‘Right,’ he said. Dazed. ‘Bluebirds.’ He almost visibly swallowed. ‘But Rose?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’ll wait for you at the head of the stairs,’ he told her. ‘I think we should go down together.’

‘There’s safety in numbers?’

‘I hope there is,’ he said.

Nick returned to his bedroom. The domestic staff had been before him. All evidence of the night’s intrusion had disappeared. He showered and dressed as fast as he could, then returned to the head of the stairs.

Rose was already waiting for him. ‘How the…?’

‘You obviously take longer putting on your make-up than I do,’ she told him, and smirked and started down the stairs.

She was wearing ancient jeans, an oversized sweatshirt and shabby sneakers. She’d tugged her hair back into a simple ponytail. Her face was scrubbed clean of all make-up. Anyone further from the elegant bride of yesterday he couldn’t imagine.

But somewhere under those jeans were bluebirds. He stood at the top of the stairs and forgot to move, so she had to stop at the first landing and turn to him, exasperated.

‘Coming?’

‘Sure,’ he said uncertainly, and she grinned.

‘I couldn’t find the bluebirds. It’s bumblebees.’

He nearly tripped and fell all the way to the bottom. Somehow he kept his feet and managed to follow her through the maze of corridors to the conservatory. Bumblebees. They passed three of the domestic staff on their way, and each had a smile as wide as a house plastered on their faces.

This wasn’t a house shocked to the core by news of an assassination attempt, he thought. Their movements since the intrusion had obviously been noted and were giving pleasure. Maybe news of the butterflies was winging its way round the castle right now.

But not the bumblebees. He was feeling decidedly proprietary about those bumblebees.

His mind was having trouble focusing on anything it should be focusing on, and it was almost a relief when they reached the conservatory and Rose pushed open the door. This was an orangery, a conservatory planned in the days when oranges had been an inconceivable luxury in a climate too cold for them. There were orange trees in beautifully ordered lines under the magnificent glass-roof. A truly royal tiled floor-a coat of arms in tiles-was magnificent enough to take the breath away.

But Nick scarcely saw it. There was a table in the bow window at the end of the long, glass-panelled conservatory. There were three people sitting at it.

Erhard. Julianna.

Ruby.

Uh-oh.

Maybe he shouldn’t have told her, he thought nervously. But she’d have found out anyway. Ruby was a diminutive white-haired lady. She was dressed in her customary pastel twin-set, tweed skirt and sensible shoes. A string of pearls her foster sons had given her for her sixtieth birthday showed she’d considered this day worth dressing up for, but there was little of the celebration about her small person now. She looked very, very hostile.

She rose, and Nick had the same urge to run that he’d had when he’d been ten years old and she’d discovered him ‘making lollies’-rolling dollops of butter in brown sugar and eating them with delicious abandonment. Half a pound of butter had disappeared before she’d found him.

‘Nikolai Jean Louis de Montez,’ she said now, in exactly the same voice as she’d used then. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

He had an almost irresistible urge to hold Rose in front of him like a shield. Only the knowledge that Rose was staring at Julianna like she was seeing a ghost stopped him.

‘I did say I’d fly you over if you wanted to come,’ he said weakly, and Ruby stalked towards him with such determined anger that for an awful moment he was afraid she’d box his ears.

When had she ever, though? Even after ‘the butter incident’ she’d simply made him walk the two miles to the nearest dairy to buy some more, and then go without butter on his toast for a week.

But she was angry. Boy, was she angry.

‘You told me,’ she said icily, ‘that you were marrying a European princess in name only so she could claim the throne. You said it wasn’t a real marriage. A contract only, if I’m not mistaken. Two signatures on a piece of paper. Why would I want to come and watch that?’