Smiling, the butler carried away his plates, and Rose turned back to Alastair as if her point had been made.
‘See? He’s limping, and it’s getting worse.’
‘I hadn’t noticed,’ Alastair confessed, and she smiled her royal forgiveness. If he could be regally formal, then so could she.
‘No. That’s because you’re busy. But I did. The servants talk to me, so I can find out what’s wrong.’
He’d noticed that. Often he heard laughter and it’d be Rose and the housekeeper or Rose and a kitchen maid or Rose and the gardener…
And more and more, he felt shut out.
Now, as Henri reappeared bearing a tray of…lamingtons, for heaven’s sake, Alastair directed his attention to his butler’s feet.
Sure enough, the man was limping.
‘Rose says you need time off to have your feet attended to,’ he said ruefully. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I’m not a slave-driver.’
‘I never thought you were,’ Henri said with dignity. ‘But if it was
‘I don’t.’
‘You do.’ Henri paused and then relented. ‘But if I may say so, M’sieur, it’s a pleasure to work with you. You’ve been a breath of fresh air in the castle.’ He beamed at the pair of them. ‘You and M’selle Rose.’
Especially M’selle Rose, his smile said.
‘Thank you,’ Penny-Rose said faintly, and Henri’s beam widened.
‘It’s my pleasure. So my bunions can stay as they are, thank you very much,’ he declared. ‘Take time off with your wedding in a week? No, M’sieur. Tomorrow Marie and I intend to attack the marital suite.’ His eyes grew misty at the thought. ‘It’s forty years since your uncle brought his bride home. That marriage didn’t last, but…if I may say so, that wedding was an arranged match. Not a match as this is going to be. Oh, no!’
And he limped back to the kitchens, leaving them staring after him in astonishment.
‘He thinks it’s real,’ Alastair said, and Penny-Rose concentrated on her lamington.
‘Then I guess we’ve succeeded.’ It took an effort, but she didn’t look at him. ‘Have a lamington. They’re delicious.’
He took a bite of a chocolate-and-coconut-covered square, but his mind wasn’t on his lamington.
‘What have you been telling them?’
Her eyes widened at that. ‘Me? What do you mean?’
‘This is a marriage of convenience,’ he said heavily. ‘I thought it was obvious, but the staff don’t believe it.’
‘Maybe they don’t want to believe it,’ she said gently. ‘The staff have had a rough time, with the old prince’s failing health and then Louis. Maybe they’re looking for stability.’
‘That doesn’t depend on a stable marriage.’
‘Of course not.’ She lifted another lamington and took a bite, then surveyed it with care. ‘I guess Henry the Eighth had quite a stable household.’
‘Henry the Eighth?’
‘The one with six wives,’ she told him.
‘Hey!’ That was a bit much. ‘I only want two.’
‘Very moderate, I call it,’ she agreed equitably. ‘And there’s been no suggestion at all of anyone getting their heads chopped off.’ She chuckled across the table at him, and it was all he could do not to drop his lamington.
Hell! Things were getting seriously out of hand.
‘Rose…’
‘These lamingtons are great,’ she enthused. ‘Maybe we should honeymoon in Australia so we can eat more. I could introduce you to pavlovas and Vegemite sandwiches and pie floaters…’
‘Pie floaters?’
‘Pies in pea soup,’ she explained, and he shuddered.
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll stick to our cuisine. But that reminds me. Our honeymoon…’
‘Sorry?’
‘The press are expecting us to honeymoon.’
‘They can expect all they like. I haven’t finished my wall.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake…’ His pent-up emotions over-flowed and he thumped the table. ‘Rose, will you take this seriously?’
‘You don’t want me to take it seriously.’
‘I…’
‘It’s a mock marriage,’ she told him. She rose and gave him a mock curtsey. ‘Pardon me, Your Serene Highness, but there’s nothing serious about our marriage at all. So I’m not going on a honeymoon anywhere. Sorry, Alastair, but I’m going up to say goodnight to your mother.’ Then she flashed her infectious grin at him. ‘Stop worrying. Go and design a mansion for someone and stop thinking of weddings. You’re getting paranoid.’
And before he could stop her, she’d come around the table and kissed him, very lightly, on the top of his head. It was a teasing kiss-perfunctory and light-hearted.
There was no reason at all for him to put a hand to his forehead.
And for him to leave his hand there for a good three minutes after she’d left the room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘I HAVE a surprise for you,’ Marguerite told her.
It was four days before the wedding. The castle was a hive of activity, and with the invasion of so many strangers, Penny-Rose had grudgingly conceded to stop her walling.
She was feeling like a pampered but caged pet, but at least time with Marguerite was productive. The effects of her influenza were dragging on. Marguerite was wan and listless, she spent most of her day in bed and she had everyone worried.
But she was still scheming.
‘I’ve had the most wonderful plan,’ she told Penny-Rose. ‘For your honeymoon.’
‘We’re not having a honeymoon.’ Penny-Rose glanced up as Alastair entered the room. ‘Tell her, Alastair. We don’t want a honeymoon. Just a well mother-in-law.’
‘That’s all we want.’ Alastair crossed the room and gave his mother a kiss. ‘Dr Barnard was here earlier. What did he say?’
‘Just more rest.’ His mother sighed her exasperation. ‘You can’t expect anything else at my age.’
‘That makes you sound as if you’re ninety instead of only just seventy,’ Penny-Rose retorted. She grinned. ‘Madame Beric says all you need is a good tonic. She makes poor M’sieur Beric drink some foul potion full of aniseed and all sorts of horrible herbs and spices that she swears will cure anything from warts to ingrown toenails. Do you want me to get you some?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Marguerite said faintly.
‘Are you missing Paris?’ Alastair demanded, sitting down on her bed. His mother had a lovely apartment near the Seine. She’d dropped everything to come here when Louis had died and she hadn’t been home since. ‘You’ve been doing so much-’
‘I’ve hardly done anything,’ his mother cut in.
‘You have. Without your organisation this household would be a mess. But you must miss your friends.’
‘I’ll go back to Paris after I see you safely married,’ she told him, and Penny-Rose gave her a strange look.
‘Don’t you want to go back to Paris?’ she asked, feeling her way. ‘Is that the problem?’
‘I do…’
‘You don’t like it here?’
‘I love it here,’ Marguerite confessed.
