“An interesting theory, Lady Nicolette,” Alejandro remarked in his most flippant tones. But he was intrigued. “You think that the political elite knowingly sacrificed the lives of brave soldiers to save face?”
“And for personal gain,” Lord Ravensdale remarked.
“And yet, I hold the Spanish people accountable as well.” Nicolette continued as if he had agreed wholeheartedly with her in the regal manner he had grown to expect from her.
“How good of you to share the blame.”
“For allowing their elected officials to fan their vainglory. How can it ever be right to kill in order to heighten national pride?” She added softly.
“To take a life in order that one might elevate one's mood for a moment or two,” reflected Lord Ravensdale.
Alejandro could not tear his eyes from Nicolette’s. He was astonished at her insight. And wished he might say that he agreed.
“This is precisely the instance when a monarch can rule better than a politician,” Théophile Delcassé interjected, allowing Alejandro to move his eyes. “There is no future election to be won. A monarch can choose the right course of action according to his conscience.”
Émile Combes raised his eyebrows in perceivable discomfort.
“I realize you were not the king, Prince Alejandro,” Nicolette studied him intently, “but I wonder how you might have proceeded.”
“You cannot expect me to second guess my king, Lady Nicolette. In addition, there were many players outside the monarchy, not least of all the Americans, who are likewise characterized by nationalism, an antagonistic foreign policy, and separatism. We have that in common with the Americans.” He nodded to Mr. Bromberg. “I know you will forgive my plain speaking, Mr. Bromberg, in light of your own.”
“I stand behind President Roosevelt,” Bromberg grunted as he stroked his moustache.
“And I my King. I understand your feeling and commend your loyalty, Mr. Bromberg. We Spaniards are a fiercely loyal people as well,” Alejandro dabbed his mouth with his handkerchief. “On the other hand, I, personally, can admire a great man without viewing him as a god. It is always a mistake to make one's heroes divine.”
“The American diplomat to Spain during the crisis, Mr. Woodford, was equally naive,” added Théophile Delcassé. “Woodford never comprehended the extent of Spanish patriotism or understood its implications.”
“Woodford had no knowledge of Spanish and was inexperienced in diplomacy. He was wholly unqualified for the job,” muttered Lord Ravensdale. It struck Alejandro that the British ambassador to France was clearly accustomed to speaking the truth as he saw it, an unusual quality in a diplomat. The entire family interested the future sovereign and had from the instant of seeing Nicolette, he had to admit to himself.
“There truly is a difference in cultures which must be understood to produce successful alliances,” Lady Ravensdale noted softly.
“Indeed,” agreed Esteban, nodding to Lady Ravensdale, his eyes suddenly softened. “Lady Nicolette was correct in her assessment. Many outside of Spain do not comprehend that Spaniards would die, would risk everything, would even enter a war they expected to lose in order to defend their national honor.”
“This is why it is so insulting to a Spaniard to insinuate he would lie,” Alejandro smiled at Mr. Bromberg.
“The Cubans suffered terribly,” Lady Elaina shook her head in disapproval. “How can all this philosophical banter ever be more important than the lives of real people?” she asked pointedly. There was a general murmur among the guests.
“True, Lady Elaina,” Alejandro agreed softly, turning his spoon through the creamy custard as if it engrossed him. “It is always the people who matter. And the Cuban people were my people as well.” Inflicting suffering on one's own people could never be justified.
But he could not say it; there was no doubt in his mind his criticism of the king would show up in Bromberg's newspaper the next day, omitting his positive remarks. It would connote a completely different meaning while selectively quoting him. Alejandro shut his eyes briefly, feeling as if his heart would break—and hating himself for his silence.
Alejandro wished he had been king. He would have taken different steps early on. All the funds needed for education and agriculture—for the Spanish people—used for a pointless war to re-elect politicians. And the lives lost.
To hell with honor. He saw no honor in killing one's own people to impress outsiders. It was a throwback to dueling days.
“It was at a great cost to Spain on every level,” Esteban stated quietly. “Does anyone here know the lives lost? Lady Elaina, I expect you know?”
“Thirty six hundred on the side of the Americans,” Mr. Bromberg offered abruptly.
“And over fifty-five thousand Spaniards,” stated Lady Elaina.
“Fifty-five thousand!” Madame Loubet was noticeably shaken. “You can't be serious!”
“Most were lost to disease: malaria and dysentery,” Alejandro explained quietly.
“May God bless their souls. Let us toast to the nobility of the Spanish people,” Lord Ravensdale stood, motioning to his footman to pour the champagne. He raised his glass with feeling, nodding to Mr. Bromberg. “And to the loyalty of the Americans.”
His sincerity was contagious. All raised their glasses, though the mood was decidedly somber.
“Speaking of alliances,” infused Madame Loubet, her elaborate coiffure bobbing, “When can we expect to see a royal wedding, your highness?” She smiled with the expression of someone who loved to be first with the gossip.
“I hope I may count you among my guests, Madame Loubet, when that happy event occurs,” Alejandro bestowed his most charming smile upon her, despite his discomfiture. He found the attacks on his person and his country, as angry as they made him, easier to contemplate than his marriage, which could not be long delayed. The necessity of forming a prestigious alliance was critical to Spain's future.
“I thank you for the honor, your highness,” Madame Loubet beamed. “Nothing would please me more.”
“And may one inquire…who is to be the bride?” asked Mrs. Delcassé.
Alejandro felt some uneasiness beside him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nicolette busying herself rearranging raspberries atop her crème brule´ even as one escaped below the table.
“I am not yet betrothed, so you cannot expect me to disclose the name of my intended, Mrs. Delcassé,” Alejandro nodded regally.
“Of course, your highness.” Madame Loubet touched her painted index finger to her lips, smiling with delight.
“One wishes your father a long and prosperous reign,” remarked Prime Minister Combes stiffly, “but when you are King, might we then expect to see a separation of church and state?”
“I hope I shall never live to see the separation of church and state in Spain.” Alejandro shook his head at the absurdity of it. “A godless country is an empty reward.”
Nicolette glanced at him sideways, and there could be little doubt of her views on the subject. He found it astonishing and gratifying that she held her tongue.
“It does not necessarily follow that such a separation results in a godless country,” Combes countered.
“Prime Minister Combes, through your efforts nearly ten thousand religious schools have been closed in France. Thousands of priests and nuns fled France rather than risk persecution. What impact do you think this has on religion?”
Monsieur Combes smiled proudly, clearly pleased with the outcome.
“I completely agree with the separation of church and state,” stated Nicolette, managing to add a raspberry to her spoon. “The church should not be running the country.”
Ah, there it is. He had to wait a full thirty seconds.
“That is a view I can respect, but I do not approve of the methods utilized, which were no less than the massacre of religion—and, subsequently, worship.” Alejandro was surprising himself: he was remarkably opinionated this evening.
“It
was a very sad affair.” Lady Ravensdale stood and gently interjected with a smile. “Let us continue our conversation in the music room. As you know, it is our English custom, and we are blessed to have the exceptionally talented Lady Nicolette as our private performer. Shall we retire for more coffee, sherry, and music?”
Alejandro smiled. This was what he had been waiting for all evening.
“I cannot think of anything I would like better,” remarked Madame Loubet.
Precisely my thoughts.
“I will be just a moment,” Lady Ravensdale added. “I promised my son he could attend the musical portion of our evening.”
Alejandro saw certain eyebrows raised, but, to his way of thinking there was nothing odd about putting family, and especially one's children, first. It might not be true in his family, but it was completely consistent with Spanish culture.
They removed to a striking but far from grand parlor, small and intimate, primarily peach in tone with ecru molding, a crystal chandelier in the middle of the room. The white marble fireplace displaying a painting of Lady Ravensdale and Nicolette at an early age caught the eye first, bronze candle sconces accenting each side of the painting. The piano was a lavish rosewood Bechstein. The flowers were yellow, dark orange, rose, lavender, and plum, bringing out the colors of a hand-woven Aubusson rug in dark orange, plum, and light blue under a stone table. Off to the side was a tea and coffee service along with a decanter of sherry.
He liked the room. Everything about the house and the family was warm.
Hot, at times.
As Alejandro watched Nicolette prepare to sing, moving her music stand next to the piano, he wondered why he could not keep his tongue in check whenever she was present. He had always been able to refrain from speech if it furthered his purposes.
Despite being forced to converse with others, his eyes kept returning to her, everything about her drawing him to her. The copper spangle fringe flapped against her ivory arms from a lavender satin arm band. Lavender chiffon floated about her as she walked, the elaborate embroidery catching the light. Her sea-green eyes were like jewels in a mystic sea, and his eyes kept returning to meet hers.
She holds everything I hope for in her hands.
God had played a very cruel joke on him. Lady Nicolette did not like him, and yet, despite her personal feelings, she was his path to the Divine.
They were as incompatible as fire and water. Alejandro smiled to himself even as he thought she smiled at him. As long as they were not speaking to each other they were on the best of terms.
Abruptly, she moved towards him.
What is her purpose? To kick him, stab him, or insult him? Or all three? He prepared himself for the worst.
“Your highness, let me show you to your seat.”
“Of course.” He followed her, almost stumbling, and his hand touched hers for a moment.
What is wrong with me? He was like a schoolboy, as if he had never known a woman.
“Mama, did we miss anything?” he heard in that piercing, high-pitched voice which children utilize when they are attempting to speak softly.
“No, dear, of course not. We wouldn't start without you. But after this it's straight to bed.” Lady Ravensdale returned with her son, completely dressed in his Sunday best in something resembling a Lord Fauntleroy suit. He looked to be six or seven years of age. His black curls were unruly, and his sapphire blue eyes twinkled with excitement, but he was otherwise on excellent behavior. Alejandro wished he might say the same for some of the other guests.
“Yes, Mama.”
It warmed Alejandro’s heart to see such a happy child. It filled him with an unfamiliar longing as he watched the boy seat himself in his father’s lap.
“Nicolette, are you ready?” Lady Ravensdale asked. Her daughter nodded somberly.
Why is the senorita suddenly so serious? He hardly thought a musical recital warranted such solemnity.
Alejandro turned to observe Esteban standing against the wall, his eyes surveying the room, motioning that he preferred to situate himself more strategically. Esteban chose the oddest times to be on his guard.
Lady Ravensdale seated herself at the piano. Nicolette glanced in his direction, their eyes locking for a moment. Her expression was strange, as if she weren’t confident of her course, a rare look for her. She then moved to stand at the podium.
Alejandro smiled, the family scene before him so sweet, so…
Nicolette began to sing.
What is this? It is like a haunting memory, it is…
30
The Gods protect them
“Two hearts which burn with love
Human frailty can never part
Love is the effort of the enemy
The Gods themselves protect them”
- THE MAGIC FLUTE by Amadeus Wolfgang Mozart
What should I do? She was supposed to sing for the group that evening; it was perfectly respectable in the privacy of one’s home.
She had planned to sing something light and gay, but now, dare she…should she?
If there is truly a healing in it for him, I must do it.
The music requires it.
Everything in her rebelled against it.
I do not wish to bow to his will.
But she knew she had to. If she could do something good for someone at no cost to herself—she was planning to sing anyway—why should she not?
True, she was irritated with Alejandro beyond belief. He still had not apologized for the many insults he had hurled at her.
He doesn’t even understand what they are.
Of all things she hated to subjugate herself to another person, and particularly one who expected it.
She smiled to herself. I will give him something he doesn’t expect.
I must know. Is this the boy for whom she had prayed for so many years? The boy who had touched her heart, she didn’t know why.
If it was him, it meant…it meant…
She had to know.
I must know if this is all a fabrication of his imagination or something real.
* * *
As Nicolette began to sing, Alejandro sat up in his chair abruptly.
It can’t be. It is more than a simple rendition, it is the same experience. He was reliving the memory which had both saved him and cursed him, returning him from heaven.
It was the piece he loved so well, Mimi's song.
My pastime
is making lilies and roses.
I love all things
that have gentle magic,
that talk of love, of spring,
that talk of dreams and fancies -
the things called poetry ...
No, it can’t be. As he listened, it was hauntingly familiar.
Too familiar. His hand dropped to the arm of his chair abruptly.
His heart began pounding uncontrollably as he watched her. He remembered her teacup had been shaking as she lowered it to the table at dinner when they discussed music; he had thought it odd at the time.
Of course. She was the daughter of a diplomat and she had traveled the world.
They had met before.
No, they had never met. But his soul had met hers and been reawakened.
Nicolette caught his eyes, and he knew she knew the moment comprehension dawned.
Why didn’t I tell him? He could see from her eyes she had known for some time.
Because deception is her modus operendi. In all things, even the divine.
She retrieved her lace handkerchief embroidered in flowers, showed it to the audience, and then caressed her cheek with it, closing her eyes. He felt his own begin to tear.
How, in heaven’s name, can one who can create such rapture be so ruthlessly duplicitous?
But when spring comes
the sun's first rays are mine.
April's first kiss is mine!
Alejandro fought his reaction. I do not want her to mean even more to me than she already means.
&nb
sp; He did not want a woman who never told the truth to be this close. She was never honest with him. As her lips opened and closed, he should have felt nothing. Instead, he felt everything as his emotions swirled around him.
And yet the moment of deliverance which he desired, the instant explosion, did not come.
He knew why. Not because he was angry with her. That was a given with Nicolette.
Because he could not help but be aware there were so many other people in the room: people he must impress, people to whom he must not be seen as peculiar or, far worse, weak.
I cannot experience the music as I feel it. He dared not.
The concert was more torture than delight because he approached salvation but only looked at it through a foggy glass. Like a poor child watching other children open presents at Epiphany through a window, wondering why the kings had forgotten him.
The concert complete, he stood to move towards her and her entourage when he saw the embroidered handkerchief Nicolette had dropped laying on the floor. All eyes on her, he placed it in his pocket.
31
Two Thieves
“My strong box
Is robbed of all its jewels
by two thieves
a pair of pretty eyes
They came in now with you
and all my lovely dreams,
my dreams of the past
Were soon stolen away”
- Rodolfo, La bohème by Giacomo Puccini
“Mother said you wish for a tour of the house, Prince Alejandro.” Nicolette approached him after her performance, disrupting his reverie.
“Indeed, I would,” he replied stiffly, bowing. The formality had abruptly returned to their relationship.
Why didn’t she tell me? When he recounted the story of the Seraglio, Nicolette must have wondered if she was the girl who saved his life.
The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren Page 24