Viktoria sat up. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘Perfectly. I think there’s a sufficient swell of public opinion in favour of marrying a commoner to make it possible. Even desirable.’
‘Marrying the socially acceptable virgin didn’t work,’ Isabelle chipped in.
The Dowager Princess shot her younger daughter a look that demanded silence. ‘I would very much like to meet your Dr Chambers. But, with a front page like this, you do realise you’ve made her position here untenable? We will have to make some kind of announcement.’ There was a knock at the door. ‘Come in.’
‘Your Serene Highnesses,’ Alois von Dietrich said as he entered. ‘Prince Sebastian, if I might speak with you? Privately,’ he added as Seb appeared to hesitate.
With a nod at the female members of his family Seb left the sitting room. ‘You look like the world has caved in.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Alois pulled a file from beneath his arm. ‘This has appeared in a London paper this morning. I can only assume they started looking into Dr Chambers’ background when she first took up residence in the guest wing. I believe they call it investigative journalism,’ he added drily.
Seb felt the first tingle of apprehension. Alois rarely showed emotion, but the other man looked as stressed as he’d ever seen him. ‘What is it?’
Alois pulled out the scanned image and handed it across. Seb looked down at what had always been a poor-quality photograph of Marianne. What made it a picture that would be reproduced around the world was that she was pregnant.
‘And this has already appeared in the London papers?’
‘Just the one paper, sir.’
One paper, but more would follow.
Alois cleared his throat. ‘I understand its publication has already prompted a radio phone-in with listeners suggesting what attributes they considered most appropriate for the wife of one of the world’s most eligible princes.’
Seb swore softly. He looked back down at the image in his hand. Marianne had told him about their daughter, and he’d thought he’d understood what it must have been like for her, but seeing her pregnant with his child was painful.
Marianne looked so young. Vulnerable. And he’d left her alone. Frightened and alone.
God forgive him.
‘The Press office is being besieged by reporters wanting a statement on your relationship with Dr Chambers. And there has been a significant number of comments in our own Press expressing concern that you should have brought your mistress to stay at Poltenbrunn Castle.’
Seb’s mouth took on a determined line.
‘We need to issue a statement, sir. The Press office have put together some suggestions and they recommend that something is said in time for the six o’ clock news.’
Seb gave a brief nod in recognition that he’d heard and then he walked back into his mother’s private rooms. ‘The London tabloids have been busy,’ he said, handing her the envelope.
She looked up questioningly before pulling out the picture of Marianne. She looked up at her son. ‘She’s had a baby?’
‘Mine.’ Seb’s voice brooked no discussion.
Isabelle sat up in her chair and swore softly.
‘Our baby was stillborn on 17th April—’
‘Thank God for that!’ Viktoria exclaimed and then backtracked when Seb looked at her. ‘I don’t mean that exactly, but for you to have an illegitimate child would be so difficult. Particularly if you haven’t been supporting it. Very unpopular.’ Her voice wavered.
The Dowager Princess stood up and picked up her cigarettes. The ones she kept especially to remind her that she no longer smoked. ‘Darling.’ She looked at her son. ‘There’s no way you can marry her now.’
Marianne shut her laptop with a fierce click. She didn’t want to see any more. It was exactly what she’d feared, deep down, though where that particular photograph had surfaced from she’d no idea.
But surface it had—and her past had returned to haunt her. They’d been fooling themselves to think that it wouldn’t. According to Beth, no one had yet put a date on that photograph, but they would. It was only a matter of time. And what would the headlines be then?
Marianne placed a shaking hand over her mouth. Thank God there’d been no public announcement about any engagement. Nothing done that would compound her humiliation—because she knew Seb couldn’t marry her now.
It was impossible. He might love her, but he loved Andovaria more. It had the prior claim on his heart.
Perhaps she was a coward, but her instinct was to run. She didn’t want to have an endless post-mortem. Didn’t want to sit with Seb—loving him, aching for him—while he explained why it was no longer possible for her to be his wife.
She understood why.
With immense care Marianne packed her laptop away, twisting the leads into the narrow channel. She needed to go away. Quickly.
But where would she go? Her mind was in complete spasm. She needed to calm down and think. Going home wasn’t a possibility. Her house in Cambridge would be completely besieged by reporters.
Her parents’ home? Beth’s? The Blackwells’? Every place she thought of was discarded for the same reason. And how did she get home anyway? She’d seen the paparazzi gathered outside the castle for Princess Isabelle, who only might be bringing her boyfriend home—what would it be like now?
Was it even going to be possible to walk into an airport and get on a scheduled flight? Marianne pulled a hand across her face as the panic inside her started to build. She didn’t know how to manage this.
She would need to talk to Seb. Perhaps there was some ‘safe’ house she could stay at until the furor died down? Then she could quietly slip back to England.
And she would need to talk to Peter and Eliana. Perhaps she should do that first? Marianne pulled her case from out of the wardrobe, her fingers hesitating on the zip pull. She’d let Peter down. What would he do now? She brushed angrily at the single tear that trickled down her cheek.
She flung open the lid and filled the suitcase with her clothes. Marianne worked quickly. There was probably no need to do so, but she couldn’t bear to sit still. She had to be doing something. Anything.
Eventually she squeezed the last shoe down the edge and closed her case. A mixture of shock, panic and anguish rose up inside her like a wave. Marianne placed her hand over her mouth as though that would somehow stop the dam bursting.
What was she going to do?
She went and sat down at her dressing-table stool and put in her simple studs with fingers that didn’t want to co-operate. Then she picked up her heart-shaped locket, her fingers closing round it like a talisman.
For ten years she’d clung to it. Taken it with her everywhere she went. Her fingers trembled as she opened the tiny catch and let the door halves fall open to reveal the photograph of Jessica.
Their daughter.
What would have happened now if Jessica had lived? If she were a living, breathing nine-year-old in Cambridge, going to the local school…?
Acting on a sudden impulse, Marianne laid it open on top of her pillow and then pulled her case out into the sitting room. It was time to leave. To draw one clear black line under this part of her life and reinvent herself as someone else.
But first she had to speak to Peter. Tell him that she could no longer be his eyes. Her bottom lip trembled and she caught it between her teeth. Perhaps Princess Viktoria would be so relieved she was leaving quietly that she wouldn’t mind so very much?
Marianne banged a fist against her head. Think. She had to have options. There were always options.
She could dye her hair with one of Eliana’s temporary rinses. She could hide in the back of Eliana’s car while she drove it through the waiting photographers. Maybe travel back to England on a ticket Eliana bought? Stay with one of their friends…
Options. She just needed to keep calm—and think.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Muriel Blackwell asked from the opposite side of her
large country kitchen. ‘You look like you could do with one.’
Marianne shook her head. ‘I think I’d like to go for a walk.’
‘Some fresh air might do you good,’ the other woman said with a smile as she kneaded her bread dough.
Something needed to, Marianne thought as she stepped outside into the country lane that wound its way down to the river. Her escape from Andovaria had been successful, if not very elegant.
No doubt in twenty years she’d find things to laugh about. Being huddled on the floor of the Blackwells’ car with a blanket over her, and assorted cardboard boxes on top of that, did have elements of the ridiculous.
But leaving her suitcase behind and arriving at Muriel and John Blackwell’s home with not so much as a toothbrush and a clean pair of knickers was more inconvenient than ridiculous.
Marianne climbed over the stile and walked down to the single-plank bench. She liked it here. She liked the peace and the smell of warm grass. She liked to hear the sound of crickets and even the soft hum of traffic far in the distance.
Two days. And she’d deliberately not looked at a single paper since she’d arrived in Norfolk. Refused to turn on the television or listen to the radio. It was like living in a sterile environment. No contact with the outside world at all—excepting Muriel with her warm smile and fairly constant chatter.
‘Marianne.’
She spun round. Seb!
‘They told me I’d find you here.’
He looked gorgeous. Dark jeans and a slim-fitting slate-coloured T-shirt. Seeing him—here—made her want to cry because she’d missed him so much. Wanted him.
‘Why are you here?’
His sensual mouth twisted into a half-smile. ‘To find you.’
‘Why?’
‘You forgot this,’ he said, holding out her locket by the chain.
She shook her head. ‘I left it for you.’
Seb came to sit down beside her. ‘Because I didn’t have a photograph of Jessica?’
Mutely Marianne nodded. She didn’t trust her voice. Why was he here?
‘I think I’d rather see you wear it.’ He placed it round her neck and fastened the clasp.
Marianne could feel his fingers as they brushed against her neck. Her head was full of the day he’d first given her the locket.
‘I was thinking we might do something else to remember Jessica.’ He stretched out his legs and seemed to contemplate the slow-moving river in front of them. ‘I was wondering whether a statue in the formal gardens at Poltenbrunn might be nice?’
She turned to look at him, her eyes welling up.
‘You didn’t need to run away,’ he said gently. And then, ‘Don’t cry, Marianne. Please don’t cry.’ His warm hands reached up to brush away the tears that had started to fall.
‘D-did you see the photograph? Of m-me?’
Seb leant forward and kissed her trembling mouth. Marianne could taste the salt of her own tears.
‘I saw it.’ She started to speak, but Seb laid a finger over her mouth. ‘It doesn’t matter. None of that matters.’
‘But you said…’
‘I’ve said a lot of foolish things.’ His eyes swept over her tear-stained face. ‘What matters is that I love you and I think you love me.’
‘Andovaria won’t accept a princess like me.’
‘Andovaria has no choice. Marianne, I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If it ever comes to a choice between that and renouncing my throne—I choose you.’
Marianne started to shake her head. ‘But—’
‘There is no “but”. I’ve made my choice. If you’d stayed you’d have known I’d done it by the evening news on the day the picture of you carrying our baby was first printed in London.’
‘D-did what?’
‘I issued a statement to say that the baby you were carrying in that photograph was mine. That I accepted full responsibility for my actions and that I was prepared to step down from the throne if that was what the people wished, but that I loved you and hoped you’d agree to be my wife.’
He pulled a box from the pocket of his jeans and flicked it open. Inside was a platinum band set with five of the biggest diamonds Marianne had ever seen. ‘You said you’d marry me.’ His eyes searched out hers. ‘Will you wear my ring?’
Marianne covered her face with both her hands and tried to bring in enough breath to let her brain function. She wanted to be with Seb so much, but how could she let him give up everything that mattered to him? At what point in the future would he look at her and decide she hadn’t been worth the sacrifice?
‘I can’t let you…’
Seb flicked the ring box shut and pulled her in close. ‘And I can’t be without you. If you won’t marry me I’ll have to leave Andovaria anyway, because I’m going to have to live near where you are. I’m going to spend the rest of my life convincing you that you love me too.’
Marianne could feel her resolve weaken as the warmth of his arms began to seep into the chill of her heart. ‘You’ll regret it.’
‘If you won’t marry me, I’ll regret it,’ he countered. ‘We can do it any way you want. I can abdicate in favour of Michael by this evening and we can plan our future in England. You can continue your career and I’ll start thinking about what options are open to me. I want you.’
I want you. He sounded so sure. So certain.
‘Or we can go back to Andovaria together and announce our engagement. Then we’ll spend some time selecting the sculptor we want to create a statue in memory of our daughter.’
‘What will people say?’
‘They’ll say a lot, because that’s what people do. But it’s not their life. Only you and I can decide what will suit us best. Make us happy. And I know I can’t do another ten years without you.’
A soft sob broke from deep within her.
‘I love you.’
Her fingers clutched at his T-shirt.
‘We’re in this together. And, honestly, I don’t really mind what does happen as long as I’m with you. Whatever public opinion says or doesn’t say, we’re going to be happy. As happy as we would have been if I’d stood my ground at nineteen. Marianne, will you marry me? Have children with me? Spend your life with me?’
Marianne thought of all the reasons she should say no—and then she thought of the one reason she should say yes. ‘I love you. I do love you. I’ve always loved you.’
Seb lifted her chin so she had no choice but look into his eyes. ‘So which way are we going? Towards Andovaria? Or away?’
Strong, calm, loving eyes. And she’d no doubt that he meant every word. The choice was hers. If she didn’t feel strong enough to face the ‘slings and arrows’ that would no doubt come their way, maybe even rejection by his country, he’d come with her.
‘Andovaria,’ she said, huskily. ‘If they’re prepared to give me a chance…’
Seb reached into his jeans pocket for the second time and pulled out the ring box. ‘Do you like it?’
Despite everything, or perhaps because of it, Marianne felt a sudden gurgle of laughter. ‘I love it.’ She took the box from his fingers and opened it. ‘It’s beautiful.’
Seb pulled it from its slot and reached for her left hand. ‘Mine,’ he said, sliding it onto her third finger. ‘You belong to me now. Whatever happens.’
He reached across and stroked a finger down the side of her cheek, before his hand moved to thread through her hair. Then he pulled her closer, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that seared deep into her soul.
EPILOGUE
DESPITE the snow, the crowds were at least five people deep all along the route to Poltenbrunn Cathedral. Thousands of flower arrangements had been brought in to decorate the streets and there were streamers and banners everywhere she looked.
It was the strangest sensation to know that they were there for her—her and Seb. Wishing them well.
And her tiara felt heavy. She’d spent the last two months practising walking i
n it and it was harder than one would imagine. As was the royal wave. Seb seemed to manage something with a flick of the wrist, but hers still needed work.
Her father smiled across at her. ‘Nervous?’
‘Just a little.’
He leant over to grip hold of her hand and Marianne felt a surge of love towards him and her mother. Her parents had made mistakes, but so had she. She was just grateful they were here.
The glass-topped Rolls-Royce Phantom IV stopped in front of the steps leading up to the cathedral and she was aware that millions of eyes would be watching her climb out of the car. Pencils across Europe would be poised to begin the race to see how quickly they could get a copy of her dress in the shops.
She drew a shaky breath. But none of that mattered. What mattered was the man waiting for her inside. The man who’d been prepared to give all of this up for her—because he loved her.
Marianne stood still while the dress designer moved about her, first adjusting her antique silk veil and then the five metres of train that would stretch out behind her down the aisle. The off-white silk had been covered in Andovarian embroidery, all done by hand and exquisitely beautiful.
But none of it mattered—just the man.
She gripped her bouquet of white roses and sweetly smelling lilies of the valley and walked through the doors to Poltenbrunn Cathedral. Lights were flashing everywhere in bright bursts all around her and camera crews were catching every expression she made.
Behind her she was aware of Isabelle and Beth organising the fourteen young bridesmaids chosen from old aristocratic families. Every detail had been thought about, planned with military precision.
But, none of it mattered. As the organist struck the first chord Seb turned. So far away, right down by the altar, waiting for her to walk towards him. He smiled and her nerves vanished.
Dressed in full military regalia he looked every inch the prince he was. But it didn’t matter. She was marrying the man. For better, for worse. Whatever life threw at them, good or bad.
Harlequin Romance Bundle: Crowns and Cowboys Page 46