by Carolyn Rae
Her heart ached. She didn’t want to think about that. Ned, one of the stable boys, came to take the reins of the horses and gasped. Then he took another look. “Oh, you’re not Allysa. Have you heard anything about her? Is she happy with her new husband?”
Lawrence stepped away from Tricia. “As far as I know, she is contentedly awaiting the birth of her first child.”
Ned’s face looked grim, but he said, “That’s good. She will make a lovely mother.”
He was obviously having a hard time getting over his crush on Allysa. Too bad her husband couldn’t afford a stable and horses. Ned could be a devoted servant for them. However, perhaps his adoration of the princess would be a problem for the professor. Tricia wondered if Lawrence would be jealous if she were in a similar situation.
Who was she kidding? The prince was going to marry Lady Beatrice Constantine, and Tricia was going back to the states. Her heart was breaking into splinters to lie forgotten on the stone path to the palace. Those shards would shrivel in the harsh sunlight until rains washed them away to lie forgotten in the gutter.
Except she’d never forget Lawrence, how he kissed, how he cradled her in his arms, how he gazed at her as if she were the most precious possession he’d ever have.
But she wasn’t a possession. She was a living breathing person in her own right. She wanted to marry him and do what she could to elevate the conditions of all women of Cordillera. She’d even give speeches if that’s what it took.
Well, it wasn’t going to happen now. She was sure of that. And even if, by some miracle, Lawrence said he still wanted to marry her, the king and queen would never go for it. They’d say the people wouldn’t accept her as the consort of a ruler and would cause dissention among the people of Cordillera, making it hard for him to rule in harmony.
As she entered the palace and walked through the great room, servants scurried around. A large bouquet of flowers graced the main table. Purple ribbons decorated the white linen tablecloths hanging to the floor. A corsage of yellow roses lay next to the queen’s place. A maid rubbed a silver pitcher which gleamed in a ray of sunlight from the window.
Behind the head table stood two standards from which hung tapestries fashioned with a coat of arms Tricia did not recognize. Must be that of Beatrice’s family. Her heart sinking, she hesitated. Surely, they didn’t expect her to sit at the head of the table next to the royal family and their illustrious guest. She didn’t want to watch Beatrice make eyes at Lawrence. They’d probably seat Tricia below the salt. Wasn’t that the place she’d read about where people of lesser rank were placed? Why the heck didn’t they have multiple salt shakers or little bowls all the way down the table for the convenience of guests?
Or maybe they would conveniently forget to set a place for her at all. And she’d cause a commotion if she asked to have a place made. That would be extremely rude. Her appetite had fled. What if the king made an announcement before Lawrence had a chance to speak to him? That would ruin any plans they might have for getting the public used to the idea of their prince marrying a commoner.
Lawrence shot her a glance. “I have to speak to my uncle. I’ll talk to you later.”
Things couldn’t get much worse. She hurried up the back stairs. She didn’t want to run into Marguerite or any of the ladies in waiting and see their scornful looks. Or pitying ones either.
However, when she got to the room she’d been staying in, a servant was piling her stuff onto the arms of two boys, servants in training she guessed. The head housekeeper marched out of the room and draped Tricia’s blue silk pajamas over the shoulder of one boy. “That will be all. Take everything to the little room on the third floor, the one next to the storage room. Then set up a cot there with some of those muslin sheets like the ones in your room. It will only be occupied for one night.”
So, she was being relegated to the status of a servant. She stepped closer to the housekeeper. “Wait, who told you to have my things sent upstairs?”
“No one needed to. Prince Lawrence’s intended, Lady Beatrice Constantine, will be settled in this room. I’ve taken the liberty of getting it ready.”
“Isn’t there another room on this floor I could stay in?”
The head housekeeper straightened her back and looked down her bony nose at her. “There’s not another unoccupied room on this floor.”
Tricia frowned. No apology for moving her. Not even a “my lady.” Obviously, Lawrence had made his decision. At least she wouldn’t have to lie and say she had decided she didn’t want to live in Cordillera and share his life. Straightening her spine, she gave the servant a stern look. “Then I expect you to lead the way to the room you will prepare for me.”
She gave Tricia a strange look, but said, “Very well, miss. Follow me.”
Upstairs, the room, little more than an attic garret, had sloping ceilings and a tiny window with its own little alcove hall to allow sunlight in. Minutes later, the two servant boys set up a bed. At least it was a wooden frame with a mattress, not a cot. The muslin sheets were rough, but the blanket felt soft. The spread, a dingy white chenille with faded pink and blue stripes outlining the corners was an unpleasant contrast to the gold brocade one in the other room.
As the two boys and the housekeeper left, Tricia sank down on the bed with her tote bag. There wasn’t even a dresser to put her lovely comb, brush and mirror set on. At least she had a mirror so she could make herself presentable, though at the moment, she didn’t care.
She sighed, feeling more like a lost cause. Maybe she should just go stay with her parents and sisters. It might be crowded, but there she’d be part of a family, not shunted off to one side. However, she couldn’t bear to scurry off to her family’s home and answer all their questions.
She looked around for a closet or an armoire. This room didn’t have either. She’d have to make do with those hooks nailed to a board on the wall. She stuffed her jeans and shirt into the tote bag she’d brought with her. She dressed in the gauze skirt and the silk blouse Lawrence had bought her on the Isle of Capri. At least she wouldn’t be wearing pants when she strode from the palace. She brushed her hair with the silver monogrammed brush.
Although her stomach growled, she didn’t want to sit below the salt and watch the prince laugh and talk with Beatrice. Maybe she could call for reservations at the inn. Any room they had would be better than being treated like an unwanted guest.
She wondered if in her lowered status, she could even persuade a servant to bring her supper from the kitchen. Well, she wasn’t going to go hungry. Striding down the steps to the floor where she had stayed previously, she snagged a servant boy heading her way. Reminding herself to adopt an imperious tone, she said, “Bring a plate with whatever they are serving in the great hall to my room upstairs.”
The boy brushed back an unruly lock of red hair and stared at her. “But I have orders from Prince Lawrence himself to bid you to come downstairs. Dinner will be served momentarily.”
“I appreciate his thoughtfulness, but I would rather eat in my room.”
The teenager bowed. “I will tell His Highness.” He hurried down the hall.
Back in her room, Tricia traced the initials on her silver brush with her finger. She’d treasure this gift from Lawrence when she was back in the States. A song from the play “South Pacific” rang in her mind. “This nearly was mine.” How fitting. She had to stop dreaming and concentrate on what she could get—her doctorate.
And what if she became pregnant from the time they’d spent in the pool? She’d have to carry his baby inside back to the states, and his child could never claim his birthright as the son of a prince. Her folks would disown her or at least try to talk her into putting a baby out for adoption. Of course, she could marry Albert, but after Lawrence she couldn’t see herself settling for him. It was all or nothing. Well, not nothing exactly. She’d have her career. That would have to do.
Obviously, Lawrence had spoken to the king and queen about marrying her and
received a resounding “No.” He hadn’t cared enough to fight for her. She hoped he at least he had the grace to tell her in person. Perhaps it was better this way. She wouldn’t have to lie and say she didn’t love him so he’d feel free to carry on his destiny. She brushed a tear from her cheek. She wasn’t going to cry.
Hearing footsteps on the stairs, she opened the door. Another servant stood there with a napkin-covered plate. He placed it on the small bedside table and left the room.
Her stomach growled again. As soon as she ate something, she’d pack her things and walk out of here with her head held high.
She sat on the bed. After buttering a roll and inhaling its yeasty smell, she wondered why she was so hungry. Then she remembered she hadn’t eaten much breakfast. She’d been too excited to eat more than one cinnamon roll this morning.
A loud knock on the door startled her. “Who is it?” she called.
The door flew open. Lawrence stood there, a frown on his face. “What do you mean, you’re not coming to dinner. I had the servants rearrange the seating so you could sit next to me.”
“But what about Lady Constantine?”
“She can sit on my other side and converse with the queen.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Until now, I hadn’t given her much thought, but I suppose it was always assumed that we’d marry when I was mature. However, since I’m almost thirty, and they hadn’t spoken of it until now, I figured they’d dropped the idea, but I will talk to my uncle.”
“I see,” Tricia said. She imagined the prince and Lady Constantine having a son, one who’d grow up to rule Cordillera. She blinked, trying to avoid any tears.
As they descended the steps to the first level, she regretted her past actions. Why had she given in to Lawrence, not once, but several times? Shouldn’t she have considered the consequences?
Lawrence led Tricia to the table and stepped over to speak to his uncle. Frowning, his uncle sipped his wine. “Can you not wait until after dinner?”
“No,” Lawrence insisted. “I must speak with you now, before any announcements are made.”
The king patted the chair beside him. “The queen has not yet arrived. She may be showing our guest the rose garden. Lady Constantine has expected your engagement to be announced tonight.”
“And what if,” Lawrence glanced at Tricia and smiled, “what if I wish to marry someone else? Allysa has chosen the man of her heart. Can I not do the same?”
The king frowned. “My daughter has married a commoner, and while she has continued her goodwill tours, you must marry someone of substance. Lady Beatrice is a gentile and accomplished lady, and the sole inheritor of considerable lands in England and Spain, which would become the property of Cordillera.”
“We do not need more land. There is plenty that needs to be done in Cordillera that I could accomplish if you would only allow me to take it on.”
“Are you criticizing my management? You are not king yet.”
“You are not interested in modernizing Cordillera, nor encouraging companies to invest.”
The king frowned. “We need to take this conversation elsewhere. Come with me to my conference room.” He rose, and Lawrence followed.
Tricia rose and pretended to examine the tapestry on a stand near the doorway. As they stepped into the hall, she heard the king say, “I’ve heard that Lady Beatrice’s father is ill. After he dies, we could annex the lands and the accompanying city in Spain.”
Tricia stepped closer to the door to hear better. Lawrence and his father entered the library and shut the door. She heard angry shouts, but couldn’t make out the words. She wanted to put her ear to the door, but didn’t dare. Was Lawrence telling the king he intended to marry her?
“There you are, my dear,” said a feminine voice. Tricia turned to see the queen and Lady Beatrice enter the hall. The queen wore a dark green velvet robe trimmed with white fur. Beatrice had on a lavender formal gown with thin straps and a tulle overskirt. The bodice clung to her breasts and revealed a considerable amount of cleavage.
Beatrice pulled a matching stole of thin material around her. The queen frowned. “You must emphasize your assets.”
“You mean my father’s lands?”
“My dear, I mean you must count on your feminine wiles and your looks. Prince Lawrence has an eye for shapely women.”
Beatrice grasped the queen’s hand. “Do you think he’ll go along with the announcement you plan to make?”
The queen smiled. “He’ll have to. It was rumored in today’s paper. He won’t dare embarrass you by declining at a state dinner.” The queen stepped closer to Tricia. “I heard you were feeling poorly. I ordered a nice dinner sent to your room.”
Tricia straightened but twisted her fingers behind her back. “Prince Lawrence persuaded me to join you all at dinner.”
The queen frowned. “Surely, you would prefer not to be seen when you are not at your best. I can order the dinner be warmed. We do have modern conveniences here such as microwave ovens.”
Tricia stepped toward the banquet table. “I’m sure I will be fine.” Quickly, she slid into the seat Lawrence had indicated.
The queen followed and placed a hand on Tricia’s shoulder. “Please do not make a show of your friendship with the prince. He only asked you to visit as a courtesy.”
Tricia swallowed. Knots multiplied in her stomach. Should she insist on staying in her seat or give in to avoid a scene?
Tricia pasted a smile on her face. “Your nephew insisted I sit here next to him.”
“He was only being polite.” The queen nodded her head toward the other end of the U-shaped table. “I believe you’d feel more comfortable with Richard Templeton. Allysa fancied him for a time. She said he had a lovely voice and loved hearing him read works by Byron, Shelley, and Barrett Browning, whoever he was.”
“It’s Elizabeth Barrett Browning. She wrote “How do I love thee, let me count the ways.”
The queen clapped her hands together. “See. I thought you two might have something in common. Why don’t you go over and sit beside him?”
Tricia took a deep breath. “I appreciate your consideration in trying to find me an interesting dinner companion, but I’m staying here. Prince Lawrence wanted to explain his plans to improve Cordillera’s economy.”
The queen frowned. “But surely, he will be engaged in catching up with Lady Beatrice. They have been friends since forever. As you know, it has been expected that they marry for years.”
Tricia raised her voice just enough so the guests settling into their seats nearby and passing servants could hear. “Thank you, but I’ll stay where I am. I would hate to cause extra work for your staff by asking them to rearrange the seating of the guests.”
The queen’s mouth clamped into a tight line. “As you wish my dear.” She settled into her seat and motioned to Lady Beatrice. They were whispering, but Tricia could only catch a word here and there.
A servant approached the queen from the other side. “Your Majesty, the king wishes to speak with you in the conference room.”
The queen rose and beckoned to Lady Beatrice. “Come. He must wish to speak with you about a formal engagement. We have been waiting for this for several years now.”
Tricia watched as they left the great room and walked into the hallway. Her heart raced, and her hands grew clammy. If this were the announcement she feared, she might prefer to sit next to Edward Appleby. She couldn’t bear to hear romantic poetry now.
Servants bustled about, pouring wine and setting baskets of sesame encrusted rolls on the table. Little silver butter dishes had already been set at each place. The aroma of roast duck hovered in the air. Over against the wall a man in a tuxedo was opening a violin case. Soon soft music fluttered through the room.
She blinked and rubbed at her eye. She wasn’t going to cry. Not yet, and not here. Later, in her room, she’d let her tears wash away her hopes for a life with Lawrence.
The King and Queen stepped
into the room. Lawrence slid into the seat beside her. In the hall, Beatrice was speaking on a cell phone. A uniformed servant tapped a goblet with a spoon. He must be the dining room steward. The guests hushed. “Please rise,” the man intoned. The diners stood. The king and queen took their places.
Next to the king, the bishop, dressed in a white robe, held up his hands. He gave a short blessing. The king sat, and so did the others. Servants hovered, offering meat and vegetables from silver platters, first to the king and queen and then to others.
Too nervous to eat much, Tricia took only small servings. She nibbled on a roll. Hot with a crust shining from a coating of butter, it smelled delicious, but tasted as bland as a hamburger roll.
After taking a few bites of everything on her plate, Tricia pushed it aside. The few bites she’d taken seemed to weigh her down.
The queen rose. Prince Lawrence, seated at Tricia’s side, gave her a quick smile, but didn’t speak. This was it. The moment she’d dreaded. Tricia twisted her fingers together, waiting for the words that would condemn her to a life without Lawrence, without his glorious smile, without those wonderful moments together when he seemed to worship her.
The queen tapped her goblet lightly, as if believing a queen should not make a lot of noise. The king struck his goblet more forcefully. The guests quieted.
The queen patted Lady Beatrice’s hand and spoke. “We Cordillerans pride ourselves on being modern. We had hoped to join our destiny with the family of a well-respected earl who has lands in England and Spain by announcing the engagement of our nephew and heir to Lady Beatrice.” The queen paused and glanced at Tricia, her expression solemn.
Tricia waited, hoping not to hear the fateful news.
The queen continued. “However, Prince Lawrence has indicated that he is not ready to marry at this time. He has graciously informed Lady Beatrice she should feel free to consider other suitors if she wishes.” The queen sat down. The room buzzed with chatter.