Princess Of Convenience

by Marion Lennox

  They were all looking at Edouard now-and there was the crux of the matter.

  Edouard.

  Of course it’d be good for Edouard, Jess thought. Of course it would be easier. She looked at the little boy, who was stroking the tiny alpacas as if he couldn’t believe they were real, and she knew that she could make a difference to this child. She could love him to bits. She could…

  She couldn’t. Because every time she looked at him…

  He wasn’t Dominic.

  ‘It’s not fair of you to ask me to do this,’ she said, the laughter and the craziness of the morning suddenly dissipating as if it had never been. ‘Raoul, this was never in the deal.’

  ‘You’ve lost a child,’ Henri said on a note of discovery and Jess winced. How…

  ‘My wife felt like that, too, once,’ Henri said. ‘When our only baby was stillborn. And the Princess Louise…’ He glanced across at Raoul’s mother. ‘When Lisle was born she couldn’t bear to look at little girls who could skip or run or play. It’s a barrier.’

  ‘What are we talking about?’ Louise said, still confused, but Jess had had enough.

  ‘It seems Henri’s figured it out. I’ve told Raoul but he doesn’t believe me,’ she said, savagely into the stillness. ‘Raoul, I’ve done the best I can for you all. It’s the best I’m capable of and I can give no more. And now…’ once more she pushed herself to her feet ‘…I need to be alone for a bit,’ she told them. ‘If you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long morning. I need to rest.’

  ‘Of course, my dear,’ Louise said, immediately contrite. ‘You were only out of bed for the first time yesterday, and now this. Raoul, take Jess to-’

  ‘I’ll take myself.’ She was sounding ungracious but she couldn’t help herself. She’d reached the end.

  ‘What are the alpacas’ names?’ Edouard asked into the stillness, and at least here was an easy question.

  ‘Balthazar and Whatshername.’

  ‘Balthazar,’ Louise said, and her face turned to Raoul, wondering. ‘You called him Balthazar for Lisle.’

  ‘Whatshername is a funny name for a baby,’ Edouard said.

  ‘It’s Australian for I Don’t Know What,’ Henri told him, looking from Raoul to Louise and deciding no one else was going to answer.

  Edouard screwed his nose up, disapproving. In his opinion I Don’t Know What was obviously not a fine name.

  ‘Is it a girl or a boy?’

  ‘It’s a girl,’ Jess managed.

  ‘What’s a better Australian name for a baby?’ Edouard demanded.

  ‘Matilda,’ she told him, and he was pleased to approve.

  ‘That’s better than I Don’t Know What.’

  But Jess was already backing out of the stall door.

  ‘Jess, let me come with you.’ Raoul glanced uncertainly at his mother-who looked as if she was about to burst into tears-but he rose and made as if to follow. Jess put out a hand in a gesture to stop him. ‘I’ve made a mess of things,’ he told her.

  ‘You haven’t made a mess of things,’ she told him, as firmly as she was able. ‘You married me as you intended and you’ve made Edouard safe. There was no intention for us to take it further.’

  ‘But-’

  ‘I’m not taking it further, Raoul,’ she told him. ‘Get used to it.’

  ‘Let her go, Raoul,’ Louise told him. ‘Can’t you see that she’s had enough?’

  Good call, she thought. She’d definitely had enough.

  ‘Stay with your family, Raoul,’ she told him. ‘You have lots of things to plan.’ She looked uncertainly down at the twins. ‘I think you also need to find an alpaca expert to tell you the proper way to raise these.’

  ‘But you-’

  ‘They’re nothing to do with me now, Raoul,’ she told him, in a voice that was strangely firm in the face of what she was feeling. ‘I’m going home.’

  She stayed in her apartment for the rest of the day.

  Louise was right when she’d reminded her that she’d not been long out of bed. She’d had six days in bed after the accident. The night before had been her first time out of bed, and her knees were decidedly wobbly.

  Everything about her was wobbly. Her head was spinning. Every time she stood up the walls seemed to wobble, and she decided the best thing she could do was bury her head under the pillows and will the world to go away.

  Only of course it didn’t. It receded a little but that was all.

  Henri appeared with a tray and stayed to make sure she ate her lunch. ‘Because if I don’t, Raoul will, and I have a feeling you need a little time out from His Highness,’ Henri told her. He made no further comment but Jess could see that he understood.

  He was a nice old man, she thought as she forced herself to eat her soup and sandwiches. What had he said? He and his wife had lost a baby, too?

  There was tragedy everywhere, she thought bleakly. She just had to get home. Get away from it.

  Start again?

  Her head was spinning. Henri cleared her dishes, she hauled her pillows back into place-and to her surprise, she slept.

  It wasn’t just the emotions of the morning. Seven days ago she’d been in a terrible car crash and her body was still demanding recovery time.

  She woke and there was another meal tray beside her. This time it had been brought by Louise. She was seated in the armchair by the bed waiting for her…her daughter-in-law, to wake.

  ‘Raoul wanted to bring you this,’ she said, smiling down at her. ‘But Henri and I have teamed up against him. He’s a very overpowering man, my son.’

  ‘Very overpowering,’ she agreed. She pushed herself up on the pillows, shoving away the sensation that she was still sleeping. ‘I’m sorry.’ She stared down at the dinner tray in astonishment. ‘Have I slept all afternoon?’

  ‘We’re having dinner early,’ Louise said apologetically. ‘Raoul’s trying to organise something for this evening. But you certainly have been sleeping. Maybe you needed to.’

  ‘Maybe I did,’ she said slowly. ‘It was some morning.’

  Louise smiled, gently sympathetic. ‘You know, I always wanted a royal wedding,’ she told her. ‘My parents were minor royalty. They’d had a wedding with all the pomp and ceremony possible so it was what I dreamed of, too. Bridesmaids and flower-girls, pageboys, coaches, white horses, heads of state pouring into the country…’ She handed over Jess’s dinner plate and she sighed. ‘When I was seventeen it seemed like a fairy tale, and when the prince proposed I couldn’t believe my luck.’

  ‘It must have been wonderful,’ Jess said softly and Louise grimaced.

  ‘It certainly was. A magical wedding. Followed by a nightmare marriage.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m thinking that maybe you and Raoul can have the opposite.’

  Jess stilled. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You know, he thinks you’re wonderful.’

  ‘Raoul does?’

  ‘Of course Raoul does.’

  ‘There’s no of course about it,’ she muttered, slicing into a piece of steak as though it were Raoul himself. ‘I didn’t know the man until yesterday. Now I’ve married him and he’s calmly suggesting I stay here forever.’ She eyed the piece of steak on her fork and bit. ‘You know,’ she added, addressing the steak, ‘if I agreed to his crazy proposal, I wouldn’t be the least surprised if he stayed playing husband for just as long as it took to get Marcel sorted, and then he disappeared right back to Somalia.’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me either,’ Louise said and once again Jess’s implements stilled.

  ‘You’re not seriously suggesting I take over here? Princess Regent or somesuch?’

  ‘You see,’ Louise said-apologetically, ‘I’m not sure what else we can do.’

  ‘Get on without me,’ she told her. This steak was delicious. If she could stop thinking about marriage-stop thinking about Raoul-she could really enjoy it. ‘Like you all intended to get on without Sarah.’

  ‘Sarah would have stayed here.’

  �
��As Edouard’s step-mother? From what I’ve heard about her, I doubt it.’

  ‘No, it would have been a mess,’ Louise agreed. ‘But if you leave now it’ll be a bigger mess.’

  ‘I don’t see it.’

  ‘Raoul doesn’t commit,’ Louise said, almost sadly, and now it was Jess’s turn to sigh. She laid down her cutlery and turned to her mother-in-law.

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘You’re his wife.’ She hesitated a little more but then continued. ‘You know, I’ve never told anyone this. But I thought…you really are married to him. It’s not betrayal for a woman to talk about her son to his wife.’

  ‘I’m a wife in name only.’

  ‘You’re his wife.’ Louise lifted the knife and fork and placed them firmly back in Jess’s hands. ‘Eat. And listen. I intend to tell you, like it or not.’

  ‘But-’

  ‘Listen.’

  So Jess listened. Short of throwing the tray and Louise out of the room, she had no choice at all, and, looking at Louise’s face, she knew there was a need here that had been growing for a long time.

  ‘I’ve worried about him for years,’ Louise said, echoing her thoughts, and Jess decided there was nothing for it but to attack her steak and remain silent.

  ‘My husband and I had a dreadful marriage,’ Louise said softly. ‘Royalty married to youth. It didn’t work. My husband took Jean-Paul as his son and heir, and he doted on him. Then six years later the twins were born, and Lisle was not…perfect. My husband demanded perfection. Maybe he could have loved Raoul, but of course Raoul was inseparable from his sister. From the time Raoul could understand, his father was trying to split him from Lisle, and Raoul was a fighter. He fought his father. He fought me when I tried to intervene. And then…’ She hesitated while Jess ate two delicious little potatoes with parsley butter. ‘Then I finally took the twins away. It was breaking my heart that I couldn’t stay in contact with Jean-Paul. I was so bitter about marriage. So maybe…maybe Raoul was brought up thinking that marriage and relationships were doomed. Independence was everything.’ She bit her lip and looked down at her hands. ‘Maybe I’ve done even more damage. And maybe the only way for the damage to be undone is for someone to stay.’

  ‘You mean for me to stay.’

  ‘If you’ve the courage.’

  ‘I don’t have the courage,’ she said flatly. ‘I can’t look at Edouard without hurting. I’ve been really good at failed relationships in the past. And if Raoul thinks he can dump his responsibilities onto me and go back to saving the world-’

  ‘I’m sure he doesn’t mean that.’

  ‘I’ll bet he does.’

  Louise rose, but she was wringing her hands, her fingers entangled and frantic. ‘I know. This is so unfair. But if you go…’

  ‘Then you’ll work something out. And you’ll be better off than if we hadn’t married.’

  ‘I know that. So it’s quite unfair to ask for more.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jess said flatly. She was feeling a little ill and she laid down her knife and fork for the last time. There was a dessert by her dinner plate-a concoction of meringue and berries. It looked amazing.

  She’d completely lost her appetite.

  ‘I’ve done all I can,’ she told Louise, gazing at it in distaste. ‘Enough. Please don’t ask more.’

  She didn’t see anyone then until after dusk. She lay in bed, desultorily reading magazines Louise had thoughtfully provided. She made a couple of phone calls to confirm what she needed to do tomorrow. She tried not to think about what was happening in the palace without her.

  She tried not to think about Raoul.

  Then, as the last of the light faded from the windows and she was thinking about the impossibility of going to sleep, there was a knock.

  ‘Come in,’ she called and Raoul opened the door.

  Or…Prince Raoul.

  He was wearing some sort of uniform, and what a uniform! It was a dress suit, of a fabric so blue it was almost black, and its magnificence took her breath away. Medals blazed across his chest. Rows of gold braid and tassels adorned his arms. A purple sash with gold edging slashed across his chest and at his side hung a jewel-encrusted sword.

  He looked…breathtaking.

  ‘If you laugh I’m going to have to kill you,’ he told her conversationally. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘You look amazing,’ she managed. This was crazy. Prince descending to the peasant quarters-like something straight out of Cinderella. Had Cinders ever been caught snoozing in bed? she wondered. She shoved World Celebrities under the pillow. Who needed pictures when she had the real thing?

  ‘I look ridiculous,’ he told her, still discomfited.

  ‘Ridiculous is hardly the word I’d use,’ she told him. With his dark skin, his beautifully groomed hair, his deep, dark eyes creased into a rueful smile-and that uniform… No, ridiculous definitely didn’t spring to mind.

  ‘If the guys in my med team could see me now…’

  ‘If the girls in your med team could see you now, they’d swoon,’ she told him.

  ‘Are you swooning?’

  ‘No, but I…’ She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t do swooning.’

  ‘You’re past it?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  He appeared to consider-and then he smiled, moving on. ‘Maybe. Maybe not,’ he said enigmatically. ‘Meanwhile you’ve got your own dressing up to do. My mother was planning on helping but the veterinarian’s here to give lessons in the care of baby alpacas, so she and Edouard are down in the stables.’

  ‘Right,’ she said cautiously. ‘So…’

  ‘So we have official photographers arriving in half an hour,’ he told her. ‘Plus the Press.’ He turned aside and called to someone obviously further down the hall. ‘Marie? Her Highness is awake. We can start.’

  Her Highness. That would be her?

  A little dark woman appeared by Raoul’s side. She was beaming and beaming, and her arms were laden with…

  A gown? Surely this wasn’t a gown?

  But it seems it was. ‘Marie’s here to help you dress,’ Raoul told her. His smile deepened as he sympathised with her confusion. ‘Unless you want to get your official photographs taken in what you’re wearing?’

  ‘Hey.’ She tried to make her dizzy mind think. ‘What is this?’

  ‘You agreed on tonight, yes?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘We need to stay together,’ he told her, his smile fading. ‘You remember?’

  ‘Y-yes, but…’

  ‘Well, tonight starts now,’ he told her. ‘Mama and I agreed we should get the entire thing over and done with. Marie’s here with a formal gown for official photographs and for the small ceremony of blessing we’ve planned. We have a cosmetician and a hairdresser and a bevy of reporters waiting. As soon as you’re decent we’ll let the hordes in and they can interview you.’

  To say she was confused was an understatement. ‘But-’

  ‘It’s the shortest way,’ he told her, still sympathetic. ‘The media won’t be satisfied unless they’re given an official photo opportunity. The television crews want some sort of ceremony. Marcel’s having apoplexy, and by not producing you we’re asking for trouble. So can I ask that you be produced?’

  She eyed him. She eyed his uniform.

  ‘Like you’ve been produced?’

  ‘That’s right,’ he told her and his smile suddenly reached out again to touch her. It did touch her. He looked absurdly handsome. Absurdly anxious?

  He was as out of his depth as she was, she thought. He’d been thrown into the media spotlight with not much more warning than she had had.

  Tonight he needed her, and she’d agreed.

  She’d give him tonight.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, and it was as if she’d switched on a light. Relief washed over his face, lighting places she hadn’t realised were in shadow.

  ‘Really?’

  He thought he’d messed it up,
she realised, watching his face. He’d thought that his crazy proposal to extend this marriage had somehow jeopardised her agreement to do what was needed tonight.

  ‘Of course, really.’

  ‘Jess.’ It was a soft word, an utterance of her name-but he might as well have kissed her. He smiled at her and she felt…

  He felt, too. He seemed to drag his eyes away, and when he spoke again his voice was strained.

  But he was back to being businesslike. Maybe thankfully? ‘OK, Marie.’ He motioned to the gown Marie was carrying. ‘This is a gown Mama wore for state occasions,’ he told her. ‘It was worn by my grandmother and her mother before her. Because of its historical significance it’s one of the few things of Mama’s that my father didn’t destroy. Mama’s sure it’ll fit. You’re practically the same size as she is.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Jess, it’s a state occasion,’ he told her. ‘A royal marriage.’ He smiled at her, his eyes holding, reassuring, teasing. ‘If I have to look like something on a biscuit tin, I don’t see why you don’t join me.’

  She stared. He was laughing at her.

  No. He was laughing with her. There was a difference.

  She loved it.

  ‘You don’t look like something on a biscuit tin,’ she managed. Humour was the way to go here, she decided. If he could laugh then she could, too. It was a close call though. Could she laugh without toppling into hysteria?

  ‘Maybe I’d say you looked a bit tinnish if you weren’t wearing a sword,’ she told him. ‘But I’ll never describe a man wearing a sword as a tin-lid decoration. It’s a rule I’ve stuck to in the past, and I dare say it’ll serve me well in the future.’

  ‘I dare say it will,’ he said faintly. He was responding to her laughter with a look of pure admiration that did her anxious insides the world of good. And then he moved on.

  ‘OK, Princess Jessica,’ he told her. ‘Tin lids or not, we’re in this together. Shall we start being decorative now?’

  Playing dressing-up had nothing on this.

  The dress itself was enough to take her breath away. It was a dress one was wedged into rather than slipped on, she thought. Without a body, the dress would stand up by itself.