The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Hollingsworth, Suzette

  “Prince Alejandro”—she smiled slightly as she gazed out the window—“does not give himself permission to thrill in his own existence.”

  “He seems to be enjoying his…existence, as you put it, with a certain vigor. He seems a most enterprising and dynamic young man.”

  “He believes that everyone else’s needs and opinions are more important than his own.” Nicolette shook her head. “He is distanced from himself, accustomed to suppressing his thoughts and feelings, his reactions to everything.”

  “Possibly it pleases him to do so.”

  “I am not convinced he even knows what he wants anymore. It has been immaterial to him for so long.”

  “My love,” Lady Elaina broached slowly, “our impression of the young man is strikingly opposite. At any rate, what does it have to do with you? Possibly he is quite unhappy. Most people born into those circumstances are. But I do not see how it concerns you.”

  “Because, Grandmamma”—Nicolette stared at Lady Elaina for a long while—“because I have the certain conviction that I can help him. If the prince has a moment of joy, he suppresses it. If he feels delight, he suppresses it. If he thinks he might like a certain experience, he turns from it. Generally when one exercises a particular personality characteristic, one does so in every arena of one’s life.”

  “And what is the prince’s particular personality characteristic, if I may ask?”

  “The focus of his entire being is to suppress. No, to annihilate. He has learned to annihilate himself.”

  “And you, Nicolette, live to express yourself,” remarked Lady Elaina with a knowing smile as she took a sip of her tea.

  Nicolette nodded, forcing herself to take a bite of toast, inadvertently enjoying the flavor of the melted butter and wheat. She dabbed a teaspoon of fresh raspberry jam on a corner of the toast.

  “You are joy, and he is duty,” Lady Elaina pronounced. “These characteristics are deeply ingrained, no doubt.”

  Nicolette shrugged, indifferent to the causes.

  “And yet, dear heart, he has a different calling than you do. It is refreshing to learn of a ruler—a politician no less—who actually has a sense of responsibility. Perhaps this is the way he needs to be to do his work. Can the tortured artist create such great works without his pain?” She tapped her index finger on her cheek. “Often our faults are necessary to our achievements.”

  “Now it is my turn to disagree, Grandmamma.” She pursed her lips. “When someone is suffering before me, I can never agree that this is the ideal, no matter the impersonal merits which may be attributed to it. If one counts oneself as the enemy, one cuts off the channel to God and to all of one’s gifts. This can never be beneficial.”

  “Not to the individual but perhaps to the whole. Who can say to the grand scheme of things?”

  “One can only truly serve out of one’s authentic self,” she countered, shaking her head vehemently. “Prince Alejandro will never be the ruler he can be if he does not form an acquaintance with himself. If he expunges every thought and feeling, he will likewise discard that which he needs to see.”

  “Ah,” Lady Elaina nodded, eyeing her granddaughter with interest. “The proverbial baby with the bath water.”

  “Yes, his devotion and his discipline are necessary to his rule, but he cannot rule well with a severed channel to both his wisdom and his spiritual resources.” She ran her fingers along the white roses in a red crystal vase, a gift from Alejandro.

  “One might argue that the future of an entire country is more important than the pleasure of an individual. In some cultures, there truly is not a concept of ‘I.’ The community is all that matters.” She chuckled. “I know that is a difficult concept for you to fathom, my sweet.”

  “Very true, Grandmamma,” she pronounced resolvedly. “I don’t give a flying leap about Spain or Prince Alejandro’s rule or one’s duty. He deserves to feel happiness. It is deplorable that he should never know joy. To crush oneself is to slap God in the face, to diminish His beloved child.”

  “But you must consider that his goals are not your own.” Lady Elaina grew reflective. “The Spanish culture is particularly communal and family oriented. No doubt you noticed that when you were in Spain. Or possibly the cigarette factory was not the best representation of family life?”

  “I saw it, Grandmamma, very strongly,” Nicolette replied. “The Spanish people are extremely loyal to each other, no matter how poor they are.” She paused, shaking her head. “But even within the context of community, there is a positive feeling about oneself, an unspoken acknowledgement that one matters, that without one, the ‘whole’ is less. Children in farming areas who work even at five years old are well behaved and happy because they know that their families depend on them. Without them, the family suffers, and they know it. They are important. Parents do their children a great disservice to deprive them of responsibility.”

  “You see, my dear. You must see Alejandro within the context of his own culture.”

  “No, this is different. Alejandro’s invisibility to himself is not about family or community. Quite the opposite. It is about the lack therein. I would stake my life on that.”

  “It must be the Austrian and German blood in his heritage.” Lady Elaina brought the teacup to her lips. “Which also accounts for his height. Amidst his very masculine Spanish features, his dark hair and chiseled features, he has the height of another bloodline. And the upbringing.”

  “I would not blame the Austrians or the Germans for his upbringing.” Nicolette rose from the table and went to her window, searching the skies for the bird she had seen earlier. She whirled around, her silk dressing gown flaring. “That is the fault of individuals.”

  “I suppose it always is.”

  “When one has the absence of parenting and family, or truly bad parenting, one learns to take care of oneself and can lose that openness to outside influences. Prince Alejandro is a person who has had both bad parenting and is the heir to a throne. Is it any wonder he is independent and strong-willed?”

  “But surely the prince has had friends?” asked Lady Elaina.

  “He has been a friend.” Involuntarily Nicolette recalled Prince Alejandro telling her in an unguarded moment that his first love had sold his loveletters to the king. The prince had laughed when he told her, but she somehow felt the underlying feeling was not amusement. “There is…an openness about him. A cry to learn, to receive.”

  Nicolette placed her palm on her cheek, deep in thought. “He is asking for help, Grandmamma.”

  “Admirable, my dear, but remember, he is who he is. Surely you don’t suppose to change the prince of Spain? Do you actually think you can teach him to be anyone else?” Lady Elaina waved her index finger at her granddaughter.

  “Oh, no, Grandmamma. I cannot teach him anything.” Nicolette spun around. “I cannot even illustrate by example.”

  “What do you propose to do?”

  “I can make him live it.”

  Lady Elaina nodded, a slow smile forming on her lips.

  “And anyway, I don’t wish him to be anyone else. I wish to enable him to be himself.”

  Nicolette glanced at herself in the mirror. She saw her eyes glistening with the promise of what she knew she could do. She hoped with all her heart she might succeed.

  “You do specialize in magic, Nicolette.” Lady Elaina sighed as she watched her.

  “Perhaps, Grandmamma. Or perhaps I specialize in…reality.”

  “Quite so, my dear. You make magic real.” She cleared her throat. “But you have still not answered my question. Why?”

  Nicolette sighed as she picked up her hairbrush and began to brush her hair. She stared at herself in the mirror, her dark hair falling over her shoulders. She wished with all her heart that Alejandro could see her as she was. But he never would. She was invisible to him and would remain so.

  Her eyes began to water, and her image became blurred. He was somehow able to respond to her musical gift
, but he would never know her.

  “Nicolette?” Lady Elaina repeated. “Why do you want to do this for him? You should never do anything unless your heart is in it.”

  “Because his is a sensitive soul which has been discarded. At odd and unexpected moments, I have seen the kindness in his heart, the feeling.” Nicolette turned in her seat to face Lady Elaina’s troubled expression, wondering if she was indeed very foolish. “And, Grandmamma, my heart has never been more in anything in my life.”

  “If I did not know better, I would say that you were in love with Prince Alejandro,” remarked Lady Elaina softly.

  “What a ridiculous thought, Grandmamma!” Nicolette came to attention, staring at Lady Elaina, aghast. “In the first place, as we have established, the man does not know how to love. He can’t even merge with himself, so how is he going to touch me?”

  “It seems an insurmountable obstacle.”

  “In the second place, he wouldn’t have me. I am not worthy of Spain.” Her ire was growing in leaps and bounds, but she managed to contain herself.

  “Quite offensive. The man does not deserve you, without question.”

  “But no matter, I would not have him. And I certainly would not give up my vocation.”

  “I wouldn’t consider it if I were you. Men are like fragile butterflies. Look to yourself for your happiness.”

  Nicolette crossed her arms resolutely in front of herself and nodded defiantly as a sudden sense of purpose washed over her. “I must give him everything that I have to give, Grandmamma.”

  “Indeed?”

  “I am determined to present the performance of my life.”

  “Perhaps you are not as different from Prince Alejandro as you think, my dear.” Lady Elaina’s face displayed a knowing smile.

  “Whatever can you mean, Grandmamma?”

  “You give your all”—Lady Elaina shrugged and took another bite of toast—“simply because someone else needs it.”

  “I give of myself so that someone else might live.” Nicolette mentally released every personal longing that surrounded Alejandro with a sigh. “If only for a single moment in time.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  We are gypsies,

  come from a distant land;

  We can read the future

  in anybody's hand.

  We're in touch with the stars;

  Nothing is hidden from us,

  All the happenings of the future

  We can reveal to you

  —Giuseppe Verdi, La Traviata

  The night had finally arrived. Alejandro chided himself for his apprehension as he paced the foyer of his private rooms. He slowed his pace to glance out the floor-to-ceiling window when his eye caught the moon illuminating the Eiffel Tower.

  He had always faced every situation in his life with courage, even when his heart was breaking. So why was he filled with uneasiness in anticipating a small private concert?

  Because he sensed that this would be an experience like no other, that he would never again be the same after tonight.

  And that it would be intensely and painfully difficult.

  But the difficulty was nothing to that which he most dreaded: that he had imagined this dream, that it wasn’t going to happen tonight—and that it never would.

  Closing his eyes momentarily, he resolved to control himself. Try as he might to keep himself from overshooting his expectations, he could not help but feel he had been waiting for this night all of his life.

  He knew the sensation that was creeping into his consciousness.

  I fear success at the same time I dread a world without dreams.

  Alejandro shook his head in self-reprimand. He had allowed himself to place too many hopes on this one night. If some benefit was derived, good and well. But if not, his life would go on much as it had been.

  That is precisely what terrifies me.

  He turned to survey the room. All was in order. To be sure, it looked almost magical, as if to match his expectations. The champagne was chilling, and every manner of hors d’oeuvres and chocolates were laid out. White roses were everywhere, along with glittering crystals hanging from the ceiling in the form of chandeliers and crystal ornaments. The candles were lit, and it mimicked a winter wonderland although it was the middle of summer.

  His staff had done a superb job. He had commanded that they keep to their rooms for the evening upon threat of dismissal. He and Nicolette must be completely alone. A bodyguard would be stationed at the front door, but he had insisted upon complete privacy. She would fulfill her part of the bargain and come alone; he must set the stage.

  He heard the doorbell chime and moved to stand in the center of the room. His bodyguard opened the door, and Lady Nicolette walked into the Belle Etoile Royal Suite on the seventh floor of Le Meurice without speaking carrying a large, beaded white bag. Alejandro released his breath slowly.

  Oh, she is gorgeous. Nicolette made the elaborate Charles X décor with its heavy drapery, intricate wood paneling with gilt edges, chandeliers, and murals look gaudy by comparison. Next to her, the elegant decor was like an overdressed, overly made-up lady of the night attempting to hide a lack of beauty with ornamentation.

  “Would you care for champagne, Señorita Nicolette?” He asked softly, attempting to force those thoughts out of his mind. He must not let his desire ruin this beautiful moment for him. “Or a small refreshment?”

  She stood at the entryway and looked about her, a spiral staircase straight ahead, an art gallery to her left, and the living area to her right, connected by French doors to the patio, the Eiffel Tower visible in the night sky.

  “Is all this for us?” She giggled. She looked around the room at the assortment of cheeses, fruits, meats, pastries, and breads. Her hand reached out and caressed the petals of a white rose.

  As he studied her with appreciation, he suddenly realized that something was very wrong. He clenched his fists, held stiffly at his side.

  She stood against the olive, light-blue, and cream tapestries and silks. White-and-black marble, white roses, and crystals surrounded her. Strikingly displayed against this setting, she wore a high-necked white silk wrapper and was angelic in appearance, her black hair and startling turquoise eyes adding to the illusion rather than detracting from it. Her hair was pulled back neatly into an elongated bun at the nape of her neck, and white rosebuds were in her hair along with strategically placed diamonds.

  Not the Carmen he wanted to see. Everything must be exactly as it was. The only remnants from that performance were the gold bangles at her ears, which only served to mock him.

  “You are not dressed to perform Carmen, Señorita Nicolette. I was very precise regarding our arrangement.”

  He had never truly expected this dream to be realized. She had determined to undermine him. He wondered what revenge she had planned. He felt a deep disappointment, more than he wished to admit, in considering that she did not intend to fulfill her part of the bargain.

  “Indeed you were, Your Highness. And you will not be dissatisfied. I know how to give the audience even what they do not know they require.” She smiled, and her eyes sparkled with promise. “Trust me on this.”

  He forced himself to nod. His hope returned in small measure. Nicolette had certain disreputable qualities, but she was, he reminded himself, a performer above all else.

  Damnation. What was wrong with him? His emotions were escalating up and down in a deplorable fashion. He was not accustomed to feeling anything, much less this ridiculous carnival ride. He was acting like a fool.

  “I apologize, Señorita Nicolette. It was ungentlemanly of me to say so.” He was not entirely convinced that she would fulfill her promise, but it was inelegant to say so. Even if one’s life depended on it.

  He started to reach for her hand but thought the better of it and simply bowed. “Where would you like to perform?” he asked stiffly.

  “I will stand in the middle of the room, in front of this beautiful marble f
ireplace. You will sit over there.” She pointed to a large comfortable chair some eight feet from her designated stage. She motioned to her bag, which she let fall to the ground. “And I will change when the time comes.”

  “Change? Where?”

  “I shall manage it.” Following the line of her own lovely hand, one of Degrain’s paintings caught her attention, and she moved toward it with interest, moving into the art gallery a few steps away. “Ah, Don Quixote?” Her eyes sparkled as she asked the question.

  “Yes,” he replied gruffly, moving to stand beside her. “Sancho and Don Quixote discussing their windmill adventure on a lonely stretch of road, it appears.”

  “Still hopeful,” she murmured.

  “Not knowing at this point that their dreams will never be fulfilled,” he added softly as he studied the painting.

  “Prince Alejandro…” She turned to face him. Her voice was gentle, and her persona was transformed in an instant. Her eyes opened wide, sparkling, and capturing his heart within their jeweled green depths. Alejandro felt his heart beating more quickly and stepped back.

  “Yes, Señorita Nicolette?”

  “There is something I wish you to contemplate before I begin my performance.”

  “For one night. Just one.” He let his breath out slowly. “I beg you will address me by my name.” He didn’t know where that had come from, but he watched her closely, anxious for her response, his eyes taking in porcelain skin that framed red, full lips.

  “And I have a wish as well, Alejandro.” She nodded in agreement.

  “Anything,” he murmured.

  “I wish you to open your heart to…yourself.”

  “Señorita Nicolette, may I offer you champagne?” He moved to the table containing the beverages and chilling champagne, glad for the distance between them. “A cordial? Strawberries dipped in chocolate? I seem to recall that you were partial to petit fours.”

  “Most certainly you may after my musical rendition. For now, I wish you to focus on your needs. This is your time, Alejandro. It is only for you. Please, pour yourself a cognac and be seated. You must relax in order to receive the full benefit.”