‘Henri has bunions,’ she informed him as they sat down to dinner a week before the wedding. Marguerite was still keeping to her room-her flu had left her worryingly frail-so Alastair and Penny-Rose dined alone. Formally. But for once Penny-Rose was breaking the ice. ‘You should do something about it,’ she told him.
Bunions… Alastair frowned. Henri… ‘Did you say bunions?’
‘I certainly did.’ She attacked the last of her salmon with vigour, and as the butler came in to clear the plates, she beamed up at him. ‘That was great, Henri. Can you tell Claude that we loved it?’
‘Certainly, M’selle. Cook will be delighted.’ The elderly man beamed, with a smile that left Alastair in no doubt that Rose was twisting his staff around her little finger. Henri was searching to please her now. ‘Claude has made you something called lamingtons for dessert,’ he told her. ‘He bought a book on Australian cooking, just to make you feel at home.’
Smiling, the butler carried away his plates, and Rose turned back to Alastair as if her point had been made.
‘See? He’s limping, and it’s getting worse.’
‘I hadn’t noticed,’ Alastair confessed, and she smiled her royal forgiveness. If he could be regally formal, then so could she.
‘No. That’s because you’re busy. But I did. The servants talk to me, so I can find out what’s wrong.’
He’d noticed that. Often he heard laughter and it’d be Rose and the housekeeper or Rose and a kitchen maid or Rose and the gardener…
And more and more, he felt shut out.
Now, as Henri reappeared bearing a tray of…lamingtons, for heaven’s sake, Alastair directed his attention to his butler’s feet.
Sure enough, the man was limping.
‘Rose says you need time off to have your feet attended to,’ he said ruefully. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I’m not a slave-driver.’
‘I never thought you were,’ Henri said with dignity. ‘But if it was your workload we’re talking about, I might agree. You drive yourself too hard, M’sieur.’
‘I don’t.’
‘You do.’ Henri paused and then relented. ‘But if I may say so, M’sieur, it’s a pleasure to work with you. You’ve been a breath of fresh air in the castle.’ He beamed at the pair of them. ‘You and M’selle Rose.’
Especially M’selle Rose, his smile said.
‘Thank you,’ Penny-Rose said faintly, and Henri’s beam widened.
‘It’s my pleasure. So my bunions can stay as they are, thank you very much,’ he declared. ‘Take time off with your wedding in a week? No, M’sieur. Tomorrow Marie and I intend to attack the marital suite.’ His eyes grew misty at the thought. ‘It’s forty years since your uncle brought his bride home. That marriage didn’t last, but…if I may say so, that wedding was an arranged match. Not a match as this is going to be. Oh, no!’
And he limped back to the kitchens, leaving them staring after him in astonishment.
‘He thinks it’s real,’ Alastair said, and Penny-Rose concentrated on her lamington.
‘Then I guess we’ve succeeded.’ It took an effort, but she didn’t look at him. ‘Have a lamington. They’re delicious.’
He took a bite of a chocolate-and-coconut-covered square, but his mind wasn’t on his lamington.
‘What have you been telling them?’
Her eyes widened at that. ‘Me? What do you mean?’
‘This is a marriage of convenience,’ he said heavily. ‘I thought it was obvious, but the staff don’t believe it.’
‘Maybe they don’t want to believe it,’ she said gently. ‘The staff have had a rough time, with the old prince’s failing health and then Louis. Maybe they’re looking for stability.’
‘That doesn’t depend on a stable marriage.’
‘Of course not.’ She lifted another lamington and took a bite, then surveyed it with care. ‘I guess Henry the Eighth had quite a stable household.’
‘Henry the Eighth?’
‘The one with six wives,’ she told him.
‘Hey!’ That was a bit much. ‘I only want two.’
‘Very moderate, I call it,’ she agreed equitably. ‘And there’s been no suggestion at all of anyone getting their heads chopped off.’ She chuckled across the table at him, and it was all he could do not to drop his lamington.
Hell! Things were getting seriously out of hand.
‘Rose…’
‘These lamingtons are great,’ she enthused. ‘Maybe we should honeymoon in Australia so we can eat more. I could introduce you to pavlovas and Vegemite sandwiches and pie floaters…’
‘Pie floaters?’
‘Pies in pea soup,’ she explained, and he shuddered.
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll stick to our cuisine. But that reminds me. Our honeymoon…’
‘Sorry?’
‘The press are expecting us to honeymoon.’
‘They can expect all they like. I haven’t finished my wall.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake…’ His pent-up emotions over-flowed and he thumped the table. ‘Rose, will you take this seriously?’
‘You don’t want me to take it seriously.’
‘I…’
‘It’s a mock marriage,’ she told him. She rose and gave him a mock curtsey. ‘Pardon me, Your Serene Highness, but there’s nothing serious about our marriage at all. So I’m not going on a honeymoon anywhere. Sorry, Alastair, but I’m going up to say goodnight to your mother.’ Then she flashed her infectious grin at him. ‘Stop worrying. Go and design a mansion for someone and stop thinking of weddings. You’re getting paranoid.’
And before he could stop her, she’d come around the table and kissed him, very lightly, on the top of his head. It was a teasing kiss-perfunctory and light-hearted.
There was no reason at all for him to put a hand to his forehead.
And for him to leave his hand there for a good three minutes after she’d left the room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘I HAVE a surprise for you,’ Marguerite told her.
It was four days before the wedding. The castle was a hive of activity, and with the invasion of so many strangers, Penny-Rose had grudgingly conceded to stop her walling.
She was feeling like a pampered but caged pet, but at least time with Marguerite was productive. The effects of her influenza were dragging on. Marguerite was wan and listless, she spent most of her day in bed and she had everyone worried.
But she was still scheming.
‘I’ve had the most wonderful plan,’ she told Penny-Rose. ‘For your honeymoon.’
‘We’re not having a honeymoon.’ Penny-Rose glanced up as Alastair entered the room. ‘Tell her, Alastair. We don’t want a honeymoon. Just a well mother-in-law.’
‘That’s all we want.’ Alastair crossed the room and gave his mother a kiss. ‘Dr Barnard was here earlier. What did he say?’
‘Just more rest.’ His mother sighed her exasperation. ‘You can’t expect anything else at my age.’
‘That makes you sound as if you’re ninety instead of only just seventy,’ Penny-Rose retorted. She grinned. ‘Madame Beric says all you need is a good tonic. She makes poor M’sieur Beric drink some foul potion full of aniseed and all sorts of horrible herbs and spices that she swears will cure anything from warts to ingrown toenails. Do you want me to get you some?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Marguerite said faintly.
‘Are you missing Paris?’ Alastair demanded, sitting down on her bed. His mother had a lovely apartment near the Seine. She’d dropped everything to come here when Louis had died and she hadn’t been home since. ‘You’ve been doing so much-’
‘I’ve hardly done anything,’ his mother cut in.
‘You have. Without your organisation this household would be a mess. But you must miss your friends.’
‘I’ll go back to Paris after I see you safely married,’ she told him, and Penny-Rose gave her a strange look.
‘Don’t you want to go back to Paris?’ she
asked, feeling her way. ‘Is that the problem?’
‘I do…’
‘You don’t like it here?’
‘I love it here,’ Marguerite confessed.
Leo, bored with sitting on the settee with his owner, jumped down and nosed over to the bed. He leapt onto the covers and curled into the crook of Marguerite’s arm.
‘Maybe we could buy you a pup to keep you company,’ Penny-Rose suggested, and Marguerite’s face stilled.
‘I don’t need a dog.’
‘Do you have many friends in Paris?’
Alastair frowned. Was this any of Rose’s business?
But Marguerite was sighing, preparing to open up to Penny-Rose as she never talked to him.
‘I only moved to Paris after my husband died. But I have…I have a beautiful apartment. Belle decorated it for me.’
Oh, great. She could imagine. A big, elegant apartment, modern and chic and sterile as hell. ‘But not company?’
‘I don’t know many people yet…’
‘Then move back here,’ Penny-Rose said cheerfully. ‘Decide to stay here permanently.’ She cast a quick glance at Alastair and saw she had his approval. ‘Leo and I need company. It’d be great.’
‘That’d be lovely dear, but…’
‘But?’
Marguerite looked at her son, and then looked away. ‘It’d be worse,’ she said softly. ‘I’d stay for twelve months and then you’d leave and Belle would come. And Belle and I don’t…don’t get along.’
‘Belle likes you,’ Alastair protested, but Marguerite shook her head.
‘Belle’s a woman who can’t share. Whereas Penny-Rose…’ She smiled fondly at her future daughter-in-law. ‘Penny-Rose even shares her dog.’
‘Certainly, if it means I can get a night’s sleep without someone scratching his hindquarters in my face.’ Penny-Rose grinned. ‘So, yep, I’m extraordinarily generous, and willing to be more so. Stay with us.’
‘No.’ Marguerite shook her head. ‘As soon as the wedding’s over, I’ll return to Paris.’
‘If you’re better,’ Alastair growled, and she nodded.
‘I’ll be better. For your wedding I must be.’ Her scheming look reappeared. ‘But speaking of weddings, I was telling Penny-Rose when you came in. I have a surprise.’
‘I don’t trust your surprises,’ Alastair said cautiously, and his mother flashed him her most innocent of looks.
‘That’s a dreadful thing to say. As if I’d do anything you mightn’t like.’
His look of foreboding deepened. ‘What have you done?’
‘It’s my wedding present to you both. I’ve booked you a honeymoon.’
‘A honeymoon…’ Alastair took a deep breath and looked sideways at Rose. ‘We’re not going on a honeymoon.’
‘Of course you are,’ his mother said, turning businesslike. ‘Everyone needs a honeymoon, and you’re looking grey with exhaustion. Isn’t he, Penny-Rose?’
Penny-Rose could only agree. ‘Yes, but-’
‘There you are.’ Marguerite beamed. ‘She agrees. And I’ll bet Penny-Rose has never been on a decent holiday in her life. Have you, dear?’
‘No, but-’
‘You’re not refusing to take your wife on a holiday?’ Marguerite demanded of her son. ‘Especially as it’s already booked.’ She shifted Leo to retrieve a handful of pamphlets which had been lying on the coverlet. ‘These came with this morning’s post. Don’t they look wonderful?’
Penny-Rose looked at what she was holding up-and was caught.
‘Koneata Lau…’
‘It’s the most beautiful resort in the world,’ Marguerite told her. ‘It’s part of Fiji, but it’s a tiny cluster of separate islands, and you book your own island. This is the one I’ve booked for you.’
She opened a pamphlet to poster size, and a vision of sparkling seas, palm trees, golden beaches and tiny thatched cottages caught Penny-Rose’s imagination like nothing else could have.
A beach…
‘I’ve never been to the beach,’ Penny-Rose whispered before she could stop herself. ‘Not properly. Not to swim. Not to stay.’
‘You’ve never been to the beach?’ asked Marguerite in surprise.
‘None of us has,’ she confessed. ‘We lived a hundred miles inland and there was never money or time for holidays.’ She took a deep breath and pushed the thought away.
‘But no. Marguerite, it looks gorgeous, and thank you, but no. Honeymoons aren’t for crazy marriages like ours.’
She flashed an uncertain glance at Alastair. A honeymoon would be pushing him too far and too fast, she thought. She had every intention of trying to make this marriage work, but this was a bit much.
‘Besides, there’s Leo,’ she added, as if that clinched it. ‘I couldn’t leave him.’
But Marguerite had an answer for that. ‘Henri and I will look after Leo as if he’s our own,’ she said, scratching a floppy and adoring ear. ‘The staff are besotted by this dog of yours.’ They were, too. In the weeks since his arrival, Leo had crept around the collective castle hearts like a hairy worm.
But that wasn’t the issue here. The honeymoon was.
Beaches… Palm trees… A honeymoon with Alastair… It was a fantasy. Nothing more. But it was some fantasy.
She had to get away from these brochures!
‘My sisters and brother will be here tomorrow,’ she told them, and she couldn’t stop her voice from sounding a trifle desperate. ‘I can hardly get married and leave them to fend for themselves. It wouldn’t be fair.’
‘You intend to entertain your siblings on your honeymoon?’ Marguerite was aghast.
‘This is their holiday.’ Penny-Rose looked at Alastair, but his face gave nothing away. This was up to her. ‘They…they work hard, too, and Alastair’s offer of a trip here is unbelievable.’ She tilted her chin and ignored Alastair’s silence. ‘It’ll be fun, showing them around.’
‘You can hardly take your family sightseeing when you’re just married,’ Marguerite said, shaking her head. Beside her, Alastair’s face didn’t reveal one hint of what he was thinking, and it was starting to make Penny-Rose nervous.
But she had to be firm. For both of them. She set her chin in a manner both Alastair and his mother were starting to know. ‘Alastair will have work to do, and we don’t intend to hang in each other’s pockets.’ Then she cast one more wistful glance at the posters. One last look! ‘So no. Thank you very much, but no.’
She rose and managed a smile at both of them, albeit a shaky one.
‘I’ll leave you to each other’s company. I…have things to do.’
Only, of course, she didn’t.
She just needed to get away from the strange expression on Alastair’s face.
It was an hour later that Alastair found her.
Strangely unsettled, Penny-Rose had headed up to the battlements. Now she sat on the parapets, hugging her knees and staring out over the countryside below.
Thinking of beaches. And hopeless marriages.
And Alastair!
He found her there. She hadn’t heard him climb the stairs, and for a moment he stood in the sunshine and watched her face as she stared out away from him.
She looked bleak, he thought. And why not? She’d spent her life denying herself, and here she was denying herself again.
‘I’ve never been to the beach…’
That one phrase had been enough to give him pause. When she’d left, Alastair had stood with his mother, staring down at the pamphlets.
He had so much…
So would she, he’d told himself. In a year she could afford to go to any beach she wanted.
But…he wouldn’t be with her to see.
She’d never been to the beach.
She asked for so little. She wouldn’t have entertained the idea of this marriage if it hadn’t been for her family and the villagers, he knew, and the thought of her denying herself this was suddenly unbearable.
‘Isn’t there
any way you can organise things and go?’ his mother had asked at her most wistful, and he’d looked down at her with suspicion. It had been her wheedling tone.
‘Just because you’re sick…’
‘No, dear. Just because Penny-Rose needs you.’ She had hesitated. ‘You know, the estate’s almost at the stage where it’ll run itself. Once you’re married, there’ll be funds for everything. Your new secretary knows the running of the place. When the wedding’s over he can take over with ease.’
‘And my architecture?’
‘No one’s indispensable,’ she’d said meekly. ‘And you only marry once.’
‘Mother…’
‘Sorry.’ She’d peeped a smile at him. ‘But that’s what the world needs to think. And they’ll think it very odd if you don’t honeymoon. It would give Penny-Rose so much pleasure, and I’ve already booked it…’
Her voice had faded, but her expression had stayed wistful.
It had been more than a man could stand. He’d taken the pamphlets and had gone to find Rose. And now he’d found her…
Leo was sitting by her side, his doleful expression matching hers. The pup looked up at Alastair as he appeared, and the look of reproach he gave him was almost enough to make him laugh. Good grief. You’d have sworn the dog knew!
He crossed to where she was sitting. ‘Rose…’
She glanced up, and then looked back out to the river. Fast. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told him, without looking up at him again. ‘I didn’t know your mother was planning anything so dire.’
‘As dire as a honeymoon?’ He sat beside her. Archers had once waited up here for the Vikings to sail up the river to loot and pillage. It was hard to imagine anything so dreadful on a day like today. The sun was warm on their faces and below them the river drifted dreamily on.
‘I’ve never been to the beach…’
‘I’ve just been on the phone to Koneata Lau,’ he said.
‘Cancelling things?’ For the life of her she couldn’t keep the desolation out of her voice. ‘That’s good.’
‘No. Confirming them.’
She swung around to face him, disbelief and hope warring within.
Disbelief won.
‘We can’t.’
A Royal Proposition Page 11