Princess in Love

by Julianne MacLean

I hope this letter finds you well.

  Joseph

  Rose looked up from the letter and rested her weary head upon the glass windowpane.

  Clearly her fiancé did not know about her father’s worsened condition when he wrote this. She found herself frustrated by the distance that separated them, for it made her feel terribly disconnected when she needed him now more than ever.

  Her father was dying and a part of her was dying, too. She needed to know that there would be happiness in her future—new beginnings instead of mournful endings.

  She and Joseph had been apart for too long. Though she carried a miniature portrait of him, it was not the best likeness, and it had become a challenge to remember all the details of his face. Sometimes she had to shut her eyes and work hard to summon his image in her mind when another less welcome face continued to appear tenaciously in her daydreams, always with a caring smile.

  Her father stirred in the bed. Rose returned to his side as he tried to sit up.

  “Lie still, Father,” she whispered, laying her hands on his shoulders. “Tell me what you need, and I will get it for you.”

  He laid his head down on the pillows. “All I require is right here. Ah, my dear Rose, you are such a sweet girl. You’ve always been the brightest light in my world. What is that you have there? A letter from Joseph?”

  She managed a smile. “Yes. He writes to me of the warm weather in Vienna.”

  Her father took hold of her hand and squeezed it. “It pleases me to see you betrothed to such a good man. I have known Joseph since he was a boy, and he is one of the most honorable and decent men I know. I couldn’t have chosen anyone better for you, and you deserve the very best. Now I can leave this world knowing that at least two of my children have found happiness. I will not worry for you, Rose. Nor will I worry for Petersbourg.”

  She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. “Yes, all is well now, Father. Randolph has chosen the most perfect bride. Now all we need to do is find a wife for Nicholas.”

  Her father chuckled, then gave in to a fit of coughing. When he recovered, he said, “If you can convince that boy to choose a virtuous wife, I swear I will sing to you from the heavens.”

  Rose laughed. “I will do my best.”

  She held his hand and sang softly to him until he fell back to sleep.

  * * *

  Later that night the king suffered a series of convulsions and slipped into a deep coma. Thirty-six hours later, he was dead.

  Rose had never known such grief. She was an infant when her mother died of tuberculosis, and remembered nothing about her, nor of the sorrow her father must have endured at the loss of his beloved wife and queen.

  Rose had been raised at the palace by a devoted caregiver who was now retired to the country.

  This was the first time Rose had ever lost a close loved one, and on the day of her father’s funeral, when he was laid to rest in the royal tomb at the Abbey of St. Peter, it took every measure of strength she possessed to hold her head high beneath the black tulle veil that covered her face, and weep only silent tears.

  When it was over, she walked beside Nicholas and followed Randolph and Alexandra—now king and queen of Petersbourg—down the long center aisle of the abbey while the congregation stood and the angelic voices of the choir echoed gloriously throughout the ancient cathedral. It had been a beautiful ceremony and she was grateful for the love and support of the people.

  Halfway down the aisle, however, she spotted Lord Cavanaugh in attendance, standing at the rear of the church in the back pew. Their eyes locked and held as she walked the rest of the way.

  As she and her brother drew closer, Leopold bowed to them. She could not bring herself to look away until they passed by.

  Even then, she could still feel his intense gaze on her as she exited through the open doors and descended the steps to their coach. Nicholas helped her inside while Randolph and Alexandra rode separately ahead of them.

  As soon as the vehicles pulled away from the abbey, Nicholas turned to her. “Are you all right?”

  “I am perfectly fine,” she replied as she lifted the black veil off her face and peeled off her gloves. “I cannot believe it’s over, that he is really gone.”

  Nicholas squeezed her hand. “Nor I.”

  They gazed out the window at the crowds lining the streets. As the royal procession passed by, everyone bowed solemnly.

  “Look how the people adored him,” Rose said. “It pleases me to see it.”

  “I suppose you saw Cavanaugh in the church,” Nicholas said.

  “Yes.” She continued to look out the window, for surely there could be nothing more to say about it.

  “Did you mind that he was there?” Nicholas asked. “Or would you have preferred not to see him, today of all days?”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It may surprise you to hear it—for it certainly surprises me—but strangely enough, I was glad to see him. It made me feel…” She paused to reflect a moment while Nicholas waited with impatient curiosity.

  “It made you feel…?” he prodded.

  “Valued. Did you see how he looked at me?”

  “How could I not? He looked at no one else. It was as if you were the only person in the church.” Nicholas paused. “What happened between the two of you in England? Something must have happened.”

  She shut her eyes and tipped her head back to rest on the soft upholstery. “I told you, we just talked. Now I don’t know what to make of him. He has not yet announced any engagement, nor did he bring his betrothed home with him from London. At least not that I have heard.” She opened her eyes and looked sharply at her brother. “You would tell me, wouldn’t you, if you heard anything? I assure you I do not need to be protected from news of him. I am already pledged to another, and I rather wish Leopold would make haste and do the same. I believe I would find it easier to see him if he took a wife.”

  Nicholas listened to everything she said, and shook his head. “I haven’t heard a word about any betrothal, but we’ve all been preoccupied lately. Would you like me to ask him while he is here in the city? I could summon him to the palace.”

  She gazed down at her engagement ring—a stunning emerald-cut diamond—and turned it around on her finger. “No, that won’t be necessary. It shouldn’t matter anyway. It’s not for me to care what Leopold does.” The coach rolled over a bump in the road, and she was jostled about quite uncomfortably.

  Chapter Seven

  The sun was just setting when Leopold’s coachman pulled to a halt in front of Cavanaugh Manor. The butler hurried to meet him.

  “Hello, Johnson,” Leo said.

  “Good evening, Lord Cavanaugh. Welcome home.”

  “Has Mother dined yet?” Leo walked up the steps and through the front door, where he handed over his hat and gloves.

  “Not yet, my lord. Dinner will be served at eight. In the meantime, I should inform you that a package arrived for you yesterday. A rather large package.”

  Curious, Leopold halted and turned to face him. “Where is it?”

  “In your study, my lord. There are two packages, in fact. One large and one small.”

  “From whom?” he asked as he started off toward the stairs.

  “From your father.”

  He halted with one hand on the newel post as a fierce wave of displeasure coursed through him, for he did not welcome the notion of being further manipulated. His father had best not be attempting to bribe him or lure him back into his hopeless crusade—and God help the man if he intended to use threats.

  “Thank you, Johnson.” He wasted not a single moment before he climbed the stairs and broke the seal on the letter that had been placed on his desk. He would read it before he opened the boxes, for he was not yet sure he wanted whatever was inside of them.

  My son,

  I have not been well since our argument in England. It is never a good thing to part ways on such terms, so I hope you will accept my most sincere ap
ologies for all that has passed between us.

  I understand that King Frederick has also not been well and may not live to see the end of summer. I have given it a great deal of thought, and you were right about everything. It is time to stop living in the past.

  When Randolph is king, he will remember your friendship as young men, so do what you must to strengthen those ties. Alexandra will be in need of support from those who were once loyal to her family, so do your best to be a dutiful subject and a true friend to her.

  I have sent two wedding gifts for the royal couple. I leave it in your hands to deliver them.

  For Randolph, a Scottish claymore which I know he will enjoy. I recall a time when he expressed a desire to visit the Highlands.

  For Alexandra, I have sent a portrait of her parents—King Oswald and Queen Isabelle—which was painted before she was born. Please tell her that I have enjoyed the honor of its safekeeping since the Revolution. No one has known of its existence or whereabouts, but the time has come at last to return it to its rightful owner—the only child left of the Tremaine dynasty.

  Your father,

  Kaulbach

  Leopold sank into a chair and cupped his forehead in a hand. His father wrote that he had been unwell since their argument. It must be serious indeed for him to let go of his old Royalist ambitions and set his son free to live his own life as he chose—as a loyal subject of the new Sebastian king.

  Nevertheless, turning his eyes to the large wooden box propped up against the bookshelf, Leo could think of only one thing: this gift provided a legitimate excuse to return to the city and visit the palace.

  And see the woman he intended to make his own, by any means necessary.

  Chapter Eight

  After the death of King Frederick, a full fortnight passed before visitors began to arrive at the palace, one by one, to present wedding gifts to Randolph and his new bride.

  Clearly the country was eager to meet the woman who had captured the king’s heart, so it was decided that a banquet would be held to provide the highest-ranking peers of the realm an opportunity to meet their new queen.

  The invitations were sent out and Rose was torn between her turmoil at seeing Lord Cavanaugh again—for naturally he was listed prominently on the guest list—and her shame and frustration at feeling anything other than indifference, for she did not wish to fall under his spell again. That would put her betrothal at risk and her heart as well, for it had taken so very long to get over him the last time.

  When the night of the banquet was finally upon her, she dressed in a gown of black silk with daisies embroidered on the puffed sleeves—for the daisy was her father’s favorite flower—and studied her reflection in the looking glass. She wondered fleetingly if it might be better to feign a headache and avoid attending the banquet altogether.

  In the end, she resolved that such absence and cowardice would only prolong the curiosity that was presently growing by leaps and bounds in her imagination.

  Perhaps facing Leopold in person would douse those flames with a heavy dose of reality and remind her why she was better off with Joseph, who would never flirt with any other woman and encourage her affections when he was not free to do so. Nor would he lie to her or toy with her affections. Joseph was decent in that way. He was not flirtatious or seductive, and for that reason he was not likely to be unfaithful in the future and break her heart. She could not say the same for Lord Cavanaugh.

  By the time she made her entrance with Nicholas into the reception hall, most of the guests had already arrived. The room smelled of lilacs and roses and hummed with subdued laughter and conversation.

  Nicholas picked up two sparkling champagne glasses from a footman carrying a tray and handed one to Rose. Together they mingled with the guests until Randolph and Alexandra were announced and everyone fell into courtly bows and curtsies.

  There was much talk of the late king during the first hour. Everyone who spoke to Rose offered kind sympathies, which she accepted gratefully, but when the dinner gong rang and it was time to move into the banquet hall, she found herself glancing more carefully around the room, searching for the one person she had not yet encountered.

  She knew he was here in the city. He had come to the palace that very afternoon to present a gift to Randolph and Alexandra in the throne room. Or so she had been told.

  But where was he now?

  A group of gentlemen in the far corner of the room stepped apart just then, and she spotted him. He wore a dark green dinner jacket and fawn breeches, and was listening intently to the man across from him who was speaking passionately about something while waving a hand through the air in a series of gestures.

  The very instant their eyes met, Rose’s body began to whirr with awareness. She hid it well, however, and gave Leopold nothing more than a courteous and regal nod of her head as she passed by—as if he were any other acquaintance in the room.

  Which he was not. Everything about him hit her like the zap of a lightning bolt.

  More than a little shaken by her response to the mere sight of him, Rose moved into the banquet room on Nicholas’s arm and sat at the head table with the rest of the royal party.

  When everyone was seated, a number of toasts were made in the king and queen’s honor, and there was a moment of silence for their late father.

  More often than she intended, Rose found herself glancing at Lord Cavanaugh. She was intensely aware of his presence at all moments and the force of her attraction to him was greatly disturbing to her in every way—for she did not invite those feelings nor could she banish them, no matter how dutifully she tried.

  After dinner, everyone moved into the ballroom where the orchestra had begun to play a cotillion.

  The room was crowded. There were nearly three hundred guests, but somehow Lord Cavanaugh found her within minutes, just when she was beginning to feel a heavy sorrow in her heart over the fact that her father was not here to enjoy the music and dancing.

  “Good evening, Your Highness,” he said as he approached.

  Rose was standing with a group of ladies from one of the more fashionable new neighborhoods, but turned when Leopold spoke.

  “Good evening, Lord Cavanaugh,” she replied. “What a pleasure to see you.”

  While they greeted each other, the other ladies seemed frightfully keen to listen in on any conversation.

  “I wish to convey my deepest condolences over the loss of your father,” he said. “If there is anything I can do…”

  She swallowed over a rush of emotion that threatened to undo her carefully cultivated decorum, and found herself confessing what she truly wanted in that moment—which was something that went against her better judgment, but there it was. The words spilled past her lips before she could stop them.

  “Actually, there is something,” she said. “You could ask me to dance. It would do me good to focus on my feet instead of my heart.”

  Needing no further bidding, he offered a gloved hand. “Will you do me the honor?” A new set began and he escorted her onto the floor. “I believe this one will be a waltz.”

  She suspected he was warning her that he would soon slide his hand around her waist, rest it upon her back, take hold of her other gloved hand and touch her in that manner for the entire piece.

  Despite the butterflies in her belly, she kept her eyes fixed confidently on his. Under no circumstances would she permit him to know that she was the least bit unsettled. She must do everything in her power to hide it—from him and everyone else.

  At last the music began and he swept her into the first few steps.

  He was an excellent dancer, but she knew that already, for they had danced many times before, but never the waltz, for it was very new in Petersbourg.

  “Again, Rose,” he said, this time more intimately, closer to her ear, “I am sorry about your father. I know there is nothing anyone can say to make it better, but I want you to know how often you have been in my thoughts.”

  The wall
she had constructed between them cracked slightly at his kind words, and she found she could do nothing but speak from the heart.

  “Thank you, Leopold. It has been difficult, especially when I think of how far away we were when he fell ill. I will never forgive myself for not being here.”

  “But you came home as soon as you learned of it, and I am certain he must have been pleased by what you accomplished in England. He was proud of you. That was obvious to everyone.” He paused. “He was a great king. He will never be forgotten.”

  The sentiment brought her comfort, and she thanked him.

  “How is your mother?” she asked as they circled around to the other side of the room. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen her. Please tell her that she would be most welcome at court.”

  “I will convey your message,” he replied, “but you know my mother. She hates to leave the country. She loves her gardens too much.”

  “She has such a gift with flowers. Thank her for the beautiful bouquet she sent. It was the loveliest of them all.”

  “She will be pleased to hear it.”

  They danced in silence for a moment or two, and Rose was relieved they were keeping to polite conversation. There was no obvious awkwardness or tension, though she had not yet conquered the butterflies in her belly.

  As the dance continued they chatted about the summer heat but stopped talking as the music reached a crescendo. He held her steady in his arms and swept her lightly around the room until her cheeks were flushed and her blood was racing at a swift and exuberant pace.

  She was pleased they had danced. It took away some of the fear she had felt about seeing him again.

  Everything would be fine, she told herself. All would be well.

  When the dance came to an end, however, she was sorry for it. She did not wish to take her hand off his shoulder.

  “Thank you, Rose,” he said in that appealing husky voice as he escorted to the edge of the room.

  As they walked together, she glanced up at him. “It is I who must thank you for such a delightful few minutes on the dance floor. It has lifted my spirits.”