Be My Prince

by Julianne MacLean

  “Yes. Leopold is a decorated war hero who helped defeat Napoleon. He is a brilliant strategist on the battlefield. His father is Lord President of the Privy Council and Duke of Kaulbach.”

  “He is away at the moment?”

  “Yes, traveling abroad.”

  Alexandra leaned closer, laid her hand upon Rand’s, and stroked his knuckles with the soft pad of her middle finger. “Is the marquess a married man?”

  He gave her a dubious glance. “Why do you ask?”

  She leaned back in her chair and lifted an eyebrow. “I have three unmarried sisters if you will recall, and he is quite a handsome man.”

  Her husband smirked. “Are you trying to make me jealous, Wife?”

  “That depends. Will it inspire you to put courtly matters aside at an earlier hour this evening, and join me for a different sort of celebration?”

  He chuckled softly. “I need no further inspiration than the mere knowledge of your existence. And I thought it was duty, not celebration, that required us to engage in those particular frolics you so enjoy.”

  “Can it not be both?”

  They leaned together for a kiss but drew back when the Lord Chamberlain cleared his throat and announced the next visitor to the throne room.

  At that moment, Alexandra caught Nicholas watching from the corner of the room. He swiped a hand at the velvet curtain at the window and walked out the side door.

  * * *

  Three hundred guests attended the banquet that evening—most of them of noble blood, as well as a few well-favored musicians, poets, and senior bishops.

  After a sumptuous four-course dinner that included turtle soup, roast pheasant in brandy sauce, followed by raspberry rum cakes for dessert, the guests moved into the green and gold ballroom for dancing.

  Randolph, dressed in his magnificent royal scarlet regalia with tasseled epaulets at his shoulders, led Alexandra onto the floor in the center of the room for the first dance of the evening.

  While she waited for the music to begin she looked up at the giant crystal chandelier over her head. It reflected the light from hundreds of flickering candles, and she wondered if she should pinch herself, for her life seemed transformed.

  She had never expected any of it to turn out quite like this. Even when she learned the Prince of Petersbourg was traveling to London in search of a wife, she had not known she would succeed in winning his hand, nor had she imagined she could ever be truly happy with him—for she had long been preparing herself for a loveless marriage she would be forced to endure in the name of duty and vengeance.

  Yet here she stood, wildly passionate for her husband, who had proven himself to be a magnificent lover and an honorable gentleman.

  Perhaps happy endings were possible after all, she thought with a smile as the orchestra began to play and her husband led her through a lively country dance. Afterward, they were rewarded with generous applause and shouts of approval.

  “You are glowing tonight,” Randolph whispered in her ear as he led her off the floor.

  “For once I feel as if I belong.”

  Then they walked to meet his brother, Nicholas, and that sense of belonging died a quick death.

  “Truly a night to remember,” Nick said with a chivalrous bow as he turned to Alexandra. “Your Majesty, will you do me the honor of accompanying me onto the floor?”

  Her happy mood darkened further, for she had no choice but to accept. Placing her gloved hand in his, she allowed him to escort her to three couples waiting to perform a quadrille.

  As the music began, the head couple moved through the figures, and Alexandra soon followed with Nicholas. As they finished their part he kept his eyes on the others while leaning close to speak to her.

  “It seems you have bewitched my brother,” he said. “He is completely besotted.”

  “As am I,” she replied. “Should that not always be the case with newlyweds?”

  A group of men on the edges of the room burst into a chorus of laughter. Growing increasingly uneasy, Alexandra glanced over her shoulder at them.

  “You have certainly kept him preoccupied,” Nicholas said.

  She shot him a look. “Let us not be cryptic. What are you insinuating?”

  They stepped apart and crossed over to the opposite dancers, changed partners, and came around to each other again.

  “I am not insinuating anything,” he replied.

  “I think you are. And if you believe any of what that unfortunate underbutler was gossiping about, I will question your intelligence, sir, for I am in love with the king and I wish only to be a dutiful queen. So I beg of you, do not spoil his happiness, or mine, for that matter, with your unfounded suspicions.”

  They turned to opposite partners and stepped forward into the center.

  “I am only taking care of his best interests,” Nicholas replied. “As is my duty.”

  “Perhaps you should make it your duty to look out for my best interests as well,” she suggested. They moved around the circle together. “Because I am not unconscious of the fact that I have enemies in this country. I know how my father was despised in the final months of his reign, so do not assume, sir, that I mean to repeat his mistakes. I am your brother’s queen and loyal to the end. Take me at my word on that.”

  The dance came to an end, but they remained in the center of the floor while the other dancers cleared away.

  “How can I,” he asked, “when you have achieved your position through deceit?”

  She scoffed. “Is that not the pot calling the kettle black? If I do recall, the night I met you, you were wearing your brother’s clothing.”

  Other new couples began to crowd onto the floor, so he escorted her back to her stepmother. With a courtly bow, he turned and walked away.

  “He doesn’t like me,” Alex said to Lucille.

  The duchess watched him leave with a haughty note of disdain. “Well, I do not like him either,” she replied. “He is too confident in his good looks, and seems hell-bent on assuming that anyone new who enters this court is an enemy of the king. You should have heard how he questioned Nigel tonight.”

  “Mr. Carmichael is here?” Alex asked, surprised.

  She blushed. “Yes. Randolph was very generous and extended an invitation to him, and I dearly hope that later this evening we may have an announcement to make.”

  “What sort of announcement?”

  Lucille’s eyes glimmered with satisfaction. “The very best sort a woman can hope for, of course.”

  “You intend to marry him?” Alex had not expected this.

  Lucille turned to her with dismay. “Surely you cannot be surprised, nor could you possibly object. You owe him a great debt, Alexandra. If not for him, you would not even be here. We would both still be back in that putrid little cottage in Wales, huddled around the fire while our tapers burned down to nothing.”

  “Of course I am grateful,” she replied, “but I have learned many things since we arrived here, and I am quite certain that much of what Mr. Carmichael told us about the Revolution was not entirely true.”

  Lucille regarded her with incredulity. “How so?”

  “He made me believe that my father was a saint, and that he was removed from power by warmongers—I believe he once used the word ‘barbarians’—who wished only to seize my family’s wealth and position.”

  “They were revolutionaries!” Lucille argued in his defense. “Are you forgetting what happened in Paris? The Reign of Terror? Would you wish that on King George, mad though he may be?”

  “Of course not,” Alex replied. “But I am not certain that the people of Petersbourg were not somewhat justified in their grievances. They wanted change and progress, and my father was…”

  Still with the same horror-stricken expression, Lucille pushed her to complete the thought: “He was what?”

  “Stubborn,” Alex replied. “Perhaps also blind to what was happening beyond these palace walls—in the streets and in the private parlors of t
he common man. I can almost understand it. I have felt quite far removed from the world these past few weeks. You cannot deny that it is a fairy tale sort of existence here.”

  “But I enjoy fairy tales,” Lucille argued. “Isn’t that what we all want? Is that not why you are so happy tonight?”

  Alexandra flicked open her fan and waved it briskly in front of her face. “I do not deny that I feel very blessed, but it has nothing to do with dreams or fairy stories. My feet are planted quite firmly on the ground.”

  They were interrupted in that moment by the Marquess of Cavanaugh, the handsome young aristocrat who had presented Randolph with a sword earlier in the day. He bowed elegantly to her. “Your Majesty, I trust you are enjoying yourself this evening.”

  “Yes, my lord. And you?”

  “Very much indeed.”

  They watched the dancing for a moment; then she turned to the marquess. “Thank you for the wedding gift. It was most generous.”

  “It was an item I knew the king would appreciate, but I fear it is not something for the queen to enjoy.”

  She chuckled lightly. “One never knows. Perhaps I will have a use for it one day. Nevertheless, it will look very handsome on display in the Privy Council Chamber.”

  They continued to watch the dancing; then Lucille noticed Mr. Carmichael enter the room and excused herself to go and greet him.

  As soon as she was gone, Lord Cavanaugh turned to Alex. “If you will permit me, madam, I would like to offer another gift, again on behalf of my father.”

  “What is it?” she asked. “And why did you not bring it to the throne room?”

  “I did not feel it would be appropriate,” he replied, “for it is a portrait of your parents, in happier times.”

  The air sailed out of her lungs, but she recovered quickly.

  “I am not sure what your intentions are, my lord, but I do hope this is not a secret gift, for I cannot keep secrets from my husband.”

  His blue eyes warmed. “Rest assured that I have already spoken to the king about the portrait and he suggested I handle it with…”—he paused—“discretion, for there are some who may not approve of such a gift. The country wishes to embrace the future, not the past, and the king is aware of that.”

  She glanced toward her husband. “I see. Well then, I must apologize for suggesting otherwise. May I ask how you came into possession of the portrait?”

  He led her away from others who might be listening. “My father and your father were close friends since early childhood. The portrait was a gift to my parents on their wedding day, and has been kept safely hidden at my father’s country estate all these years. But now that you have come home, we believe its rightful place is with you.”

  She reached out to touch Lord Cavanaugh’s arm. “Thank you, my lord. I will treasure it always.”

  He bowed to her. “I am pleased to hear it, and have already taken the liberty of having it delivered to your chamber. It will be waiting for you when you retire this evening.”

  The marquess turned to go, but she stopped him. “Wait. My husband said your father is chief officer of the Privy Council, and has held that position for many years.”

  Cavanaugh spoke in a hushed tone. “Yes, and it wasn’t always easy for him after what happened to your family. But we put all that behind us and placed duty above all. We pledged an oath to King Frederick and are loyal subjects.” He glanced over his shoulder. “But know this, madam. Despite appearances, you have many friends here at court, even among the New Regime. In our hearts, a great number of us are celebrating your return.”

  She nodded at him. “Thank you.”

  She would endeavor to remember that. Especially when her husband’s brother was accusing her of seduction and deceit.

  With a great show of respect, Lord Cavanaugh bowed and backed away.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Alexandra closed her bedchamber door behind her and stared at the gift leaning against the side of her bed—a large package half the size of the mattress and wrapped in fine white linen, tied up in a blue satin ribbon.

  Having already dismissed her ladies-in-waiting—for she wished to be alone to unveil the portrait—she moved closer to the bed and took a deep breath. With hands that trembled slightly, she pulled the delicate ribbon free and unfolded the fabric away from the canvas.

  The fire crackled and sparked in the hearth while she beheld the handsome couple before her. Her mother was young and vibrant, not much older than Alexandra was today. She was seated in a gilded ceremonial chair and wore a heavy brocade gown and powdered wig. On her finger she wore the ruby ring.

  Alex’s father was a fine-looking man, also in a powdered wig. He stood behind the queen and stared dreamily into space, while the queen kept her eyes fixed on the artist with an expression of bold confidence.

  Or perhaps it was a look of warning?

  A knock sounded at the door just then. Startled almost out of her wits, Alexandra swung around. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Randolph.”

  Glancing back at the portrait, she wondered briefly if she should drape the linen back over it, but remembered that her husband already knew of the gift and had, according to Lord Cavanaugh, given his blessing.

  She crossed to the door and let Rand in, then locked it behind him. “I was not expecting you so soon,” she said.

  He began to untie his cravat as he strolled closer to the fire. “I couldn’t stay away.” Naturally, his gaze was drawn to the bed and the portrait that leaned against it.

  “The Duke of Kaulbach’s gift has arrived,” she explained. “Come and see it.” She waved him over.

  Together they stood before it.

  “My father was right,” he said. “You bear a striking resemblance to your mother.”

  “Yes, and look at that.” Alex pointed. “She is wearing the ring you gave me.”

  He nodded and took hold of her hand.

  “Is it safe for me to keep it in this room?” she asked. “I would mount it above the mantel.”

  He glanced at the painting that now occupied that space—a landscape by a local artist of mediocre talent. “This is your personal chamber,” he said. “Of course you may hang it wherever you like.”

  “It won’t incite more gossip in the household?”

  “If it does, I will deal with it accordingly.” The note of confidence in his voice and the cool gleam in his eyes gave her every assurance that he would indeed block any foe. She felt a stirring of arousal at the awesome display of his authority and wondered absently if she would ever be able to look at him and not find him overwhelmingly attractive.

  “For now,” he added, “let us move it to a safer location … over here against the wall where you can see it.” He picked it up as if it weighed nothing and carried it across the room. Once he had set it in place, he pulled the protective linen away and tossed the fabric over the back of a chair. “There now, that’s better. It’s quite a magnificent piece, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, absolutely magnificent,” she replied in a haze of sensual yearning as she crossed to her husband and began to unbutton his waistcoat.

  * * *

  Later, when the fire was reduced to a few glowing embers in the hearth, Alexandra turned to her husband on the soft feather mattress and rested her cheek on a hand. “May I ask you something?”

  He lay quietly on his back, naked and beautiful in the golden light of a single candle at the bedside, blinking up at the silk canopy. “Anything.”

  “Why does Nicholas hate me so much?”

  His blue eyes caught hers in a deep, penetrating gaze. “He does not hate you.”

  “Yes, I believe he does. He certainly doesn’t trust me.”

  Rand exhaled slowly—which she interpreted as a sign of impatience—then sat up on the edge of the bed. “Must we talk about this now?”

  “Why not now?” she asked. “It must be dealt with, Randolph, for I do not appreciate being treated as if I were your enemy.”

/>   He reached for his trousers and pulled them on. “I will ask him to be more gracious toward you in the future.”

  “No, do not try to appease me in such a way. It is more than a simple case of poor courtly manners. He appears to find me quite detestable, and for that reason I do not trust him.”

  Randolph turned on the bed to look at her. “Watch your tongue, Alex. I trust no one more than my brother.”

  “No one … including me, I suppose.”

  He quickly stood and fastened his trousers.

  The fact that he did not reply caused a wave of anger to rise up and crest within her.

  She leaned across the bed. “Tonight he accused me of seduction and deceit. You must talk to him.”

  Rand pulled his shirt on over his head. “I will, but I cannot put a leash on him, Alex, for I need him to be my eyes and ears here at the palace. It is his duty to be suspicious of everyone.”

  “Including his queen?”

  Rand shrugged into his waistcoat and buttoned it. “Yes.”

  Her mouth fell open. “What are you saying? Have you instructed him to spy on me? I thought we were past all that.”

  “No, I am afraid not. You are a Tremaine by blood, and there are those who would see me dead to make you their sole sovereign, and others who would enjoy seeing your head roll.” He went looking for his neckcloth, which had somehow ended up on the floor under the bed.

  “That is not what I heard tonight,” she said with a twinge of satisfaction while he was still on his hands and knees.

  He rose to his feet. “What exactly did you hear?”

  “That I have many friends at the palace, more than I know.”

  “What sorts of friends?” He inclined his head with concern.

  “No one was named specifically, but it was implied that members of your father’s government are celebrating my return.”

  He immediately advanced upon her, leaned over the bed, and took hold of her chin. “What are you suggesting, Alex? That people of this court will divide into two separate factions?” She tried to pull away, but he refused to let go. His eyes burned with fury. “Are you taking pleasure in this? I certainly hope not, for when I proposed to you I did so under the assumption that a union between our two families would unite the country, not tear it apart. You are not encouraging this sort of talk, I hope.”