Prince's Arranged Bride

by Susan Stephens

  Emily gasped, all play-acting forgotten as she peered into the midnight-blue interior, where a quantity of diamonds flashed fire as the early-morning sunlight danced across their facets.

  Reaching into the casket, Alessandro brought out a diamond tiara, together with earrings and a matching bracelet and necklace. ‘You will wear these with your wedding dress,’ he said, laying them out on the table in front of her.

  ‘Don’t you think that’s a bit much?’

  ‘To my knowledge, no Princess of Ferara has complained before,’ he said, sweeping up one ebony brow in an elegant show of surprise.

  ‘Well, I had planned a more restrained look—’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ Alessandro cut in firmly. ‘The people of Ferara expect—’

  ‘The people of Ferara,’ Emily countered, ‘are receiving short shrift from us both. And I can’t…I won’t appear any more of a hypocrite than I already am. They deserve better—’

  ‘You will honour this contract,’ Alessandro returned sharply, ‘and leave the people of Ferara to me. They are my concern—’

  ‘Shortly to be mine,’ Emily argued stubbornly. ‘If only for the duration of our agreement. While this contract runs its course,’ she continued, ‘I intend to fulfil my duties to this county, and its people, in full. And I warn you, Alessandro, I will not be side-tracked from my intended course of action by you.’

  ‘Then you will do as I ask and wear this jewellery,’ he insisted, clearly exasperated. ‘It’s for one day only. That is all I ask.’

  Emily mashed her lips together as she thought about it. The royal tiara to hold her veil in place and cement Alessandro’s position as ruler of Ferara? She would agree to that. ‘I would love to wear the tiara, but this ring is what your people care about,’ she said, touching the ruby and pearl band. ‘All the other jewellery is very impressive, but, just as you said, no jewel, however valuable, can boast the history of this one modest piece. Why overshadow it? I think your people would appreciate seeing simplicity in their Princess. I’ve no wish to flaunt your wealth.’

  There was a long pause during which Emily couldn’t fathom what was going on in Alessandro’s mind. His face remained impassive, but behind his eyes myriad changes in the molten gold irises marked the course of his thoughts. Even sitting with his back to the sun, with his face half in shadow, the light in his eyes was remarkable, Emily mused, leaving tension behind as she slipped deeper into reverie.

  ‘You’re an exceptional woman, Signorina Weston—’

  She started guiltily out of her daydream as Alessandro began putting the fabulous jewels back inside their velvet nest. She could hardly believe what he was saying…doing. She had won her first battle—and so easily—‘You agree?’ she said, holding her breath.

  ‘I agree,’ Alessandro said, almost as if he surprised himself. ‘Everything will be locked up for safekeeping. The tiara will be returned to you on the day of our wedding.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said with relief, getting to her feet as Alessandro stood up to go. ‘Will I see you again before then?’ It was a question she longed to know the answer to…a question she knew she had no right to ask him.

  ‘I imagined you would be too busy with your preparations,’ Alessandro said, looking at her intently. ‘I have meetings arranged right up to the morning of the ceremony…I thought I’d give you time to sort through all those clothes,’ he added, clearly of the opinion that any woman should be thrilled by such a prospect.

  But Emily wasn’t impressed. As far as she was concerned, the over-abundance of outfits in her walk-in wardrobe represented nothing more than a selection of costumes for the short-running drama production in which she was about to appear.

  ‘I’d like to do something worthwhile…learn something about Ferara,’ she insisted. ‘The clothes can wait.’

  For a moment Alessandro seemed taken aback. ‘Well, good,’ he said. ‘I’ll find someone to have a chat with you—’

  As her stomach clenched with disappointment, Emily’s lips tightened. ‘Don’t bother,’ she said tensely. ‘I’ll find someone myself.’

  After eating breakfast alone in her suite, Emily knew it was time to make good her boast to find someone who would tell her a little about Ferara. Catching sight of an elderly gardener through one of her many windows, she hurried out of the room.

  He was as gnarled as an oak tree and, right now, as bent as one of its branches as he leaned over the plants he was caring for. Emily remained discreetly half hidden as she stared at him, wondering if she had made the right choice.

  She needn’t have worried about disturbing him. He was oblivious to everything around him apart from the roses he was tending.

  Emily smiled as she watched him. The old man’s love for his plants was revealed in his every move. He had probably worked in the palace gardens most of his long life. Ferara was that sort of place. Who better to tell her everything she wanted to know? He might not speak too much English, but her Italian was…not too bad, she consoled herself. They should be able to have a conversation of sorts—and anything was preferable to returning to the silence that dominated her ornate, but ultimately sterile rooms.

  ‘Buon giorno!’ she began hopefully, walking towards the solitary figure. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you.’

  ‘Not at all, signorina. I’m delighted to have the company.’

  ‘You speak English,’ she said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.

  ‘I do,’ the elderly man replied, leaning heavily on the handle of his fork. ‘What can I do for you, signorina?’

  ‘Don’t you feel the sun?’ Emily said, shading her eyes with her hand. ‘It’s terribly hot out here.’

  ‘Yes, I feel the sun,’ he agreed. ‘I love to feel the sun. I love to be outside…with my roses,’ he elaborated, gesturing around him with one nobly hand whilst star-bright amber eyes continued to reflect on Emily’s face. ‘Do you like flowers?’

  ‘I love them,’ she replied.

  ‘Roses?’

  ‘Especially roses,’ Emily sighed, as she traced a petal wistfully. ‘They remind me of my parents’ garden in England.’

  ‘Do you feel homesick already?’ he asked perceptively.

  It was as if some bond formed between them in that moment. And as they smiled at each other Emily felt herself relax. ‘I’m surprised they flourish here in this heat so late in the summer,’ she said, reining back the emotion that suddenly threatened to spoil these first moments with a potential new friend and possible ally.

  ‘My own system of filtered sunlight and judicious watering,’ the old man told her proudly. ‘Like me, these roses love the sun. And, like me, in this hot climate their exposure to it must be rationed. Otherwise we’d both shrivel up.’

  He chuckled, and his eyes sparkled with laughter, but Emily could see the concern behind them, and regretted that she was the cause.

  ‘What’s this one called?’ she asked, determined to set everything back on an even keel as she pointed to an orangered, rosette-shaped bloom.

  ‘A good choice,’ he commented thoughtfully, stabbing his fork into the ground to come and join her. ‘This rose is named after Shakespeare’s contemporary, the great English playwright Christopher Marlowe. Here,’ he invited, selecting a bloom to show her and holding it up loosely between his fingers, ‘inhale deeply, signorina. You should be able to detect a scent of tea and lemon. Lemon tea,’ he declared, chuckling again, pleased with his joke.

  ‘Mmm. It is a distinctive scent,’ Emily agreed after a moment. ‘But what is the connection between Christopher Marlowe and roses?’

  ‘You don’t know?’ he demanded.

  It seemed as if she was going to have to learn something about her own culture before starting on his, Emily realised. ‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ she said ruefully.

  ‘Christopher Marlowe pressed a rose inside the pages of a book he gave to a friend after an argument…to express his regret over their disagreement.’

&nb
sp; ‘And did his friend forgive him?’

  ‘Who could resist?’ the old gentleman retorted, his eyes widening as he surveyed the array of beautiful blooms nodding in the breeze in front of them.

  Before Emily could stop him, he cut one for her.

  ‘Here, signorina, take this. Press it between the pages of a book…and always remember that if a rose is shown love and care it will flourish and bloom, wherever it is planted.’

  Taking the flower from his hand, Emily smiled. ‘Do you work here every day?’

  ‘I intend to,’ he told her, eyes shining with anticipation. ‘I intend to make this rose garden the most talked about in all of Ferara…all of Europe!’

  They talked for some while, and then she left him to his work.

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ Emily agreed. ‘It’s so very beautiful already.’

  ‘Would it bother you if I came here to talk to you again?’

  ‘Bother me?’ he exclaimed with surprise. ‘On the contrary signorina. I should love it.’

  ‘In that case,’ Emily said happily, ‘see you tomorrow.’

  The old man bowed as she started to move away. ‘Until tomorrow, signorina. I shall look forward to it.’

  After her encounter with the elderly gardener Emily felt more confident that she had something to contribute to palace life. A plan was taking shape in her mind: a scheme to improve the living conditions of all Alessandro’s employees—though she had to admit to a moment’s concern when her private secretary said she knew of no one matching the old man’s description in royal service.

  Turning it over in her mind, Emily returned to her desk to catch up on some correspondence. On the top there was a large red journal she didn’t recognise, and, opening it at the flyleaf, she saw it was from Alessandro. He had written simply, ‘For Emily from Alessandro—a record of your thoughts’. And then, at the bottom of the page, he had added the date of their forthcoming marriage.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  She nearly jumped out of her skin. ‘I love it,’ she said bluntly, running the fingers of one hand appreciatively down the length of its spine.

  ‘Your secretary showed me in,’ he explained. ‘I hope you don’t mind?’

  ‘Not at all.’ The now familiar surge in her pulse-rate had reached new and unprecedented levels, Emily discovered as she continued to stare at Alessandro standing on the balcony outside her room. Surely there would come a point where she’d got used to seeing him? But how could anyone look that good in a pair of jeans and a simple dark linen shirt? She surmised he was off-duty, and wondered what he planned to do with his free time. ‘Is this a gift for me?’ she said, glancing down at the journal.

  He answered with a grin and a shrug.

  ‘Five years of entries?’ she teased lightly. ‘I presume you couldn’t get any less?’

  His silence allowed her to draw her own conclusions. ‘Well, I’ve never had anything like it before.’ she admitted frankly, ‘so, thank you.’

  ‘May I come in?’ he said, leaning on the doorframe.

  ‘Of course.’ She wondered if her heart would ever steady again. ‘I was only going to write some letters.’

  ‘But I thought you wanted to have a look around Ferara?’

  ‘I do.’ She tried not to read anything into the remark, but her pulse rate rebelled again. ‘I’m very keen to learn more. Actually, I’ve already made a friend of one of the gardeners.’

  ‘Did he tell you much about our country?’

  ‘He was a very interesting old gentleman, as it happens. And, Alessandro?’

  ‘Yes?’

  Emily waited, noticing how his eyes reflected his thoughts—there was a something in his expression now that suggested this might be a good time to air her idea. ‘I know you’ve been very busy, and that small things aren’t always apparent, but…’

  ‘Get on with it,’ he encouraged with a gesture.

  ‘After talking to the gardener I got the impression that his apartment could do with some renovation—just some little touches that would make his life easier.’

  ‘And you’d like to take charge of these?’

  ‘Yes. I think it would be worthwhile.’

  ‘I’m sure it would,’ Alessandro agreed. ‘And as far as learning more about Ferara is concerned—well, I’ve taken the afternoon off, so I could show you around, if you like.’

  A shiver of excitement raced down Emily’s spine as she let him wait for her answer.

  ‘The chocolate festival,’ he prompted, ‘the one I told you about? It’s usually held in February, but there’s to be a special demonstration in celebration of our marriage. Because of the heat at this time of year it’s taking place inside the grand hall of one of the municipal buildings.’

  So, his talk of a chocolate festival hadn’t been a wind-up after all, she realised, feeling a rush of anticipation. ‘I’d love to go.’

  ‘That’s settled, then,’ he said. ‘We’d better leave right away if we want to catch the best demonstrations.’

  When they arrived, Emily was amazed to find the streets of Ferara had been recreated within the cool, vaulted interior of the ancient building, complete with chocolate stalls, chocolate sculptures in various stages of completion, and crowds milling about. There was a ripple of excitement when Alessandro was spotted with his bride-to-be, but after the initial surprise they were able to move around the vast marble-floored exhibition area quite freely. It was Emily’s first real exposure to her new countrymen, and at first she held back a little self-consciously, but Alessandro grabbed her hand, drawing her forward, giving every indication of being proud of his choice of bride.

  He was either a very good actor, Emily decided, or—a very good actor, she told herself firmly, knowing how easy it would be to let her imagination get the better of her where Alessandro was involved.

  ‘Let me get you some chocolate,’ he offered, weaving through the press of people, towing her behind him. He took her to stand beneath one of the towering pillars where an artist was already busy at work, then reached out and caught some of the glossy flakes as they showered down. He began feeding them to her, until Emily had to beg him to stop.

  ‘Stop? Are you sure?’

  ‘No,’ Emily admitted, laughing because she was sure her face had to be smeared with chocolate.

  To anyone unaware of their tangled relationship they would have passed for two people in love, laughing and enjoying the festival for what it was—an explosion of happiness and goodwill to celebrate the marriage of a man who was clearly much loved by his fellow Ferarans.

  Freed from the tensions imposed by their arranged marriage, they actually enjoyed each other’s company, Emily realised, smiling ruefully as she accepted the clean handkerchief Alessandro produced from his pocket.

  ‘Is there anything else you should have warned me about?’ she probed cheekily. ‘Cream bun fights, perhaps?’ She gazed up at him as she tried to wipe some of the chocolate smears off her face, loving the feeling of closeness that had sprung up between them.

  ‘I think I can safely promise you one or two more interesting customs throughout your time here.’

  Emily’s smile faltered. Trying not to spoil the mood, she shook herself out of the doldrums. ‘Tell me about these different traditions,’ she pressed with another smile.

  ‘If you haven’t guessed already, our wedding’s a great excuse for giving some of the best a second airing. Everyone in Ferara loves a carnival. You’ll definitely be seeing my country at its best.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she said. And she was, especially if Alessandro was to be her guide.

  ‘You’re still covered in chocolate,’ he commented as she made another attempt to clean her face.

  ‘Well, if I am it’s all your fault,’ Emily countered with a laugh that swiftly turned into an uncertain silence.

  That remark was the closest she had ever come to flirting with him. And in view of his comment that seemed to remind her of the time limit on her vi
sit, flirting was out. Not only that, but her teasing manner was attracting quite a bit of interest. ‘I must look a mess,’ she said self-consciously.

  ‘You look lovely,’ Alessandro argued, removing the handkerchief from her hand. Dampening one clean corner with his tongue, he very gently wiped her face for her. ‘There’s—that’s better,’ he declared at last with satisfaction.

  Emily fought the urge to stare into his eyes, suddenly terrified that what she might see there would not match her own feelings. ‘I suppose we’d better be getting back.’ She broke free and went to stand some distance away before he had the chance to put distance between them.

  This was crazy, Emily realised. When all she wanted was to be with him here she was calling an end to the day almost before it had begun! How had she ever imagined she could throw herself in the path of a man like Alessandro and walk away unscathed? Suddenly she couldn’t wait to get away. The smell of the chocolate, the heat of the crowd and the noise reverberating round the lofty building stabbed at her mind, and she was almost running as she burst out through the imposing double doors that led to the open air. Shielding her eyes against the unforgiving rays of the midday sun, for a moment she was completely disorientated. Starting down the broad sweep of stone steps, she nearly stumbled.

  ‘Emily! Are you all right?’

  The voice was unmistakable—deep, and concerned. Tears sprang to her eyes as he caught hold of her, and she hated herself for the weakness. Somehow she had to get back her pre-Alessandro control, Emily raged inwardly. But she needed his steadying arm to guide her down the steps…

  ‘It’s hot, and you’ve consumed vast quantities of chocolate,’ Alessandro said soothingly. ‘I think we should take a gentle stroll back to the palace. I’ll organise a light lunch—’

  ‘Oh, no. I couldn’t eat anything,’ Emily said truthfully, though her lack of appetite was a direct result of the ache in her heart; nothing at all to do with the sunshine or an over-abundance of chocolate.

  ‘I think for once you’re going to do as I say,’ Alessandro said sternly as he led her carefully down the steps. ‘You almost fell up there. Then what would I have done? I can’t have a wedding without a bride.’