The Princess

by Elizabeth Elliott

  “You will never return to Rheinbaden,” he said in a more cautious tone. “To keep them separated now is to simply delay the inevitable. Your people will live out their lives in England and Wales. Their children will grow up here and marry into English and Welsh families.” He folded his arms across his chest and looked down at me. “Our peoples need to unite, sooner rather than later.”

  The idea of losing my people among Faulke’s had never occurred to me. Why it had never occurred was a mystery. I should have anticipated this outcome, just as Faulke had.

  Our households would only be united for as long as it took Faulke to realize the full impact of the king’s deception. But I had not considered how little time it might take for my people to form friendships and intermarry. We could be with the Segraves for months, perhaps as long as a year or more. What if some of my soldiers and servants formed family ties with Faulke’s people and decided to stay with the Segraves? It was a question I had never considered.

  “There are other benefits to a hasty wedding,” Faulke went on. “Once we are wed, our soldiers will have no right nor reason to object to us spending time together in private. My measures to ensure your safety will also be made easier after our marriage. Surely you have no cause to disagree with my reasoning?”

  I had ample cause to disagree. Sadly, they were not excuses I could share. I’d gone from weeks to anticipate my marriage to hours.

  To be fair, I had already considered the possibility that our wedding would be hastily arranged. What caused the most concern was the unwelcome realization that the structure of my household would also undergo a change when we wed; perhaps not much, and not right away, but it would change.

  However, I could not argue with Faulke’s reasoning. His arguments were valid. It was my turn to scowl.

  “My father intends to give us a wedding feast,” I said. “Even the king cannot accomplish a royal feast in one day.”

  “I am no foreign prince to be lauded and celebrated,” Faulke pointed out. “There is no need for the usual pomp. The feast to celebrate our marriage can take place in the days or weeks after the ceremony, whenever your father wishes. The marriage itself is most important, and you know that your father will agree with my reasons for hurrying the ceremony.”

  My father would agree wholeheartedly. No doubt he would have a jolly laugh at Faulke’s unwitting impatience to close the trap. And I was trapped just as securely as Faulke. I wanted to warn him. My nails dug painfully into my palms.

  “You are right, of course. There is no reason to delay the ceremony, and many reasons to hasten it.”

  “Good. I will make arrangements on the morrow,” he said with obvious satisfaction.

  I looked at my slippers, my head weighed down with equal measures of guilt, fear, and frustration. Sometimes it was easy to forget how much Faulke would someday hate me. This was not one of those times.

  “I will do my best to make certain you are happy in our marriage,” he said, a note of hesitation in his voice. “My name and the gossip about my family precedes me in England, but I will not allow anyone to slander your name, simply because you married me.”

  Ach, he only made me feel worse. He truly believed that he was marrying up in the world, and I was marrying down. The guilt twisted in my gut. I was about to do or say something very foolish; I could feel the truth clawing its way to the surface.

  I pressed my lips together even as I wondered at the strange compulsion. The truth was a foreign commodity among most royals. We dealt best in lies and intrigues, and I was my father’s daughter. However, I was not a complete villain. I told Faulke as much of the truth as I could allow.

  “I will be honored to call myself your wife, and I will do whatever I can to make certain you are happy in our marriage.” I did not add, for as long as you want me. God only knew how much time we would have together to play at a happy marriage. I had best enjoy this fantastical interlude while it lasted. The fact that I also enjoyed the physical aspects of his attentions was worrisome. What else would I find to like about this man before he was gone?

  Faulke lifted my hand and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of my wrist, never taking his gaze from mine. “You continue to surprise me, Princess.”

  The gesture was so sweet that I wanted to melt at his feet. My voice was little more than a whisper. “I want to be a good wife to you, Faulke.”

  My goals from now on, I decided, were to tuck away whatever guilt I felt into a nice, dark corner, and simply live for the moment. I leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, but he turned his head at the last moment and expertly captured my mouth beneath his.

  Oh, how I loved his kisses. He tasted like nothing I could describe or even imagine words to describe, something unique and his own that made me fist my hands in his tunic and move closer.

  His kisses demanded all of my attention, and yet I still had room to revel in the fact that this handsome, dangerous, and impossibly likable man was mine. For now.

  Eventually he lifted his head and pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead.

  I couldn’t contain a wistful sigh. “I wish moments like this could last forever.”

  He made a sound deep in his chest that I took for agreement, and then he took a step back to hold me firmly at arm’s length. His mouth curved into a contented smile. “I cannot be alone with you any longer. There will be more appropriate moments within a day or two. Right now, we should return to the solar before anyone else gets injured.”

  Kisses were apparently off the agenda. I tucked away my guilt, and then gave a short nod. “Very well.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Childish Things

  The next morning, word came that my father had agreed to petition the church about the banns. He had provided Faulke’s messengers with the necessary letters for the clergy, but he also insisted that Bishop Winchelsey perform the ceremony. Unfortunately, the bishop had left London right after Dante and Avalene’s nuptials, but he would return to town again in two days.

  Although part of me was glad for the extra days, it was just more time to fret about Faulke’s reaction when he realized I was not good at the more intimate aspects of wifely duties. It shouldn’t matter; noble marriages were about duty, not lust. Sadly, I knew enough about men to know that it would matter to Faulke. I wondered if he would compare my lack of enthusiasm to his second wife, Edith, the religious fanatic.

  Each hour we spent apart, I vacillated between dread at the thought of seeing him again, and unbearable excitement at the same prospect. I hadn’t thought about what the days would be like between the time we met and married because it had never occurred to me that I would actually like the man or enjoy his company. The last thing I had expected was to become hopelessly infatuated with him. Faulke made everything seem so easy, as if we could truly be happy together.

  “Do you plan to wear pearls?” Avalene asked, interrupting my dark thoughts.

  I nodded absently, then picked up the ropes of pearl necklaces that I had draped on top of a pink gown. Faulke had left to discuss our upcoming wedding mass with his father, so I was left to my own devices for the afternoon. Avalene had volunteered to help me pick out an outfit for the ceremony, and I had unpacked nearly every trunk in my chambers to display the choices. However, there was only one obvious choice.

  “What would you wear with this outfit?” I asked Avalene. “The white kid slippers or the pink ones?”

  Avalene looked at the beautiful garments I had worn the day I met Faulke. She looked disappointed. As she turned to poke through a trunk filled with shoes and slippers, I smoothed the skirts of one of the gowns and tried to pretend her answer did not matter.

  “None of these,” she said.

  I let the pearls slip through my fingers and back onto the bed. The beads clicked in a rhythmic patter, a shimmering white waterfall worth a king’s ransom. “What is wrong with my garme
nts?”

  “There is nothing wrong,” Avalene said as she straightened from her search. “This finery announces to the world that you are a wealthy German princess.”

  “Well, of course,” I agreed. “That is the reason they were created.”

  “Hm.” She turned her back to me again.

  “Royals should not look like commoners, or even other nobles,” I said.

  “Mm-hm.” Avalene wandered over to the garment trunks and began to rummage through their remaining contents. “You say the ceremony is to be a small affair, without the attendance of your father or court dignitaries?”

  “Aye, my father refuses to attend masses, even wedding masses.” I gave a sigh of impatience. “Just tell me what is wrong with my choices.”

  “Perhaps the gown for your ceremony need not be quite so fine,” she said in a tentative tone.

  “Why not?” I said. “Granted, the mantle with Rheinbaden eagles on the shoulders might be a bit much, but every woman should wear her finest garments on her wedding day.”

  Avalene nodded, as if she agreed with me, then gave me a guileless look. “How would you feel if Lord Faulke came to your wedding in the livery of his last wife’s house?”

  “His last wife was a peasant,” I snapped, incensed at the thought of such an insult. “I doubt her family has a crest, much less colors.”

  “Aye, but let’s say for the sake of argument that they did,” Avalene insisted. “Or, think of his first wife, Jeanne. Jeanne’s family colors are blue and gold, with a falcon for a device. What if Lord Faulke dressed in blue and gold from head to foot with a falcon emblazoned on his chest? How would that make you feel?”

  At least as angry as just the thought of it made me feel. I would want to rip the clothes off his back, and not for any lustful reasons. I could not tolerate the idea of another woman’s mark upon him, even though I knew that three other women once had a claim to him that was just as valid as my own. They were in his past and needed to stay there. I looked at the sea of white and pink in my chamber, and realized the point Avalene was trying to make.

  “A gown in the Segraves’ colors might find more favor in Faulke’s eyes than a gown that will surely remind him of your prince,” Avalene said, still digging through one of the trunks. “I am certain I saw you in black garments the other day. Black is one of the Segraves’ colors.”

  I nudged her out of the way and pulled out a wool surcoat. “Several of my gowns and surcoats were dyed black to disguise ink stains, but nothing went to the dye vat that is so fine as my court clothing.”

  Avalene picked up the skirt of the surcoat and held up the embroidered hem. The original scroll design on the hem had been done in pure silver thread and accented with flowers embroidered in pink. Now the surcoat and its pink embroidery thread were dyed coal black. However, the silver metal threads stood out in an interesting design and made the garment worth keeping.

  “Your definition of ‘fine’ means something entirely different from what the word means to most people,” Avalene said. “Any of your cast-off gowns are finer than anything I own.” She caught her lip between her teeth. “Well, that is no longer true. Dante has been very generous. But still, your cast-off gowns are quite fine.”

  “I cannot wear all black to my wedding ceremony,” I said. “Even Faulke would find that dreary. I have several white shifts. I will wear one of those under this black surcoat.”

  “Dante is having gowns made for me,” Avalene said. “His family’s colors are red and gold. The Segrave colors are black and red.”

  I had no idea what she was about.

  “I could lend you one of my new gowns for your wedding ceremony,” she went on, now in earnest. “You can wear it under this black surcoat. Several red gowns have been patterned but remain uncut. I am an excellent seamstress, as are your ladies. By the time of the ceremony, I am certain we can have you in a gown fit for royalty. Good English royalty.”

  Avalene’s enthusiasm was infectious. I smiled at her. “It would be nice to have new colors to wear.”

  She looked very pleased with herself. “Let’s go find your wedding gown.”

  * * *

  —

  CONSTRUCTION ON THE new gown was well under way by late that afternoon. Blanche, Gretchen, Hilda, and Avalene had set up their stools and embroidery hoops in the center of the solar where the light from the windows was best. The seams were quickly sewn, fittings were made, and they were already at work on embellishments. Having no sewing talent whatsoever, I brought out my writing trunk and continued to work on my book of fables.

  “My embroidery thread is red,” Blanche said in French to my ladies, her voice far too loud. She held up her needle and motioned with her hands. “Needle. Embroidery thread. The color is red.”

  While Blanche’s attention was on Gretchen, Hilda rolled her eyes.

  “My ladies are German, not deaf,” I chided Blanche. “There is no need to shout at them.”

  “Aye, my lady,” Blanche murmured, and then her eyes rounded. “I mean, Princess!”

  Normally I did not stand on ceremony with my people, and they referred to me as their lady almost as often as they referred to me as their princess. I made a vow then and there to stop correcting the ausländers. It was good for the newcomers to have a reminder of my rank.

  “English cow” a young voice muttered in Italian from under the table.

  “When one insults the servant, one insults the mistress,” I said in the same language as I nudged Rami with my foot. “And do not forget that Italian is spoken by many people in this palace.”

  Rami’s head popped up on the other side of the table. Chiavari’s page had dark hair and the olive complexion of many Italians, but I knew from Avalene that the boy was Arabic. Chiavari had saved the child’s life, and Rami had sworn himself to Chiavari’s service out of gratitude…regardless of Chiavari’s feelings on the matter. These days, Rami was often assigned to attend Avalene. I watched him cram the last bite of a pear into his mouth before he tossed the core into the ashes of the fireplace. An apple appeared next in his hand, and he polished it on one of his sleeves as he met my gaze with a bold, dark-eyed look.

  “My apologies, Princess,” Rami said, with a courtly bow. “I meant no insult. This woman is new to your court. You cannot be held accountable for her ignorance.”

  He took a bite of the apple and waited in silence for my response. I eyed the apple, then returned his stare. The boy was incorrigible.

  Soon after Chiavari’s arrival at Ashland, I learned that Rami’s clothes were a veritable pantry. They contained an astonishing variety of foods that he managed to steal from the kitchens or dining tables. Not that he had to steal the food; it would be given to him gladly, but that point seemed lost on the boy. It no longer startled me when a small hand would suddenly appear from under a table to snatch away something edible. He was always hiding under a table, or crouched in a corner, or tucked away in the shadows, gnawing on some treat or another. I had told Avalene that she should keep the boy better fed, but I had since learned that no amount of food could satisfy him. If quantity of consumption was any indication, Rami would be ten feet tall when he grew up.

  I gave him a smile that bared my teeth. “Since you cannot behave in a manner that reflects well upon your mistress, you can reflect upon the errors of your ways while you go fetch Reginald the steward to meet with me here in the solar. Tell him that I wish to plan the meal that will follow my nuptials.”

  Rami bowed flawlessly, and then he was gone.

  I didn’t look up from my work when the solar door opened again, assuming it was Rami returning from his errand.

  “Princess?”

  Just the sound of his voice made me smile. Then I looked up at him, and the smile froze on my face. Faulke stood before me, looking just as delicious as ever, but he was not alone. In addition to
Richard and a half dozen of their soldiers, there were three women, clearly servants, and three children. I immediately knew the children’s identities. One of the servants held a red-haired toddler with green eyes who sucked her thumb: Lucy. A dark-haired girl clutched a stuffed doll and tried to hide behind her maid’s skirts: Jane. A taller girl with her father’s dark hair and blue eyes stood with her feet braced apart, hands on her hips, glaring at me with a defiant gleam in her eyes: Claire.

  Faulke gave me a polite bow, and then came around the table to lift my hand for another indecent kiss on the inside of my wrist. I glanced at the girls as he did it, embarrassed that they might know what he was doing.

  “Greetings, Princess,” Faulke murmured, his tone formal. His hands went out to encompass the children and servants. “I would make my children known to you: Claire, Jane, and Lucy.”

  On the outside, I kept my face a careful mask of indifference as I studied each child. On the inside, someone kept squealing, Oh my God, they’re here! If I had known they were coming this afternoon, I would have worn a better gown. My soldiers would be wearing their best. My ladies would be wearing their best. I would have practiced something to say to them. What would I say to them? Oh my God, they’re here!

  “I am pleased to meet you,” I said to the girls. “Someone will find you a bench so you may sit, and then we will get to know one another.” I signaled Gerhardt with a meaningful nod of my head, and he sent two of my soldiers to retrieve the bench. “In the meantime, let me introduce my ladies.”

  The soldiers returned with two benches by the time the four women were introduced. Faulke finally took his seat beside me when the two older girls were seated with their maids standing behind them. Lucy’s maid held the toddler on her lap and sat next to Jane.

  I spoke to the girls, but gave Faulke a sideways look so he would know that I was talking to him. “This is such a surprise. I did not expect to meet you girls today.”