by Alice Gaines
Bah, he needed to deal with reality. And that reality included the fact that he hadn’t told Marta about his first love all those many years ago. He hadn’t promised to tell her every detail of his past, and it had been over for so long. He’d probably never hear from Pamela again, so why dredge up a past that was dead?
He glanced up at Cecile’s portrait and couldn’t help but remember how she’d cried when he’d told her about his first love. Why should he risk the same with Marta for no good reason?
I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you needed to know.
That he hadn’t loved her when he’d married her. True. That he still held Pamela in his heart. Also true. He always would. She’d seen it as a betrayal and only recovered when his words and actions had proved to her that he’d dedicated himself to his marriage.
And then, he’d only told one other living soul about Pamela—Felice, his oldest son’s wife. And he’d done it to convince her she had to sacrifice her love the way Pamela had so Dev could ascend the throne with an acceptable princess at his side. Thank heaven the two younger people hadn’t gone with tradition and had married out of love. Thank heaven, he’d finally seen the light.
What would have happened if he’d insisted on marrying the woman he loved? Things had changed so much in the over thirty-five years since the death of his parents and his ascendency. Now the nation of Danislova and its people could accept an American with no noble lineage as Princess Royal. When he and Pamela—a middle-class Englishwoman—had fallen in love, royals married royals. Period. They could have caused a scandal. She might have been the object of derision and gossip.
He gazed up at the portrait again. And I wouldn’t have married you, and our three boys wouldn’t have been born.
Maybe he was a foolish, old man, talking to a painting of a woman who’d been dead for years as if expecting an answer. He had come here over that time asking for her guidance. Whether she’d reached out to help him somehow or he’d made decisions on his own, things had worked out well for his family and his country. He could have done worse.
The door opened, and Dev entered. Or half-entered, standing on the threshold with his hand on the knob. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in here.”
“Come in.”
Dev stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “I’m not intruding?”
“On what? I’m alone.”
Dev glanced up at the portrait. A perceptive fellow, he clearly realized Friedrich wasn’t truly alone. Friedrich’s oldest. His heir. A fine man with a wife he adored. So like Friedrich at that age.
“It’s a little early for brandy, isn’t it?” Dev said.
“Just a spot of it.” Friedrich finished his drink and put the glass on the table next to him. “Did you need me for something?”
“I wasn’t looking for you, actually.”
“Ah.” Friedrich followed Dev’s gaze and found his son staring at the portrait of his mother again.
“I’ve been coming in here more and more lately.” Dev’s skin flushed slightly. “It’s probably silly.”
“No sillier than my doing it.”
“You were married to her. I never got to know her adult-to-adult.”
Friedrich rose, went to his son, and put a hand on his shoulder. “She loved you children more than anything else.”
“I remember that.” They stood together for a moment in silence.
“Now, with Felice, I understand what you meant to each other,” Dev said. “And I’m realizing what it means to be a husband and a father.”
For a second, Friedrich could hardly breathe. “Father?”
Dev blushed more deeply. “We’re working on that part.”
“Good, Son.” Friedrich squeezed Dev’s shoulder. “I hope the chore isn’t too unpleasant for you.”
Dev’s laughter filled the room. “I’ll bear up somehow.”
“Say, Son…” He probably should have had this talk with Dev already, but it hadn’t seemed important before. “Did Felice ever tell you about the last conversation the two of us had? I mean, the two of us alone.”
“When would that have been?”
“The night before she almost left.” Before Friedrich had almost made the one of the worst mistakes of his life—tearing Dev and Felice apart. He’d almost committed the same blunder with his second son, Kurt. At least, he’d finally learned and hadn’t been as stupid with his youngest, Ulrich.
Dev thought for a moment. “You two spoke that night?”
He’d told her about Pamela and how he’d had to leave her. He’d insisted Dev would have to do the same. He’d shared his deepest secret with her.
“I didn’t tell her she couldn’t discuss it with you.” How could he have? They were husband and wife.
“She never said anything about it.”
“You have my permission to ask her,” Friedrich said.
Dev stood in silence, gazing up at his mother. “Is it something I need to know?”
“Not really.”
“Then I’ll let it be confidential between the two of you.” Dev stepped away. “I think I’ll go find my wife and show her how much I love her.”
“Always a good idea.”
Dev left then, shutting the door behind him, leaving Friedrich in thought.
Felice had decided not to say anything—even to her husband—about Friedrich’s having loved another woman. That affair existed in the past now, and even if he should encounter Pamela today, they wouldn’t share anything but memories. Marta had clearly felt uncomfortable about Herr Grossman’s gushing about Cecile. She didn’t need to know there’d been another woman in his life.
Cecile smiled down at him the way she always did. She’d want him to love again. She’d told him on many sad occasions. The time had come to take her advice.
He blew a kiss to her the way he always did and went off to think up an excuse for a formal family dinner.
*
Marta’s heart leapt when she recognized the display. Friedrich’s private number. She hadn’t even keyed it in as being his in case someone got access to her phone and realized the two of them were talking. In the days following their rendezvous, she’d had to pinch herself to prove she wasn’t dreaming. They’d made love. He’d called her Liebling. They were to see each other again.
Nearly breathless, she fumbled a bit and finally answered on the third ring.
“Marta,” his deep voice said from the other end. For heaven’s sake, at some point, she’d come to love the sound of him.
“Who else?”
“Friedrich here.”
“Who else?” If phones still had cords, she’d be twirling her fingers around it.
“I miss you.”
She nearly melted on the spot. He’d somehow turned her into a teenager again, and it felt so blessed good. “I miss you, too.”
So banal and uncreative. Hardly worthy of the intelligent conversations she’d had with Alexander and his friends. And yet, what else could she say?
“Are you still wearing that floral perfume?” he asked. “The one that smells like roses.”
“That’s my shampoo, actually.” She’d make a mental note to wash her hair before she next saw him.
“Mmm. I’m imagining I’m smelling it now,” he said.
Of course, he’d have his nose close to her hair in the divine minutes when he’d raised himself above her and they were joined. Her skin flushed, sending heat everywhere, and not just from embarrassment.
“Did you call to replay our afternoon over the telephone?” she said. Young people did that sort of thing these days, or at least she understood they did. Intimacy of a sort, but a little too untraditional for her.
He laughed. “I’ll leave that kind of conversation to my sons.”
“And so, why did you call?” To invite me to the palace for a repeat, please.
“I wish I could see you again.” He sighed. “I’m afraid we have a bit of a catastrophe here.”
“
Oh?” Drat, she hadn’t meant to sound so disappointed. She might sound petulant, and she would absolutely not act that way around Friedrich VonRamsberg.
“Ulrich’s done something to hurt Dixie, and she and her family left yesterday afternoon in what can only be described as a huff.”
“I’m sorry. I was sure you had another royal wedding in the making.” And another excuse for her to visit the palace. God willing, that would still happen, for everyone’s sake.
“So, I’m rather absorbed with being a father at present,” he said. “Although I don’t seem to be making any headway. He won’t talk to me about it.”
“I’m sorry.” Of course, she had no advice to offer, never having had to deal with children. Ulrich was hardly a child any longer, but Friedrich would no doubt think of him that way forever.
“I’m hoping his brothers can figure it out and find a solution,” he said. “I do love Dixie, although her family is something else.”
“I’m sure everything will work out.” It had better. The two young people had seemed so in love.
“Say,” he said, his voice warm with affection, “hadn’t you better answer your front door?”
“Front door?” She had a butler for that, as he well knew.
Just then, the bell sounded, and in a moment Feder entered carrying a huge plant. “A delivery, my lady.”
She indicated the table by the window. “Set it there.”
The delivery turned out to be a cattleya orchid almost two feet tall with sprays of violet flowers, probably a dozen of them.
“I’m instructed to tell you it’s from Herr Schmidt,” Feder said.
“Thank you, Feder,” she said. The butler let himself out.
“Dear Herr Schmidt,” she said into the phone. “It’s magnificent.”
“Not nearly as beautiful as you are,” Friedrich said.
“How did you know it would be delivered right now?”
“I commanded it,” he said. “Twelve minutes past two exactly.”
“What if someone finds out?”
“That I sent flowers to a dear friend?”
“Safe enough, I suppose.” She went to the table and ran a fingertip around the lip of one of the flowers. It felt heavy, with a velvet texture. A very valuable, even precious, plant.
“I’m told it’s rather famous,” he said.
“How can a plant be famous?”
“The grower says orchids have their own personalities and can be very different from their siblings,” he said.
Imagine, he’d not only given her a living thing, but it had its own personality. A famous one.
“This one has won several awards,” he said. “It’s a treasure, as you are.”
“What if I kill it?”
“When it’s through blooming the grower will take care of it for you,” he said. “But it’s yours.”
“I hardly know what to say,” she said. Any other man might have sent a bouquet of roses. Friedrich had given her this magnificent creature. “I’ll put it in my bedroom where I can see it when I wake up.”
“Talk like that is far less safe,” he said. “I do wish I could be there with you.”
“Oh, Friedrich…”
“Don’t sound sad, Liebling.”
“I won’t.” She smiled. How could she not when he used an endearment like that and when she had this beautiful, living gift from him?
“If things aren’t fixed here soon, expect another visit from Herr Schmidt.”
“He’s always welcome.”
“Until then, Liebling,” he said. “Auf wiedersehen.”
“Auf wiedersehen,” she said and ended the call. It meant good-bye, but it also meant until I see you again.
*
Italy! Everything had happened so fast, and now, Marta found herself sitting in a limousine outside a university art gallery waiting for Friedrich to emerge with all his sons and their wives and one woman who, by all appearances, would soon be a third wife. None of them had known she was coming, but then Friedrich had surprised them with his own appearance. For some silly reason only one’s children understood, they’d decided to keep from him the fact that his youngest had become an accomplished painter.
She fished through her purse until she found her small mirror. It showed makeup and hair in place just as it had ten minutes before. Nothing stuck in her teeth. And the almost-serene expression years of careful training had taught her to display when her nerves were wound tight.
She and Friedrich would have no good excuse for her presence in what was so obviously a family matter. And if things hadn’t gone well inside, she might find herself in the middle of a private argument between father and sons. Still, he had wanted her here, and that spoke to a developing relationship. At some point, the rest of them would have to know she and Friedrich had become a couple. But things had happened so quickly—one moment receiving nothing but phone calls and orchids and now “Come to Italy with me.”
Eventually, the doors of the gallery opened, and all seven of them appeared on the steps outside. Seven of them. Seven pairs of eyes trained on her. Dixie didn’t seem too surprised to see her, but then Dixie had almost caught them kissing. Felice and Casey smiled at her, but Ulrich gave his father a quizzical look. The other two sons schooled their expressions in the regal way of the VonRamsbergs.
Well, at least the shock was over, even though her heart kept thundering in her chest. An inquisition might follow, but Friedrich had decided on taking everyone to a restaurant, so things should remain civil.
Friedrich said a few words to the others and then descended the steps and climbed into the limousine beside her.
“The others?” she asked.
“They have a car. They’ll follow.” He gave the driver some instructions in Italian and then rested back against the cushions.
“How did it go?” she said.
“As well as one could hope for the display of my soon-to-be daughter-in-law in the nude.”
Marta lifted her hand to her throat. “She was naked?”
“Rather a shock, as you can imagine,” he said. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“Was it…” How did she put this gracefully? “…any good?”
“Extraordinary.” He wrapped his hand around her fingers and brought them to his lips for a kiss. “Thank you for coming. I had no idea what I’d find when the invitation to the show arrived from the university.”
“Glad to be of help.” And also thrilled beyond belief to be sitting with him, their hands entwined. Whatever occurred in the restaurant, she’d have the knowledge that he’d wanted her there and involved in his life.
“I’ve taken the top floor of a small hotel for the family.” He gave her a shy smile. “You’ll be with us.”
“Thank you.” Oh, my. Her pulse quickened. An initiation into the family at top speed. She had no reason to believe they’d reject her, but what would they think of their patriarch introducing another woman in his—and their—lives at his age? It seemed she’d find out.
He leaned toward her. “You wouldn’t mind a visitor tonight, I hope.”
“Only if Herr Schmidt isn’t with me.”
“Herr Schmidt will definitely be there.”
The shiver of excitement she’d experienced so frequently rushed through her. Each time, she’d wonder if it would ever fade—if she’d ever grow so accustomed to his nearness and the promise of his loving that it would no longer thrill her. Impossible. The man was like his brandy, intoxicating and delicious. She should start planning how she’d greet him. What she’d wear, when she’d wash her hair.
They arrived at the restaurant, and the driver appeared to help her out of the limousine. Friedrich immediately took his place beside her and, his hand at the small of her back, led her inside.
As efficient as Herr Grossman, the proprietor escorted them to a private dining room with a table large enough to serve all of them. In a moment, the others arrived in a horde. All chattering. Ulrich’s cheeks had t
urned red with excitement, and Dixie hung on his arm. All six of them, they gave off an air of happiness so powerful, they had her grinning along with them.
“You should have seen the exhibit, Lady Marta,” Felice said. “Ulrich’s painting stole the show.”
Dixie waved a hand in front of her face. “Lordy, the fewer people who see me nekkid, the happier I am.”
“I hope it wasn’t too difficult for you, my dear,” Friedrich said. “My son should never have done that.”
“Ah, the things you do for love,” Dixie said.
Ulrich nestled her against his side. “I have a feeling I’ll make up for it the rest of my life.”
“Darn straight, darlin’,” Dixie said.
“Stop it, you two, before all this sweetness gives me cavities,” Casey said.
“All right, everyone. Let’s sit down.” Friedrich pulled out a chair for Marta next to the head of the table, where he’d sit. Once they’d all sat, a pair of waiters brought wine and poured.
“It should be champagne,” Dev said. “In honor of Ulrich’s completing his degree and…”
Kurt whispered something to Casey, who then nudged Ulrich.
Ulrich lifted his glass in a toast. “Dixie has agreed to become my wife.”
General cheers went up, and glasses clinked.
“I can’t have him painting nude paintings of me and showing them all over Europe without getting my revenge,” Dixie said.
“It wasn’t all over Europe, and you’ve already had plenty of revenge,” Ulrich said.
Dixie stared into his eyes. “I haven’t even gotten started, sugar.”
Friedrich responded with a full-throated laugh. Because he was normally a very reserved person, one seldom heard that from him. Marta would have to figure out a way to inspire more of it.
“My congratulations to you both,” she said.
“You’ll help with the wedding plans, won’t you, Lady Marta?” Felice said.
They all looked to see what she’d say. First Friedrich involving her in family matters and now Felice. She smiled and raised her glass again. “Of course.”
“It’ll be a regular girl-fest. Just wait ’til my mother and sister return.” Dixie turned to Ulrich. “Honey, maybe we should elope to the monastery and have the abbot marry us.”