by Carolyn Zane
“I wish you didn’t have to go,” she murmured a short time later as they stood in the shadows just outside the servants’ entrance.
“Me, too, but we’ve given them enough to wonder about for one night, don’t you think?”
“You noticed the cooks whispering while we ate?” Marie-Claire swallowed against the mirth that rose into her throat.
“No. But I think several of them are watching us now. Either that, or they enjoy standing at the window with their faces smashed to the glass.”
“Where?” Laughter spurted past her lips.
“Shhh. Don’t look, or they’ll know we can see them.”
“What should we do?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On what you want them to think.”
“What are my options?”
“Well…” He rubbed his jaw and looked up into the night sky. “We could shake hands and I could pound you on the back, like a buddy.”
Marie-Claire thrust out her lower lip. “That’s no fun.”
“Or, I could make an inappropriate advance, and you could slap me…”
“Definitely more interesting, but I’m a lover, not a slapper.”
Sebastian groaned. He took a deep breath. “Okay, we could walk over to my car, where they can’t see us, and I could give you a proper kiss goodnight. Let them wonder.”
Marie-Claire’s eyes dropped to half-mast as a tempest of elation rose and fell in her belly. “I choose that last one.”
“Me, too. C’mon.”
Every second that Sebastian lingered in the shadows with Marie-Claire, it became harder to leave. It was only the knowledge that the watchful eye of the security cameras could capture images that would make their private life a public circus, that enabled him to leave.
At times like this, he hated the fact that she was of royal blood and wished that instead she was the peasant girl he’d originally taken her for when she was sixteen. Then nobody would care about the stupid details of her life. She’d be able to be with whomever she pleased without having to pause and think about how her actions would affect a nation.
As he lifted his hand in a parting wave and pulled his car onto the circular drive, he rotated his head to dispel the tension. He considered turning around and coaxing her to disappear with him. They’d elope. Leave St. Michel forever and live life on their own terms. Surely, they’d be happier as paupers not having to deal with the idiotic protocol that went with living as a royal.
Sebastian could empathize with Philippe and Katie. The thought of bucking the system and living life on his own terms was powerfully seductive. Although not realistic. Their life was here. In St. Michel. Soon enough, they would be married. Living as one. Forever.
Overhead, a bolt of lightening split the sky and Sebastian had to turn on his windshield wipers as rain began to fall in buckets. The weather was the perfect complement to his foul mood. He squinted at the road, his mouth twisting sourly.
For propriety’s sake, they would have to be engaged for at least six months before they could be married. And the time of mourning for King Philippe would be over as well. Until then, he’d have to endure being stalked by various and sundry security guards and chaperones and live for stolen moments.
Just ahead, the road forked, one way leading to his house, the other to his mother’s. Sebastian passed a hand over his face and heaving a tired sigh, turned down the road that lead to Claudette’s. He knew his mother would be anxiously awaiting details of his lunch at the castle, eager for juicy tidbits of royal gossip.
Lights blazed in every room of his mother’s house and as Sebastian parked his car, he made a mental note to lecture her on the finer points of conservation.
Brandy swirled into matching snifters as Claudette poured from her private reserve. While she busied herself, Sebastian relaxed by the fire that roared in her magnificent hearth and allowed his gaze to travel over the eclectic décor his mother had foisted upon the once-clean lines of this elegant room. Clutter from every corner of the earth abounded, making the walls close in, leaving little open space. Expensive shelving units had been erected to hold all nature of bric-a-brac and collectibles meant to impress visitors with her taste and wealth. No inch went undecorated; the walls were covered with art, the tables with treasures and the floor with furniture and rugs.
Sebastian’s gaze drifted about, noting new additions to the chaos, and he sighed. The likelihood that Claudette would learn to control her impulse spending seemed nil. No doubt she would land in bankruptcy court before she would part with a single treasure. The prospect of an evening spent sorting her scrambled records had his head suddenly throbbing.
Outside, the wind screamed over the countryside and rain poured in sheets down her windows. Inside, his eyes slid closed and he fell into a dreamy twilight filled with blissful thoughts of Marie-Claire until his mother’s shrill voice startled him to wakefulness.
“Well? Are you going to just sit there, or are you going to tell me what went on up at the palace today?”
Sebastian sighed and took the glass that she’d thrust under his nose. “Of course. What do you want to know?”
“Everything!” She squinted at him. “But first, tell me why, now that Philippe is dead, were you invited to dine with the family? It’s not as if you are intimate with any of them.”
“True enough.” Amused, Sebastian felt a wry grin tug at his lips. Not just yet, anyway. Since his budding relationship with Marie-Claire was still far too private to share with anyone, let alone his meddlesome mother, he decided to steer her toward information he knew would become public knowledge within the next few weeks. “Perhaps they invited me because they know of my business ties with Rhineland.”
Claudette stared at her son, expression baffled. “What has Rhineland to do with anything?”
“You will hear this soon enough, I suppose.” Sebastian took a thoughtful sip of brandy. “Since Philippe’s death, there is a faction in Rhineland that is plotting to reabsorb St. Michel into their government. Simone wanted to ask me what I knew about the political climate over there and some of the nuances of negotiation with their government officials.”
Claudette huffed over the rim of her glass as she rested it against her ruby lips. Clearly this was not the kind of personal buzz she was looking for. “Why would we worry about Rhineland? We seceded centuries ago. Why the sudden fuss?”
“Because now there is no heir to the throne. And—” though he knew he probably shouldn’t confide anything more intimate than the weather report with Claudette, he continued in hopes of dousing the flames of curiosity with a thimbleful of information, “apparently Philippe may have another child. My age. Perhaps a boy. If they can find him, he would be crown prince.”
Lips pursed, Claudette’s gaze darted to his and she swallowed. Hard. After a long, frozen moment she queried, “What?”
“Remember, St. Michel is a monarchy that passes through the male line.” Sebastian leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs on top of the leather ottoman. “Aside from Celeste’s baby, our only hope of remaining independent is finding this possible first-born son to ascend to the throne. It seems there is some question as to whether Celeste’s baby is even Philippe’s, let alone a male, which makes locating this missing heir even more important.”
Claudette froze, eyes glazed, the wheels in her brain processing this new information. Finally, she touched her tongue to her suddenly parched lips and managed to croak. “Missing heir?”
“They’ve hired the head of St. Michel’s security force to find him.”
She stared at Sebastian, but her eyes saw only the images that whirled in her mind. Her breathing had become shallow, and her glass tilted, a bit of brandy spilled upon her lap. She did not notice. “This heir. You say…he would be the crown prince,” she murmured.
“Mm. About my age.”
“Yes. Exactly your age.”
“Seems Philippe was married to an American teenager
named—” Sebastian frowned, struggling to recall her name.
“Katie.”
“Yes! That’s—” Brow arched, he glanced at his mother. “How did you know about Katie?”
Claudette opened her mouth to speak, but could only emit tiny, guttural sounds, as if she were choking. Sebastian pulled his legs off the ottoman and leaning toward her took the glass from her hands and set it on a nearby table. Concerned, he watched the blood rush into her neck and cheeks. Tiny beads of sweat formed on her upper lip and she trembled.
“Mère, what is it?”
Hands to her cheeks, Claudette gawped at him, her mouth working, struggling to form the necessary words. “I never wanted to tell you.” Her eyes brimmed with tears.
Outside, thunder roared and seconds later a flash of lightning lit the room. The power failed and a sudden feeling of doom clutched at Sebastian’s heart as the firelight flickered over his mother’s tortured expression, and he forced himself to ask what he was quite sure he wouldn’t want to know.
“Tell me what?”
Chapter Five
Claudette clutched Sebastian’s hands till he was certain she’d drawn blood. Like a carp plucked from the lake and gasping for precious oxygen, she gurgled. He’d never known her to be so afraid of the dark.
“Mère?” Sebastian prompted. Claudette had always possessed a flair for the dramatic but even so, her rigid countenance and glassy-eyed stare was unusual. Unnerving.
Outside, the storm raged. Inside, Sebastian could feel one brewing. He disentangled his hand from Claudette’s clutches long enough to fumble through an end table’s clutter for some candles and matches. Once he’d lit these, his mother’s face was less shadowed but no less contorted.
Wind screamed through the ancient window casings and thunder, like the rumble of an earthquake, vibrated overhead, rattling the decorative plates perched upon the mantle. Immediately following, a flash of lightning rent the gloaming, and, as Sebastian glanced out the window, he felt an uncommon chill snake down his spine. Against the blinding light, the trees stood stark, crooked branches beckoning like the bony fingers of the grim reaper.
Sebastian raked a hand over his jaw and snorted.
He was letting his mother’s imagination run away with him. Even Claudette’s master manipulation couldn’t produce the squall outside and its colliding weather fronts. The electricity in the air was simply that, and had no deeper, evil nuances.
Whatever she was about to tell him was no doubt simply a tempest on the tennis court. Some local gossip that would have nothing to do with him. As soon as the lights came back on, he’d persuade her to gather her financial papers and a calculator and they’d begin wading through the mess that was Claudette’s filing system.
He found their brandy glasses, topped them off and handed one to his mother. “Mère, try to relax. It’s just a storm. The lights will be back on soon.”
Claudette moaned and dropped her chin to her bosom. “If only it were that easy.”
Sebastian rotated his head to ease the tension. And irritation. “What? If only what were that easy?”
Claudette’s flighty gaze glanced to his face. Remembering the brandy she held, she tossed back a slug, wincing and shuddering as it blazed its way down her throat. Through her nostrils, she sucked in a deep breath and then dabbed her mouth on the back of her wrist. “I’ve kept this from you, because I felt it was for your own good.”
Okay. Here it came. She’d bought ocean-front property in Antarctica or some other such lunacy. Impatient with her, Sebastian dropped into the club chair by the fire and crossed his feet atop the ottoman. Leaning back, he let his eyes slide to half mast, and exhaled his long day into the shadows. This was going to take a while.
“Go on.”
Trembling, Claudette pressed her lacquered fingertips to her lips and spoke in muffled phrases. “I had to do it. Because I was protecting her. And him. Everyone.”
“Her? Him? Who?”
“I was there. At the wedding. It’s all true.”
“What wedding? What’s true?” He squeezed his eyes shut as a nebulous foreboding filled his belly. What was she up to now?
“She was pregnant. Her father was so angry. He was working class. A nobody. The boy’s father and mother were horrified. There was nothing anyone could do. So they decided to have the baby quietly, and then give him up, to…to…to…”
“Mère, could you go back to the beginning and clue me in as to who the devil you’re talking about?”
“…to…to a childless couple. A couple she believed could not have children of their own, though they were desperate for a baby…”
Another unnerving clap of thunder forced her to momentary silence. When she resumed speaking, the corresponding bolt of light that filled the room amplified her dry, raspy words and bleached her turbulent expression.
“That couple…was us.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“You.”
Sebastian moved not a muscle.
“You!” Claudette shrieked then began to blubber into her bejeweled hands. “You are that child.”
Tiny hairs on the back of Sebastian’s neck stood at attention and as he stared at his mother, realization slowly dawned. He stared at her for a long, electric minute, his mind attempting to make sense of her jumbled information. He filled his lungs and deliberately kept his voice low.
“Are you trying to tell me that I am not your son?”
They stared at each other until Claudette could take the strain no longer and, with a tortured moan, propped her elbows on the arm of her chair and buried her face in the great folds of her sleeves.
“You will always be my son! It’s just…it’s just that you…Katie…Philippe…I always wanted a baby, and she…well, she had no recourse. She was an American. So young. There was so much at stake. The reputation of the crown prince, the future of the monarchy…Ohh.”
Claudette’s ghoulish wails rivaled the wind that shrieked through the valley. She snatched a handful of tissues from a silver dispenser at her elbow and alternately blew and mopped.
“Mère, if you think this is funny, you are wrong.”
“Sebastian, my darling, I have never…” her mouth worked, her eyes glazed, “I have never been more…more…serious about anything. I…I have proof. Documentation. With a few phone calls I’m reasonably sure I can get it for you in the morning.”
The muscles in his jaw jerked and his eyes narrowed. “Why have you waited until now to tell me?”
Her lips were now a smeared slash of ruby red and fiery spots of guilt over this late-in-the-day admission stained her cheeks. Brackish rivers ran from her eyes, over her mouth and drip, drip, dripped onto her hands.
“I never wanted to tell you. Your father and I loved you as if you were our own flesh and blood. There was nothing more sacred to us than your happiness. We knew that growing up with the stigma of having been rejected by the royals would have been a horrible cross to bear for a little child.”
Sebastian jumped to his feet, took several steps back and could only stare at this woman he thought he’d known all his life. It was almost as if she were speaking a different language, so foreign were her words.
“And it didn’t seem to matter that you were of royal blood. After all, Philippe has many children that could ascend to the throne.”
“All female.”
“Yes. Girls.” Claudette lifted hands of supplication, imploring him to understand. “But until you just reminded me, I’d quite forgotten that St. Michel required a male heir. It’s been so long since we’ve needed a crown prince, and King Philippe and Celeste seemed to have a fruitful future, and then with the shock of Philippe’s untimely death…well, it simply never occurred to me to tell you the truth, until moments ago.”
“Surely you’d had opportunity and motive to tell me before now. Why wait?”
“Until now, it didn’t matter! Don’t you see? Now, without you, St. Michel is in danger of beco
ming reabsorbed by Rhineland! I had to step forward. As patriots, we simply cannot allow that to happen!”
Sebastian watched her hands clutching and tearing at her hair and dressing gown in a most theatrical fashion. The performance was certainly meant to convince. But could this possibly be true? He did not speak, though thoughts thundered through his mind.
Could he be Philippe de Bergeron’s son?
Could this explain the connection he felt to Philippe? The nearly surreal familial bond that had kept him from feeling fatherless at such an early age? Could Philippe have felt some sort of subconscious connection himself? Was that why he’d taken such an interest in Claudette’s son? Was that why he’d been so included in palace politics? Given such a position of prestige and power in St. Michel’s business world? Was Claudette speaking the truth?
No.
Never.
Then again…
Her story was just left of center enough to be true.
Numb with shock, he tried to reason how this new turn of events could affect his life. He stared at the fire, and watched the flames devour the last of a good-sized chunk of wood. A chill had descended on the room and vaguely, he considered stirring the flames and adding another log. But he was too paralyzed at the moment. Too deep in thought to move.
Not wanting to lose the momentum she’d built, Claudette plunged ahead before he could distract her train of thought.
“Sebastian, my darling, before now, there was no reason to bother you with the sad details of your birth. You were far better off with us. Your…your…” Claudette trumpeted into the wad of tissues she held and bubbles of saliva formed on her lips as she bawled. “Katie died. Most likely of a broken heart. I keep her death certificate and other papers in…in…a safe-deposit box. I haven’t seen them in years. It all seems like a…” she waved her tissues, “…dream. You were safe with us. You were our little boy. But now, you are a man. And the very future of the kingdom rests on Philippe’s son stepping in and taking the crown. You are crown prince, and, as such, you can save our country from Rhineland, especially since, as far as I know, their marriage was never really annulled!”