The Prince's Bride

by Julianne MacLean

  They had just emerged from the forest and begun the short drive up the steep hill to Richelieu House when Gabby peered out the window and called, “Stop! I see Robert! Look, there! He is riding this way!”

  Véronique leaned to see Robert trotting up alongside the moving vehicle. She lowered the window glass to say hello, while Gabby thrust her head out.

  “Robert! We were just on our way to see you and pay a call to your parents. Are they at home?”

  He smiled brightly in the afternoon sunshine and thumbed the brim of his hat. “Good afternoon, ladies. It is wonderful to see you. I thought you would never return.” His eyes were trained on Gabrielle’s, and his cheeks were flushed from a vigorous noonday ride. “Yes, my parents are at home,” he added. “Perhaps, Gabrielle, you would do me the honor of walking the rest of the way with me? It is such a glorious afternoon.”

  “I would be delighted.” She turned to Nicholas, who had remained in the shadows during the exchange. “Can we stop, please?”

  Without a word, he thumped his walking stick on the roof and signaled the coachman to pull to a halt.

  The pair of horses shook in the harness as Gabrielle flung the door open and spilled out of the vehicle while Robert dismounted. She dashed into his arms, nearly knocking him over. “I missed you,” she said.

  “I missed you, too,” he replied. “I have been positively useless here without you.”

  The young lovers had no eyes for anyone but each other, so Nicholas pulled the door closed and tapped his stick again on the roof of the coach.

  They lurched forward and Véronique watched her sister from the window, then sat back, feeling more at ease now, after seeing that Robert’s affections still burned as ardently as ever.

  “He seemed pleased to see Gabrielle,” she said.

  Nicholas nodded. “Yes, but being pleased to see an affectionate young lady on a sunny afternoon in the country is not the same thing as making her an offer of marriage. Is he an honorable man? Is he worthy of her?”

  “Honorable and worthy, yes,” she replied. “But he is in a difficult predicament. He does not wish to disappoint his father.”

  Nicholas lounged back in the seat and gazed out the window. “Perhaps we can do something to make his predicament a little less difficult.”

  “There … do you see?” she said. “You are a good man, Nicholas. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a blind fool.”

  For a long time he did not respond or turn his gaze in her direction, and she wondered if he was even listening. Then his hand slid across the seat and clasped hers. “That is very kind of you to say, but be careful with your expectations,” he said. “Or you might end up getting hurt.”

  The warning was more than a little disconcerting, but Véronique could say no more about it as they reached the house and a footman hurried down the steps to open the door for them.

  * * *

  Véronique should not have been surprised when she and Nicholas were immediately shown upstairs to the Richelieu drawing room, where their host and hostess greeted them with welcoming smiles and flourishing bows and curtsies—directed at Nicholas, of course.

  She stood beside him in the spacious lime green and gilt room, looking up at the sparkling crystal chandelier overhead, and feeling rather blinded by the multitude of floral upholstery fabrics and window coverings, and the thick patterned carpets on the floor—all so very fashionable.

  She had not set foot in this room since she was a young girl, and the Richelieus had not yet discovered the threat that her younger sister would later present when she claimed their eldest son’s heart. Véronique honestly did not believe they had even contemplated the possibility that the two country girls from the bordering property would ever amount to anything other than scanty marriages to clerks or cabinet makers.

  Now here she stood on the arm of a prince, while her younger sister was outside walking with their son—and carrying their first grandchild.

  “What a pleasure to see you again, Mademoiselle Montagne,” Lady Richelieu said as she stepped closer with hands outstretched, and kissed Véronique on both cheeks as if they were the closest, dearest of friends. “Please sit down. Allow me to pour you a cup of tea.”

  Nicholas escorted her around the back of the sofa, where they sat beside each other, facing the viscount and viscountess.

  “What brings you to Richelieu House on this fine day, Your Highness?” Richelieu asked as he sat back and crossed one short pudgy booted leg over the other. “I heard you were in Paris with Wellington and Castlereagh, dealing with the aftermath of Waterloo.”

  Richelieu squinted suspiciously at Véronique, as if he could smell some sort of impossible plot. If he only knew the half of it.

  “Yes, I was taking part in the discussions,” Nicholas replied. “I presume you heard that Napoléon has surrendered to the British.”

  “Yes. What good news,” he said.

  “It will certainly narrow down the squabbling,” Nicholas added, “though there are still many issues to be settled now that the king is back on the throne.”

  “Indeed. Will you be in France for a while, then?”

  Nicholas reached for Véronique’s hand. “As it happens, we shall be returning to Petersbourg very soon, for I wish to present Mademoiselle Montagne to my brother, the king, and eventually show her off to the people.”

  He turned his gaze toward her and smiled with charming appeal, as if they were alone together and he was out to flatter and seduce. She found herself smiling in return, briefly forgetting that the viscount and his wife were seated not far in facing chairs, watching them with painful curiosity.

  Nicholas turned his smile in their direction and said cheerfully, “We are to be married, you see.”

  Véronique’s neighbors stared in stunned silence for one of the most satisfying moments of Véronique’s life. Then they quickly reacted.

  The viscountess covered her cheeks with her hands. “How wonderful! We could not be happier for you both!”

  Lord Richelieu cleared his throat and stood to pump Nicholas’s hand and pat him on the shoulder. “Well done, sir! Now, you must tell us, how did you two meet?”

  “At a masked ball in Paris,” Nicholas replied. “She quite literally stole me away from my duties as ambassador to my country and completely captured my heart.”

  Their hosts laughed at the analogy while Véronique’s own heart swelled with happiness.

  At that precise moment, Robert burst into the room, holding Gabrielle’s hand, almost dragging her behind him while she appeared quite thrilled to be making such a dramatic entrance.

  “Father, I must speak with you,” Robert firmly said, “and it cannot wait.”

  The viscount gave his son a stern look and turned to Nicholas. “Please pardon the intrusion, Your Highness. Allow me to present my son, Lord Robert. I presume you are already acquainted with Mademoiselle Gabrielle.”

  Nicholas inclined his head at Robert, who bowed properly. “I, too, apologize for the intrusion,” Robert said, seeming suddenly shaken by his introduction to a prince. “But I have an important announcement to make.”

  “By all means,” Nicholas said with a welcoming gesture, as if this were his home, not the viscount’s.

  Robert cleared his throat and lifted his chin. “I have just asked Gabrielle Montagne to become my wife, and she has done me the great honor of accepting. We do not wish to endure a long engagement, because we are very much in love, and have waited long enough. We have therefore decided upon a quiet ceremony here at Richelieu House to take place in three weeks. Are you happy for us, Father?” he asked with challenge in his eyes.

  Véronique was quite certain that if Richelieu said no, Robert would have drawn a pistol.

  A muscle clenched at the viscount’s jaw. No doubt he was unaccustomed to hearing his son dictate terms concerning his own future. Nevertheless, the game had changed since Nicholas’s announcement, and so, naturally, would the viscount’s response.

  “Wh
y, of course I am delighted to hear this happy news! I presume you are aware that your fiancée’s sister, Véronique, is pledged to marry Prince Nicholas?”

  Robert blinked a few times, as if confused. “No, I was not aware.… Good heavens, did I intrude upon your announcement? If so, I do apologize, sir. How uncouth of me.”

  Nicholas smiled and circled around the sofa to shake Robert’s hand. “No apologies are necessary. Congratulations to you. You are a very lucky man. I wish you every happiness.”

  Robert’s eyes widened in astonishment, as if he’d realized only then that he was shaking the hand of a prince, who would soon be his brother-in-law.

  Nicholas turned to the viscount. “I had intended to present Gabrielle at court in Petersbourg. I do hope you will send your son to escort her there after they are married. The king will be most pleased to meet them both.”

  “Oh, yes!” the viscountess replied, rushing forward to embrace Robert. “We are so proud of you, dearest!” She turned to Gabrielle. “And oh, you are the most darling and beautiful creature. We could not be happier. I hope you will think of me as a second mother. In that regard, I should like to invite Mrs. Montagne for dinner soon. We can discuss wedding plans and flowers and … I shall also introduce you to my modiste. She comes all the way from Paris to bring the most delectable fabrics and show me the latest fashion designs. What fun we shall have. Oh, my word, but you are such a pretty young thing!”

  Véronique wasn’t sure if she wanted to jump for joy or expel her lunch onto the Richelieus’ expensive Persian carpets—for the viscountess had never been anything but condescending and rude to both her and Gabrielle since they outgrew their little-girl dresses and blossomed into handsome young women.

  Véronique decided, however, that it would be best not to expel her lunch presently, for this was what Gabrielle wanted, and Robert was well worth every moment of agonizing hypocrisy from his social-climbing parents.

  For the next half hour they sipped tea and talked mostly about Petersbourg, until it was time to take their leave.

  Their hosts walked them to the coach and showered them with French cheek kisses and a string of open invitations for future visits.

  When the door of the coach was finally closed and they began the short drive home, Gabrielle buried her face in her hands and began to weep. “I am so happy,” she cried, “and so very proud of Robert for standing up to his father.”

  Nicholas handed her a clean folded handkerchief.

  “What happened between you?” Véronique asked. “Did you tell him the truth about your condition?”

  Gabby lifted her face and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Yes, I told him as we were walking back to the house. I didn’t know how he would react at first, but he took me into his arms and told me I had made him the happiest man alive. Then he got down on one knee and proposed. He said the most romantic things to me. I barely had a chance to say anything beyond a laughing yes before he grabbed me by the hand and dragged me into the house and upstairs to the drawing room. I never even told him about you and Nicholas, or that the two of you were engaged.”

  Véronique embraced her sister. “So he stood up to his father without knowing you were about to become sister-in-law to a prince. I am so happy for you, Gabby. He is everything you deserve.”

  Gabby snorted as she nodded in agreement, then she turned to Nicholas on the opposite facing seat. “This is all your doing, you know. I believe you are an angel sent from heaven to rescue us all.”

  His eyes lifted. “An angel? Me? I hardly think so, but I appreciate the compliment, and I am pleased to be of service.”

  She smiled broadly at him, then blew her nose like a trumpet. “Have you two set a date for your wedding?”

  Véronique looked to Nicholas, for she felt it was he who should decide. Perhaps he would choose a very long engagement to give them each a chance to come to their senses.

  “I would like to be married immediately at d’Entremont Manor,” he said, surprising her with his reply. “We must return for the funeral in a few days. Will your parents be willing to join us?”

  Véronique was speechless at first, then managed to regain control of her senses. “Yes, I am sure they would be delighted to attend.”

  “Good,” he replied as he slouched lower in the seat and folded his arms across his chest. Then he closed his eyes and dozed for the rest of the journey.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Marquis of d’Entremont was entombed in the mausoleum overlooking the English Channel. It was also conveniently within view of the giant oak tree that dominated the hill on the northeast corner of the estate, which did not go unnoticed by Véronique as the carriages made their way to his final resting place.

  Nicholas had instructed the vicar to refrain from mentioning his relation to the marquis during the service, for he did not want the world to know of it—at least not yet. Perhaps he would never want anyone to know.

  The steward and butler each agreed to respect his wishes, but that did not stop the inquiries. During the funeral, there was much speculation about how the property would be divided and bequeathed, for everyone knew the title had already died with the marquis.

  It was a massive and invaluable piece of land. Whom had he named as his heir? the guests wondered insistently, and why was Prince Nicholas of Petersbourg in attendance? D’Entremont was a well-known Bonapartist. Was there some political connection?

  And where in the world was Pierre Cuvier, the illegitimate but devoted son of the marquis’s dead sister? Why was he not present?

  All those questions remained unanswered as the guests drove off after the final good-bye.

  Véronique was equally curious about Pierre’s whereabouts, for he had left the premises the night the solicitor revealed the contents of the will at dinner, and had not yet returned.

  Perhaps he had traveled to take possession of his property outside of Paris, and would never set foot here again. She would not be sorry if that were the case.

  She hoped he could start a new life for himself there, and appreciate the bounty he had been given.

  * * *

  That evening as Véronique was dressing for dinner, a knock sounded at her door. Her maid hurried to answer it.

  “Good evening,” Véronique’s mother said as she entered the room. “You look lovely. Remember when I used to do your hair when you were younger? You always liked it when I brushed it before bed.”

  Véronique, seated at the dressing table, smiled at her mother’s reflection in the mirror, for she was standing behind her, looking radiant in a royal blue gown of Indian silk.

  “Would you like to help me with the combs tonight?” Véronique asked. “I am sure Marie has better things to do,” she added, speaking to her maid with a smile. “You can go now and see to Gabrielle.”

  The young maid curtsied and left the room. Véronique’s mother took over the task of placing the adornments in her hair.

  Véronique watched her mother in the mirror, taking note of the renewed color in her cheeks and the light of contentment in her eyes as she tucked the decorative combs into her thick upswept hair. “You look well, Mama,” she said. “May I dare to presume you are happy for your daughters?”

  Her mother smiled. “Happy is too small a word. I have known for years that Gabrielle was in love with Robert, but I was never certain that a marriage would be possible. And you … You have taken us all by surprise with your handsome fiancé. I see the way you look at each other. How can I help but be overjoyed? And to have our home back … It is like God has granted many miracles all at once. My heart was heavy before, but now my girls are happy and in love. It is everything a mother could wish for.”

  Véronique reached over her shoulder to clasp her mother’s hand. “I am pleased you are feeling better.”

  Her mother nodded as she slipped another comb into place. “Nicholas is a true prince in every way,” she continued. “Not only is he exceptionally handsome, but he is so very chivalrous. B
ut I cannot help but ask … and I hope you do not resent me for prying … but why was he named as d’Entremont’s heir? People were curious today, and there was much speculation about political dealings and such. Everyone knows Nicholas has a voice in any peace treaties that may be negotiated. Some were saying this property was some sort of bribe. Others suggested it was Nicholas’s winnings in a card game. All sorts of rumors were flying about, and I must admit I am curious. I only hope that it is not something shady. Do you at least know the truth?”

  Having set the last comb in place, her mother stepped back. Véronique stood and turned to face her. “Yes, I know the truth, but I cannot reveal it, for I have promised Nicholas my discretion. He trusts me to keep that knowledge to myself, and I must not betray his trust, not even to you. I am sorry.”

  “Do not be sorry,” she replied. “I am proud of you for keeping your word to him, for he is your future husband. Trust between you is paramount.”

  Véronique rolled her shoulders in an attempt to relax and ease the tension that suddenly flooded to the forefront of her mind.

  Trust, at least on Nicholas’s part, seemed a great distance away at present, considering the grand deception under which they had begun, and his own misgivings about his future fidelity. But she could not unload that emotional burden on her mother, who was finally smiling again for the first time in months.

  “You are quite right,” Véronique said. “Nicholas has shared everything with me, because he trusts me.”

  “So I have nothing to worry about, then,” her mother replied with cautious relief. “This inheritance has nothing to do with Bonaparte, and it will not cause some horrendous scandal in the future?”

  Véronique placed her hands on her mother’s shoulders. “I assure you it has nothing to do with Bonaparte.” At least she was telling the truth about that. “And he didn’t win the house in a card game either.”