Princes and Princesses: Favourite Royal Romances

by Barbara Cartland

  The late Prince Katinouski had quarrelled with the Czar and had left St. Petersburg for Europe never to return.

  He had married the Duke of Warminster’s daughter and his only son, Prince Ivan, had been brought up in an entirely English fashion.

  He had been sent to Eton and to Oxford University and it was only after this that his Russian blood and his great wealth had taken him to all the pleasure spots of the world and people had begun to talk of Ivan Katinouski as if he was a character out of The Arabian Nights.

  And his superb racehorses in England, his parties in Paris and his extravagances in Italy were all part of the legend of the Fairytale Prince.

  But it was inevitable that people talked most about the women he loved.

  They pursued him frantically, loving him to the point where they risked their reputations in a reckless fashion if his dark eyes so much as looked in their direction.

  “I suppose an English wife would suit you best,” Lady Odele agreed a little doubtfully.

  As she spoke, she was wondering how any English girl could cope, as even she was unable to do, with the many diverse and strange sides of the Prince’s character.

  Lady Odele knew, if she was honest, that, while she believed that he loved her at least for the moment and that she attracted him passionately, she could not have gone into a witness box on her oath and sworn that she knew him as a man.

  There was so much that was secret about him, so many unfathomed depths to his character that even to think of them left her bewildered.

  Aloud she now said,

  “Perhaps, Ivan, a girl of a different nationality might be more suitable.”

  Then as she spoke she knew that she was being foolish.

  What did it matter if Ivan’s wife did not understand him? She would be there only to give him what he demanded in regard to his children.

  So she was not surprised when the Prince answered her remark by saying,

  “I know what I want, Odele. I wish you to find me an English girl from, of course, a noble family, who will give me children and fill the part of my life that has been empty all these years.”

  As if she could not help herself, Lady Odele replied with a faint smile,

  “Are you really telling me, Ivan, that there has been something missing? I always thought that everything about your life was complete and perfect.”

  “As complete as it was possible to be,” the Prince added, “but always in the background of my life has been the wife I was married to for only six months.”

  There was no need for him to say anything more.

  Even Lady Odele’s limited imagination could conjure up a picture of the poor mad creature who bore his name, hidden away in Hungary while he wandered the world alone.

  It struck her with an unusual perception, because she was not a very imaginative woman, that with all his houses, Castles, Châteaux and Palaces, not one of them without a wife and family was really a home.

  Because she knew that he expected it of her, she said, speaking in a different tone from the one she had used before,

  “Of course I will help you, Ivan. Tell me exactly what you want and I will do everything in my power to bring it about.”

  As she spoke, she was thinking to herself how in that way she could hold him.

  Society consisted of a great number of wives who sat at home, diligent and virtuous, while their husbands went a-roaming.

  If Ivan decided to marry somebody like herself, Lady Odele knew that she would be wildly jealous and afraid that his wife would supplant her in his affections.

  But a young girl who was asked only to bear his children would not encroach for one moment on their special relationship, any more than Edward interfered so long as she was discreet.

  “I think I know what you want,” she said, “someone young, very well-bred and, I suppose, pretty.”

  The Prince smiled and for the moment it swept from his face everything that was serious.

  “I don’t think I could tolerate looking at a plain face over the breakfast table. Yes, Odele, she will have to be pretty, but I cannot expect or even hope for somebody as beautiful as you.”

  “Very well,” Lady Odele said. “I will have a look round at the debutantes who came out this year. There must be one – ”

  She stopped suddenly and gave a little cry.

  “But, of course! I know the very girl. I cannot imagine why I did not think of her first.”

  “Who is she?” the Prince enquired.

  “My niece, Charlotte Storr.”

  Before her marriage Lady Odele had been a Storr and her brother was now the Earl of Storrington.

  It was impossible to query the importance or the breeding of the Storrs, who had played their parts in English history since the first Storrington had held an important position at the Court of King Henry VIII.

  There had always been Storrs in the Army and the Navy who had been decorated for gallantry, just as there had been Storrs in the House of Lords who had played their parts as Statesmen and had been in attendance on whichever King or Queen was reigning at the time.

  Every Countess of Storrington was a hereditary Lady-of-the-Bedchamber, just as every Earl had held an important post in the Royal Household.

  “Why have I never heard of your niece before?” the Prince enquired.

  “Charlotte should have been presented this year,” Lady Odele replied, “but my sister-in-law was in mourning for her mother and so Charlotte has therefore remained in the schoolroom, although she is eighteen.”

  The Prince was listening and Lady Odele continued,

  “She is a pretty child.”

  “Like you?”

  “A little. Most of the Storrs have blue eyes and fair hair. She will certainly meet your conditions of being pure and innocent.”

  The Prince gave a sigh of relief.

  “Arrange for me to meet her. We might have another party in a fortnight’s time and you and I will compile the guest list together.”

  “We will do that,” Lady Odele said eagerly, “but we must not include the Prince and Mrs. Langtry.”

  The Prince rose to sit down beside her on the sofa.

  “Now that that is settled,” he said, “let’s talk about ourselves.”

  She put her hand in his and as he felt a little tremor go through her at his touch, he smiled and turned it palm upwards towards his lips.

  *

  The Viscount handed his gun to the keeper, saying to his companion as he did so,

  “That was jolly good shooting, Shane. I have never seen a better right and left than yours in the second drive.”

  “I was rather pleased with it myself,” the Honourable Shane O’Derry replied. “But I thought you were a bit off form today, Richard.”

  “The result of too much port last night,” the Viscount confessed, “but, after all that walking, I do feel a lot better than I did first thing this morning.”

  “So do I,” Shane O’Derry agreed.

  They thanked the keeper and walked towards the shooting brake that would carry them to Storrington Park.

  As they sat in it bumping over the rough roads that led from the farmland where had been shooting partridges back towards the main drive, they looked almost as if they might be brothers.

  There was, however, no blood relationship between them, but they had been close friends ever since they had been educated at the same public school and they were now, after graduating from the same University, intent on enjoying the gaiety and social life of London together.

  This was easy for the Viscount, whose father could afford to give him a handsome allowance, while Shane O’Derry seldom had two guineas to clink together in his pocket.

  The second son of the Earl of Bunderry, an impoverished Irish Peer with a crumbling Castle and few meagre rents from his poverty-stricken tenants, the future of the Honourable Shane would have been bleak except for the fact that his friend Richard was prepared to share everything he owned with him.

&n
bsp; They were in fact teasingly called ‘the Inseparables’.

  Now laughing together at some intimate joke, they ran up the steps of the house and wended their way towards their bedrooms in the West wing, where the Viscount had a sitting room that had been his special Sanctum ever since he had been a young boy.

  It was shabby, untidy and cluttered with an extraordinary mixture of sporting trophies, tennis racquets, cricket bats and everything else that found a place on the floor because there was no space left on the walls.

  Occasionally the Countess ordered the housekeeper to see that the room was put in order, but the moment her back was turned it lapsed into the same tangled mess and she gave up the almost unequal task of trying to keep her son in order.

  “I must say I have never enjoyed a day more,” Shane enthused, “but I am damned thirsty.”

  “Ale or cider?” the Viscount asked. “I dare not ask for anything more intoxicating at this time of day or Gilpin will undoubtedly tell my father.”

  “Cider is all I need,” Shane replied.

  The Viscount moved as if to reach for the bell-pull and then said,

  “I am quite certain the bell is broken. I will go and shout down the back stairs.”

  He went from the room as he spoke and Shane moved to the window to look out over the Park with its ancient oak trees and the huge well-tended garden.

  He heard somebody come into the room behind him and, thinking that it was the Viscount, he did not turn his head until a soft voice called,

  “Shane.”

  He then turned eagerly to see a young girl looking at him.

  “Charlotte,” he murmured.

  Then she ran frantically across the room to throw herself against him.

  “Shane! Shane!” she cried and he heard her voice break on his name.

  “What is the matter? What has upset you?” he asked.

  “I-I cannot tell you – oh, Shane – I think my – heart will break.”

  “You must tell me, what is it?”

  He held her close against him and he knew as her face was hidden that she was crying.

  His arms tightened and he kissed her hair and, as he did so, the Viscount came back into the room.

  “I told one of the footmen to bring me – ” he began and then saw his sister in Shane’s arms. “What is the matter? What has happened?”

  “That is what I am trying to find out,” Shane replied. “Charlotte is upset.”

  “Don’t let Mama see you like that,” the Viscount warned.

  His sister raised her head from Shane’s shoulder.

  “Mama is – in the drawing room,” she said almost incoherently, “and – I came to tell you – what has happened,”

  The tears were pouring down her pale cheeks and her blue eyes were swimming with them.

  “Come and sit down,” Shane suggested gently, “Tell us what has upset you.”

  “It is not like you to be a cry baby, Charlotte,” the Viscount remarked.

  “Y-you would – cry if you were in – m-my shoes!” Charlotte retorted almost fiercely.

  “Tell us what this is all about,” her brother urged her.

  Shane had taken Charlotte to a large armchair that stood at one side of the fireplace.

  As she sat down on it, he perched on the arm and, drawing a handkerchief from the pocket of his tweed coat, he wiped her eyes.

  Because he was gentle about it, it seemed to make her want to cry all the more.

  With an effort she forced away her tears and, holding tightly to his hand, said in a voice that was still very shaken,

  “M-Mama has had a – letter from Aunt Odele. She has – found a – h-husband for m-me.”

  “A husband?” the Viscount exclaimed. “Good Heavens, you have not yet been presented!”

  “I – know,” Charlotte replied, “b-but Aunt Odele wrote that I was – the luckiest girl in the world – and that the whole family should go down on their knees and say thank you to – God for such a wonderful opportunity.”

  “Who has she in mind? It sounds as though it might be the Prince of Wales, except that he is already married.”

  As the Viscount spoke, he saw that his friend Shane had gone very white and was looking at Charlotte with an expression of such pain in his eyes that it was impossible not to be aware of his suffering.

  The Viscount was the only person in the house who had the least idea that Charlotte and Shane were in love with each other and had been for years.

  To the Viscount it had seemed almost inevitable and certainly natural that they should love each other, especially as they were the two people in the world he had the deepest affection for.

  Now for the first time he saw the tragic consequences that their love for each other could involve them in.

  He supposed, if he thought about it, he would have been aware that Charlotte would be expected to make what his mother would call a good marriage if not a brilliant one.

  Shane, as a second son with no money at all, would certainly not be considered an eligible suitor.

  “And who does Aunt Odele suggest you should marry?” he asked aloud.

  “I-I will not do as she says!” Charlotte cried. “N-nothing will make me marry anyone except Shane. But Mama is already excited by the idea – and I know Papa will be too – when she tells him about it.”

  The tears were now back in her eyes and running down her cheeks.

  “Oh, Shane – save me – save me!”

  Because she sounded so piteous, Shane knelt down beside the chair to hold her in his arms.

  It was the Viscount who heard the footman’s rather heavy tread outside the door.

  “Look out,” he said sharply in a low voice.

  As Shane rose hastily to his feet, Charlotte turned her face quickly towards the fireplace so that the servant would not see her tears.

  The Viscount rose to take a tray containing two glasses and a large jug of cider from the footman.

  “Thank you, James,” he nodded, “that will be all.”

  He put the tray down on the table, shoving aside a number of things that were in the way to make a place for it and then poured out the cider.

  As the door closed behind the footman, he said,

  “You must be careful. If the servants report to Mama that you were crying in Shane’s arms, he would be sent back to Ireland on the next boat.”

  “I will – try to be careful,” Charlotte answered, “but if I have to marry this horrible – beastly man whom Aunt Odele has chosen for me – I swear I will kill myself!”

  “You are not to talk like that, darling,” Shane insisted in a low voice.

  He took Charlotte’s hand in his as he spoke, and she clung to it as if it was a lifeline that would save her from drowning.

  “Who is the man?” the Viscount asked.

  For a moment it seemed as if Charlotte was incapable of answering.

  Then at length, with her eyes on Shane, and in a voice that her brother could barely hear, she said,

  “Prince Ivan Katinouski!”

  For a moment both the Viscount and Shane seemed frozen into immobility.

  Then her brother managed to say,

  “I don’t believe it! It’s impossible! It must be a joke!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “It is not a joke,” Charlotte retorted fiercely. “Mama – read me the letter – then somebody called to see her and I – snatched it up from her – writing table.”

  As she spoke, she fumbled in her sash and drew out a letter that was rather creased.

  She looked down at it and said brokenly,

  “I – cannot see, you – read it,” and held it out to her brother.

  She then turned her tear-stained face towards Shane.

  The Viscount took it from her and looked down at the impressive crest on the thick white paper.

  Then he read aloud,

  “My Dearest Margaret,

  I have the most exciting news for you, which seems incredible, but I fe
el that when you hear what it is you will thank God for such a wonderful opportunity for dear little Charlotte.

  I am staying here with Prince Ivan Katinouski and he has told me that his wife, the Princess, who has been mad for the last twelve years, has now died. Because I am such an old friend, he has asked me to help him choose a wife.

  As you will know, he is one of the richest men in Europe, if not the world, and he is admired and liked everywhere he goes.

  He could, of course, marry anybody, but he wants someone young and unspoilt, in his own words ‘pure and innocent’, who comes from a noble family and who will be not only the chatelaine of his many magnificent houses but also the mother of the children that he has never been able to have.

  I am well aware, dear Margaret, that George does not care for foreigners, but Prince Ivan is exceptional in that his mother was a Warminster and nobody can say that the Warminsters are anything but the most English of the English!

  I know that Charlotte, having been in mourning for your dear mother, has seen nothing of the world, but that is what Prince Ivan would wish. And I therefore am arranging on his behalf a house party on the eighteenth, here at Charl Castle, where he and Charlotte can get to know each other.

  I am making it a young party as you know how zealous in pursuing him all the ambitious mothers of young girls will be when they learn that the Prince is now eligible.

  I therefore think it best for me to chaperone Charlotte and for you to send her to me with Richard and, if he wishes to come, his inseparable friend Shane O’Derry.

  I know it is somewhat short notice, but I am sure you will agree that this is Charlotte’s chance to make a really brilliant marriage and it would be a mistake to have the Prince’s interests diverted elsewhere.

  I am so excited at the prospect of my niece living here at Charl Castle and at all the other fantastic houses the Prince owns and I will let you know the time that she and Richard should arrive, as soon as I know myself.

  I remain, dear Margaret,

  Your affectionate sister-in-law,

  Odele.”

  The Viscount read the letter aloud with an unmistakable note of surprise in his voice and, as he finished reading, he said angrily,