Princes and Princesses: Favourite Royal Romances

by Barbara Cartland

  Alana looked down at her clasped hands and the Prince went on,

  “I knew when we left that room that you had frightened me in a way that I had never been frightened before.”

  “Frightened – you?”

  “But of course! Frightened that everything that was Russian within me was coming to the surface. It was like a volcano erupting through the outer crust that I had always believed I held under control, but which crumbled at your touch.”

  “I am sure – that is not – true.”

  “What I am telling you is the truth,” the Prince said. “And I hated you because you disturbed me so profoundly.”

  “You – avoided me the – next day.”

  “I meant to. I could not speak to you, but do you suppose that I was not vividly conscious of you every second, every minute? I felt it was as if, like the icons, you drew me by a kind of mesmerism and I could not escape.”

  Alana thought that that was exactly how she had felt about the Prince.

  He was mesmeric and she knew that it was the reason why she could not cease thinking of him and could not put him out of her mind.

  “I told myself I would be free of you,” the Prince went on. “I had only to stick to the original plan that Lady Odele had made for me and marry her niece Charlotte. Once she was my wife, you would go back to Ireland and I would never see you again.”

  He gave a little laugh.

  “I had underestimated again the force and power of the Russian side of my character. The volcano was still raging, the flames leaping higher and higher and, when you played to me on the violin, you told me what you were feeling and thinking and there was nothing I could do but – surrender.”

  The Prince spoke the last word very softly and Alana felt as if her heart turned over in her breast.

  “I understood then,” he said, “that love is something that cannot be denied and cannot be refused. I had found love when I least expected it, after all the long years of thinking that the real ecstasy and wonder of it was something that would never exist for me.”

  “Why – should you have – thought that?”

  “Because,” the Prince said quietly, “the sort of love I wanted and needed was a love that only a Russian could aim for.”

  He made a gesture with his hands almost of helplessness before he carried on,

  “How can I explain? To a Russian, love is part of the soul. In other countries it is an emotion of the heart, but to a Russian it is part of his belief in God, a part so intrinsically wrapped up with his faith and the very breath he draws that it can never take second place to anything in his life.”

  The way the Prince spoke was very moving and Alana recognised that it was what she too had always felt and believed.

  His eyes were on her face as if he read her thoughts.

  Then he said,

  “Now you understand that I have come here to ask you if you will be my wife.”

  For a moment Alana felt that she could not have heard him aright.

  Then, as she looked into his eyes, she knew that he had said it and it flashed through her mind that it was the most incredibly unbelievably wonderful thing that had ever happened to her.

  Prince Ivan Katinouski had asked if she would marry him!

  Without realising that she was doing so, she rose to her feet and held on to the high nursery guard as if it gave her support as she said,

  “D-do you – realise what you are – s-saying?”

  “Of course I realise it,” the Prince answered. “It drove me nearly mad trying to find you! When Charlotte told me that you were not Shane’s cousin and that, after they had inveigled you into coming to The Castle to divert my attention from Charlotte, you had disappeared and I thought I would go insane.”

  “They said that you would not – find me?” Alana asked.

  “They said I would not only be unable to do so but it would be a great mistake if I did.”

  “That – is what – it is.”

  Alana drew in her breath.

  “I am very honoured that Your Highness should have – sought me out and that you should have – asked me to – marry you – but my answer is – ‘no’.”

  “No?”

  The Prince shouted the word almost like a pistol shot.

  “No,” Alana repeated, although her voice trembled. “And now, Your Highness, please go! There is nothing more to say and I am sure that one day you will find someone who will be – suitable as your wife and will make you – happy.”

  The Prince did not move, he merely said, gazing at her as she stared down at the fire.

  “Do you imagine for one moment that I will accept your decision or allow you to refuse me?”

  He saw her give a little quiver as if with fear and then she said,

  “It is – something you – have to do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I cannot marry you. In fact – I shall never – marry anybody.”

  “Why should you say that?” the Prince asked. “How can you possibly make such an absurd statement?”

  “It’s true – but I don’t wish to talk about it.”

  “Do you really think that I would accept your decision without an explanation? And a very convincing one?”

  Alana turned to look at him and he saw an expression in her eyes that he thought made her suddenly look tragic and at the same time infinitely pathetic.

  “You are hiding something else. I suppose I always knew that there was something mysterious about you. When Charlotte told me who you were, I thought that was the reason for what I felt. Now I know it is something different.”

  “Please – please,” Alana begged, “do not use your instinct where – I am concerned. Just – go away and leave me alone – there is nothing more to say.”

  “That is impossible!”

  “Please – I beg of you.”

  “Then I must refuse your plea,” the Prince replied, “not only for my sake but for yours. You know as well as I do that we belong to each other, Alana, and I can make you happy.”

  He smiled in a manner that was very beguiling as he added,

  “Now I am being Russian, but I am convinced that we shall be incredibly happy together in what, surprisingly as far as the rest of the world is concerned, will be a perfect marriage.”

  “B-but I – cannot – marry you.”

  There was a sob on the words that the Prince did not miss.

  “Why not, my darling?” he asked. “You know that I love you and I know already that you love me. You told me what you felt in music and, when I kissed your lips, you gave me your soul.”

  “But – I still cannot – marry you,” Alana murmured.

  “Tell me why!” he insisted. “I must know. Do you imagine I could go away and spend the rest of my life in agony, ignorance and doubt? My precious Alana, be practical. We may travel together towards the stars, but we still have to live on this earth. You have already made me suffer more than any man should be expected to endure in one lifetime.”

  Alana gave a little sigh and he thought that she was near to tears.

  Then she said,

  “Very well – I will tell you – then you will – understand that not only can I not marry you but you will no longer – wish to marry me.”

  The Prince merely smiled very gently and she knew that he did not believe her.

  “I suppose,” she said, “you will not – accept the – obvious reason – that I am – as you see, a paid helper in a Vicarage, an orphan with no money – no background and unsuitable in every way to be the – wife of Prince Ivan Katinouski.”

  “You forget,” he replied, “that I have also seen you act the part of a Society lady so brilliantly and so flawlessly that it could not have been pretence, but was something completely natural to you.”

  His voice died away into silence and then before Alana could speak he went on,

  “Feeling as we do for each other, it would not matter if you had been born in the gutter and brought
up in a slum. It would not matter who your parents were or what menial tasks you have had to perform in order to live. You are mine, Alana, mine since the beginning of time and mine for the rest of Eternity and, whether you marry me or not, that is an indisputable fact.”

  Alana was trembling at the passion in his words and after a moment he said very quietly,

  “I am not touching you as I want to do. I am not taking an unfair advantage, because I know if I kissed you again there would really be no need for words. We would be joined as we were before and there would be no more arguments as to whether or not you were mine.”

  His voice deepened as he said,

  “I want to kiss you, God knows I want it, and it is with the greatest difficulty that I am restraining myself. So hurry, my precious one, and say what you have to say before I take you in my arms.”

  Now Alana put up her hands almost as if he had moved towards her and she was fending him off.

  Then, as if she could not bear to look at him and see the love in his eyes, she closed her own before she said in a voice that he could barely hear,

  “My father, as I expect Charlotte told you, was Irving Wickham, a music teacher – but my mother was – Princess Natasha Katinouski!”

  There was silence as the Prince stared at her.

  Then he said,

  “My relative?”

  “Your father’s – cousin.”

  “She must have married your father long after mine had left Russia.”

  “Many years later.”

  “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  Alana drew a deep breath.

  “My grandfather, much to the annoyance of the Wickham family, was extremely musical. He refused to be interested in his father’s estates, but attached himself to one of the big Orchestras in the North and became a well-known conductor, calling himself Axel Alstone.”

  Alana paused almost as if she thought that the Prince might say that he had heard of him.

  Then, as he did not speak, she went on,

  “It was arranged that my grandfather should take his orchestra on a tour of Europe – ending in St. Petersburg.”

  “What year was this?” the Prince interposed.

  “In 1858, three years after Czar Nicholas had died and Alexander II had come to the throne.”

  “A very different Czar!”

  “So I believe,” Alana agreed, “but that did not help my mother.”

  “Why not?”

  “My grandfather was taken ill in Warsaw. My beloved father, who was First Violin, rather than disappoint the other members of the Orchestra, took his father’s place and they went on to St. Petersburg.”

  “It was there, I suppose,” the Prince commented, “that he met my father’s cousin, your mother?”

  “She was very young and more beautiful, my father told me, than anyone he had ever seen before in his life. She asked him to give her music lessons and, as you know, it was fashionable amongst the Russian aristocracy at that time to have distinguished music teachers and the majority of them were French.”

  “So they fell in love as we fell in love,” the Prince finished softly.

  “They – fell in love,” Alana said, “and, because they knew my mother’s father would never countenance such a marriage, they – ran away together.”

  “That was brave of them.”

  “They were married in a small obscure Church on the borders of Russia. Then they slipped into Poland and thought that they were safe and could – live there happily ever – afterwards.”

  Alana’s voice broke on the last words and the Prince asked,

  “What happened?”

  “I suppose my mother was not aware of it, but, after your father left Russia, Czar Nicholas had put a complete and absolute ban on any Katinouskis ever leaving the country again. If they tried to do so, he ordered the Secret Police to follow them and bring them back to stand trial or, if they resisted, kill them!”

  The Prince sat up abruptly in his chair.

  “I had no idea of this. Why was my father not assassinated?”

  “Perhaps your father was too important, too rich and had too many distinguished European friends,” Alana answered. “But my father and mother were in a very different category. They learnt through a Russian friend who was devoted to my mother that they were being sought by the Secret Police and the only way they could save themselves was by going into hiding.”

  The Prince’s eyes expressed all too clearly that he knew what this meant.

  “My father could not continue to play in the Orchestra, for they could go nowhere where they might be recognised,” Alana went on. “For some years they lived in Holland, but, as it became increasingly difficult to earn a living there, they went to Paris. It was only when Czar Alexander showed himself not to be the despot and tyrant that Czar Nicholas had been that they were brave enough to come to England. But they thought that it was an unnecessary risk to live on my grandfather’s estates or to be too much in the company of the Wickhams.”

  “So they settled in Brilling,” the Prince said, as if he knew the end of the story,

  “They came here and my father gave music lessons and, although they were poor – they were very very happy until my mother died.”

  “Just as we will be,” the Prince said quietly.

  Alana turned her face away as if she could not bear to look at him.

  “There – is something – that I have not – told you,” she now admitted.

  “What is that?”

  “Under the edict of Czar Nicholas the marriage was annulled. The Ceremony was declared – null and – void and the Priest who – conducted it was put to – death.”

  She paused before she continued in a very different tone of voice,

  “When I was – born, I was therefore – illegitimate!”

  There was silence and Alana turned from her contemplation of the fire to walk across the room and stand at the window.

  She pulled back the curtains.

  Outside there was darkness.

  “Y-you now – understand,” she stammered in a whisper, “why I cannot – marry you – or anyone else – I have no name – no real – identity!”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘Thank You, God – thank You – thank You,’ Alana repeated over and over again to herself as, having been awakened by the singing of the gondoliers, she realised that the sun had risen and the canals were beginning to be busy.

  It seemed more and more impossible every day to realise how fortunate she was as her happiness grew until like the sunshine it seemed to fill the whole world.

  Yet it was true. She was married and the man sleeping beside her was her husband, who she belonged not only in name but with her whole being.

  Every moment they were together she found it difficult to believe that they could ever be closer.

  Yet as each day of their honeymoon passed, she knew that they were no longer two people but one and their bodies, their minds, their hearts and their souls had become indivisible one from the other.

  Now in the great carved and painted Venetian bed that stood in the beautiful bedroom of one of the oldest and most magnificent Palazzos in Venice, Alana tried to express the gratitude in her heart and realised it would take her all her life to do so.

  When she had told the Prince the secret of her birth, which she had felt was a wound inflicted deep into herself and which time would never heal, she had thought as she spoke the very word illegitimate that he would turn away from her in disgust.

  She had known, she thought, even when she was small that it was a stigma both in Holland and in France, but, as she grew older in England, she was aware with what contempt the English, if they were kindly, referred to ‘love children’ and to ‘bastards’ if they were not.

  It was not known in Brilling that her father and mother were not legally married and therefore it did not trouble them, but Alana sometimes felt as if she was branded on her forehead for all to see.

  When her
mother had died, her father had put on her gravestone the words,

  “NATASHA, THE BELOVED AND ADORED WIFE OF IRVING WICKHAM.”

  “It’s not true,” Alana had said to him once. “Your marriage was annulled and therefore Mama was not your wife.”

  “To me she was not only my wife but everything I worshipped and everything that gave me happiness,” her father had replied firmly.

  Then, as if Alana had asked the question, he added,

  “She told me that she never regretted running away with me from all the luxury and standing that was hers in Russia and I believed her.”

  It was true, Alana thought.

  Her mother had been completely happy and wherever they lived, the place radiated with love.

  But Alana had told herself, almost as soon as she was old enough to think, that she would never know the same happiness for she could never be married.

  ‘What man would take as his wife a woman without a name?’ And she added bitterly, ‘Someone who is repudiated both by the Russians and by the English.’

  She supposed that because she was young and impressionable, the years when they were in hiding had made her extremely sensitive to what other people were thinking and saying.

  She knew that the English at any rate thought it strange that Mr. Wickham appeared to have no relations and that her mother, who was obviously a foreigner, never spoke of the land of her birth or admitted that she had any nationality other than that of her husband.

  It was only when eventually it percolated through to the quiet serenity of Brilling that the new Czar, Alexander II, was different from the old one that Irving Wickham became less worried that they might be found by the Secret Police.

  When they learnt of the emancipation of the Serfs and later the reforms that Alexander was bringing to his long-suffering country, Alana thought that a burden was lifted from her father’s shoulders.

  He no longer greeted every stranger with a searching look as if he was suspicious of his or her intentions.

  But even if the Secret Police no longer sought them out, the stigma of her birth was still there, she was a child born out of wedlock and a child who grew into womanhood feeling that there was no Society anywhere in which she could take her rightful place.