One Night in Provence

by Barbara Wallace

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  July

  If you send me one more photo, I will kill you.

  Just trying to show you what you’re missing. Hurry up and get here. Your bedroom is waiting.

  Forget the bedroom. I want a big bottle of French wine. You and I are seriously overdue for a celebration. You owe me for cutting me out of the wedding.

  JENNA LAUGHED. SHIRLEY had been on her about the wedding since she broke the news. Upset that she didn’t get to be maid of honor.

  You’re coming to the reception. Isn’t that enough?

  The wedding, by mutual choice, had been a private affair. Since she’d been six months along at the time, Jenna hadn’t wanted an elaborate event. Of course, as Philippe pointed out, if she’d married him the first half dozen times he proposed, she would have been earlier in her pregnancy. But Jenna had held out for Valentine’s Day. There was something poetic about pledging your heart on the most romantic day of the year. She, who had always viewed hearts and flowers with cynicism.

  But, while the ceremony had been intimate, Philippe’s position required some kind of public celebration, and so they were having a formal reception that weekend at the château. Shirley, who was finally getting her trip to France, had landed in Paris that morning.

  Hey, did I mention Philippe has some really cute employees?

  Shut your mouth. Joe’s already paranoid I’ll meet a sexy Frenchman and run away.

  Hey, it happens. Maybe we can send him a few photos. Make him jealous enough to propose.

  Listen to you...all romantic. What happened to the cynical girl I know and love?

  She went to France. And decided to take a chance on love.

  All thanks to Beatrice. Her thoughts traveled back a year, to when the old woman was still alive. One night she hadn’t been able to sleep, so Jenna sat with her looking at old photographs. Picture after picture of Beatrice and her husband on their many trips.

  “You had an amazing time together,” Jenna had told her.

  The woman had set down the album and taken Jenna’s hand. “We live, we die, but in between we have to live,” she’d said. “I got to live a lot. You should, too.”

  Jenna was glad she’d taken Beatrice’s advice.

  She took in the fields below. Once again, nature had created a magnificent tapestry of purple, green and yellow. It would be harvest time shortly. The air was already heavy with the sweet smell of lavender. Had it really been a year since the first time she saw these fields? The time had flown by.

  “Someone missed you,” Philippe announced.

  He stepped onto the terrace, looking very domestic with a cloth towel draped over one shoulder and a sleeping baby on the other. Jenna’s breath caught as it always did when she saw him.

  “You’re sexy when you change diapers,” she told him. “Did you know that?”

  “I know that is a shameless ploy to try and make me change more.” He leaned in and kissed the spot behind her ear. “Did you reach Shirley?”

  “Uh-huh. She’s on her way.”

  “And your mother?”

  “About thirty minutes ahead of Shirley.” Her parents’ reconciliation had managed to last three months before imploding. As usual, her mom was handling the breakup poorly. But she had agreed to attend the reception, so maybe things were looking up. Maybe the Brown habit of finding love in France would rub off on her. A girl could hope, anyway.

  “It will be very interesting having this place filled with people again,” Philippe said. “There hasn’t been a proper party since my parents died. It feels good.”

  Yeah, thought Jenna, it did. She rested her head on her husband’s shoulder. “Do you think your family would have liked me?”

  “Are you kidding? Chérie, they would have loved you more than I do, if that’s possible. And they would have adored our little prince.”

  As if on cue, Felix Antoine d’Usay began to whimper. “I told you he missed his mother,” Philippe said. “Here you go, my son.”

  He placed the squirming child in her arms, pausing to adjust the sun hat that covered Felix’s head. “And you thought we were having a girl.”

  “So I predicted wrong and gave you a son to carry forth the d’Usay name. Are you complaining?”

  “Absolutely not.” His kissed her, and together they smiled down at the child in her arms. Jenna had never been happier.

  It was going to be a wonderful adventure.

  * * *

  Welcome to the Destination Brides quartet!

  Summer Escape with the Tycoon by Donna Alward

  Swept Away by the Venetian Millionaire by Nina Singh

  One Night in Provence by Barbara Wallace

  And look out for the final book

  Coming soon!

  If you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Barbara Wallace

  Their Christmas Miracle

  Christmas with Her Millionaire Boss

  Both available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Cinderella’s Secret Royal Fling by Jessica Gilmore.

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  Cinderella’s Secret Royal Fling

  by Jessica Gilmore

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Royal House of Armaria invites you

  to a Midsummer Ball

  June 21

  Time: 7 p.m. until late

  Place: Armaria Castle

  Dress code: Black tie

  RSVP

  LAURENT PICKED UP the sample cream and gold heavily embossed card and turned it over. The other side was blank, awaiting a name. Strange to think that in less than a week this card would be one of the hottest tickets in town. No, not just in town, in Europe.

  After all, it had been over twenty years since Armaria had hosted one of their famous Midsummer Balls, enough time for the opulent occasions to become part of myth and legend; rumour whispered that anything might happen to those lucky enough to attend. Film stars fell in love with royalty, maids married dukes and unhappy countesses ran away with stable boys. Every Midsummer Ball was filled with wonder, with seduction, with magic.

  At least, if you believed the stories they were. The reality was probably a lot more prosaic. After all, if Laurent’s plans came to fruition, one day stories might be told about this year’s ball, a tale of a midnight proposal and a fairy tale romance. His clasp tightened on the card. Luckily he was too old to believe in fairy tales and he had never dreamt
of romance. All a man in his position could do was hope for compatibility and liking.

  He turned as the library door opened and his mother entered the book-lined room, relief on her face as she spotted him. Replacing the card onto his desk, he covered it hastily with a blank piece of paper and walked out to meet her in the middle of the vast room.

  She held out a regal hand towards him. ‘Laurent, I haven’t seen you since you returned from England. So this is where you’ve been hiding yourself.’

  ‘Hardly hiding, Maman,’ he protested as he bent to kiss her still unlined cheek. ‘My aide knew I was in here. As did the maid who brought me my coffee.’ He gestured to the small table set with a coffee service pulled up to one of the sofas dotted around the room. ‘It’s still hot. May I pour you a cup?’

  ‘Thank you, dear.’ The dowager Archduchess took a seat on the antique sofa with her usual unhurried elegance, her feet crossing at the ankle, back ramrod-straight and head tilted. Even when it was just the two of them she didn’t allow herself to relax. Her hair was always perfectly styled, her make-up fresh, her clothes smart. The message had been drilled into him since he was a small boy; as a member of the Armarian ruling family—the most prominent and important member—he was always on display, always representing his country, and even when alone he could not, must not, forget it.

  Pouring his mother a cup of the fragrant coffee, Laurent handed it to her and she accepted it with a gracious nod of thanks. ‘Thank you, Laurent. But you must know, it’s no time to be hiding in the library. The Prime Minister has been looking for you. He’s hoping for an answer...’

  ‘No, he’s hoping for a different answer. And he won’t get one.’ With practised effort Laurent kept the anger out of his voice. ‘I will not allow him to turn Armaria into some kind of grubby little tax haven. My grandfather and father managed without taking that step; you managed without taking that step. I won’t be the one to sell the country out. Our people deserve better.’

  ‘Our people deserve new roads and houses, better hospitals, more schools...’

  ‘Which is why we need a long-term strategy.’ It was as if they were two actors rehearsing well known lines. Lines they had been repeating for the three years since Laurent had finished his MBA and his mother had formally ceded her regency of Armaria to him.

  ‘And you have one?’ Hope brightened her voice. ‘How was your trip to England? Did he say yes?’

  She didn’t need to specify who he was; she knew full well that Laurent had been paying a second under-the-radar visit to Mike Clayton, the tech entrepreneur whose robotic gadgets could be found in households all over the globe. Mike Clayton who was looking for a more sustainable form of energy to manufacture said robots. Energy a small country with a long coastline, windswept hills and mountains and long hours of sunshine could provide...

  Laurent walked over to the tall thin windows, staring out at the famous castle gardens full of tourists and sightseers. Tourism was a valuable resource for the small country, but it wasn’t enough to make it as prosperous as it needed to be. ‘Not exactly. But he didn’t say no either and he’s coming out to take a second look at the proposed site and to meet with the university.’

  ‘That’s promising. But is it enough? I know the Prime Minister is hoping to have a plan approved by Parliament before the summer break. You need something more concrete than a second visit to offer him.’

  ‘I need nothing. Parliament is merely advisory and the Prime Minister would do very well to remember that.’ Laurent inhaled slowly as he turned to face his mother. ‘You know that my father was determined not to go down the tax haven route, nor did he want to turn the country into a giant theme park of romanticism and cod medievalism. You worked hard to keep his vision alive and I won’t betray his legacy. If we can attract one thriving tech company like Clay Industries then others will be sure to follow. We can turn Armaria into the tech capital of Europe, a Silicon Valley of the north. Create jobs and prosperity without losing our integrity.’ He stopped abruptly, aware he sounded like he was giving a prepared speech to Parliament, and his mother smiled with understanding. After all, she had heard variations on the speech many times before.

  ‘It’s not me you have to convince, Laurent.’

  ‘No, just Parliament.’ Advisory they might be, but life was infinitely easier with them on side. ‘If Clay Industries bite then Parliament will capitulate on the tax haven bill, I know it. I just need that first investment...’

  ‘So you’ll find a way to make it happen.’ His mother was matter-of-fact. This was what they did. Through ten centuries the Archdukes of Armaria had done whatever they had to, to protect their people from invaders and plagues, wars and famine, bankruptcy and poverty. He would not be the first to fail.

  ‘Yes. I will. Which is why I have suggested that the Claytons are our guests of honour for the newly revived Midsummer Ball. Mike Clayton’s sixtieth birthday falls on the same day, and they have yet to decide on the best way to mark it. What better way than for him to celebrate here in Armaria on one of the most iconic nights of the year?’

  ‘Midsummer is always special, but it’s less than a month away. And it’s been years since we held a grand ball. Not since your father...’ Her voice faltered, as it still did whenever she spoke of her late husband. Twenty-one years of widowhood hadn’t lessened her grief. Things might have been different if she had been able to move on, but instead Laurent was all too aware that his mother’s life had stilled at the moment of her husband’s death and she had been trapped into a regency she had neither asked for nor wanted, preserving the small country to hand on to her son. ‘There is so much to do, to plan and arrange. The ballroom could do with a lick of paint and a polish, as could half that wing and some of our staterooms.’

  ‘It’s a good thing we have a castle full of staff, isn’t it? I know the timing is tight, Maman, but our Midsummer Balls were legendary; reviving them is the kind of gesture we need to show we have faith in Armaria, in our past and traditions as well as in our future. It’s the ideal opportunity to make the Claytons fall in love with Armaria, with everything we have to offer. Let Mike Clayton use his heart as well as his head when he chooses us. Speaking of which...’ He hesitated. Once he’d said the next words, there would be no going back. He steeled himself. ‘I think it’s time I got married.’

  ‘Married?’ His mother’s surprise was almost comical. After all, she had been hinting at this very thing for two years now, drawing up lists of eligible and connected young ladies on a regular basis.

  ‘I am twenty-eight, as you keep reminding me. And, as you know, Alex is next in line—how cross would he be if I died without an heir and he had to become Archduke?’

  ‘Dear Alex,’ his mother murmured. ‘He loves that hospital so much.’

  ‘Which is why I need to settle down and have an heir or two so he doesn’t have to worry about hanging up his stethoscope and putting on a crown.’

  The dowager Archduchess’s eyes narrowed as she assessed her son. ‘I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.’ And, her tone implied, if she didn’t know about it, then how could it be happening? ‘And you know how it is. You are Armaria and you have to do what is right for the whole country, and that includes your marriage. You can’t just marry anyone.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning on marrying just anyone.’ He took a deep breath. Once the words were said there was no going back. ‘Mike Clayton has a daughter. Bella. I’m sure you’ll like her. I am considering asking her to be my Archduchess. To strengthen the ties between Armaria and Clay Industries on every level.’

  ‘I see.’ His mother blinked and for one moment the formidable regent disappeared, to be replaced with a tearful mother who only wanted her son’s happiness. Another blink and the regent returned as if she had never left. ‘Oh, Laurent. I do see. And of course it makes sense. The days when we needed to ally ourselves with one of our neighbours through marriage may
have gone, but there’s always a new generation of buccaneers in town.’

  ‘I haven’t said anything to Bella or her parents,’ Laurent warned his mother. ‘I wanted to discuss it with you first. Obviously, she might have plans for her life that don’t include a draughty old castle and living in a strange country.’

  ‘Tell me about her. What makes her laugh? What are her dreams?’

  Laurent shifted from one foot to another, uncomfortable with the whimsical question. He was an Archduke. He didn’t deal with dreams and laughter; he dealt with facts and figures and if he decided to propose to Bella Clayton and if she accepted then it would be the oldest trade in the book. He had a country in need of investment and her family had that investment to make. A title and a throne for money or influence or protection, just as his forebears had done time and time again.

  ‘As you know, I’ve stayed with her family twice now and she seems nice enough.’ He didn’t need to see his mother wince to realise how far short those words fell. ‘She’s pretty, possibly even beautiful,’ he tried again. ‘She loves dogs and horses; we spent most of our time together discussing them.’ A mutual love of animals was surely as good a place to start a marriage as any. Many royal couples had less.

  ‘Where was she educated?’

  ‘Nothing to worry about there; she went to an exclusive boarding school and then spent a couple of years at a Swiss finishing school. Since then she has worked for Clay Industries, helping run their charity trust.’ Not that she seemed over-burdened with a nine-to-five; her role there seemed more titular, but the charity angle would go down well with the press and was good preparation for many of the duties necessary for an Archduchess.

  His mother raised an eyebrow. ‘No university? That’s a shame. I do think in these uncertain times a girl needs a good education beyond correct knives and the right curtsey—she never knows when she might end up Regent in an absolute monarchy. A good grasp of mathematics and economics can be essential.’

  A wave of sympathy swept over Laurent for the young Archduchess his mother had once been, barely thirty, widowed and thrust into a position of responsibility on behalf of her young son. ‘Hopefully, it won’t come to that. I’m not planning on leaving her to manage alone.’