A Royal Proposition

CHAPTER NINE

AND then there was the wedding.

It was a wedding that Cinderella’s fairy godmother would have approved of, Penny-Rose thought dazedly. Because the magic wands were certainly out in force today.

She’d seen the plans for the ceremony taking shape but until now everything had seemed a chaotic muddle. But on her wedding morning she woke and looked out of her window, to find the mass of canvas and poles and ropes had suddenly transformed themselves into the most beautiful marquee imaginable.

The thing was huge-almost as big as the ground floor of the castle. It stretched over the river pasture. Part of it was built on a wooden platform over the river, and there were royal pennants flying gaily from each pole. The whole scene looked like something out of a mediaeval pageant.

And the sight made her catch her breath. Up until now this wedding had been all talk. Today it was very, very real.

What on earth was she doing? Doubts crowded in from every side as she showered and left her bedroom. Help!

But who to turn to?

Her siblings were nowhere to be found-they only had three days in this magic place and they were making the most of them. Even Leo had deserted her. Confused and aimless, she wandered down to breakfast in a muddle of caterers and guests she didn’t know. Then she headed outside.

Here the sense of pageant was even stronger. Carriages were drawn up by the front gates, and horses were being walked up and down in readiness. The servants were in full livery. In her jeans and T-shirt, Penny-Rose felt like someone who’d wandered onto the wrong stage.

It was someone else’s stage. Someone else’s life! Not hers.

Where was Leo?

And where was Alastair?

He must be as confused as she was, she thought, but he’d absented himself. Deliberately? Maybe. And maybe he should. It was supposed to be unlucky to see the bride on her wedding day.

The way Alastair was acting, it seemed it was unlucky to see the bride at all!

But he’d organised Koneata Lau. They’d have their honeymoon when they’d have to see each other.

‘Yeah, it’ll be a really romantic honeymoon-just me and Alastair-and Heather and Liz and Mike,’ she murmured, scooting around the edges of the marquee and trying hard to settle the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Think of the beach! she told herself helplessly. Koneata Lau. It was something to look forward to.

It should have been just Alastair and herself, alone on a tropical island.

Which would have been a waste! she acknowledged, because if Alastair had his way they’d probably stay at opposite ends of the island. It made sense to take the kids with them.

‘Be contented with what you have, girl,’ she muttered to herself crossly. ‘Today you have a truly royal wedding.’ She looked around at the marquee with pennants flying, the castle as backdrop, the liveried servants, the carriages and the horses…

‘A mediaeval wedding,’ she continued.

For a year!

She kicked her toes against a rock, and one corner of her mind registered that it had a very flat base and would make a great foundation stone for the wall she was building.

That was what she felt like doing, she decided. Climbing back into her overalls and heading back to her stone-walling.

‘But I can’t,’ she told herself. ‘Get back to your quarters, woman. Turn yourself into a princess. You have a prince to marry.’

‘It’s magic,’ Heather declared as she bounced into the room an hour later. Penny-Rose’s sister looked stunning in a tiny crimson suit-a minuscule leather skirt and matching jacket. Her entrance destroyed the mediaeval air in an instant.

Heather gave her sister a resounding kiss, and whirled to admire herself in the mirror. ‘Thank you for not insisting on bridesmaids,’ she told her, stroking her leather with sheer joy. ‘I spent all my money on this and I’ll love it for ever. My friends back home will die of envy.’

Penny-Rose managed a smile. ‘It’s great. Where…where are the others?’ Where’s Alastair? she’d meant to say, but she couldn’t.

‘Elizabeth’s flirting with a distant cousin who says he’s a count. A count, for heaven’s sake! I could end up with a dynasty of royal relations! And Alastair and Mike have taken Leo for a walk by the river.’

Penny-Rose took a deep breath. She might have known. Her little brother was almost overwhelmed by all of this. While her sisters thought it was exciting, Mike had been growing quieter and quieter, and to take him for a walk had been pure kindness.

Her Alastair, she thought, was the very nicest prince a girl could ever marry!

She forced her voice to stay casual, but emotion was threatening to overwhelm her. ‘They’ll…they’ll be back on time?’

‘Of course. There’s hours to go.’ Heather plonked herself down on the bed, and bounced. ‘This is the most gorgeous bed!’ She bounced again, and then focussed on her sister’s face. ‘Oh, stop worrying. Alastair doesn’t have to get his hair done. Like you do.’ Then she grinned. ‘That’s what I’m here for. The team are ready. Can I tell them to come up?

‘The team?’

‘Wait till you see what Marguerite has in store for you.’ Heather giggled. ‘You’ll die of shock.’

Penny-Rose didn’t quite die of shock but she came close. Marguerite had decreed what was necessary and into her room came hairdresser, manicurist, beautician, florist…

A fairy godmother would have been much simpler, Penny-Rose thought, dazed. As it was, she was twisted this way and that, pampered and petted, and turned into something she’d never dreamed was possible.

And an hour later, Marguerite, looking stunning herself in a blue silk suit which must have cost a fortune, carried in the dress.

She had tried it on just once. It had been taken away to be altered, and now it appeared again in all its shimmering glory.

The rest of the entourage stood respectfully back, the gown was slipped over her shoulders and there was a collective gasp from the entire room.

The gown was deceptively simple. It was of made of smooth ivory silk, with a scooped neckline, tiny filigree sleeves and a bodice that showed every lovely curve. Beneath the bodice, the gown clung revealingly to her hips. Then, with a rope of rich ivory braid to delineate the skirt, it flared out into fold upon fold, sweeping to the floor at the front and drifting into a lovely rich train behind.

The skirt was so heavy! Alastair’s grandmother hadn’t skimped when she’d had this dress made, and the hidden folds made the gown flare and swirl like magic.

Marguerite darted forward and threaded a tiny delicate diamond tiara on Penny-Rose’s head. Then the florist fixed a trace of lily of the valley into her mass of tumbling curls and the hairdresser tweaked the curls this way and that, wanting just one curl to lie on the soft curve of her breast.

And that was that. Finished.

The effect was ethereal.

‘And I thought my leathers were fabulous,’ Heather breathed, and it broke the ice. There was a general chuckle, the beautician made one final adjustment and Marguerite stepped forward and took Penny-Rose’s hand.

‘Are you ready to meet your husband, my love?’

Penny-Rose met Marguerite’s eyes. They were calm and steady, and they knew exactly what they were asking. And she drew in her breath. Marguerite knew!

‘I…’

‘I think you’re ready,’ Marguerite said softly. ‘Oh, my dear, this is just what I always dreamed of.’

‘Marguerite-’

‘Now, not another word,’ her soon-to-be-mother-in-law told her, and patted her hand. ‘You’ll spoil your make-up.’

‘Or I might crack it,’ she whispered, and managed a smile. But it was nonsense. The beautician had had enough sense to leave her skin flawlessly natural.

‘You’ll knock your husband’s socks off,’ Heather declared, and Penny-Rose’s smile faltered. She turned and took one last, long look in the mirror. The woman who looked back at her was a fairy princess.

She’d been handed every weapon she could possibly need, she thought.

The rest of it was up to her.

Or how strong Alastair’s defences could be.

She’d knock his socks off?

‘That’s my intention,’ she murmured. ‘OK, Alastair de Castaliae. Prince Alastair. Here I come. Ready or not.’

They’d decided on no formal bridal party.

‘If you don’t want bridesmaids, I won’t have groomsmen,’ Alastair had said. ‘It’s just as well. There’s no one close enough to be an obvious best man. Whoever I ask, someone else is bound to be offended.’

And it was ridiculous, given Penny-Rose’s fierce independence, that someone give her away.

So they’d decided that she’d walk up the aisle by herself, she’d have no attendants, and Alastair would carry his own ring.

Her sisters fussed around her as she arrived, but with her train arranged beautifully to sweep down the aisle behind her, they took themselves to the front row to watch her make her way to her bridegroom in solitary splendour.

And all at once, solitary splendour felt very, very lonely.

There must be a thousand people present, she thought dazedly, starting that long solemn walk as a lone trumpeter sounded.

And then she saw Alastair.

He was dressed in a soft grey morning suit-of course-and he looked magnificent. The only touch of colour was a crimson rosebud in his lapel.

A rose… The flower of love… Marguerite had chosen the flowers, and Penny-Rose carried twelve matching buds in her bouquet.

The sight, for some reason, made her feel like weeping. Red roses for her wedding day… It seemed almost a mockery.

But Alastair was watching her, and his eyes were calm and reassuring. A tiny smile creased the corner of his mouth.

Dear God, he was so…so…

So Alastair. There was no other way of describing him, because that was who he was, and she loved him so much that she felt she was close to breaking.

How could she do this? she thought wildly. She was marrying the man under false pretences. Alastair didn’t want a wife who loved him to bits. He didn’t even really want a wife…

Panic was suddenly close to overwhelming her.

And then she saw Michael. Her baby brother.

Alastair’s promise that he’d have no attendants had gone out the window. Michael had Alastair’s ring in his hand, he was wearing a morning suit to match Alastair’s and the look on his face was as if he’d been handed the world.

The sixteen-year-old had flown halfway around the globe to be at his sister’s wedding, but until this moment he’d been thoroughly confused by everything that was going on. Sixteen-year-olds were insecure at the best of times. Unlike Heather and Liz, he’d hated this.

But now he’d been handed a part to play, and what a part! Best man! And in his free hand-the one that wasn’t holding the ring…

For heaven’s sake, Mike was holding a leash. He was holding Leo!

The pup had been brushed to an inch of his life, and he’d never looked so splendid. The scars on his side were almost healed, but they were completely covered by a magnificent crimson doggy coat. He wore a studded collar, his lead was crimson suede and he beamed at the approaching bride and wagged his tail as if this entire ceremony was being put on for his benefit.

Her brother. And her dog…

Alastair had done this-for her!

She couldn’t help it. Panic subsided, and despite the aura of solemnity-despite the state officials and the hundreds of people she’d never seen in her life, despite the grandeur and the fuss-she chuckled.

This would be OK.

She loved this man so much… He’d known how alone this ceremony would make her feel, so he’d done the two things that could ease her fears.

He was some prince!

And surely the only thing to do with a prince like this was to marry him?

And Alastair watched his bride come toward him with a feeling in his chest that was almost as close to panic as hers.

What was he doing? Marrying?

This wasn’t real, he told himself. It was a pretence. It was a mock wedding, made for the best of purposes-to protect his tenants and to provide for their future.

In twelve months he’d let this woman go and he’d marry a sensible woman-a woman who suited his lifestyle.

Belle.

But the thought of Belle was suddenly very far away. What was real was Penny-Rose.

No! She was Rose, he told himself. For some reason it was a distinction it was important to keep. Penny-Rose was for those who loved her. Rose… Rose was to be his formal wife.

So it was Rose who was walking toward him, her eyes wide and her face determined. Despite her determination, her steps were faltering.

She was fearful, he thought. Damn, it hadn’t been fair to drag her into this. Into the goldfish bowl of royalty.

But she was so beautiful she took his breath away! She was wearing his mother’s dress, a dress that would have been equally beautiful a hundred years ago. She looked timeless and serene and incredibly lovely. In fact, she looked just as a princess should.

His princess.

For a year.

The time frame was suddenly gut-wrenching. But then…he saw the exact moment she registered that Mike and Leo were by his side. He saw the serenity and solemnity vanish, along with the fear. Laughter flashed into her lovely eyes, her lips twitched with pleasure and as she reached him he heard a low, lovely chuckle.

‘Oh, Alastair…’

Her laughing face was raised to his and he gazed down at her for a long, long moment.

Then he calmly took her hand and smiled back.

This was suddenly very, very OK.

His princess.

Her prince.

And while the world watched, they turned together to be made one.

The wedding celebrations went on through the day and far into the night. And what a night! Because the weather was perfect, the sides of the marquee were raised so the dance floor was partly over the river and partly over the pasture. The moon was brilliant. The night was brilliant! No one wanted to go home.

And everyone wished to dance with the bride. She was passed from one partner to another and her feet barely had time to touch the ground. Alastair was free to do as he willed.

Which was just what he wanted, he told himself, trying not to follow his new wife with his eyes. She was dancing with one of his business partners now, clasped around the waist in a manner that made him want to-

‘Alastair?’

He paused as he realised who was calling. Belle…

Belle’s presence had been necessary here, if only to allay gossip, and there was no reason now that they shouldn’t speak.

Strange that it felt almost like a betrayal…

But Belle didn’t notice. She looked very pleased with herself. ‘I’ve been talking to Marguerite,’ she announced. ‘She tells me you’re taking Rose’s family on your honeymoon. That’s a great idea.’

‘It’ll take the pressure off,’ he agreed, still watching his wife twirling across the floor. Then he thought about what he’d said. Why should there be any pressure?

Belle was raising one elegant eyebrow. ‘Pressure? Surely you’re not worried that she’ll ravish you?’ She wasn’t worried at all. Rose was such an insignificant little thing, her tone implied, and Alastair was forced to smile.

‘Of course not. I mean…having other people to share the conversation. It’ll help.’

He received a blinding smile of sympathy. ‘She’ll bore you within a day,’ Belle agreed. ‘Poor darling.’

It wasn’t fear of boredom that was worrying him, he decided, but if that’s what Belle thought, maybe it was just as well.

‘I can cope. This marriage is only for twelve months,’ he reiterated, and it was as if he was reassuring himself.

‘Of course it is.’ Belle kissed him lightly-a gesture that was as natural as any guest congratulating a bridegroom-and then she stepped back. Their path was set and she, for one, was sure of the rightness of what they were doing. ‘Secure your fortune and then we’re settled for life. Off and do your duty, my darling. Just don’t let the creature fall in love with you.’

The creature…

Belle hadn’t meant it as it had sounded, Alastair decided as he succeeded in claiming and dancing with his lovely new wife, but the description rankled.

It rankled for the rest of the evening.

She was not a creature. She was his wife.

Just for a year.

His hold grew imperceptibly tighter, and his patience with other men wishing to claim her grew thin. A year wasn’t very long…

‘Belle’s looking lovely,’ she told him as the music slowed and he held her close.

‘She is.’ He swirled her around and smiled down into her dancing eyes. ‘And so’s the man you were just dancing with.’

That had her startled. ‘What-lovely?’

‘You might say that. He wouldn’t mind. Maurice is gay.’

‘Oh…’ She choked on laughter. ‘Are you sure?’

‘No, but if he insists on wearing a pink bow-tie and matching braces he has to expect a suspicion or two.’

She choked again. ‘What an ungentlemanly thing to say. You sound almost jealous, Alastair de Castaliae.’

‘How could I be jealous?’

‘How indeed? When you have Belle right where you want her.’

Right. She was right. He did have Belle. Sort of.

But meanwhile, he had his wife right where he wanted her.

In his arms.

They danced until dawn. Then, as they bade farewell to the last stray guest, Alastair glanced at his weary bride and felt an almost overwhelming urge to pick her up and carry her back to his castle. Further. Back to the ready and waiting bridal chamber.

Which was all very well, but he wanted a change to their plans. He wanted the door between them to be unlocked!

In days of old he could have done it, he thought savagely. If the prince were the real lord of the manor, he could have claimed this woman for twelve months-properly taken her-then discarded her and taken another.

But he couldn’t think of another. He could only think of the woman by his side. He absorbed the weariness on her lovely face, the way her soft body yielded to his touch, the fragrance of her. The way she looked…

He’d never seen a woman as lovely as his wife looked tonight.

His wife?

He was going nuts, he thought. He should stop thinking like this. He must! She was just…Rose. There was no ‘his wife’ about it. Not really.

This was a business arrangement and nothing else.

‘Tired?’ he managed, and she chuckled.

‘How can you doubt it? Oh, but, Alastair, it’s been the most wonderful day. A day to remember for ever. And my gorgeous gown hasn’t turned to rags yet.’ She managed another chuckle. ‘The pumpkins have stayed at bay, and I have twelve months to go before my midnight.’

She did. Twelve months. Twelve whole months. The thought was suddenly immensely cheering. She’d be with him until then, working as he worked…

The thought of her work reminded him of something important.

‘I have a wedding gift for you,’ he told her.

‘A wedding gift…’ She gazed up at him in surprise. ‘There’s no need. You’ve given me enough.’

‘Not quite enough.’ He smiled down at her. ‘I realise I don’t know you very well, so I asked Bert what you most wanted, and I’ve got you just that.’

‘You asked Bert… Then I can’t imagine,’ she said faintly.

‘Shut your eyes.’ The dawn was just starting to break. The bride and groom had decided not to make a formal departure, which left them now at the entrance to the marquee, on the river bank and alone.

‘I’ll lead you,’ he said softly, and he took her hand in his. ‘Trust me?’

With all my heart, she thought, but she didn’t say it. She merely nodded, and let herself be led.

Her wedding gift was on the other side of the castle. They made their way in the soft dawn light across the pastures of buttercups and poppies, to where the new wall was being built.

The team had finished the most urgent repairs, but there were miles of fencing yet to go. A whole year’s worth of stone-walling, Penny-Rose thought happily.

And then she saw Alastair’s gift.

It was a vast mound, about six feet high and eight feet square. It was wrapped in some sort of white parchment, and a vast gold bow about three feet high adorned the whole thing.

What on earth…?

‘It’s soap and a hand-towel,’ Penny-Rose said faintly and Alastair grinned.

‘Some soap! Nope. Bad guess. Try again.’

‘A toaster, then?’ She giggled. ‘Or a casserole?’ Her thoughts slipped sideways. ‘We’ve been given so much… We’ll have to keep careful notes and send everything back.’

At the end of the year…

It was a bad thought. It sobered them both. But the parcel was still in front of them, enticing in its mystery.

‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ Alastair demanded.

‘I don’t think I dare.’ She was eyeing it as if it might bite. ‘It looks like it could be a rhinoceros.’

He grinned. ‘Damn, you guessed.’

She smiled, but her smile was troubled. ‘Alastair, you needn’t have done this. It makes it seem…’

‘Makes it seem what?’

‘It makes it seem almost a proper wedding,’ she whispered, and her words felt good to Alastair.

He might only have her for a year, but a year was better than nothing.

For heaven’s sake, what was he thinking?

The current had caught him unawares, and he was being swept along without realising it. Which was ridiculous, he thought savagely, hauling himself back to some sort of common sense. Hadn’t he made himself a vow when Lissa died? Had Lissa’s death taught him nothing?

This was a marriage of convenience. Nothing more.

As was this gift to his wife. It wasn’t a proper gift. It was only…

‘Open it,’ he said, and she cast him an uncertain glance. Something had changed.

‘Open it,’ he growled, and she took a deep breath. OK. Keep it formal. Concentrate on the parcel.

And what a parcel! She had to tug the vast ribbon until it floated free, and after that she had to pull aside the parchment. And inside were…

‘Copestones?’ She stood back in incredulity. ‘You’ve given me copestones?’

‘Bert said one of the reasons he employed you was that you were a copestone perfectionist,’ Alastair said, trying not to sound too pleased with himself. These stones had taken a lot of organising. ‘He also told me the main reason your hands are a mess is because you chip the damn things until they’re perfect.’

‘But otherwise they don’t look good.’ Penny-Rose was lifting a single stone and staring at it in disbelief. Copestones were the stones used to top and weight her wall. Chosen and chipped well, they made the wall look great-the icing on the cake! But it could take her almost half an hour to chip a stone to this shape, and on this job Bert had refused to give her the time.

‘There’s too much to do. We can’t afford your standards here,’ he’d told her. ‘This is farmwork. We have a job to do and we need to be economical.’

She’d agreed, but she made them perfect anyway, working into her lunch-hours and evenings to get them right so her stones would still look magnificent in hundreds of years.

But they took so much effort, and here they were, already cut.

‘How…?’ She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. ‘How…?’

‘I employed men off site,’ Alastair explained. ‘Bert showed them what you’ve been doing and said we wanted more of the same. They delivered them this morning.’ As she replaced her stone, he lifted her hands and fingered her rough skin. ‘So, for the next year you can go on stone-walling all you like, but the hardest bit’s done.’

‘Oh, Alastair…’

‘It was Bert’s idea.’

‘It was no such thing.’ She knew that much at least. Alastair must have thought of this all by himself. She thought back to the day a couple of weeks ago when he’d discovered her swearing over a gashed hand and a copestone that wouldn’t cut as she’d wanted it. ‘Bert wouldn’t have thought of this as a gift.’ She managed a wavering smile. ‘Not in a million years. As a matter of fact, I think one of our toasters is his.’

‘It would be.’

Silence. She carefully disengaged his hand. For some reason it was suddenly important that she do so.

A thousand copestones…

She couldn’t have thought of a better wedding gift if she’d tried.

Damn, there was a tear trickling down her nose-and then another one. She wiped them fiercely away with the back of her hand, and gave a very unromantic sniff.

Which suddenly made Alastair feel very romantic indeed.

This was unreal. Standing in the dawn light, beside a mound of stones, with a woman in bridal attire… A woman who sniffed and tried to look fierce when he knew she wanted to burst into tears. And the reason for those tears? Because here was a woman who thought a pile of copestones was the greatest present…

He put a hand out to touch her, but she backed away as if she were scared of being scorched. ‘No!’

‘No, what?’ His eyes were on hers. ‘Don’t you like my gift?’

‘I…I do.’ But Penny-Rose knew what she’d stepped back from. She knew what was close to happening. And she didn’t want this man to kiss her.

Not yet. It wasn’t right.

She didn’t want to seduce him, she thought frantically. Nor did she want him to make love to her because she was convenient.

She wanted him to fall in love with her. As she loved him. So intensely that she ached…

‘I…I have a gift for you, too,’ she murmured softly, and it brought him up short. A gift…

‘You don’t have any money,’ he said before he could stop himself, and she glared.

‘Yeah, well, there are some things that can be gained without money. Like Leo.’

‘Like our aristocratic dog,’ he agreed. ‘A gift without price.’ And then his brow creased and he grinned in mock dismay. ‘Oh, hell. Don’t tell me. Another dog?’

‘It’s nothing of the kind,’ she said with dignity. ‘Though if I find one with just the right pedigree…’

‘To match Leo’s.’

‘That’s right.’ She was relaxing again now. The moment of tension had passed. ‘So…do you want to see my gift?’

‘Of course I do.’ He was fascinated.

‘It doesn’t come in a velvet box either,’ she told him. ‘And it’s not gift-wrapped. It’s no toaster.’

‘Rose, there’s no need to give me anything.’

‘You brought the kids over for the wedding,’ she said simply. ‘You’ve given me the earth. So of course there’s a need for a gift. It took me a while to figure out what, but I finally did.’

‘What-?’

‘Come and see.’

Once again they walked around the castle, but this time south, where pastures gave way to woodland. Here there was a small rise, looking back over the castle to the cliffs and river plains beyond. It was a place of absolute beauty. Penny-Rose had found it one day when she’d sought a quiet place to eat her lunch, and she’d been back again and again ever since.

And finally she’d asked Marguerite about it.

‘My husband loved the castle,’ Marguerite had said. ‘In a way, he felt it was his ancestral home. And Lissa’s family couldn’t bear for her to be buried alone. There’s a crypt for the royal family underneath the chapel, but we thought…it’d be lovely if they were buried here.’

So there were two simple gravestones, nestled among the woodland. And surrounded by flowers…

‘Alastair planted them,’ Marguerite had told her. ‘All the flowers we both love. Wildflowers and roses and daffodils and tulips and honeysuckle and wisteria… So it’ll be a mass of flowers all year round.’

The only jarring note, to Penny-Rose’s mind, was the fence. They’d erected a simple wire fence around the graves to keep the cattle out, and it looked discordant in such a lovely place.

So she’d fixed it.

Alastair hadn’t been here for weeks. He’d had so much on his plate he hadn’t had time.

But now… He saw what she’d done before he reached the graves. His steps slowed. He walked up to the fence and he stopped and took it in.

It was the most beautiful fence he’d seen in his life. Made of simple sandstone, every stone was perfect. The fence formed a tiny fold about ten feet square, a croft where the graves were protected against the weather and against the cattle.

And the fence was built with such care and craftsmanship that the graves would be protected for a thousand years.

It was high-four feet or so-so the sturdiest sheep couldn’t climb over, but there were throughstones forming a stile so one could enter.

And she’d formed smoots-narrow slits in the stone-regularly spaced, all the way along. ‘To let light in, and so the woodland creatures can enjoy your garden,’ she explained, watching his face with some anxiety. ‘The first morning I walked up here I saw a litter of tiny rabbits munching on your buttercups. And I thought…if this was my grave that’s what I’d want.’

Silence.

‘I can pull it down if you don’t like it,’ she whispered, still anxious. ‘But it was the one thing I could do for you. I know you loved your dad and you loved Lissa. And somehow this seemed right.’

It did, too.

It seemed perfect.

Alastair climbed the stile without a word. Reaching the top, he held out his hand. After the briefest of hesitations, Penny-Rose placed her hand in his and climbed the stile with him. Her wedding dress was lifted carefully over, and then they were together in the fold.

Around them, wildflowers blossomed around masses of tulips. Wisteria had been carefully restrung against the stones. As it was late spring it was losing its flowers so a carpet of soft blue petals lay everywhere, and the wild roses were just starting to bloom.

The smell of the morning was with them. The dew on the grass left a pungent fragrance where they walked, and the two simple graves lay gently side by side. Like two friends.

As they had been, Marguerite had told her. Lissa had been almost a daughter to Alastair’s parents. These were Alastair’s people, and it was right that they be buried together.

‘Thank…thank you,’ he said in a voice that wasn’t too steady, and this time it was he who badly wanted to sniff. Penny-Rose heard it and managed a grin. She was still feeling distinctly sniffy herself.

Keep it practical… ‘Not carrying a handkerchief?’ she managed.

‘They gave me a buttonhole instead.’ He smiled, and plucked the crimson rose from his lapel. ‘As a handkerchief it makes a very poor substitute, but here it is. What’s mine is yours.’

It was a simple statement-a jest-but it hung between them like the promise of the morning to come.

Only…the morning was already here.

‘We…we’d best get back to the castle,’ Penny-Rose said uncertainly. ‘We have a plane to catch this afternoon and we haven’t had any sleep.’

‘That’s right.’ But he couldn’t keep his eyes from her. ‘We have a honeymoon to begin.’

‘A holiday,’ she corrected him. ‘You need to be really married to go on a honeymoon.’

‘And we’re not really married?’

She hitched her dress high. This scene was threatening to run away with her, and she wasn’t ready. Alastair wasn’t ready.

Seduction wasn’t her scene. She was playing for keeps, so she had to be practical. Somehow.

‘No, Alastair, we’re not,’ she told him. She looked down at Lissa’s grave, and a tiny smile curved her lips. ‘I hope we’re becoming like you and Lissa…good friends. But that’s not a basis for a marriage.’

‘Lissa and I thought so.’

‘Well, I’m not Lissa.’ She stepped up onto the stile and stayed on the fence-top for a moment, looking down. She looked immeasurably lovely, dressed in her bridal finery, with the dawn light behind her and the carpet of wildflowers at her feet. ‘I’m me. I’m Penny-Rose. The girl who married for money. I’m your bride for a year, but just for a year, Alastair de Castaliae. So let’s not forget it.’

The door between Alastair and his new bride was firmly locked.

‘Goodnight,’ she’d said sweetly as they’d arrived back at the castle. She’d stood on tiptoe to kiss him but it had been a fleeting kiss of farewell-nothing more. ‘We only have eight hours till we catch our plane. I’m off to get some beauty sleep and I suggest you do the same.’

But how could he, when every nerve in his body screamed that his bride was just on the other side of the door?

Belle.

Think of Belle, he told himself desperately. He’d promised to marry her. That was the sort of marriage he wanted. Not…not what he could have with Rose.

And what sort of marriage was the one he envisaged with Rose? If he allowed it to become…proper.

It was the sort of marriage his mother had had, he acknowledged, because if he allowed himself to give-as Rose gave-there’d be no holding back.

And if anything happened…

As it did. As life had taught him it always did. He’d committed himself to Lissa and it had ended in tragedy.

If something like that happened again, he’d go crazy, he told himself fiercely.

But maybe he was going crazy already!