Princess Dottie

Chapter Eleven

Elluria had never known such celebrations. Two royal weddings, one after another. First Prince Harold of Korburg would marry Sophie Bekendorf in Wol-fenberg Cathedral, and the very next day their own Princess Dorothea would be united in wedlock to Prince Randolph. A few weeks after that there would be the coronation. The makers of royal souvenirs were working overtime turning out mugs, tea towels and anything else that they could think of.

Much as she disliked Sophie, Dottie felt sorry for her as she flaunted Harold's huge engagement ring, and boasted of his passionate proposal. Did she know, Dottie wondered, that her future husband was saving face, having failed to seduce Elluria's future queen?

The only story that came out of that night's events was her own betrothal. Randolph had scotched the scandal very effectively. Dottie only wished she knew what other motives he might have had.

These days every spare moment was taken up with preparations for their wedding, and they hardly saw each other except in public. She kept promising herself that she would talk to him privately, but what was there to say? This was a state marriage, and all the talking in the world wouldn't change it.

When they'd discussed a honeymoon he'd suggested Venice, Rome, New York and several other glamorous places. But Dottie had turned them down.

“Too public,” she said. “I'd rather go somewhere quiet in Elluria.”

Several of his friends offered her the use of their country houses, but Dottie claimed that all of them were too large, too palatial.

At last Randolph said hesitantly, “There's my own estate of Kellensee, but it's little more than a farm.”

“Then it'll suit me better than a palace,” Dottie said at once.

If he noticed that after raising difficulties about the others she fell in with this suggestion at once, he never said so. A message was sent that night, ordering Kellensee to be prepared.

The question of who was to give her away had caused a few headaches. As she had no close male relatives it was the prerogative of the chancellor, Sternheim. Dottie had groaned and prepared to dig her heels in, but then she'd noticed Sternheim looking at her like a dog expecting to be kicked, and realized that he was terrified of a public rebuff.

Her reaction was to advance on him with hands outstretched, smiling as she said, “Shall we call a truce? You can hardly give me away if we're not speaking, can you?”

Stripped of his usual self-possession, Sternheim stammered out something about being honored, glared furiously at everyone around him and hurried away. The last citadel had fallen to her. Durmand, watching from the sidelines, murmured, “That's a very clever lady.”

“No,” Randolph said quietly. “That's a very kind lady.”

But Dottie heard none of this.

On the day of the first wedding Randolph and Dottie drove together through the streets of Wolfenberg to the cathedral. Soon Harold arrived and took his place before the altar, waiting for his bride.

Dottie had to admit that Sophie was magnificent as she walked down the aisle on her father's arm, her long train streaming behind her. She wondered if Randolph was thinking that this was the day Sophie should have become his wife, but when she stole a glance at him he was brushing something from his sleeve.

It was much worse at the wedding reception when protocol obliged her to dance with Harold while Randolph danced with the bride. Dottie refused to look their way even once, but she couldn't stop her thoughts following them jealously around the floor.

And then the next day it was all to do again, except that this time she was the bride, despairingly conscious that a person of only five foot one could never match Sophie in splendor.

Her snowy dress was lace, specially woven by Elluria's famous lace makers. Her veil was held by a pearl tiara, part of the crown jewels. More pearls hung about her neck and from her ears. Queen Dorothea II had worn these same jewels to her wedding in 1874. Now they adorned Queen Dorothea III, as she would be known after her coronation.

Sounds below told her that Randolph was leaving for the cathedral. She would have stolen a glimpse but a shocked Aunt Liz barred her way to the balcony, uttering dire warnings about “bad luck.”

A message from the stables gave her details of the horses that would draw her carriage, led by Jack, the oldest animal in service and coming to the end of his working life. To be drawn by Jack was a promise of good luck.

And she was going to need good luck, she thought. She'd taken a huge gamble to marry the man she loved, uncertain of his true feelings for her. And perhaps she would never truly know. That was the real gamble.

But she would take it and risk the consequences. What was life if you were afraid to seize your chances?

Her procession was a long one. As she stepped outside to be handed into her carriage by Sternheim, proud to bursting point, the leading horsemen were already turning out of the main gates. They were followed by two open carriages containing the six bridesmaids, then a division of the royal cavalry and finally the bridal carriage, escorted by outriders.

And all this was for her, little Dottie Hebden, from Wenford.

She never forgot that drive to the cathedral. She'd known her people had accepted her more readily than she'd dared to hope, but now, as she went through streets lined with cheering crowds, smiling, wishing her well, she understood how completely they'd taken her to their hearts. She'd come home. She was eager to accept this place as home, as hers. She could embrace them, as they had embraced her.

She thought of Randolph and the embrace they would share that night. And then surely she could win his heart as he had won hers? She would banish his last regret about Sophie. At that moment she came within the sound of the cathedral bells, greeting her with a wild, joyous clamor, and she smiled in response. Her heart was high and her courage was enough to dare anything.

In a few minutes they drew up outside the cathedral. Her bridesmaids were waiting to assist her with her train and the long veil, and then they were all ready for the walk down the aisle.

The cathedral was large enough to seat over two thousand, but Dottie saw only one man as she moved along the red carpet that led to the altar. Randolph stood, tall and proud, his face turned in her direction. He didn't smile. If anything, his face was rather stern, and gave no clue to his thoughts. Perhaps he saw her, or perhaps he saw another woman, the one he'd really wanted.

Seeing him from a distance she understood that he was imposing, not because of his rank but because of himself. Even without a title he would always draw the attention of men and women, especially women. It wasn't merely his fine looks, the handsome set of his head and his dark, expressive eyes that would attract them. They would look at him with calculating eyes, reading the promise of pleasure in those long limbs and hard, narrow hips. They would understand the power, no less fierce for being concealed by his formal clothes, and also by the innate restraint of his nature.

She herself didn't fully understand that power, but she suspected it, and the suspicion gave an edge to every thought, every feeling and sensation. As she stepped forward to stand by his side she had never felt more alive.

The ceremony was long and impressive, but it reached her from a distance. All that she was really aware of was Randolph stepping forward, his face paler than she'd ever seen it. He took her hand and for a moment she thought that his was shaking. But she must have imagined that.

In ancient, traditional words they took each other as man and wife. At last the priest smiled, looking from one to the other.

“You may kiss the bride,” he said.

Strangely, this was the moment for which she'd been nervous, for she still didn't know on which ground this marriage stood. But when Randolph lifted her veil it was as though the white gauze shut out the world, leaving only themselves. His eyes were kind, full of a question, and she understood, with astonishment, that he was as uncertain as herself.

His lips lay gently on hers for only a moment, but as he drew back they shared a smile that the congregation, murmuring with pleasure, couldn't see.

The organ burst into joy overhead as they turned to go back down the aisle, united.

As they stepped out into the sunlight the crowd cheered their relief. Now they really felt safe from Harold.

The cheering became deafening when Dottie tossed her bouquet high into the air, to go sailing over the crowd and land in a confusion of excited squeals. It was something royal brides never did, but she did it anyway.

As they drove back to the palace she thought ahead to the reception. So many long speeches, so much protocol, so many hours before she could be alone with him. After weeks of fencing she would find out what kind of man Randolph really was. What would she find? Would she be glad or sorry?

The reception moved too slowly for her. At last came the moment she had looked forward to, when her groom led her onto the floor and took her in his arms for the first waltz. They had danced before, but not like this. Now they were husband and wife.

“Are you sorry?” he asked, oddly grave for a bridegroom.

“Should I be? Only you know the answer.”

“Trust me, Dottie,” he said abruptly, as though she'd touched a nerve.

“I have another wedding present for you. I was saving it for later, but I want to tell you now. I've signed the letters patent.”

“You've what?”

“The ones that make you officially Prince Consort. I didn't like leaving it up in the air.”

She thought he would react. After all, this last step was the one he'd really wanted, but he only looked at her with an odd little smile.

“Randolph?”

“I'm sorry. I was thinking how lovely you look.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes. Thank you. When can we escape and leave them all behind?”

“I don't think they'd mind if we went soon.”

There were grins and kindly laughter when the bride slipped away to change. Their entourage, which had gone on ahead, was minuscule by Dottie's usual standards; just Bertha, being rewarded for dealing cleverly with Harold, and a valet. Randolph drove the car himself.

It was dark when they reached Kellensee and she formed only a brief impression of the building, solid and comfortable, but not palatially huge. To please the servants they sat down to a small meal and toasted each other in champagne, but at last the servants melted away, and Randolph said, “Come with me.”

Taking her hand he led her, not upstairs, but to a room at the back of the house. It was an oak paneled room, dominated by a large bed, with a few small rugs on the floor and the bare necessities of furniture.

“Not what you expected?” Randolph asked, a little wryly.

“I love it. It's cozy and friendly. Just like a real home.”

She knew she'd said the right thing. His face broke into a smile of real warmth. “If you feel that, then all is well.”

“Wasn't it well before?”

He took her face between his hands. “Things will always be well between us, Dottie, I promise you.”

“You can't,” she whispered longingly. “Nobody can promise that.”

“I know that there's been much between us that has been difficult. So many quarrels, so many times when we couldn't be completely honest with each other, so much anger and mistrust. But those things have no place here, now. Let there be just us, and as long as we live, I'll never give you cause to regret that you married me.”

“I shall start regretting it soon if you don't kiss me.”

He paused just a moment, searching her face for something that he might or might not have found there, she couldn't tell. Then his mouth touched hers and all thought stopped.

Throughout their short engagement he'd maintained a correct distance, so that this was their first kiss since the day he'd burst in on her. That had been an assertion of power, and it was a million miles away from the gentle coaxing she felt in his lips now. She let her mouth fall open, inviting him, eager for the feel of his tongue, relishing its purposeful movements against the soft inside of her cheek, feeling her whole body turned to molten liquid.

His kisses changed, became more demanding and her blood leapt in response. She began to explore his mouth as he had explored hers. She was filled with urgency. With every inch of her she wanted what came next, and when she felt his fingers at the fastening of her dress she moved quickly to help him. When it had slipped to the floor he dropped his lips to the hollow of her neck, teasing her with such skill that she felt the beginnings of a slow burning fire deep inside her. Its soft intensity seemed to possess her so completely that she noticed only vaguely that he was removing the rest of her clothes.

He threw aside his shirt and drew her against him gently, so that the hair on his chest rasped slightly against her breasts. She put her arms around his neck in a gesture of abandon that seemed natural now.

She felt his hands at her waist, lifting her off her feet and raising her so that the distance in height between them was canceled, and it was she who looked down on him. She took his face between her hands and rained kisses on it, willing him not to delay any more. Her excitement was growing by the minute.

She didn't know when he'd moved to the bed, only that they were suddenly there and he was lowering her, tearing off the rest of his clothes, then lying beside her.

Her caressed her everywhere with his hands, his lips, until the sweet torment grew almost unbearable. She wanted to urge him on, yet at the same time she was content to leave this to him, because only an expert could bring those sensations into magical being.

She thought she knew her own body, but now she realized they'd been only casually acquainted. It had been something to be scrubbed down in the bath and toweled quickly to keep warm. Randolph was intent on revealing her to herself, a desirable woman, all the more desirable because of her response to his maleness.

There was a whole world between men and women that had been hidden from her. As she discovered it now she wondered how she'd lived so long in ignorance. Because he hadn't been there was the answer.

He slipped his knee between her legs, which parted for him easily so that he could move over her. The feel of him coming into her was almost shocking in its beauty and she drew a long breath, willing it to go on and on. This was the meaning of the obscure yearnings that had troubled her. All this time she'd wanted Randolph inside her, and nothing else would do. Now that she'd experienced him, she wondered how she'd endured the wait.

She moved back against him, claiming, releasing, instinctively in harmony. As if by a signal he tossed aside the last of restraint and drove into her vigorously and she cried out with the sharpness of her pleasure. And after that it grew stronger until it enveloped her completely and there was nothing left of her, except that she was reborn and found herself back in his arms, where she had always belonged.

Dottie awoke first and sat up gently so as not to disturb Randolph. That wasn't easy as his big body was sprawled all over the bed. In the night she'd discovered the true Randolph, not the disciplined person of the daylight, but some other man who could abandon himself heart and soul. He'd held nothing back, pleasing her and showing her how to please him, until they were both drained.

Just for now she wanted solitude, to come to terms with the new person she'd become, so she eased herself gently out of bed and looked around for her clothes. There was her dress, just as he'd removed it and tossed it away, too urgent in his desire for her to care if it was ruined. And it was ruined, she saw, noticing a small rent with delight. As she drew the dress against her body every silken movement felt like a caress, bringing memories flooding back. She smiled blissfully…

As he was still sleeping, she found her nightdress, pulled a robe over it and opened the French doors.

They led straight out into the garden, and now that it was daylight she saw for the first time how small a place this was. Not to her. After Wenford every where looked spacious, but to a man raised in palaces this was tiny. Yet it was his retreat, his refuge.

The house might have belonged to any solidly prosperous country gentleman. Outside was a small park with a pond on which ducks glided contentedly. She went down to the edge and at once they swam toward her, then away again, quacking with disgust because she was empty handed. She laughed and turned back to the house to find Randolph watching her. He opened his arms and she ran into them.

For a moment they held each other close, in silence. There was nothing to say. What had happened last night was too deep for words.

“I was afraid you wouldn't like this place,” he said after a long time.

“I love it. I want to stay here forever. If only we could.”

“If only.” He kissed her lightly. “Let me show you my home, and make it your home, too.”

Over breakfast he told her to wear casual clothes, which would once have been easy, but nothing in Dottie's wardrobe was really casual now. She compromised with a silk shirt and a pair of elegant tweed pants, but Randolph was in the authentic gear, shabby jeans and an old sweatshirt. After one look Dottie burst out laughing.

“I never wear anything else while I'm here,” he said.

Kellensee was a working farm, just large enough to be self-supporting. Randolph raised cattle and sheep, and although he had a manager it was clear he was closely involved.

“It belonged to my father,” he said as they wandered hand in hand through meadows filled with wild flowers and alive with butterflies. “He used to use it as a retreat for his less admissible hobbies. That's why he had his bed installed on the ground floor. He said it was easier to get to when you were legless. Of course, beer wasn't his only 'hobby.' There were various easygoing ladies, and he could let them in and out discreetly through the French windows.”

“What about your mother?”

“They were fond of each other, but they led their own lives. She didn't mind his friends, and he was discreet. I was only fourteen when she died, but I somehow knew the truth for a long time before that. What is it?” He'd seen a shadow come over her face.

She shook her head without answering and instead of pressing her he went on, “I'm afraid I was a disappointment to my father. His way of life shocked me a little. He thought I was very odd.”

“That's what royal marriages are like, though, aren't they?”

“Some of them. It wouldn't have suited me.”

“But,” she knew it was risky to pursue this but she didn't seem able to stop, “if you had to marry someone you didn't really want to, it would be forgivable, wouldn't it?”

“No it wouldn't,” he said, so forcefully that she jumped. “If you're hinting about lovers Dottie, let me warn you to forget it. I won't be a complaisant husband.”

“Don't be silly,” she said, coloring and trying to hide her pleasure. “Anyway, who says I was talking about me?”

“Didn't we agree to leave the baggage of the past behind? Don't do this Dottie, please.” He laid his fingertips across her mouth. “There are some subjects we should never mention.”

She longed to say, “What about Sophie?” but she couldn't get the words out in the face of his determination to silence her. And wasn't he right? If they could leave their awkward beginnings behind and start a new page, mightn't there be happiness that way?

Taking her hand, he led her deeper into the wood until they reached a place among the trees where the land sloped down then rose gently on the other side. The little valley was a mass of plants and small bushes, and on this side stood a small building made of heavy logs. He took her inside and Dottie looked around in delight.

“It's like a little cottage,” she said.

“It's a 'hide' where you can watch animals and birds. My father had it built. Our happiest times together were spent here. And since he died I've sometimes come here alone. It's quiet and blessedly peaceful, and the noise of the world can't touch you.” He indicated a rustic bed by the wall. “Sometimes I stay all night. The best time is in the dawn.”

There was a large window where watchers could sit in the shadows, and Dottie went to sit by one, looking out ecstatically at the quiet scene. Now and then a soft rustle in the undergrowth revealed the presence of an animal. Sometimes she actually saw one. Or a bird hopped close, never knowing itself to be watched.

“Time for supper,” Randolph murmured, close to her.

“It can't be, it's only…good heavens, we've been here hours.”

“Yes, that's how it is. This place casts its spell and you forget everything else…almost everything else.” He took her hand. “Come, let's go back to supper, and afterward, we will sit chastely holding hands.”

“You dare and you're dead.”

It was wonderful to hear his laughter echoing up into the branches, and see the flock of startled birds rise into the air.

The days passed in a haze of summer. Once it rained and they stayed indoors, leaving the French windows open, lying in bed, watching the shower. The nights merged into one night.

One morning she awoke in the early hours, and lay for a moment without opening her eyes. She was lying on her face and she could feel a slight chill on her back that told her the bedclothes had been removed. Fingertips were sliding softly across her skin, touching her so lightly that she could hardly feel them, but there was no doubt about the sensations they were creating. She gave a deep sigh of pleasurable content.

His fingers had reached her spine, moving down it in a leisurely, lingering fashion until they reached the small of her back. There they suddenly vanished, to be replaced by his lips, beginning the return journey. She shivered with delight and tried to turn over, but he prevented her.

“Keep still,” he whispered. “I haven't finished yet.”

“Just keep on as long as you like,” she murmured blissfully. “At least…no, I don't mean that, because sooner or later I want you to do something else.”

His lips were working on the back of her neck while his hands traced her spine down and cupped her behind.

“I've wanted to do this,” he said, “ever since the day I found you naked in the cupboard.” She gave a deep throated chuckle that shivered through him, straight to his loins and made him take a sharp breath.

“I remember that day,” she said. “You were so shocked.”

“Shocked at myself. You were so lovely. I tried not to notice, but I couldn't manage it. And now, here you are, and you're all mine.”

“Getting possessive, eh?”

“Any man, looking at you, would get possessive.”

She rolled onto her back so fast that she took him by surprise. “Men aren't the only ones who get possessive,” she said as her arms closed around him with a strength born of newly discovered passion. “Come here.”

“My darling-”

“I said come here.”

They had been married a week, just a few days, but long enough for her to change into a woman of fierce needs, determined to fulfill them. This was her lovemaking and with her words and her movements she let him know what she wanted. Having seized the initiative, she kept it. Randolph grinned, understanding perfectly, and not minding in the least when she said fiercely, “Now, now!”

Just as she'd learned about her own body she'd also learned about his and she put her knowledge to use, demanding the power and vigor of his loins for her exclusive pleasure.

“You're wrong,” she whispered mischievously. “It's you who are all mine.”

“Your Majesty's obedient servant,” he said, falling in with her mood.

“So I should hope. Oh Randolph. Randolph…”

Later, remembering that enchanted time, Dottie found that it wasn't only the passion that stayed in her mind.

For one thing, there was the dog.

He appeared one day in front of the hide where they were watching together, and turned a hopeful face on them. He was a tramp among dogs, scruffy, muddy and with no one part of him matching any other. Dottie was immediately won over by his goofy charm, but she could imagine Randolph's reaction to this disgraceful creature.

Then she heard a soft whistle and looked up to see him grinning. He whistled again and opened the door of the hide. There were still scraps from their meal on the table, and he proceeded to offer these to the visitor, who wolfed them down. Seeing her regarding him with raised eyebrows, Randolph colored and said self-consciously, “I had a dog like this when I was a child.”

“You? Like this?”

“Yes, he was a stray that I adopted, but only for five minutes. My mother didn't like dogs, said they were messy creatures, and made me get rid of it.”

“What did your father say?” Dottie demanded indignantly.

“Nothing. He never interfered in domestic matters. That was her price for turning a blind eye to the way he lived. He sent him to the stables where he probably had a happier life than he would have done in a palace.”

“Perhaps it was because it was a mongrel. Maybe a pedigree dog would have been better.”

“She disliked all dogs. But I wanted a mongrel. Everything around me was pedigreed. My friends were chosen for me from among the aristocracy. Some of them I liked well enough, but it's not the same as choosing for yourself. And 'royalty must keep a proper distance,' even from friends.”

“That's terrible,” Dottie said, aghast. “No wonder you're so…so…”

“Yes, no wonder,” he said, understanding what she couldn't say. “Fritz, my dog, was everything the others weren't. He came from the wrong side of the tracks. He didn't have a bloodline-not a respectable one, anyway. He was spontaneous and he didn't understand rules. I can't tell you how attractive that was to a boy who was just beginning to understand how rules had to govern his life, and there was no escape for him.”

The light was fading fast but Dottie didn't light the lamp they sometimes used. She had a feeling that the darkness was helping him. This was a man who didn't confide his feelings easily, but today something had made it happen.

“What a pity that your mother couldn't ease up,” she said slowly, “just to make you happy.”

“She loved me in her way, but to her everything was subordinate to being royal. When I was old enough I had to give her a formal bow when we met in the morning. She was the queen, and only after that was she my mother. It wasn't her fault, it was the way she was raised.”

“Poor little boy!” Dottie murmured.

“It's sweet of you to say so, but don't feel sorry for me. That little boy doesn't exist anymore.”

He was so wrong, she thought. That lonely little boy was here with them this minute, so real that she felt she knew him. Such love as he'd received had come from a mother too rigid to show him real affection. His father had been kindly but weak, too selfish to limit his own pleasures to stand up for his son. Had anybody in Randolph's whole life loved him warmly, tenderly, unconditionally?

Yes.

She couldn't say, “It's all right, you've got me now,” because that would be to venture onto his private ground where he was still uneasy of intruders. He'd allowed her in, just a little, but there was a long way to go yet. But she could be patient.

The dog was gulping the last of the tidbits noisily.

“I expect he'll stay with you now,” she observed.

But the next moment a cry of “Brin!” came through the trees. The dog grabbed one last morsel of food, leapt onto the table and vanished through the window. From the distance came cries of welcome from childish voices.

“Obviously that was Brin,” Randolph said wryly.

Dottie took his hand and squeezed it. “Never mind. I come from the wrong side of the tracks. Will I do?”

He slipped his arm around her, and spoke more tenderly than she had ever heard. “I think you'll do very well, my Dottie.”

That night, for the first time, he slept with his head on her breast, and her arms around him.

The next day Dottie found a man who bred German shepherds and arranged to have a litter of three brought to Kellensee for Randolph's inspection. He chose one, but Dottie fell in love with the others and they ended up keeping them all. A visit to a local animal sanctuary produced two cats, but after that Randolph begged her to stop.

Then there was the time Bertha discovered a pair of paparazzi and managed to send them both flying into the duck pond. Grinning, Randolph complimented her, but added that her technique wasn't a patch on Dottie's.

The newspapers arrived and piled up, unnoticed. When she could spare time to read about their own wedding Dottie found herself studying a picture of the moment she'd tossed her bouquet. She was looking away from Randolph, into the crowd, but he was watching her with an expression that made her catch her breath.

The headline called it The Look Of Love. Underneath it the caption said, Those who thought this was nothing but a state marriage had their answer today in the look of adoration the groom turned on his bride.

Dottie studied Randolph's face longingly. Adoration? It could be read that way. He was smiling, oblivious of everything but his bride, the very picture of a man entering on his greatest joy.

But why did he never let her see that look?

She heard footsteps and hastily thrust the newspaper under a cushion, going quickly out to meet Randolph and be told that a deer had been seen near the hide, and they should hurry.

By day their happiest times were spent in the hide. Birds and animals came and went while they watched, entranced, in silence. In those silences she felt herself growing closer to im. She'd thought so often of what they might say, but now she knew that words were unnecessary. He'd brought her to the place nearest his heart, and allowed her in, and that counted, even though she'd had to nudge him.

“Why were you reluctant to bring me here?” she asked once as they sat by the window in the fading light.

“That isn't true, Dottie.”

“You never suggested it until I turned down Rome and New York.”

“I thought you'd find them more exciting. Don't you want to see the world?”

She smiled. “Do you have a world better than this?”

“No.” He smiled back. “There isn't one.”

“We will come back, won't we? Often.”

“That will be for Your Majesty to say,” he teased.

“No it won't. You're officially Prince Consort now. And about that, you never said anything.”

“I said thank you. It was our wedding day. Did you expect me to think about anything but you?” His voice became teasing. “I was a little disturbed to find my wife's mind fixed on state affairs while she was dancing with me. Seriously, I do thank you. It's just that such things seem less important now.”

“Wait until we get home and a mountain of paperwork descends on you. I give it all back. Well, most of it. You'll run the country much better than I could.”

“Dottie,” he said, shocked. “Surely not because I'm a man? Don't disillusion me.”

“No, you idiot,” she said, laughing. “Because you've had years of training, and you know all the things about this country that I don't. I'm going back to school. I need to know Elluria's history, which means,” she gave a gloomy sigh, “I need to know every other country's history, too.”

“Cobblers!” Randolph said sympathetically.

“Right. Oh heck, what have I let myself in for? There's so much for me to learn, and while I'm doing that someone must keep things going. I've managed so far on a smile and a load of chutzpah, but it's not enough for the years ahead.”

“What a wise woman you are,” he said tenderly.

“But don't think you're going to have it all your own way.”

“That thought never crossed my mind,” he said truthfully.

“I still want my parliamentary reforms in time for the next election and I'll be breathing down your neck to make sure I get them.”

“Just like before, really.”

“But you can do as you like with the boring stuff.”

“Thank you, Dottie. Your faith in me is deeply moving.”

“You don't fool me.”

“And you don't fool me. This is nothing but a trick to off-load 'the boring stuff' onto me, leaving you free to indulge in a good fight whenever the mood takes you. Oh no! We'll be a team. It works better that way. To be honest, I was never much good at the smile and the chutzpah.”

“You're getting better at them.”

“Only when you're around. But you're not getting off that easily. Stick to your studies. I hear your languages are coming on splendidly. Your tutor says you have a natural ear. Your German is excellent, your French not far behind.” A sense of mischief that he'd never known he possessed made him add, “One day you may even stop mangling the English language.”

She gave him a gentle thump. “I'll get you for that, just you wait!”

He murmured softly in her ear, “Must I wait?”

His breath tickled her ear and sent scurryings of pleasure through her. “Randolph, I'm trying to be serious.”

“So am I. Very serious.” His lips were at work on the soft skin of her neck, distracting her.

“It's important.”

He rose, drawing her with him, and moving toward the bed. “What could be more important than this?”

“But we were discussing urgent matters of state.”

“Hang urgent matters of state.”