Princess Of Convenience

CHAPTER NINE

‘SO TELL us what’s happening.’

They were all settled in the hay: Raoul, Jess, Louise and Edouard, and Henri. Louise had taken one look at the incoherent pair and had called Henri for back-up. ‘Because I can’t get any sense out of them and maybe you can.’ Now she was demanding answers.

Only Edouard wasn’t interested. The little boy had Sebastian in one hand and he was gently stroking Balthazar’s nose with the other. He was totally entranced. Leaving his elders to sort out the non-important stuff.

‘The phone’s going crazy,’ Louise told them. ‘Henri tells me you sneaked out at dawn…’

‘We didn’t sneak,’ Raoul objected but Jess cast him a withering look.

‘Yes, we did.’ She was in the mood for contradiction. What had he said? Try marriage because it’s better than being stuck here alone? He had to be kidding.

‘We snook,’ she told Louise and Henri. ‘And it worked. We’re legally married.’

Louise stared from one to the other in disbelief. ‘You can’t be.’

‘We are,’ she said. ‘Dopey as it sounds, I’ve married your son.’

‘Hey, who’s dopey?’ Raoul complained. He was smiling at her with a smile she didn’t understand-and didn’t trust a bit. ‘It’s not dopey. The more I think about it, the more I’m deciding that marriage is a good idea.’

‘For today.’

‘Or maybe a bit longer,’ Raoul said.

Yeah, right.

‘Momentarily,’ she said, in the firmest voice she could muster. ‘It’s a momentary marriage so you can keep Edouard safe.’

‘Momentary?’ Louise looked really confused.

‘Oh, the marriage can last,’ she told her, casting a repressive glance at her bridegroom. ‘But the bride goes back to Australia tomorrow.’

Louise stared from Jess to Raoul and back again, her face saying she didn’t believe a word of it. She turned to Henri, doubtful. ‘Is this true?’

‘I’ve been talking to Monsieur Luiten on the telephone,’ Henri told her. ‘It’s true.’

‘When were you talking to Monsieur Luiten?’

‘Just now.’

‘While Edouard and I were searching.’ She cast him a look of disbelief. ‘You knew of this?’

‘It was Henri’s suggestion,’ Jess told Louise.

‘Hey, the marriage was your suggestion,’ Raoul objected. ‘Mama, I was propositioned, just like that. Marry me, she said, and what was a chivalrous prince supposed to do?’

‘You really have married Jessie,’ Louise said. She stared down at Jess’s hand-at the plaited band of ancient gold. ‘It’s my mother’s ring.’

‘I couldn’t find anything else at short notice,’ Raoul said apologetically. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Louise whispered. ‘Why would I mind? My mother’s ring to be used for this…’

‘Hey,’ Jess said, suddenly even more uneasy than she was. ‘It’s not a real marriage.’

‘Not…’

‘It is a real marriage,’ Raoul told them. ‘Forever and ever. That’s what we agreed on, isn’t it, Jess?’

‘Yes, but not together,’ she managed. He was too near, she decided. Too close. Too…Raoul. ‘As I said, I’m going back to Australia.’

‘I am very, very confused,’ Louise complained. ‘You’re going back to Australia-but you’re married. A momentary marriage. Would you mind starting at the beginning and telling me just what is going on?’

So they told her. Or Raoul told her and Jess listened while he outlined the very sensible reasons they’d decided to marry. She listened while he talked about their early-morning marriage ceremony, of Monsieur Luiten’s assurances that all would be right with their world. She listened while he described the advent of the twins into their lives-how the news of their marriage had become public. She listened while he finished off with,

‘But I’ve been thinking, Mama. If we can persuade Jess to stay on for a bit…it’d be so much easier.’

Easier? Easier for whom?

‘It’d be good for the little one,’ Henri said with a glance across to Edouard. Only it was an uneasy glance. Henri at least had realised there might be problems.

Of course there were problems, Jess thought savagely. She watched as Henri’s eyes turned doubtfully to her and she thought, This old man has more sensitivity than his master.

They were all looking at Edouard now-and there was the crux of the matter.

Edouard.

Of course it’d be good for Edouard, Jess thought. Of course it would be easier. She looked at the little boy, who was stroking the tiny alpacas as if he couldn’t believe they were real, and she knew that she could make a difference to this child. She could love him to bits. She could…

She couldn’t. Because every time she looked at him…

He wasn’t Dominic.

‘It’s not fair of you to ask me to do this,’ she said, the laughter and the craziness of the morning suddenly dissipating as if it had never been. ‘Raoul, this was never in the deal.’

‘You’ve lost a child,’ Henri said on a note of discovery and Jess winced. How…

‘My wife felt like that, too, once,’ Henri said. ‘When our only baby was stillborn. And the Princess Louise…’ He glanced across at Raoul’s mother. ‘When Lisle was born she couldn’t bear to look at little girls who could skip or run or play. It’s a barrier.’

‘What are we talking about?’ Louise said, still confused, but Jess had had enough.

‘It seems Henri’s figured it out. I’ve told Raoul but he doesn’t believe me,’ she said, savagely into the stillness. ‘Raoul, I’ve done the best I can for you all. It’s the best I’m capable of and I can give no more. And now…’ once more she pushed herself to her feet ‘…I need to be alone for a bit,’ she told them. ‘If you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long morning. I need to rest.’

‘Of course, my dear,’ Louise said, immediately contrite. ‘You were only out of bed for the first time yesterday, and now this. Raoul, take Jess to-’

‘I’ll take myself.’ She was sounding ungracious but she couldn’t help herself. She’d reached the end.

‘What are the alpacas’ names?’ Edouard asked into the stillness, and at least here was an easy question.

‘Balthazar and Whatshername.’

‘Balthazar,’ Louise said, and her face turned to Raoul, wondering. ‘You called him Balthazar for Lisle.’

‘Whatshername is a funny name for a baby,’ Edouard said.

‘It’s Australian for I Don’t Know What,’ Henri told him, looking from Raoul to Louise and deciding no one else was going to answer.

Edouard screwed his nose up, disapproving. In his opinion I Don’t Know What was obviously not a fine name.

‘Is it a girl or a boy?’

‘It’s a girl,’ Jess managed.

‘What’s a better Australian name for a baby?’ Edouard demanded.

‘Matilda,’ she told him, and he was pleased to approve.

‘That’s better than I Don’t Know What.’

But Jess was already backing out of the stall door.

‘Jess, let me come with you.’ Raoul glanced uncertainly at his mother-who looked as if she was about to burst into tears-but he rose and made as if to follow. Jess put out a hand in a gesture to stop him. ‘I’ve made a mess of things,’ he told her.

‘You haven’t made a mess of things,’ she told him, as firmly as she was able. ‘You married me as you intended and you’ve made Edouard safe. There was no intention for us to take it further.’

‘But-’

‘I’m not taking it further, Raoul,’ she told him. ‘Get used to it.’

‘Let her go, Raoul,’ Louise told him. ‘Can’t you see that she’s had enough?’

Good call, she thought. She’d definitely had enough.

‘Stay with your family, Raoul,’ she told him. ‘You have lots of things to plan.’ She looked uncertainly down at the twins. ‘I think you also need to find an alpaca expert to tell you the proper way to raise these.’

‘But you-’

‘They’re nothing to do with me now, Raoul,’ she told him, in a voice that was strangely firm in the face of what she was feeling. ‘I’m going home.’

She stayed in her apartment for the rest of the day.

Louise was right when she’d reminded her that she’d not been long out of bed. She’d had six days in bed after the accident. The night before had been her first time out of bed, and her knees were decidedly wobbly.

Everything about her was wobbly. Her head was spinning. Every time she stood up the walls seemed to wobble, and she decided the best thing she could do was bury her head under the pillows and will the world to go away.

Only of course it didn’t. It receded a little but that was all.

Henri appeared with a tray and stayed to make sure she ate her lunch. ‘Because if I don’t, Raoul will, and I have a feeling you need a little time out from His Highness,’ Henri told her. He made no further comment but Jess could see that he understood.

He was a nice old man, she thought as she forced herself to eat her soup and sandwiches. What had he said? He and his wife had lost a baby, too?

There was tragedy everywhere, she thought bleakly. She just had to get home. Get away from it.

Start again?

Her head was spinning. Henri cleared her dishes, she hauled her pillows back into place-and to her surprise, she slept.

It wasn’t just the emotions of the morning. Seven days ago she’d been in a terrible car crash and her body was still demanding recovery time.

She woke and there was another meal tray beside her. This time it had been brought by Louise. She was seated in the armchair by the bed waiting for her…her daughter-in-law, to wake.

‘Raoul wanted to bring you this,’ she said, smiling down at her. ‘But Henri and I have teamed up against him. He’s a very overpowering man, my son.’

‘Very overpowering,’ she agreed. She pushed herself up on the pillows, shoving away the sensation that she was still sleeping. ‘I’m sorry.’ She stared down at the dinner tray in astonishment. ‘Have I slept all afternoon?’

‘We’re having dinner early,’ Louise said apologetically. ‘Raoul’s trying to organise something for this evening. But you certainly have been sleeping. Maybe you needed to.’

‘Maybe I did,’ she said slowly. ‘It was some morning.’

Louise smiled, gently sympathetic. ‘You know, I always wanted a royal wedding,’ she told her. ‘My parents were minor royalty. They’d had a wedding with all the pomp and ceremony possible so it was what I dreamed of, too. Bridesmaids and flower-girls, pageboys, coaches, white horses, heads of state pouring into the country…’ She handed over Jess’s dinner plate and she sighed. ‘When I was seventeen it seemed like a fairy tale, and when the prince proposed I couldn’t believe my luck.’

‘It must have been wonderful,’ Jess said softly and Louise grimaced.

‘It certainly was. A magical wedding. Followed by a nightmare marriage.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m thinking that maybe you and Raoul can have the opposite.’

Jess stilled. ‘Pardon?’

‘You know, he thinks you’re wonderful.’

‘Raoul does?’

‘Of course Raoul does.’

‘There’s no of course about it,’ she muttered, slicing into a piece of steak as though it were Raoul himself. ‘I didn’t know the man until yesterday. Now I’ve married him and he’s calmly suggesting I stay here forever.’ She eyed the piece of steak on her fork and bit. ‘You know,’ she added, addressing the steak, ‘if I agreed to his crazy proposal, I wouldn’t be the least surprised if he stayed playing husband for just as long as it took to get Marcel sorted, and then he disappeared right back to Somalia.’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me either,’ Louise said and once again Jess’s implements stilled.

‘You’re not seriously suggesting I take over here? Princess Regent or somesuch?’

‘You see,’ Louise said-apologetically, ‘I’m not sure what else we can do.’

‘Get on without me,’ she told her. This steak was delicious. If she could stop thinking about marriage-stop thinking about Raoul-she could really enjoy it. ‘Like you all intended to get on without Sarah.’

‘Sarah would have stayed here.’

‘As Edouard’s step-mother? From what I’ve heard about her, I doubt it.’

‘No, it would have been a mess,’ Louise agreed. ‘But if you leave now it’ll be a bigger mess.’

‘I don’t see it.’

‘Raoul doesn’t commit,’ Louise said, almost sadly, and now it was Jess’s turn to sigh. She laid down her cutlery and turned to her mother-in-law.

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘You’re his wife.’ She hesitated a little more but then continued. ‘You know, I’ve never told anyone this. But I thought…you really are married to him. It’s not betrayal for a woman to talk about her son to his wife.’

‘I’m a wife in name only.’

‘You’re his wife.’ Louise lifted the knife and fork and placed them firmly back in Jess’s hands. ‘Eat. And listen. I intend to tell you, like it or not.’

‘But-’

‘Listen.’

So Jess listened. Short of throwing the tray and Louise out of the room, she had no choice at all, and, looking at Louise’s face, she knew there was a need here that had been growing for a long time.

‘I’ve worried about him for years,’ Louise said, echoing her thoughts, and Jess decided there was nothing for it but to attack her steak and remain silent.

‘My husband and I had a dreadful marriage,’ Louise said softly. ‘Royalty married to youth. It didn’t work. My husband took Jean-Paul as his son and heir, and he doted on him. Then six years later the twins were born, and Lisle was not…perfect. My husband demanded perfection. Maybe he could have loved Raoul, but of course Raoul was inseparable from his sister. From the time Raoul could understand, his father was trying to split him from Lisle, and Raoul was a fighter. He fought his father. He fought me when I tried to intervene. And then…’ She hesitated while Jess ate two delicious little potatoes with parsley butter. ‘Then I finally took the twins away. It was breaking my heart that I couldn’t stay in contact with Jean-Paul. I was so bitter about marriage. So maybe…maybe Raoul was brought up thinking that marriage and relationships were doomed. Independence was everything.’ She bit her lip and looked down at her hands. ‘Maybe I’ve done even more damage. And maybe the only way for the damage to be undone is for someone to stay.’

‘You mean for me to stay.’

‘If you’ve the courage.’

‘I don’t have the courage,’ she said flatly. ‘I can’t look at Edouard without hurting. I’ve been really good at failed relationships in the past. And if Raoul thinks he can dump his responsibilities onto me and go back to saving the world-’

‘I’m sure he doesn’t mean that.’

‘I’ll bet he does.’

Louise rose, but she was wringing her hands, her fingers entangled and frantic. ‘I know. This is so unfair. But if you go…’

‘Then you’ll work something out. And you’ll be better off than if we hadn’t married.’

‘I know that. So it’s quite unfair to ask for more.’

‘Yes,’ Jess said flatly. She was feeling a little ill and she laid down her knife and fork for the last time. There was a dessert by her dinner plate-a concoction of meringue and berries. It looked amazing.

She’d completely lost her appetite.

‘I’ve done all I can,’ she told Louise, gazing at it in distaste. ‘Enough. Please don’t ask more.’

She didn’t see anyone then until after dusk. She lay in bed, desultorily reading magazines Louise had thoughtfully provided. She made a couple of phone calls to confirm what she needed to do tomorrow. She tried not to think about what was happening in the palace without her.

She tried not to think about Raoul.

Then, as the last of the light faded from the windows and she was thinking about the impossibility of going to sleep, there was a knock.

‘Come in,’ she called and Raoul opened the door.

Or…Prince Raoul.

He was wearing some sort of uniform, and what a uniform! It was a dress suit, of a fabric so blue it was almost black, and its magnificence took her breath away. Medals blazed across his chest. Rows of gold braid and tassels adorned his arms. A purple sash with gold edging slashed across his chest and at his side hung a jewel-encrusted sword.

He looked…breathtaking.

‘If you laugh I’m going to have to kill you,’ he told her conversationally. ‘Can I come in?’

‘You look amazing,’ she managed. This was crazy. Prince descending to the peasant quarters-like something straight out of Cinderella. Had Cinders ever been caught snoozing in bed? she wondered. She shoved World Celebrities under the pillow. Who needed pictures when she had the real thing?

‘I look ridiculous,’ he told her, still discomfited.

‘Ridiculous is hardly the word I’d use,’ she told him. With his dark skin, his beautifully groomed hair, his deep, dark eyes creased into a rueful smile-and that uniform… No, ridiculous definitely didn’t spring to mind.

‘If the guys in my med team could see me now…’

‘If the girls in your med team could see you now, they’d swoon,’ she told him.

‘Are you swooning?’

‘No, but I…’ She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t do swooning.’

‘You’re past it?’

‘Something like that.’

He appeared to consider-and then he smiled, moving on. ‘Maybe. Maybe not,’ he said enigmatically. ‘Meanwhile you’ve got your own dressing up to do. My mother was planning on helping but the veterinarian’s here to give lessons in the care of baby alpacas, so she and Edouard are down in the stables.’

‘Right,’ she said cautiously. ‘So…’

‘So we have official photographers arriving in half an hour,’ he told her. ‘Plus the Press.’ He turned aside and called to someone obviously further down the hall. ‘Marie? Her Highness is awake. We can start.’

Her Highness. That would be her?

A little dark woman appeared by Raoul’s side. She was beaming and beaming, and her arms were laden with…

A gown? Surely this wasn’t a gown?

But it seems it was. ‘Marie’s here to help you dress,’ Raoul told her. His smile deepened as he sympathised with her confusion. ‘Unless you want to get your official photographs taken in what you’re wearing?’

‘Hey.’ She tried to make her dizzy mind think. ‘What is this?’

‘You agreed on tonight, yes?’

‘Tonight.’

‘We need to stay together,’ he told her, his smile fading. ‘You remember?’

‘Y-yes, but…’

‘Well, tonight starts now,’ he told her. ‘Mama and I agreed we should get the entire thing over and done with. Marie’s here with a formal gown for official photographs and for the small ceremony of blessing we’ve planned. We have a cosmetician and a hairdresser and a bevy of reporters waiting. As soon as you’re decent we’ll let the hordes in and they can interview you.’

To say she was confused was an understatement. ‘But-’

‘It’s the shortest way,’ he told her, still sympathetic. ‘The media won’t be satisfied unless they’re given an official photo opportunity. The television crews want some sort of ceremony. Marcel’s having apoplexy, and by not producing you we’re asking for trouble. So can I ask that you be produced?’

She eyed him. She eyed his uniform.

‘Like you’ve been produced?’

‘That’s right,’ he told her and his smile suddenly reached out again to touch her. It did touch her. He looked absurdly handsome. Absurdly anxious?

He was as out of his depth as she was, she thought. He’d been thrown into the media spotlight with not much more warning than she had had.

Tonight he needed her, and she’d agreed.

She’d give him tonight.

‘Fine,’ she said, and it was as if she’d switched on a light. Relief washed over his face, lighting places she hadn’t realised were in shadow.

‘Really?’

He thought he’d messed it up, she realised, watching his face. He’d thought that his crazy proposal to extend this marriage had somehow jeopardised her agreement to do what was needed tonight.

‘Of course, really.’

‘Jess.’ It was a soft word, an utterance of her name-but he might as well have kissed her. He smiled at her and she felt…

He felt, too. He seemed to drag his eyes away, and when he spoke again his voice was strained.

But he was back to being businesslike. Maybe thankfully? ‘OK, Marie.’ He motioned to the gown Marie was carrying. ‘This is a gown Mama wore for state occasions,’ he told her. ‘It was worn by my grandmother and her mother before her. Because of its historical significance it’s one of the few things of Mama’s that my father didn’t destroy. Mama’s sure it’ll fit. You’re practically the same size as she is.’

‘But…’

‘Jess, it’s a state occasion,’ he told her. ‘A royal marriage.’ He smiled at her, his eyes holding, reassuring, teasing. ‘If I have to look like something on a biscuit tin, I don’t see why you don’t join me.’

She stared. He was laughing at her.

No. He was laughing with her. There was a difference.

She loved it.

‘You don’t look like something on a biscuit tin,’ she managed. Humour was the way to go here, she decided. If he could laugh then she could, too. It was a close call though. Could she laugh without toppling into hysteria?

‘Maybe I’d say you looked a bit tinnish if you weren’t wearing a sword,’ she told him. ‘But I’ll never describe a man wearing a sword as a tin-lid decoration. It’s a rule I’ve stuck to in the past, and I dare say it’ll serve me well in the future.’

‘I dare say it will,’ he said faintly. He was responding to her laughter with a look of pure admiration that did her anxious insides the world of good. And then he moved on.

‘OK, Princess Jessica,’ he told her. ‘Tin lids or not, we’re in this together. Shall we start being decorative now?’

Playing dressing-up had nothing on this.

The dress itself was enough to take her breath away. It was a dress one was wedged into rather than slipped on, she thought. Without a body, the dress would stand up by itself.

The rich silver brocade was heavily embroidered with crimson and gold. It was cut like the robes she’d seen of mediaeval princesses. The bodice, with its low square neckline, flattened her breasts with its heavy fabric, but at the same time it somehow accentuated her breasts’ soft swell. The sleeves fell to her fingertips, close-fitting from her shoulders and widening below the elbows, with a circlet of softer fabric at the wrists falling almost to her knees. The vast, embroidered skirt was rich and full, touching the floor at the front and sweeping to a glorious train of gold and silver at the back.

There was a brilliant crimson dragon embroidered on the train.

‘It’s the family emblem,’ Raoul told her, and she cast him a look of disbelief.

‘Think of it as a family pet. And you’re part of our family.’

‘Then let’s change the family emblem to a small, custard-yellow porrywiggle,’ she retorted. ‘Because that’s the way I’m feeling.’

He grinned-but there was no backing out now. Marie was admitting the world to admire her. And they were admiring. In moments she was surrounded by reporters and cameramen, and they were aiming straight at her.

For Jess the sensation was so unbelievable she sought refuge in humour.

‘I need one of those pointy caps,’ she said, staring at herself in the mirror as the final adjustments were made to her train, to her face, to her hair, in readiness for the official photographer. ‘Like you see on princesses in comic books.’

Silence.

‘My wife likes to laugh,’ Raoul told the assemblage.

Jess bit her lip. Uh-oh. Wasn’t humour the way to go, then?

She was his wife for a night. His dignity needed her to behave.

But he looked reproving, she thought suddenly. Reproving? If he thought she was going to buckle down and be a tin-lid…

‘Well, if I can’t have a cap I guess I’ll just have to do without,’ she said mournfully. ‘I guess, as we intend to stay in tonight-dear-then I’ll make do with this old outfit and a bare head. After all-’ she gave Raoul her kindest smile ‘-it’s not as if you’re dressed for going out.’

Raoul’s eyes creased in disbelief-and then into stunned admiration, and the assembled media stared. There was a long pause as if no one could believe what they were hearing.

And then-finally-there was laughter. Tentative at first, and then deeply appreciative.

Jess was used to reporters. Her designs were known around the world and she’d learned to manipulate the media for her own ends. Now she chose to answer exactly what she wanted to answer. Any other questions she ignored with the deftness born of practice.

Had she a family in Australia?

‘Yes.’

She’d been married before?

‘Yes.’

Then it got trickier.

‘You’ve had a child?’ someone asked. ‘Our sources in Australia have done some fast research and they say your child died of leukaemia.’

‘Dominic died, yes.’ She paused, and then said softly, as if speaking personally to each and every one of the assembled reporters, ‘That’s why I believe family is so important. It’s why it’s so important that Prince Edouard can stay with his uncle and his grandmother, rather than his distant cousin. I’m sure every person in this country would agree, and this marriage makes that possible.’

They loved her.

They thought she was fantastic, Raoul thought as, questions completed, they made their way to the tiny palace chapel. Here their marriage would be blessed in a ceremony designed-hastily-to give the people their only chance to meet their princess.

This was right.

But it needed to continue.

If she stayed it’d be so much easier, he thought. Jessie’s hand was resting on his arm as they made their way through the long corridors. Cameras were working at full speed. She wasn’t flinching.

She was wonderful.

He could do this if he had Jessie by his side.

And Jess was alone. Back in Australia she had no one, and the thought made his gut wrench. She had no family and she’d lost her child. She was going home to the grey fog he could sense had been overwhelming her, and he knew that the fog was waiting to engulf her again.

But here she’d lifted his own bleakness, and she’d smiled and entranced the media and she’d brought happiness to a place that could give her happiness in return. She could set up her design centre here, he thought, his mind racing. He’d pay to bring any staff she needed over and maybe they could build Waves up even bigger than it was now. This country had the best yarns and the best cloth. Why not the best designer?

It could work, he thought, and the more the idea whirled through his mind, the better it looked. Jess would be surrounded by her staff-and by her family. Louise would love her. Edouard would love her.

And he…

In time maybe even he…

She was laughing at something one of the reporters had said. He glanced down at the smiling woman on his arm and he felt the growing realisation that things were changing very fast.

Maybe he already did love her, he conceded, but the nebulous idea was immense and overwhelming and even plain damned scary.

But sending Jess home alone seemed even more scary.

She had to stay. She must. It was a brilliant idea and not to try it seemed crazy.

So… He had this night to persuade her, he thought. This night the marriage was supposed to be consummated.

This night she had to agree to marry him in earnest.

The tiny ceremony devised to introduce Jess to the country, to the people, was a simple ceremony of blessing.

It shouldn’t have the power to move her.

But she stood at the end of the aisle and the old priest stood before them in his faded vestments. A soft smile lingered behind his kindly old eyes. He murmured the words of blessing as if he meant every one of them-blessing this marriage forever-and she was definitely moved.

Raoul’s hand held hers. The warmth of him, the strength…the look of pride on his face…

For this moment, this mock-marriage seemed almost real.

And for this moment she almost had a family. Louise was in the front pew, holding Edouard. The little boy had his arms around his grandmother’s neck. His time with Louise in the alpacas’ stall had obviously made him decide this lady was someone he might trust. The ghastly Cosette didn’t appear to be missed at all.

Raoul and Louise had made a tiny beginning to give this needful child a family, Jess thought. A family…

It made her want to cry.

Raoul’s hand held her still and as she looked up at him he smiled gently, reassuringly into her eyes. She was wearing his ring. Almost she could believe in fairy tales, she thought. She could believe that this was her prince and she was loved and she was walking into a happy ending.

Just keep remembering midnight, she told herself fiercely, desperately. The pumpkins will happen sooner than you think.

And somehow she managed to keep herself in control, even when, at the end of the blessing, Raoul turned and kissed her.

This was no kiss of passion. It was a kiss of gratitude, for all the world to see.

‘Thank you, Jessica,’ he told her, and his voice was firm enough for all who were present to hear, and through the microphone for all who were glued to television sets across the country to hear. ‘Thank you from me and from Crown Prince Edouard and from my mother. And thank you from my country, from my people. We all love you and you’ll be in our hearts forever.’

Yeah, right. Nice speech, Raoul, she thought, frantically fighting back stupid tears that meant nothing.

Bring on the pumpkins. Now.

There was a reception-of sorts. So many people, gathered at short notice to make this strange mock-marriage official.

There were so many people that the night was a blur. She smiled and shook hands and curtsied as if she’d been bred to it. She moved from one dignitary to another, being introduced, being questioned, making small talk. Raoul assisted as much as he could but the attention was all on her.

‘You’ve done enough,’ Raoul told her at last but she shook her head. She could do this. One night…

But Raoul had support. ‘Jess cannot stay any longer,’ Louise declared and she didn’t say it to Jess. She said it to the room at large. Louise had left the reception briefly to put Edouard to bed and she’d come back to see Jess wilting. Louise, of all of them, had the most experience of being royalty. She, too, had been a royal bride.

‘She’s not well enough for more,’ she declared now. ‘Raoul, it’s time to take your bride to her bed.’

There was a pause throughout the room as somehow everyone caught Louise’s words.

And then there was a cheer.

Raoul looked down at his bride and he smiled.

She didn’t smile back. She was close to being overwhelmed here and her autopilot seemed to be shutting down.

‘Can I take you to bed, Princess Jessica?’

‘If you must,’ she murmured, thoroughly confused, not just by the situation but also by the tenderness she read in her husband’s eyes. This whole situation was fantastic, and the idea that the assemblage was cheering the royal couple to bed was ridiculous. And that Raoul should look at her like this…

Back to basics, Jessica, she told herself. Get some control here.

‘Fine,’ she murmured, so softly that only Raoul could hear. ‘Or almost fine. You’re not taking me to bed. You’re taking me to the bedroom. That’s it.’ She hesitated and smiled around at the cheering audience before starting to whisper again. ‘But it’s bedroom door only, Your Highness. You stop at the settee. I’ll make it the rest of the way by myself.’

He smiled, his eyes gently teasing. ‘I’m glad you agree, my lovely bride.’ And then, before she knew what he was about, he swept her up into his arms. Her glorious dress hung about her. He stood among the gathering, holding her, claiming her, laughing down into her eyes.

A prince, laying claim to his bride.

‘You’ll have to excuse us,’ he told the assemblage and there were more cheers and laughter.

Vaguely Jess was aware of Marcel, glaring at her with hatred from the corner of the room. But it didn’t matter. How could anything matter when Raoul was holding her like this?

Or maybe it did matter. Maybe Marcel’s awfulness was the simple reason why Raoul was holding her like this.

But Raoul was still speaking. ‘You need to excuse us,’ Raoul said again, and the whole room hushed. ‘I need to take my bride to bed.’