Princess in Love (7 page)

What a shocking surprise when they each discovered the truth—that he was, in actuality,
first in line to the throne of Petersbourg, and she was a direct descendent of the
Tremaine dynasty, a true blood princess.

Fate, surely, had intervened and brought these two together.

The story caused Leo’s jaw to clench, for when it came to love, the fates had been
quite uncooperative and rather obstinate in his case. All they ever did for him was
keep him alive on the battlefield—a miraculous feat if there ever was one—but there
were days he wondered if that had been a blessing or a curse.

The marriage of Randolph and Alexandra was a blessing for the country, the
Chronicle
reported, for it would at last unite the two opposing factions—the traditional Royalists
and the progressive members of the New Regime.

“Nicholas wrote that,” Leopold said, tapping his finger on the paper. “He knows just
how to present something to sway the popular opinion.”

“You’re probably right,” his mother replied. “But how will your father feel about
this? I cannot imagine he is pleased. He has coveted the throne since the day they
buried Oswald. He wanted it for
you.
”

Leo sat forward. “I do not care one way or another how Father feels, and neither should
you.”

His parents had been separated since he was ten. They parted ways not long after his
two younger sisters died of typhoid.

The duke and duchess did not share the same political opinions. His father was a secret
Royalist. His mother sided with the New Regime. To put it plainly, they despised each
other and had not spoken in years.

“I’ve already told Father that I want no more part of his crusade,” Leopold added.

His mother regarded him ruefully. “There was once a time you believed in it.”

Indeed, there was. At one time he, too, had been estranged from his mother when he’d
followed his father’s banner and wanted to be king. The ambition was like a drug.

“Those days are long gone,” he assured her. “I was young and wild and too easily influenced.
Since then I have fought a real war. I’ve seen death and I’ve witnessed the human
cost of one army conquering another.”

She laid her hand upon his. “I am glad you’ve given that up.”

He turned his eyes toward the window. “How could I not? I won’t fight another war
in my own country. There are other things I want now. Besides, now that we are poised
to have a Tremaine back on the throne, what is the point in fighting? The Royalist
cause is now satisfied. Pray God we can all live in peace for once.”

“I agree,” she said. “An attempt to topple the Sebastians could not possibly end well.
Your father never understood that the people of this country love King Frederick dearly,
and despite the fact that there is no royal blood flowing through his veins, he has
done more for this country than any other king ever has.”

“I see that now.” He did. He truly did.

Leopold stood up, walked to the window and looked out at the forest and lake in the
distance. A hot, muggy haze obscured the horizon. Everything inside him felt heavy
as well. Motionless. Anchored down. Frustratingly restless …

“What have you heard about the king’s health?” he asked. “Has there been any improvement?”

His mother’s tone was somber. “I am afraid not. They say he is dying, and that is
why Randolph returned from England so quickly with his new bride. I do not believe
it will be long.”

Leopold continued to ponder the hot, hazy world outside the window while his thoughts
traveled elsewhere, to the palace in Petersbourg where an old man lay dying in his
bed.

Leopold was barely aware of the chair legs scraping across the floor behind him. He
paid no mind to his mother’s light footsteps circling around the table. It was not
until he felt her hand on his shoulder that he recognized the magnitude of her concern.

“You are thinking of her again.”

He faced his mother, who was lovely in the soft midday light and still looked as young
as she did when he was a boy. There had always been a gentle kindness about her, while
his father was quite the opposite.

Leo had always assumed he’d inherited his father’s ambitious nature, as opposed to
his mother’s compassion and benevolence. He had certainly displayed a rather astounding
talent for battle which seemed founded upon a hot-blooded desire to conquer and triumph.
His ancestors were kings after all—at a time when kings wore suits of armor and commanded
giant armies and took what territories they wanted by force …

“It cannot be an easy time for Rose,” his mother said. “She loves her father very
much.”

At the mere mention of Rose’s name, Leo felt that need to conquer rise up like a monster
within him. He couldn’t seem to quell it, and it was eating him up inside because
he couldn’t fight for what he really wanted. At least not while he was here in the
quiet, peaceful countryside.

“I should go and pay my respects,” he said.

His mother laid an open hand upon his cheek. “I am not sure that would be wise.”

Of course it wouldn’t. Rose would be vulnerable and full of grief and fear for the
imminent loss of her beloved father.

Leopold would comfort her and do whatever he must to ease her pain. He would not leave
her side.

“Perhaps it would be best if you just sent a note,” his mother suggested.

He knew what she was thinking, and the sensible part of him agreed with her. What
he really needed to do was cut all contact with Rose completely and stay away from
the royal court in Petersbourg. He had to stop fighting and try to grow accustomed
to a normal life.

“Please, Leopold,” his mother said. “She is betrothed to the future emperor of Austria.”

The mere thought of the man caused Leopold’s hands to curl into fists.

“But it’s not too late,” he found himself saying. “I am released from my own obligations
now, and they are not yet man and wife. A woman can change her mind.”

His mother sighed in frustration. “There are political issues to consider. If you
truly wish to be a loyal subject to your king, you will not interfere with such an
important national alliance.”

Leo’s gut turned over. He wished life were simpler—that he was a common man, and Rose
a common woman, so that he would not be forced to give her up. All he wanted to do
was straddle a horse this instant and gallop into the city proper, break down the
door to her private apartments, kiss her senseless until she couldn’t breathe, then
carry her away to his bed.

Bloody hell.

A note would not suffice. It would
never
suffice. He desired her too much. His passions were never going to burn out.

So what next? Charge headlong into battle? He didn’t see any other choice. He was
a soldier born to fight and he didn’t like to lose.

Damn. What the devil should he do?

*   *   *

Rose fell asleep at her father’s bedside. She was dreaming about slow waves on the
ocean when a throat cleared beside her. Groggily she lifted her head from the cradle
of her arms on the edge of the mattress and peered up at a footman. “Yes? What is
it?”

Standing with one hand behind his back, he offered up a silver salver. “A letter for
you, Your Royal Highness.”

She blinked a few times to clear the sleep from her eyes, glanced at her father who
was resting comfortably, then picked up the letter.

“Thank you. You may go, but could you inform Mrs. Hartford that I would like a supper
tray sent up? I do not wish to leave my father’s side tonight.”

“Yes, madam.”

She waited for him to leave the chamber before she rose from her chair and moved to
the upholstered window seat to break the seal and unfold the letter. Of course, she
knew who it was from. She had known the moment she saw the Hapsburg seal.

My darling Rose,

I write this to you knowing you are still abroad in England and it may be weeks before
you receive it, but I decided it should not matter that you are on the other side
of the sea.

I trust your visit is proceeding as planned and that Randolph is making good progress
with the shipbuilding campaign.

You must write to me as soon as you are able and tell me about your journey. What
is the weather like abroad? It has been a warm, dry summer here in Austria. We expect
a cold winter. After that, will an early spring wedding suit you? My sister believes
we should wait until the summer when the roses are in bloom, but that is a whole year
from now and I grow impatient to see you again and have you for my own.

I hope this letter finds you well.

Joseph

Rose looked up from the letter and rested her weary head upon the glass windowpane.

Clearly her fiancé did not know about her father’s worsened condition when he wrote
this. She found herself frustrated by the distance that separated them, for it made
her feel terribly disconnected when she needed him now more than ever.

Her father was dying and a part of her was dying, too. She needed to know that there
would be happiness in her future—new beginnings instead of mournful endings.

She and Joseph had been apart for too long. Though she carried a miniature portrait
of him, it was not the best likeness, and it had become a challenge to remember all
the details of his face. Sometimes she had to shut her eyes and work hard to summon
his image in her mind when another less welcome face continued to appear tenaciously
in her daydreams, always with a caring smile.

Her father stirred in the bed. Rose returned to his side as he tried to sit up.

“Lie still, Father,” she whispered, laying her hands on his shoulders. “Tell me what
you need, and I will get it for you.”

He laid his head down on the pillows. “All I require is right here. Ah, my dear Rose,
you are such a sweet girl. You’ve always been the brightest light in my world. What
is that you have there? A letter from Joseph?”

She managed a smile. “Yes. He writes to me of the warm weather in Vienna.”

Her father took hold of her hand and squeezed it. “It pleases me to see you betrothed
to such a good man. I have known Joseph since he was a boy, and he is one of the most
honorable and decent men I know. I couldn’t have chosen anyone better for you, and
you deserve the very best. Now I can leave this world knowing that at least two of
my children have found happiness. I will not worry for you, Rose. Nor will I worry
for Petersbourg.”

She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. “Yes, all is well now, Father. Randolph
has chosen the most perfect bride. Now all we need to do is find a wife for Nicholas.”

Her father chuckled, then gave in to a fit of coughing. When he recovered, he said,
“If you can convince that boy to choose a virtuous wife, I swear I will sing to you
from the heavens.”

Rose laughed. “I will do my best.”

She held his hand and sang softly to him until he fell back to sleep.

*   *   *

Later that night the king suffered a series of convulsions and slipped into a deep
coma. Thirty-six hours later, he was dead.

Rose had never known such grief. She was an infant when her mother died of tuberculosis,
and remembered nothing about her, nor of the sorrow her father must have endured at
the loss of his beloved wife and queen.

Rose had been raised at the palace by a devoted caregiver who was now retired to the
country.

This was the first time Rose had ever lost a close loved one, and on the day of her
father’s funeral, when he was laid to rest in the royal tomb at the Abbey of St. Peter,
it took every measure of strength she possessed to hold her head high beneath the
black tulle veil that covered her face, and weep only silent tears.

When it was over, she walked beside Nicholas and followed Randolph and Alexandra—now
king and queen of Petersbourg—down the long center aisle of the abbey while the congregation
stood and the angelic voices of the choir echoed gloriously throughout the ancient
cathedral. It had been a beautiful ceremony and she was grateful for the love and
support of the people.

Halfway down the aisle, however, she spotted Lord Cavanaugh in attendance, standing
at the rear of the church in the back pew. Their eyes locked and held as she walked
the rest of the way.

As she and her brother drew closer, Leopold bowed to them. She could not bring herself
to look away until they passed by.

Even then, she could still feel his intense gaze on her as she exited through the
open doors and descended the steps to their coach. Nicholas helped her inside while
Randolph and Alexandra rode separately ahead of them.

As soon as the vehicles pulled away from the abbey, Nicholas turned to her. “Are you
all right?”

“I am perfectly fine,” she replied as she lifted the black veil off her face and peeled
off her gloves. “I cannot believe it’s over, that he is really gone.”

Nicholas squeezed her hand. “Nor I.”

They gazed out the window at the crowds lining the streets. As the royal procession
passed by, everyone bowed solemnly.

“Look how the people adored him,” Rose said. “It pleases me to see it.”

“I suppose you saw Cavanaugh in the church,” Nicholas said.

“Yes.” She continued to look out the window, for surely there could be nothing more
to say about it.

“Did you mind that he was there?” Nicholas asked. “Or would you have preferred not
to see him, today of all days?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It may surprise you to hear it—for
it certainly surprises me—but strangely enough, I was glad to see him. It made me
feel…” She paused to reflect a moment while Nicholas waited with impatient curiosity.

“It made you feel…?” he prodded.

“Valued. Did you see how he looked at me?”

“How could I not? He looked at no one else. It was as if you were the only person
in the church.” Nicholas paused. “What happened between the two of you in England?
Something
must have happened.”