The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (13 page)

Why am I still here?
The first bell sounded, indicating that patrons should exit the Grand Foyer for their seats.
I am
Cinderella, and the clock is striking twelve, and still I stand here, staring
…

“Are you a lover of music, Your Highness?” she asked, watching for his reaction. He had a pleasing manner now that she observed him more closely.

“I am a devoted patron, Mademoiselle.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “But I must admit that I prefer the classics both in art and music.”

“The classics?”

“I do not actually understand the new music. Puccini and Verdi are much too modern for me. Forgive me if they are a particular favorite of yours.”

“Very much so.” She giggled. “If you find Puccini and Verdi elusive, you will not like Bizet, I fear, Your Highness. He is unabashedly modern and greatly misunderstood.”

“Oh, have you heard tonight’s opera, Mademoiselle?” he asked with polite interest, though it was plain his interests lay elsewhere and he had resigned himself.

“Once or twice,” she replied. “The tenor is marvelous though
not yet
known.” Being an understudy, she was singing with a little-known tenor as well although, unlike her, he had already sung one starring role.

To be sure, despite their respective talents, both of their careers were yet to be made and teetering on a tightrope.

“Indeed?” he remarked graciously. “Possibly this evening will establish his fame.”

“Without question, Your Highness. I have never heard anyone with a voice like his.” He had struggled initially. His voice had faltered with every attempt to reach the B-flat in the “Flower Song.” But he was the only other person in opera as tireless as herself. With extreme force of will, Enrico Caruso had added a tenor’s soaring golden register to his natural rich baritone voice.

“You speak as if his singing is of great importance to you, Mademoiselle,” he remarked with a contrived lightness.

It suddenly occurred to her that she was impressed with the patience this royal exerted in pursuing her. Many men of far lower stations would have stalked away by now.

“Your observation is astute, Your Highness. Caruso’s singing is of enormous importance to me.” Tonight they would make opera history. If she could get rid of this prince, that is. “And who is your favorite Spanish soprano, if I may ask?”

“I favor the days when men sang all the parts. I admit I am old-fashioned but do not like to see our women on the stage.”

“Oh?” she asked coolly. “And why is that, Your Highness?”

“I would think it would be obvious, Mademoiselle. And, please, call me Prince Alejandro.”

“You consider it degrading for women to be on the stage, Your Highness?” she persisted.

“That is the general view of things. And how could it be otherwise? Women should be cherished, protected, and revered. How can that be the case when they are flaunting themselves on the stage?”

“I beg you will excuse me, Your Highness.” She forced a smile before turning to leave, surprised at the magnitude of her disappointment in this man.

How could she have imagined any other outcome? Why had she wasted her precious time with him? She wanted to kick herself. “I am much honored to make your acquaintance, but I, unfortunately, have a pressing engagement.”

“Mademoiselle, please. When shall I see you again?” he asked, his voice desperate. Clearly he was unaccustomed to being refused information and did not know how to navigate this situation.

“Oh, I should think very soon indeed.”
Unless I don’t make haste
. She could not resist turning to gaze upon him one last time.

“But I don’t even have your name,” he commanded, his voice now edged with angst.

“You will, Your Highness.” She bestowed a parting glance upon him before turning and gliding quickly across the Grand Foyer, smiling to herself. “
You will
.”

Chapter Ten

She is dangerous

She is beautiful

—
Georges Bizet,
Carmen

She had dismissed the crown prince of Spain.
She dismissed me.

Prince Alejandro didn’t know whether to be angered or enamored. He didn’t recall ever being dismissed before except by the king and queen of Spain.

He stared after her in perplexity. He was accustomed to falseness and facades, to superficial adoration and attempts to impress.

An annoying behavior that suddenly had a great deal of appeal.

“What has claimed your attention? You are staring straight ahead at nothing,” asked Esteban, suddenly appearing at his side. “And why are you not surrounded by people—an unprecedented occurrence in a public setting, to be sure. What have you done to offend, my prince?”

“That is the question, certainly,” he mumbled. “Where have you been, Esteban?” The prince sighed heavily. He supposed he should be grateful that, for once, he was not bored.

“Merely admiring the architecture of the building. I trust that I did not miss anything of importance?”

“You did. Something of great significance and entirely unremarkable at the same time.” All feminine eyes were on them as they walked past.

Had he not been royalty, the two of them standing together would have nonetheless attracted notice. Attentions were always accentuated when Esteban was with him. Both were athletic in build, but to this Esteban always added a fashion statement. Every attention had been paid to his formal dress, his thin moustache, and his short, pointed beard. His companion’s wildly disheveled curls were the only exception to his strict adherence to style.

“Were there not sufficient fawning women to amuse you, Alejandro?” Esteban’s chiseled, angular face held a forced amusement.

“That circumstance would have been a tolerable improvement,” Alejandro muttered under his breath. The contrast between his usual effect on women and the mysterious charmer’s reaction to him had left him feeling disgruntled.

He resolved to correct that.

The bell sounded, indicating that the first act would begin shortly. The fashionable clientele began to move past them, stealing interested glances. Alejandro averted his eyes to clearly indicate that he did not wish to be disturbed. He was most certainly already frowning.

Her nature had been brash and genuine. And at the same time openly playful.

She entrances me.

He hoped it was playfulness, at least. Did he imagine the note of antipathy in her manner, which seemed to vacillate, as if she were uncertain as to whether or not she approved of him?

“I am unaccustomed to people not holding me in regard, Esteban,” he blurted out under his breath, surprised that he had been unable to hold his tongue.

“Everyone
likes you, Your Highness. Even the people who don’t like you like you,” Esteban considered, his eyebrows raised indignantly. “And they all adore you.”

“Not all.” What accounted for her disinclination to approve of him? He had not been impolite. If anyone had been rude, it was she.

Why would she hold herself above him?
He was the crown prince of Spain, for God’s sake. She was not higher born than himself. It was debatable whether
anyone
was.

He could not place her—and he knew all European royalty.
Diantre
, they were his cousins. No, he had never seen this woman before—even in his wicked dreams.

But I will now.

“Of whom are we speaking?” asked Esteban.

“It must be a façade—with some ulterior motive.” How could it be that one who had everything to gain from the association and nothing to lose was displeased with the prince of Spain? And even if she found nothing in him to attract her—that was a first in his experience—what was there to repel? She didn’t know him well enough to make that assessment.

“What else could it be, Your Highness? You are perfect in every way.” Esteban stroked the short beard confined to his chin. “I take it we speak of a lady? Please, Alejandro, no more married women. It is vulgar—and selfish—to take that which is not yours when you have so much.”

He noticed people moving toward him, and he turned and began walking to his seat.

As he thought about her now—he could scarcely think about anything else—it seemed to him that she had been…
teasing
…him. Teasing
him
.

“Find out who she is, Pancho,” he commanded tartly without turning to his page, fully expecting him to be awaiting his every command.

“But, Your Highness, she is—”

“I have had enough of your insolence, Pancho. One more such argumentative remark and you will be reassigned to a simple post in the royal country estate, do you understand? I begin to think you are in charge here.”

Pancho’s grunts and pants indicated great distress. Alejandro knew Pancho did not fear his employer. He was the most devoted of servants and was merely mortified at not giving satisfaction.

“There, there, Pancho, we shall make it right.” He forced himself to turn and bestow a smile upon him. It was his own fault that his manservant was too familiar. “But I shall ask the questions, and you shall answer them henceforth, are we agreed?”

“Yes, Your Highness, but may I just say that—”

“And you will tell me who she is by tomorrow morning.”

“Your Highness, I—”

“Understood?” Alejandro frowned. This was getting ridiculous.

Pancho’s lips quivered as if wishing desperately to speak but unable to form the words. His long curled moustache bounced up and down as they walked, as did the blue silk handkerchief in his pocket more befitting of a gentleman, both of which waved at him in unison.

“Not another word, my friend. Tomorrow morning.”

Pancho shook his head violently, turning red, his cheeks wobbling like turkey wattles—as if he were afraid to make a sound and yet thought it his duty to do so. There was a sort of “gobble, gobble” emanating from his tightly closed lips.

He had known Pancho to exhibit self-importance, but he had never before thought him
strange
. Ah well, he was a good and loyal servant.

They proceeded up the Grand Staircase, some twenty-five feet wide, until it separated into two diverging stairwells surrounded everywhere by crystal chandeliers, huge marble columns, torch lighting, and gold-leaf sconces. Reaching Apollo’s lyre, they hastened to their opera box.

Each private box held six to ten people in spacious accommodations and could be decorated according to the patron’s taste. This was a grandiose mistake on a scale with the grandeur of the Palais Garnier to allow le comte de Saint-Cyr free reign in decorating.

To be sure, the Palais Garnier Opera House seated nineteen hundred people and was five stories high. The private opera boxes next to the stage comprised four stories alone. An exquisite three-tier crystal chandelier hung from a domed ceiling painted by the artist Chagall, inspired by nine musical geniuses
: balle
t dancers dressed in yellow pirouetted to scenes from
Giselle
and
Swan Lake
while Stravinsky’s passion was portrayed in shades of red in
Firebird
.

No one but Saint-Cyr would have attempted to compete with these opulent surroundings, but the count met that challenge with the fervor of the peasants who stormed the Bastille. Just as the citizens loved France so much they were willing to destroy Her, so did Saint-Cyr regard the Palais Garnier.