The Trouble With Princesses (30 page)

While preparations were being made for the wedding—including numerous fittings for the bridal gown and small trousseau that were being painstakingly sewn by a virtual army of seamstresses—she found herself being swept along on a seemingly unstoppable current.

As each day passed, she came no closer to reaching a satisfactory resolution, no nearer to convincing Rupert—or even Emma or Nick—that the wedding should not take place.

Emma was living in some romantic fantasy, certain that her brother loved Ariadne and that Ariadne was just too stubborn to see the truth. But she knew Emma was wrong. Rupert might want her—of that she had no doubt—but love?

She knew what he thought of love—romantic love anyway. He had no time for such nonsense, as she’d heard him call it on any number of occasions over the years. In fact, she’d once accused him of having no heart, sure that his sole guiding principle was a dedication to honor and duty, with no room for emotions. It was his unswerving sense of honor on which he was acting now—that and a raging case of lust.

He came to her bedroom each night and despite her pleas that they exercise some caution, he took her with a fierce possession that she seemed utterly helpless to deny. In a strange way, it was almost as if he wanted to get her with child. But that made no sense, since she knew he assumed he’d already won the wedding battle.

And to be truthful, there wouldn’t have been a battle at all if he had even once said those three little words. A single
I love you
from him and she would have given in.

Having finally admitted her own feelings, she found herself strangely unable to fight him toe to toe the way she had in the past.

Part of her desperately wanted to be his wife.

But part of her was horribly afraid.

There had to be more to a marriage than passion, even the all-consuming kind she and Rupert now shared. Flames like those burned fiery hot, but eventually such needs found a way of cooling. Without love as a foundation between them, what would possibly remain?

She couldn’t bear the idea of someday waking to find herself in a one-sided marriage where she was the person with the broken heart. She couldn’t bear to repeat the mistakes of her parents, with their endless fights and infidelities and bitter recriminations. They had married for duty and she didn’t want that kind of life. She’d gone out of her way to avoid it.

Yet she did love him—too much, she sometimes thought.

But maybe, some tiny corner of her mind whispered, she might still have some chance of making him love her back. Not if she drove him away, though. Not if she fled and refused to go through with the wedding.

And so she drifted, caught in the grip of the most terrible indecision of her life, each day speeding by faster than the last.

She wakened with only three days remaining and stretched against the sheets, her muscles pleasurably sore from the heated lovemaking they’d shared the night before.

God, the things that man can do.
He might be a prince, but his true calling clearly lay in the bedroom arts.

Padding to her bathing chamber, she washed, then let her maid help her dress for the day.

Nick, Emma, and Rupert were at breakfast when she walked in, Rupert looking splendid in a coat of mallard green that set off both his golden hair and the vibrant color of his eyes.

He smiled at her and said good morning. She answered the same, with greetings to Emma and Nick as well, then went to the buffet.

She had just taken her usual seat at the table when Symms appeared at the door, a silver salver in hand.

“Excuse me, Your Royal Highness,” the butler said, approaching Rupert. “This message just arrived for you. I am told it is of an urgent nature.”

“Thank you, Symms.” Taking the missive, which bore Rosewald’s royal seal, Rupert broke the wax and opened the letter.

They all watched as he read, his mouth settling into a grim line.

“What is it?” she asked, her breakfast forgotten.

“Yes, Rupert,” Emma said, her eyes wide with concern. “What has occurred?”

He looked at Ariadne for a moment, then at his sister. “Papa’s health has taken a grave turn. His physicians say he is dying and ask that I return home at once.”

“Oh!” Emma’s lip trembled, her eyes filling with sudden tears. “Dying? But in his last letter, he said he was feeling so much better. Perhaps they are mistaken.”

Nick reached across the table and took his wife’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I hope that too,” Rupert said, “but from this report, it does not look good.”

“You must go without delay, of course,” Nick said, his voice ringing with the calm authority of his former naval command. “We’ll all follow you as soon as the necessary arrangements can be made to travel with the boys. I know Emma will want to see her father before he passes. We will make all due haste.”

Emma nodded, looking distraught. “Yes, yes.” She paused, her gaze going to Ariadne. “But what about the wedding? You were to be married in a couple of days.”

“Obviously the wedding must be postponed,” Ariadne said. “Rupert and I can be married once you know more about your father’s condition.”

Rupert turned his gaze on her. “I have the license. We could call for the minister to come to the house. I shouldn’t think it would take above an hour or two.”

“An hour or two could make the difference between seeing your father one last time and never seeing him again.”

His forehead creased, hesitating.

“I lost my family,” she said softly. “I know what it is not to have a chance to say good-bye. Go, Rupert. If you leave now, you may be able to make the coast and set sail by nightfall. I shall accompany Emma and Nick and the boys as soon as may be. We will all see you soon in Rosewald. Your nation and your father need you.”

He gave her a hard look and for a moment she thought he was going to argue. Then he nodded. “Yes, you are right. I should not delay.” Pushing back his chair, he stood and went to ring the bell.

Symms, who had discreetly retreated from the room while they discussed the letter, slipped quietly back in.

Rupert turned to him. “Send word to have my coach readied and inform my valet to have a change of clothes packed. I will leave as soon as possible.”

“Of course, Your Royal Highness. Everything shall be made ready.”

“We will be leaving too, Symms,” Nick told the man. “Her Highness’s father is gravely ill and we shall be closing up the house and traveling to Rosewald. Please advise the staff.”

“I’ll go to the nursery and begin making preparations for the boys.” Emma wiped the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. “Oh, I just remembered. We are promised at the Hoopers’ and the Monmouths’ later this week. I shall have to write and make our excuses.”

“I’ll do that,” Ariadne offered helpfully. “Once I’m done with the notes, I’ll see to the packing.”

“Thank you, Arie. You’re a dear.” Emma sent her a tremulous smile.

“And I’ll take care of our travel arrangements and see to anything else that needs doing.” Nick went to his wife and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, then looked back at his brother-in-law. “Rupert, good journey. We shall see you again soon.”

“Yes, soon.”

With his arm still around her shoulders, Nick and Emma walked from the room.

Ariadne gazed at Rupert. “You had better go.”

“I should, yes.”

“We’ll be no more than a day or two behind.”

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry about your father, Rupert.”

He nodded. “I know that too.”

Striding forward, he pulled her into his arms and fit his mouth over hers for a hard, swift kiss that made her heart pound like a wild thing.

As abruptly as it had begun, it ended, and he let her go. An ache of longing spread through her body, pain at his departure even though she knew she would see him again soon.

Foolish. Just like my love.

“Godspeed,” she told him.

“Farewell.”

Then he was gone.

•   •   •

They left Lyndhurst House the following morning, a train of three coaches loaded with Nick, Emma, Ariadne, and the children, along with nursemaids, maids, Nick’s valet, footmen, and a virtual mountain of baggage.

Deciding that a largely overland journey would be too arduous for Emma and the boys, Nick had arranged for them to complete as much of the trip as possible by sea. He owned a well-appointed two-masted schooner that he had docked in Southampton. As a former naval captain, he knew all the routes and how to make the best time. He also had a crew who had been more than willing to make the trip on such short notice, including Goldfinch, a lively fellow who had once served as his bosun’s mate.

Nick charted a course that would take them around the coast of Spain, through the Strait of Gibraltar, and across to Italy. From there, they would switch to coaches again and go overland through the mountains, then on north to Rosewald. He figured with the warm summer weather in their favor, and a good chance of steady winds, that the trip shouldn’t take them much longer than proceeding the entire way by land.

Nick was in his element the instant they stepped aboard ship, a wide smile creasing his face as he gave orders that got them swiftly under way.

Once Ariadne and Emma got their “sea legs” under them, as Nick called it, they spent much of their time on deck, protected from the sun by large parasols, the moist, salt-scented wind tugging playfully at their hair.

Baby Peter and young Friedrich settled in immediately, taking to life aboard ship with an ease that caused Nick to remark that his sons were born sailors. “After all,” he said, “they have the sea in their blood, on their father’s side, at least.”

The crew doted on the boys, and Ariadne and Emma had to smile indulgently when Nick took Friedrich up to the command deck and let the boy “steer” the ship—to both father’s and son’s immense delight.

But the specter of Emma’s father and his failing health cast a bleak shadow over what would otherwise have been a grand journey. She and Nick did their best to cheer Emma, but signs of worry and sadness lay heavy in her friend’s eyes. Unspoken was the question of whether he still lived and whether they would make it to Rosewald in time for Emma to say her good-byes.

And always in the back of Ariadne’s thoughts was Rupert. Where was he? How was his own journey proceeding? Had he reached his home yet?

She didn’t sleep well at night, telling herself it was due to the sway of the ship and the unfamiliar bed. But often she woke, stretching out a hand in search of Rupert before she realized she was alone.

Odd how quickly she had gotten used to having him next to her at night.

Unsettling how keenly she missed him, as if he had taken part of her heart with him when he’d gone away.

The voyage went as planned, and then it was back to the road, all of them bundled again inside several sturdy yet comfortable coaches.

Finally, after more than two weeks’ travel, they arrived.

For years Ariadne had heard tales of Rosewald, but even those descriptions had not prepared her for the beauty of the place.

Heavily forested mountains lay nestled beside lush green valleys and large fields of land planted with thriving crops. There were winding streams and deep, cold rivers, small, prosperous towns and bucolic villages. The villagers and townsfolk waved and smiled as their entourage drove past, children running alongside trying to catch a better glimpse of Archduchess Emmaline and her family. They welcomed Ariadne too, calling out happy greetings despite the fact that she was unknown to them.

Ariadne had grown up in a royal palace, but even she caught her breath at her first sight of Neuewaldstein Castle, the principal seat of the Whyte family for more than four hundred years.

The grand edifice was carved from a gleaming white stone that put her in mind of something from a faerie story. Corner towers with pointed turrets soared upward as if to touch the pristine blue sky above, while the massive structure itself stretched outward, majestic and imposing where it nestled inside its mountain stronghold. Capturing such a fortress would be next to impossible, but holding it for centuries as the Whytes had done served as a visible testament to their power and resilience.

She could see why Rupert spoke of his home with such pleasure and pride, understood his devotion to duty and how he would do anything to preserve and protect his heritage—not only for himself but for the generations yet to come.

The interior was even more opulent, she discovered, as their party arrived and alighted from the coaches to step over the threshold into the palace.

The floors were made of polished black-and-white marble, the walls paneled in beautiful watered silks, the moldings ornately carved and leafed in gold. The majestic ceilings were a masterpiece in and of themselves, each exquisitely wrought work depicting scenes of ancient myths or angels from on high. And everywhere there were glorious objets d’art—paintings, sculptures, urns, and armaments. There were even several suits of armor, no doubt worn into battle by Emma and Rupert’s royal ancestors.

But there was no time to afford any of these splendors more than a cursory glance before they were led down one wide corridor after another to the family wing of the palace.

They didn’t even stop to change out of their traveling clothes but went directly to see the ailing king. Knowing that the bedside of a dying man was no place for young children, Emma allowed the boys’ nurse to take them off to the nursery, where they would be able to nap and have a meal.

Rupert came out to greet them. He did not smile, though the color of his midnight blue eyes did seem to intensify when he met her gaze.

Then he glanced away.

To most observers, she was sure, he looked as he always did—powerfully handsome, confident, and in command, as if he could take the weight of the world on his shoulders and not strain to carry it. But to her he looked tired and somber, already in a state of grief. She wanted to run to him and wrap him in her arms, kiss him and murmur words of comfort.

But she held her place and kept silent instead.