Princess In Denim (24 page)

And the fact that he'd been carrying her engagement ring around with him, waiting for the perfect moment, spoke of the love he hadn't mentioned.

Chloe found her way unerringly through the castle to the great hall and out the main door. Not that she could have gone more than a foot in the wrong direction, with all the ladies-in-waiting and footmen accompanying her. Outside, standing in brilliant sunshine, were thousands of people who cheered her presence. Children waved, women cried, men called out good wishes.

An open carriage awaited her. Its four snow-white horses stood with their ears pricked attentively, the near leader's postilion rider in a scarlet coat and white breeches. Black leather harness shined, as did its silver embellishments. White ribbons streamed from each bridle and from intricately braided manes.

Emma waited beside the carriage. Chloe paused in front of her and smiled tentatively. "I don't have to fire you or something to save face, do I?"

Emma's smile was as warm as her tone, and relieved Chloe immensely. "No, Your Majesty. I'll tell everyone you flogged me in private."

Flogging! She'd forgotten that one when she reviewed everything William might have done to punish her.

"Ride with me?"

"It would be my honor, Your Majesty. You are truly a queen to be proud of."

It took all three French ladies to get Chloe into the carriage with no rips or snags, and as few wrinkles as possible. She was glad she didn't understand a word of their language as they babbled on and on. Chloe took the seat facing forward; Emma rearward.

Chloe noticed that her friend wore no necklace, and she wasn't about to suggest she replace it anytime soon.

"I feel naked without it," Emma said.

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"You were staring at my neck. I never used to wear one. Somehow it became a habit."

"I'm sure you'll get used to going without again."

"Yes, I think it's time. Your instincts are good. And I'll still be on hand."

The carriage rolled forward. Chloe smiled and waved at the crowd as she set out for the small church just the other side of the border between Ennsway and Baesland. A border that, in an hour or so, would no longer exist

"Good, because I have a question."

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Is it right for us not to tell the people?"

"According to the grapevine, they would prefer you didn't. They're getting exactly what they want out of this marriage."

Chloe studied their faces as she passed by them. Smiling, cheering, crying. Unemployed, illiterate, anticipating a better future for their children.

"If you told them, there would be months of turmoil while they decided what to do about it. In the end, they would accept you and get on with progress."

"You're certain?"

"It's a small country, and I have a lot of relatives. I'm sure."

It was difficult to carry on a conversation over all the cheering. Chloe fell into an awed silence until she got a good look at their route. A really good look. "There're carpets on the road." Laid end to end, they stretched out as far as she could see. All colors, all patterns, all sizes.

"It's tradition."

"But—"

"One you should not dispense with."

"But the horses—"

"Were exercised before we left. Smile."

Chloe resumed smiling and waving.

"It's the people's way of taking part of your wedding home with them. Many of these rugs were begun the day you were born. Others were crossed thirty years ago by your mother's wedding carriage. So you see, if they didn't want you, they wouldn't have gone to the trouble."

Stunned by the immense depth of such feelings, such love of their past and trust in their future, it was several moments before Chloe remembered to move her hand.

Every fifteen feet, a different child dipped into a basket and tossed confetti into the air. Small, bright bits of paper landed on the horses' backs and beneath their silent hooves. Others fluttered into the carriage and decorated Chloe's lap, like a king's ransom in jewels scattered over a white sheet.

At the border, twelve trumpeters heralded her arrival into Baesland. Mounted men-at-arms, with polished black boots up to their knees and smiles from ear to ear, greeted her carriage and preceded it the rest of the way. Here, in Baesland, rose petals were tossed. Flagpoles displayed white silk banners, bearing Moira's and William's entwined initials, that fluttered in the breeze. Baskets of flowers cascaded from every lamp post.

"You look like you're enjoying this," Emma pointed out.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Uh...tradition?"

Chloe shrugged. "I never said all tradition was bad."

"Do the words
royal brouhaha
ring a bell?"

"Sometimes it has its place."

"Uh-huh."

Chloe couldn't imagine giving this up, especially not William. Moira was welcome to broken appliances, the wrong checkout line, and vehicles that broke down. She could have an overdrawn checking account, past-due notices, and auto insurance companies that threatened to cancel. Let her deal with mucking out stalls and bartering time on horseback.

The carriage turned onto a side road for a mile, then came to rest in front of a large, impressive church. Rose petals covered the carpet leading along the walk and up the steps to the door. No sooner had the toe of Chloe's shoe touched the ground than a fanfare of trumpets announced her arrival with such magnitude that she was sure all of Europe had just jumped out of their skins.

Louis crooked his elbow for her and smiled. He even looked as though he hadn't gone to talk to William that very morning about his suspicions.

"Shame on you, Louis," she said.

"What?"

"Telling William I'm not your sister."

"Apparently he didn't believe me."

"I could have you punished, you know."

"For making an honest mistake? Now, Moira, you wouldn't be so cruel." He patted her hand, which was resting lightly on his arm, with his scarred one.

"Don't test my patience."

Cameras flashed repeatedly. Foreign news cameras recorded every detail of her appearance and every blink of her eyes. The pipe organ belted out a full, rich tune. Chloe tried to identify it as Bach or Handel, but she'd been miserably poor in music appreciation.

"That's our cue," Louis said. He escorted her up the steps, through the door, to the beginning of the long white runner.

They paused, giving the French ladies time to straighten her gown and long train. The media was all left behind. A footman handed her a cascade of roses, stephanotis, and lilies of the valley.

Sunlight behind the tall stained-glass windows cast brilliant colors on the people waiting inside and the white runner, giving her the impression of walking into a giant jewel box. And she was the center of attention.

William, standing tall and proud and regal, waited for her at the other end. Anna, sans puppy, began the procession, followed by attendants Chloe had never met. Her maid of honor was supposedly a cousin, when she would rather have had Moira. But of course, that was out of the question.

All that really mattered waited for her—William. Her groom. Her husband-to-be.

She could think of nothing else as she drew nearer to him, as she took his strong arm, stood beside him with confidence and repeated her vows. She hesitated over the "obey" part, and glanced up to see his eyes dancing over her predicament.

"Do not worry," he whispered to her. "We both know you will not."

If she hadn't already fallen in love with him, that would have done it She repeated the vows, word for word.

The ceremony passed in a blur, even as Chloe struggled to commit it all to memory. The scent of roses and lilies of the valley should have overpowered William's herbal shampoo, but Chloe knew it so well, she could detect it.

He stood tall and proud beside her, yet she was aware of the thoughtfulness behind his every gaze in her direction. When he took her hand in his, she felt warmth, strength, tenderness. When they turned together to face the people, she knew, as William's queen, what was expected of her.

And she remembered, belatedly, that in a moment of foolishness, she'd also sworn that she would not sleep with him.

Chapter Thirteen

Guests filled the state dining hall at Baesland Castle. Chloe met more people in the span of an hour than she had in her whole life, and she was expected to smile, say something personal to each one, and forget about ever having a moment to herself again.

She didn't mind strolling through a hall the size of Texas on William's arm, or meeting enough aunts, uncles, and cousins to populate the state. She didn't mind sitting next to him at a table so long she couldn't see the people at the other end, because he bumped knees with her repeatedly. Nor did she mind kissing him whenever the crowd, which grew increasing rowdy on champagne, demanded it.

On the contrary, she enjoyed it all immensely. Someday her daughters would celebrate similarly f she could figure out how to sleep with her husband without looking as if she were backing down from all her principles.

The ball began two hours later. Thankfully, Emma had sneaked a few ballroom dancing lessons in with Chloe when she'd finally faced the fact that the wedding was a certainty.

When the music began, William led her onto the dance floor.

"I'm a bit rusty," she whispered. It wouldn't have mattered if she'd majored in dance. Once her hand was in his, his other on her waist, she couldn't be expected to keep her mind on him and where her feet were going at the same time.

"Just follow me," he murmured.

Anywhere.
If only he'd ask.

"Relax, Moira. Let the music take you."

Easier said than done.
But he was superbly graceful, and he swept her away in a waltz as other couples joined them.

"Did I tell you that you are the most beautiful woman here tonight?" he asked.

She felt her cheeks grow hot, and it had nothing to do with the amount of energy she expended trying not to step on his feet.

"It is true," he added. "I have never seen a bride so radiant"

"You've never seen one so embarrassed."

He leaned closer. "I have never seen one so right for me. I want to tell all these people to go home so we may begin the honeymoon."

She glanced around to see if he had been overheard. While his soft tone couldn't have been picked up, his closeness to her ear hadn't escaped notice. Nearby women smiled knowingly. Wistfully.

"You will not turn me down tonight, will you, Moira?"

She stepped on her own foot and staggered.

William simply pulled her closer to him and steadied her, as if he did it every day. "How clumsy of me," he said, loud enough for those around them to hear.

"Forgive me, my darling. If I do it again, you may trade me in next dance." Then, softer: "You did not answer me. Will you turn me down tonight?"

She'd put him off so long, she felt like a virgin.

He cocked his head and studied her. "Why do you look at me that way?"

"I've never met a truer gentleman than you."

"That is not how it looks to me."

"Oh? How does it look?"

He licked his lips. "Like I am an ice cream cone and you want to taste me with your tongue."

She grinned. "Careful. If you make me trip again, I'm honorbound to trade you in. I have witnesses."

"If you continue gazing at me that way, your witnesses will begin leaving without my asking."

Her grin broadened, and she hoped she didn't look like a sappy fool. "Couldn't be soon enough for me."

"Oh? What do you want to do?"

"Well, if you were an ice cream cone, you'd be melting in my hot little hands, and I'd have to lick you all over."

He stumbled.

At two o'clock in the morning, Chloe still hadn't grown tired of playing cat-and-mouse games with William on the dance floor. Their banter was no more than a prelude to what was to come after. She knew that. From the heated look in his eyes, he knew it, too. And at 2:00 a.m., he was done playing.

"It is growing late," he said.

"I could dance all night."

"We already have."

Knowing she was safely in the midst of hundreds of people, she'd grown bold. "You're tired?"

He laughed. "I have never been less tired, my love. Come. We shall bid our guests good-night."

When they actually began to thread their way, arm in arm, across the ballroom and toward the door, Chloe kept up a brave front, though her courage was failing. What if he'd been teasing her? Acting as a bridegroom should act in public, but remembering what she'd said about not sleeping with him? What if he abandoned her at the door of her own apartment?

Truthfully, she didn't remember ever feeling quite like this—not even before her first sexual experience. And, pretty sure that Moira had saved herself all these years out of some sense of royal obligation, Chloe wondered just what William thought he was getting.

One thing they didn't have to discuss—it was a safe bet they weren't going to be practicing birth control. What king didn't want heirs?