The Prince’s Bride (18 page)

She had come here wanting just that, to be ravished by her future husband who had
been her hero tonight, but the harsh tone of his voice and the anger in his eyes forced
her to take a step back, away from him. “You haven’t forgiven me,” she said.

His chest heaved while he seemed to weigh his emotions. “Perhaps I should be grateful
to you for lifting the veil on my true heritage, but I believe, in the process, you
have snapped me in two. I now feel like a broken bone that must be wrenched back into
place, and I need something to bite on to keep from screaming my lungs out.”

He was referring to his parentage. Before now he had revealed very little angst about
that revelation. He seemed almost indifferent to it, but clearly it had affected him
more than he let on.

“It will take some time to adjust to everything,” she said, “and understand who you
really are.”

“Yes,” he replied, though he said it through clenched teeth.

She decided it would be best to respect his wishes and leave. She started for the
door. “I won’t come to you again until we are married,” she told him, “for I do not
wish to cause any further … havoc.”

She wrapped her hand around the doorknob and opened it a crack, only to be startled
by his sudden rush to push it closed.

He had done this when he proposed, and she reveled in the familiar sensation of his
tall, hard body brushing up against the back of hers, preventing her from leaving
his bedchamber.

She felt his breath on her neck. “Thank you,” he whispered.

For what? For leaving? For promising not to return any time soon?

Or for disagreeing with your father’s cruel words?

She closed her eyes and knew in that moment that this man needed her, that no one
else in the world could understand what he’d been through, or give him what she could.

He stepped back and she felt the cool air on her shoulder blades as he withdrew. Then
she pulled the door open and returned to her own bedchamber.

Chapter Seventeen

The following day dawned with an idyllic pink sunrise over the mist-shrouded forest
to the east, and sparkling drops of dew that gleamed on the southern meadows. By noon,
the sun had risen high in the sky and a steady breeze was blowing over the treetops.

“It is so good of you to pay a call to our neighbors,” Gabrielle said as they sat
together in the coach, traveling through the thick forest and crossing the border
onto Richelieu land. “They will be thrilled to meet you. Don’t you agree, Véronique?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile. “I am sure they will be very pleased to meet Nicholas.”
For they were shameless social climbers, and he was a shiny royal prince.

It galled her to think that Lord Richelieu and his wife deserved such a boon when
they had treated Gabrielle so deplorably all these years. She had never been good
enough for their beloved eldest son.

Véronique would not bother with any of this if it were not for Robert, who was nothing
like his father. He was friendly and forthcoming, and he paid calls often when he
was out riding, simply to ask after her parents, or to help her father with estate
errands and chores. He had even chopped wood once, for the mere pleasure of it.

He loved Gabrielle. Véronique was certain of it. Unfortunately, recent events had
sparked some doubt in her, for what if he had never intended to marry Gabby, but wanted
only to sow his youthful wild oats until it was time to choose a “real” wife?

They had just emerged from the forest and begun the short drive up the steep hill
to Richelieu House when Gabby peered out the window and called, “Stop! I see Robert!
Look, there! He is riding this way!”

Véronique leaned to see Robert trotting up alongside the moving vehicle. She lowered
the window glass to say hello, while Gabby thrust her head out.

“Robert! We were just on our way to see you and pay a call to your parents. Are they
at home?”

He smiled brightly in the afternoon sunshine and thumbed the brim of his hat. “Good
afternoon, ladies. It is wonderful to see you. I thought you would never return.”
His eyes were trained on Gabrielle’s, and his cheeks were flushed from a vigorous
noonday ride. “Yes, my parents are at home,” he added. “Perhaps, Gabrielle, you would
do me the honor of walking the rest of the way with me? It is such a glorious afternoon.”

“I would be delighted.” She turned to Nicholas, who had remained in the shadows during
the exchange. “Can we stop, please?”

Without a word, he thumped his walking stick on the roof and signaled the coachman
to pull to a halt.

The pair of horses shook in the harness as Gabrielle flung the door open and spilled
out of the vehicle while Robert dismounted. She dashed into his arms, nearly knocking
him over. “I missed you,” she said.

“I missed you, too,” he replied. “I have been positively useless here without you.”

The young lovers had no eyes for anyone but each other, so Nicholas pulled the door
closed and tapped his stick again on the roof of the coach.

They lurched forward and Véronique watched her sister from the window, then sat back,
feeling more at ease now, after seeing that Robert’s affections still burned as ardently
as ever.

“He seemed pleased to see Gabrielle,” she said.

Nicholas nodded. “Yes, but being pleased to see an affectionate young lady on a sunny
afternoon in the country is not the same thing as making her an offer of marriage.
Is he an honorable man? Is he worthy of her?”

“Honorable and worthy, yes,” she replied. “But he is in a difficult predicament. He
does not wish to disappoint his father.”

Nicholas lounged back in the seat and gazed out the window. “Perhaps we can do something
to make his predicament a little less difficult.”

“There …
do you see
?” she said. “You are a good man, Nicholas. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a blind
fool.”

For a long time he did not respond or turn his gaze in her direction, and she wondered
if he was even listening. Then his hand slid across the seat and clasped hers. “That
is very kind of you to say, but be careful with your expectations,” he said. “Or you
might end up getting hurt.”

The warning was more than a little disconcerting, but Véronique could say no more
about it as they reached the house and a footman hurried down the steps to open the
door for them.

*   *   *

Véronique should not have been surprised when she and Nicholas were immediately shown
upstairs to the Richelieu drawing room, where their host and hostess greeted them
with welcoming smiles and flourishing bows and curtsies—directed at Nicholas, of course.

She stood beside him in the spacious lime green and gilt room, looking up at the sparkling
crystal chandelier overhead, and feeling rather blinded by the multitude of floral
upholstery fabrics and window coverings, and the thick patterned carpets on the floor—all
so very fashionable.

She had not set foot in this room since she was a young girl, and the Richelieus had
not yet discovered the threat that her younger sister would later present when she
claimed their eldest son’s heart. Véronique honestly did not believe they had even
contemplated the possibility that the two country girls from the bordering property
would ever amount to anything other than scanty marriages to clerks or cabinet makers.

Now here she stood on the arm of a prince, while her younger sister was outside walking
with their son—and carrying their first grandchild.

“What a pleasure to see you again, Mademoiselle Montagne,” Lady Richelieu said as
she stepped closer with hands outstretched, and kissed Véronique on both cheeks as
if they were the closest, dearest of friends. “Please sit down. Allow me to pour you
a cup of tea.”

Nicholas escorted her around the back of the sofa, where they sat beside each other,
facing the viscount and viscountess.

“What brings you to Richelieu House on this fine day, Your Highness?” Richelieu asked
as he sat back and crossed one short pudgy booted leg over the other. “I heard you
were in Paris with Wellington and Castlereagh, dealing with the aftermath of Waterloo.”

Richelieu squinted suspiciously at Véronique, as if he could smell some sort of impossible
plot. If he only knew the half of it.

“Yes, I was taking part in the discussions,” Nicholas replied. “I presume you heard
that Napoléon has surrendered to the British.”

“Yes. What good news,” he said.

“It will certainly narrow down the squabbling,” Nicholas added, “though there are
still many issues to be settled now that the king is back on the throne.”

“Indeed. Will you be in France for a while, then?”

Nicholas reached for Véronique’s hand. “As it happens, we shall be returning to Petersbourg
very soon, for I wish to present Mademoiselle Montagne to my brother, the king, and
eventually show her off to the people.”

He turned his gaze toward her and smiled with charming appeal, as if they were alone
together and he was out to flatter and seduce. She found herself smiling in return,
briefly forgetting that the viscount and his wife were seated not far in facing chairs,
watching them with painful curiosity.

Nicholas turned his smile in their direction and said cheerfully, “We are to be married,
you see.”

Véronique’s neighbors stared in stunned silence for one of the most satisfying moments
of Véronique’s life. Then they quickly reacted.

The viscountess covered her cheeks with her hands. “How wonderful! We could not be
happier for you both!”

Lord Richelieu cleared his throat and stood to pump Nicholas’s hand and pat him on
the shoulder. “Well done, sir! Now, you must tell us, how did you two meet?”

“At a masked ball in Paris,” Nicholas replied. “She quite literally stole me away
from my duties as ambassador to my country and completely captured my heart.”

Their hosts laughed at the analogy while Véronique’s own heart swelled with happiness.

At that precise moment, Robert burst into the room, holding Gabrielle’s hand, almost
dragging her behind him while she appeared quite thrilled to be making such a dramatic
entrance.

“Father, I must speak with you,” Robert firmly said, “and it cannot wait.”

The viscount gave his son a stern look and turned to Nicholas. “Please pardon the
intrusion, Your Highness. Allow me to present my son, Lord Robert. I presume you are
already acquainted with Mademoiselle Gabrielle.”

Nicholas inclined his head at Robert, who bowed properly. “I, too, apologize for the
intrusion,” Robert said, seeming suddenly shaken by his introduction to a prince.
“But I have an important announcement to make.”

“By all means,” Nicholas said with a welcoming gesture, as if this were his home,
not the viscount’s.

Robert cleared his throat and lifted his chin. “I have just asked Gabrielle Montagne
to become my wife, and she has done me the great honor of accepting. We do not wish
to endure a long engagement, because we are very much in love, and have waited long
enough. We have therefore decided upon a quiet ceremony here at Richelieu House to
take place in three weeks. Are you happy for us, Father?” he asked with challenge
in his eyes.

Véronique was quite certain that if Richelieu said no, Robert would have drawn a pistol.

A muscle clenched at the viscount’s jaw. No doubt he was unaccustomed to hearing his
son dictate terms concerning his own future. Nevertheless, the game had changed since
Nicholas’s announcement, and so, naturally, would the viscount’s response.

“Why, of course I am delighted to hear this happy news! I presume you are aware that
your fiancée’s sister, Véronique, is pledged to marry Prince Nicholas?”

Robert blinked a few times, as if confused. “No, I was not aware.… Good heavens, did
I intrude upon your announcement? If so, I do apologize, sir. How uncouth of me.”

Nicholas smiled and circled around the sofa to shake Robert’s hand. “No apologies
are necessary. Congratulations to you. You are a very lucky man. I wish you every
happiness.”

Robert’s eyes widened in astonishment, as if he’d realized only then that he was shaking
the hand of a prince, who would soon be his brother-in-law.

Nicholas turned to the viscount. “I had intended to present Gabrielle at court in
Petersbourg. I do hope you will send your son to escort her there after they are married.
The king will be most pleased to meet them both.”

“Oh, yes!” the viscountess replied, rushing forward to embrace Robert. “We are so
proud of you, dearest!” She turned to Gabrielle. “And oh, you are the most darling
and beautiful creature. We could not be happier. I hope you will think of me as a
second mother. In that regard, I should like to invite Mrs. Montagne for dinner soon.
We can discuss wedding plans and flowers and … I shall also introduce you to my modiste.
She comes all the way from Paris to bring the most delectable fabrics and show me
the latest fashion designs. What fun we shall have. Oh, my word, but you are such
a pretty young thing!”

Véronique wasn’t sure if she wanted to jump for joy or expel her lunch onto the Richelieus’
expensive Persian carpets—for the viscountess had never been anything but condescending
and rude to both her and Gabrielle since they outgrew their little-girl dresses and
blossomed into handsome young women.

Véronique decided, however, that it would be best
not
to expel her lunch presently, for this was what Gabrielle wanted, and Robert was
well worth every moment of agonizing hypocrisy from his social-climbing parents.

For the next half hour they sipped tea and talked mostly about Petersbourg, until
it was time to take their leave.

Their hosts walked them to the coach and showered them with French cheek kisses and
a string of open invitations for future visits.

When the door of the coach was finally closed and they began the short drive home,
Gabrielle buried her face in her hands and began to weep. “I am so happy,” she cried,
“and so very proud of Robert for standing up to his father.”