Marion Lennox - A Royal Proposition

And he limped back to the kitchens, leaving them staring after him in astonishment.

‘He thinks it’s real,’ Alastair said, and Penny-Rose concentrated on her lamington.

‘Then I guess we’ve succeeded.’ It took an effort, but she didn’t look at him. ‘Have a lamington. They’re delicious.’

He took a bite of a chocolate-and-coconut-covered square, but his mind wasn’t on his lamington.

‘What have you been telling them?’

Her eyes widened at that. ‘Me? What do you mean?’

‘This is a marriage of convenience,’ he said heavily. ‘I thought it was obvious, but the staff don’t believe it.’

‘Maybe they don’t want to believe it,’ she said gently. ‘The staff have had a rough time, with the old prince’s failing health and then Louis. Maybe they’re looking for stability.’

‘That doesn’t depend on a stable marriage.’

‘Of course not.’ She lifted another lamington and took a bite, then surveyed it with care. ‘I guess Henry the Eighth had quite a stable household.’

‘Henry the Eighth?’

‘The one with six wives,’ she told him.

‘Hey!’ That was a bit much. ‘I only want two.’

‘Very moderate, I call it,’ she agreed equitably. ‘And there’s been no suggestion at all of anyone getting their heads chopped off.’ She chuckled across the table at him, and it was all he could do not to drop his lamington.

Hell! Things were getting seriously out of hand.

‘Rose…’

‘These lamingtons are great,’ she enthused. ‘Maybe we should honeymoon in Australia so we can eat more. I could introduce you to pavlovas and Vegemite sandwiches and pie floaters…’

‘Pie floaters?’

‘Pies in pea soup,’ she explained, and he shuddered.

‘If you don’t mind, I’ll stick to our cuisine. But that reminds me. Our honeymoon…’

‘Sorry?’

‘The press are expecting us to honeymoon.’

‘They can expect all they like. I haven’t finished my wall.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake…’ His pent-up emotions over-flowed and he thumped the table. ‘Rose, will you take this seriously?’

‘You don’t want me to take it seriously.’

‘I…’

‘It’s a mock marriage,’ she told him. She rose and gave him a mock curtsey. ‘Pardon me, Your Serene Highness, but there’s nothing serious about our marriage at all. So I’m not going on a honeymoon anywhere. Sorry, Alastair, but I’m going up to say goodnight to your mother.’ Then she flashed her infectious grin at him. ‘Stop worrying. Go and design a mansion for someone and stop thinking of weddings. You’re getting paranoid.’

And before he could stop her, she’d come around the table and kissed him, very lightly, on the top of his head. It was a teasing kiss-perfunctory and light-hearted.

There was no reason at all for him to put a hand to his forehead.

And for him to leave his hand there for a good three minutes after she’d left the room.

‘I HAVE a surprise for you,’ Marguerite told her.

It was four days before the wedding. The castle was a hive of activity, and with the invasion of so many strangers, Penny-Rose had grudgingly conceded to stop her walling.

She was feeling like a pampered but caged pet, but at least time with Marguerite was productive. The effects of her influenza were dragging on. Marguerite was wan and listless, she spent most of her day in bed and she had everyone worried.

But she was still scheming.

‘I’ve had the most wonderful plan,’ she told Penny-Rose. ‘For your honeymoon.’

‘We’re not having a honeymoon.’ Penny-Rose glanced up as Alastair entered the room. ‘Tell her, Alastair. We don’t want a honeymoon. Just a well mother-in-law.’

‘That’s all we want.’ Alastair crossed the room and gave his mother a kiss. ‘Dr Barnard was here earlier. What did he say?’

‘Just more rest.’ His mother sighed her exasperation. ‘You can’t expect anything else at my age.’

‘That makes you sound as if you’re ninety instead of only just seventy,’ Penny-Rose retorted. She grinned. ‘Madame Beric says all you need is a good tonic. She makes poor M’sieur Beric drink some foul potion full of aniseed and all sorts of horrible herbs and spices that she swears will cure anything from warts to ingrown toenails. Do you want me to get you some?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Marguerite said faintly.

‘Are you missing Paris?’ Alastair demanded, sitting down on her bed. His mother had a lovely apartment near the Seine. She’d dropped everything to come here when Louis had died and she hadn’t been home since. ‘You’ve been doing so much-’

‘I’ve hardly done anything,’ his mother cut in.

‘You have. Without your organisation this household would be a mess. But you must miss your friends.’

‘I’ll go back to Paris after I see you safely married,’ she told him, and Penny-Rose gave her a strange look.

‘Don’t you want to go back to Paris?’ she asked, feeling her way. ‘Is that the problem?’

‘I do…’

‘You don’t like it here?’

‘I love it here,’ Marguerite confessed.

Leo, bored with sitting on the settee with his owner, jumped down and nosed over to the bed. He leapt onto the covers and curled into the crook of Marguerite’s arm.

‘Maybe we could buy you a pup to keep you company,’ Penny-Rose suggested, and Marguerite’s face stilled.

‘I don’t need a dog.’

‘Do you have many friends in Paris?’

Alastair frowned. Was this any of Rose’s business?

But Marguerite was sighing, preparing to open up to Penny-Rose as she never talked to him.

‘I only moved to Paris after my husband died. But I have…I have a beautiful apartment. Belle decorated it for me.’

Oh, great. She could imagine. A big, elegant apartment, modern and chic and sterile as hell. ‘But not company?’

‘I don’t know many people yet…’

‘Then move back here,’ Penny-Rose said cheerfully. ‘Decide to stay here permanently.’ She cast a quick glance at Alastair and saw she had his approval. ‘Leo and I need company. It’d be great.’

‘That’d be lovely dear, but…’

‘But?’

Marguerite looked at her son, and then looked away. ‘It’d be worse,’ she said softly. ‘I’d stay for twelve months and then you’d leave and Belle would come. And Belle and I don’t…don’t get along.’

‘Belle likes you,’ Alastair protested, but Marguerite shook her head.

‘Belle’s a woman who can’t share. Whereas Penny-Rose…’ She smiled fondly at her future daughter-in-law. ‘Penny-Rose even shares her dog.’

‘Certainly, if it means I can get a night’s sleep without someone scratching his hindquarters in my face.’ Penny-Rose grinned. ‘So, yep, I’m extraordinarily generous, and willing to be more so. Stay with us.’

‘No.’ Marguerite shook her head. ‘As soon as the wedding’s over, I’ll return to Paris.’

‘If you’re better,’ Alastair growled, and she nodded.

‘I’ll be better. For your wedding I must be.’ Her scheming look reappeared. ‘But speaking of weddings, I was telling Penny-Rose when you came in. I have a surprise.’

‘I don’t trust your surprises,’ Alastair said cautiously, and his mother flashed him her most innocent of looks.

‘That’s a dreadful thing to say. As if I’d do anything you mightn’t like.’

His look of foreboding deepened. ‘What have you done?’

‘It’s my wedding present to you both. I’ve booked you a honeymoon.’

‘A honeymoon…’ Alastair took a deep breath and looked sideways at Rose. ‘We’re not going on a honeymoon.’

‘Of course you are,’ his mother said, turning businesslike. ‘Everyone needs a honeymoon, and you’re looking grey with exhaustion. Isn’t he, Penny-Rose?’

Penny-Rose could only agree. ‘Yes, but-’

‘There you are.’ Marguerite beamed. ‘She agrees. And I’ll bet Penny-Rose has never been on a decent holiday in her life. Have you, dear?’

‘No, but-’

‘You’re not refusing to take your wife on a holiday?’ Marguerite demanded of her son. ‘Especially as it’s already booked.’ She shifted Leo to retrieve a handful of pamphlets which had been lying on the coverlet. ‘These came with this morning’s post. Don’t they look wonderful?’

Penny-Rose looked at what she was holding up-and was caught.

‘Koneata Lau…’

‘It’s the most beautiful resort in the world,’ Marguerite told her. ‘It’s part of Fiji, but it’s a tiny cluster of separate islands, and you book your own island. This is the one I’ve booked for you.’

She opened a pamphlet to poster size, and a vision of sparkling seas, palm trees, golden beaches and tiny thatched cottages caught Penny-Rose’s imagination like nothing else could have.

A beach…

‘I’ve never been to the beach,’ Penny-Rose whispered before she could stop herself. ‘Not properly. Not to swim. Not to stay.’

‘You’ve never been to the beach?’ asked Marguerite in surprise.

‘None of us has,’ she confessed. ‘We lived a hundred miles inland and there was never money or time for holidays.’ She took a deep breath and pushed the thought away.

‘But no. Marguerite, it looks gorgeous, and thank you, but no. Honeymoons aren’t for crazy marriages like ours.’

She flashed an uncertain glance at Alastair. A honeymoon would be pushing him too far and too fast, she thought. She had every intention of trying to make this marriage work, but this was a bit much.

‘Besides, there’s Leo,’ she added, as if that clinched it. ‘I couldn’t leave him.’

But Marguerite had an answer for that. ‘Henri and I will look after Leo as if he’s our own,’ she said, scratching a floppy and adoring ear. ‘The staff are besotted by this dog of yours.’ They were, too. In the weeks since his arrival, Leo had crept around the collective castle hearts like a hairy worm.

But that wasn’t the issue here. The honeymoon was.

Beaches… Palm trees… A honeymoon with Alastair… It was a fantasy. Nothing more. But it was some fantasy.