‘A mediaeval wedding,’ she continued.

For a year!

She kicked her toes against a rock, and one corner of her mind registered that it had a very flat base and would make a great foundation stone for the wall she was building.

That was what she felt like doing, she decided. Climbing back into her overalls and heading back to her stone-walling.

‘But I can’t,’ she told herself. ‘Get back to your quarters, woman. Turn yourself into a princess. You have a prince to marry.’


‘It’s magic,’ Heather declared as she bounced into the room an hour later. Penny-Rose’s sister looked stunning in a tiny crimson suit-a minuscule leather skirt and matching jacket. Her entrance destroyed the mediaeval air in an instant.

Heather gave her sister a resounding kiss, and whirled to admire herself in the mirror. ‘Thank you for not insisting on bridesmaids,’ she told her, stroking her leather with sheer joy. ‘I spent all my money on this and I’ll love it for ever. My friends back home will die of envy.’

Penny-Rose managed a smile. ‘It’s great. Where…where are the others?’ Where’s Alastair? she’d meant to say, but she couldn’t.

‘Elizabeth’s flirting with a distant cousin who says he’s a count. A count, for heaven’s sake! I could end up with a dynasty of royal relations! And Alastair and Mike have taken Leo for a walk by the river.’

Penny-Rose took a deep breath. She might have known. Her little brother was almost overwhelmed by all of this. While her sisters thought it was exciting, Mike had been growing quieter and quieter, and to take him for a walk had been pure kindness.

Her Alastair, she thought, was the very nicest prince a girl could ever marry!

She forced her voice to stay casual, but emotion was threatening to overwhelm her. ‘They’ll…they’ll be back on time?’

‘Of course. There’s hours to go.’ Heather plonked herself down on the bed, and bounced. ‘This is the most gorgeous bed!’ She bounced again, and then focussed on her sister’s face. ‘Oh, stop worrying. Alastair doesn’t have to get his hair done. Like you do.’ Then she grinned. ‘That’s what I’m here for. The team are ready. Can I tell them to come up?

‘The team?’

‘Wait till you see what Marguerite has in store for you.’ Heather giggled. ‘You’ll die of shock.’


Penny-Rose didn’t quite die of shock but she came close. Marguerite had decreed what was necessary and into her room came hairdresser, manicurist, beautician, florist…

A fairy godmother would have been much simpler, Penny-Rose thought, dazed. As it was, she was twisted this way and that, pampered and petted, and turned into something she’d never dreamed was possible.

And an hour later, Marguerite, looking stunning herself in a blue silk suit which must have cost a fortune, carried in the dress.

She had tried it on just once. It had been taken away to be altered, and now it appeared again in all its shimmering glory.

The rest of the entourage stood respectfully back, the gown was slipped over her shoulders and there was a collective gasp from the entire room.

The gown was deceptively simple. It was of made of smooth ivory silk, with a scooped neckline, tiny filigree sleeves and a bodice that showed every lovely curve. Beneath the bodice, the gown clung revealingly to her hips. Then, with a rope of rich ivory braid to delineate the skirt, it flared out into fold upon fold, sweeping to the floor at the front and drifting into a lovely rich train behind.

The skirt was so heavy! Alastair’s grandmother hadn’t skimped when she’d had this dress made, and the hidden folds made the gown flare and swirl like magic.

Marguerite darted forward and threaded a tiny delicate diamond tiara on Penny-Rose’s head. Then the florist fixed a trace of lily of the valley into her mass of tumbling curls and the hairdresser tweaked the curls this way and that, wanting just one curl to lie on the soft curve of her breast.

And that was that. Finished.

The effect was ethereal.

‘And I thought my leathers were fabulous,’ Heather breathed, and it broke the ice. There was a general chuckle, the beautician made one final adjustment and Marguerite stepped forward and took Penny-Rose’s hand.

‘Are you ready to meet your husband, my love?’

Penny-Rose met Marguerite’s eyes. They were calm and steady, and they knew exactly what they were asking. And she drew in her breath. Marguerite knew!

‘I…’

‘I think you’re ready,’ Marguerite said softly. ‘Oh, my dear, this is just what I always dreamed of.’

‘Marguerite-’

‘Now, not another word,’ her soon-to-be-mother-in-law told her, and patted her hand. ‘You’ll spoil your make-up.’

‘Or I might crack it,’ she whispered, and managed a smile. But it was nonsense. The beautician had had enough sense to leave her skin flawlessly natural.

‘You’ll knock your husband’s socks off,’ Heather declared, and Penny-Rose’s smile faltered. She turned and took one last, long look in the mirror. The woman who looked back at her was a fairy princess.

She’d been handed every weapon she could possibly need, she thought.

The rest of it was up to her.

Or how strong Alastair’s defences could be.

She’d knock his socks off?

‘That’s my intention,’ she murmured. ‘OK, Alastair de Castaliae. Prince Alastair. Here I come. Ready or not.’


They’d decided on no formal bridal party.

‘If you don’t want bridesmaids, I won’t have groomsmen,’ Alastair had said. ‘It’s just as well. There’s no one close enough to be an obvious best man. Whoever I ask, someone else is bound to be offended.’

And it was ridiculous, given Penny-Rose’s fierce independence, that someone give her away.

So they’d decided that she’d walk up the aisle by herself, she’d have no attendants, and Alastair would carry his own ring.

Her sisters fussed around her as she arrived, but with her train arranged beautifully to sweep down the aisle behind her, they took themselves to the front row to watch her make her way to her bridegroom in solitary splendour.

And all at once, solitary splendour felt very, very lonely.

There must be a thousand people present, she thought dazedly, starting that long solemn walk as a lone trumpeter sounded.

And then she saw Alastair.

He was dressed in a soft grey morning suit-of course-and he looked magnificent. The only touch of colour was a crimson rosebud in his lapel.

A rose… The flower of love… Marguerite had chosen the flowers, and Penny-Rose carried twelve matching buds in her bouquet.

The sight, for some reason, made her feel like weeping. Red roses for her wedding day… It seemed almost a mockery.

But Alastair was watching her, and his eyes were calm and reassuring. A tiny smile creased the corner of his mouth.

Dear God, he was so…so…

So Alastair. There was no other way of describing him, because that was who he was, and she loved him so much that she felt she was close to breaking.

How could she do this? she thought wildly. She was marrying the man under false pretences. Alastair didn’t want a wife who loved him to bits. He didn’t even really want a wife…

Panic was suddenly close to overwhelming her.

And then she saw Michael. Her baby brother.

Alastair’s promise that he’d have no attendants had gone out the window. Michael had Alastair’s ring in his hand, he was wearing a morning suit to match Alastair’s and the look on his face was as if he’d been handed the world.

The sixteen-year-old had flown halfway around the globe to be at his sister’s wedding, but until this moment he’d been thoroughly confused by everything that was going on. Sixteen-year-olds were insecure at the best of times. Unlike Heather and Liz, he’d hated this.

But now he’d been handed a part to play, and what a part! Best man! And in his free hand-the one that wasn’t holding the ring…

For heaven’s sake, Mike was holding a leash. He was holding Leo!

The pup had been brushed to an inch of his life, and he’d never looked so splendid. The scars on his side were almost healed, but they were completely covered by a magnificent crimson doggy coat. He wore a studded collar, his lead was crimson suede and he beamed at the approaching bride and wagged his tail as if this entire ceremony was being put on for his benefit.

Her brother. And her dog…

Alastair had done this-for her!

She couldn’t help it. Panic subsided, and despite the aura of solemnity-despite the state officials and the hundreds of people she’d never seen in her life, despite the grandeur and the fuss-she chuckled.

This would be OK.

She loved this man so much… He’d known how alone this ceremony would make her feel, so he’d done the two things that could ease her fears.

He was some prince!

And surely the only thing to do with a prince like this was to marry him?


And Alastair watched his bride come toward him with a feeling in his chest that was almost as close to panic as hers.

What was he doing? Marrying?

This wasn’t real, he told himself. It was a pretence. It was a mock wedding, made for the best of purposes-to protect his tenants and to provide for their future.

In twelve months he’d let this woman go and he’d marry a sensible woman-a woman who suited his lifestyle.

Belle.

But the thought of Belle was suddenly very far away. What was real was Penny-Rose.

No! She was Rose, he told himself. For some reason it was a distinction it was important to keep. Penny-Rose was for those who loved her. Rose… Rose was to be his formal wife.

So it was Rose who was walking toward him, her eyes wide and her face determined. Despite her determination, her steps were faltering.

She was fearful, he thought. Damn, it hadn’t been fair to drag her into this. Into the goldfish bowl of royalty.