Crown Prince's Chosen Bride (15 page)

‘First, you are invited to dinner tonight, to meet my parents and my sister. Second, you will stay in one of the castle's guest apartments.'

Again there was that imperious tone.

‘By myself?'

Her alarm must have shown on her face.

‘Don't worry, it is not far from mine.'

‘Your apartment?'

‘We each have our independent quarters. I am still in the apartment I was given when I turned eighteen. The crown prince's much grander apartment will be mine when its refurbishment is complete. I wanted my new home to be completely different. I could not live there with sad memories of when the rooms were Carl's.'

‘Of course...' Her words trailed away.

She shouldn't be surprised that she and Tristan wouldn't be allowed to share a room. Another pinprick pierced that lovely bubble. She hadn't anticipated being left on her own. And she very much feared she would be totally out of her depth.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T
RISTAN
WANTED
TO
have Gemma to himself for a little longer before he had to introduce her to his family. He also wanted to warn his parents and his sister not to say anything about the work he'd done on what he had privately termed ‘Project Water Nymph' in the months since he'd been parted from Gemma.

He sensed in her a reticence he had not expected—he'd been surprised when she'd reminded him she'd only known him for a week. There was no such reticence on his part—he had no doubt that he wanted her in his life. But instinct now told him she might feel pressured if she knew of the efforts he'd gone to in order to instigate change.

Not that he regretted the time he'd spent on the project—it had all been to the good in more ways than one. But news of her noble connections had removed some of that pressure. So long as no one inadvertently said something to her. He wanted her to have more time here before he told her what he'd been doing while she'd been tracking down her English connections.

‘Let me show you my favourite part of the castle before I take you to your rooms,' he said. ‘It is very old and very simple—not like the rooms where we spend most of our time. I find it peaceful. It is where I go to think.'

‘I'd love that,' she said, with what seemed like genuine interest.

‘This part of the castle is open to the public in the summer, but not until next month,' he said. ‘We will have it to ourselves today.'

He thought she would appreciate the most ancient part of the castle, and he was not disappointed. She exclaimed her amazement at all his favourite places as he led her along the external pathways and stone corridors that hugged the walls of the castle, high above the town.

‘This is the remains of the most heavily barricaded fortress,' he explained. ‘See the slits in the walls through which arrows were fired? Those arched lookouts came much later.'

Gemma leaned her elbows on the sill of the lookout. ‘What a magnificent view across the lake to the mountains! It sounds clichéd, but everywhere I look in your country I see a postcard.'

With her hair burnished by the late-afternoon sun, and framed by the medieval arch, Gemma herself looked like a beautiful picture. To have her here in his home was something he'd thought he'd never see. He wanted to keep her here more than he'd ever wanted anything. This image of Gemma on her first day in Montovia would remain in his mind forever.

He slipped his arms around her from behind. She leaned back against his chest. For a long time they looked at the view in a companionable silence. He was the first to break it. ‘To me this has the same kind of natural grandeur as the view from the deck of your grandmother's cottage,' he said.

‘You're right,' she said. ‘Very different, but awe-inspiring in the same way.'

‘I wish we could stay here much longer, but I need to take you to your rooms now so that you can have some time to freshen up before dinner.'

And so that he'd have time to prepare his family for his change in strategy.

* * *

If this was a guest apartment, Gemma could only imagine what the royal family's apartments were like. It comprised a suite of elegantly decorated rooms in what she thought was an antique French style. Andie would know exactly how to describe it.

Gemma swallowed hard against a sudden lump in her throat. Andie and Party Queens and Sydney and her everyday life seemed far, far away. She was here purely for Tristan. Without his reassuring presence she felt totally lost and more than a tad terrified. What if she made a fool of herself? It might reflect badly on Tristan, and she
so
didn't want to let him down. She might have been born with noble blood in her veins, but she had been raised as just an ordinary girl in the suburbs.

She remembered the times in Sydney when she had thought about Tristan being
other.
Here, in this grand castle, surrounded by all the trappings of his life, she might as well be on a different planet for all she related to it. Here,
she
was
other
.

A maid had been sent to help her unpack her one pitifully small suitcase. She started to speak to her in Montovian, but at Gemma's lack of response switched to English. The more Gemma heard Montovian spoken, the less comprehensible it seemed. How could she let herself daydream about a future with Tristan in a country where she couldn't even speak the language?

She stood awkwardly by while the maid shook out her hastily packed clothes and woefully minimal toiletries and packed them away in the armoire. Knowing how to deal with servants was totally outside of her experience.

The maid asked Gemma what she wanted to wear to dinner, and when Gemma pointed out the high-street navy dress, she took it away to steam the creases out. By the time Gemma had showered in the superb marble bathroom—thankfully full of luxurious bath products—her dress was back in the bedroom, looking 100 per cent better than it had.

Did you tip the maids? She would have to ask Tristan.

There was so much she needed to ask him, but she didn't want to appear so ignorant he might regret inviting her here.

Her antennae gave a feeble wave, to remind her that Tristan had fallen for her the way she was. He wouldn't expect her to be any different. She would suppress her tremors of terror, watch and learn and ask questions when necessary.

She dressed in the navy sheath dress and the one pair of high-heeled shoes she'd brought with her, a neutral bronze. The outfit had looked fine in an English village, but here it looked drab—the bed was better dressed than she was, with its elegant quilted toile bedcover.

Then she remembered the exquisite pearl necklace her new grandmother had insisted on giving her from her personal jewellery collection. The strand was long, the pearls large and lustrous. It lifted the dress 100 per cent.

As she applied more make-up than she usually would Gemma felt her spirits rise. Darn it, she had royal blood of her own—even if much diluted. She would
not
let herself be intimidated. Despite their own personal problems, the king and queen had raised a wonderful person like Tristan. How could they
not
be nice people?

When Tristan, dressed in a different immaculate dark business suit, came to escort her to dinner, he told her she looked perfect and she more than half believed him.

Feeling more secure with Tristan by her side, Gemma tried not to gawk at the splendour of the family's dining room, with its ornate ceilings and gold trimmings, its finely veined white marble and the crystal chandeliers that hung over the endless dining table. Or at the antique silk-upholstered furniture and priceless china and silver. And these were the private rooms—not the staterooms.

Tristan had grown up with all this as his birthright.

How would she ever fit in? Even though he hadn't actually come out and said it, she knew she was on trial here. Now there was no legal impediment to them having a future together, it was up to her to prove she
could
fit in.

Tristan's parents were seated in an adjoining sitting room in large upholstered chairs—not thrones, thank heaven. His blonde mother, the queen, was attractive and ageless—Gemma suspected some expert work on her face—and was exquisitely groomed. She wore a couture dress and jacket, and outsize diamonds flashed at her ears, throat and wrists. His father had dark greying hair and a moustache, a severe face and was wearing an immaculately tailored dark suit.

Tristan had said they dressed informally for dinner.

Thank heaven she'd changed out of the cotton trousers and the jacket grubby at the cuffs.

Ordinary parents would have risen to greet them. Royal parents obviously did not. Why hadn't Tristan briefed her on what was expected of her? What might be second nature to him was frighteningly alien to her.

Prompted perhaps by some collective memory shared with her noble ancestors, Gemma swept into a deep curtsy and murmured, ‘Your Majesties.'

It was the curtsy with which she'd started and ended every ballet class for years when she'd been a kid. She didn't know if it was a suitable curtsy for royalty, but it seemed to do the trick. Tristan beamed, and his mother and father smiled. Gemma almost toppled over in her relief.

‘Thank you, my dear,' said his mother as she rose from her chair. ‘Welcome.' She had Tristan's blue eyes, faded to a less vivid shade.

The father seemed much less forbidding when he smiled. ‘You've come a long way to reach us. Montovia makes you welcome.'

Tristan took her hand in a subtle declaration that they were a couple, but Gemma doubted his parents needed it. She suspected his mother's shrewd gaze missed nothing.

When Tristan's sister joined them—petite, dark-haired Natalia—Gemma sensed she might have a potential friend at the castle.

‘Tristan mentioned you might need to buy some new clothes?' Natalia said. ‘I'd love to take you shopping. And of course you'll need something formal for Tristan's party next week.'

Royals no doubt needed to excel at small talk, and any awkwardness was soon dispelled as they sat down at the table. If she hadn't already been in love with Tristan, Gemma would have fallen in love with him all over again as he effortlessly included her in every conversation.

He seemed pleased when she managed a coherent exchange in French with his mother and another in German with his father.

‘I needed to fill all my spare time after you left Sydney so I wouldn't mope,' she whispered to him. ‘I found some intensive language classes.'

‘What do you think about learning Montovian?' he asked.

‘I shall have to, won't I?' she said. ‘But who will teach me?'

There was a delicious undercurrent running between her and Tristan. She knew why she was here in his country—to see if she would like living in Montovia. But it was a formality, really. If she wanted to be with him, here she would have to stay. Nothing had been declared between them, so there was still that thrilling element of anticipation—that the best was yet to come.

‘
I
will teach you, of course,' he said, bringing his head very close to hers so their conversation remained private.

‘It seems like a very difficult language. I might need a lot of attention.'

‘If attention is what you need, attention is what you shall get,' he said in an undertone. ‘Just let me know where I need to focus.'

‘I think you might already know where I need attention,' she said.

‘Lessons should start tonight, then,' he said, and his eyes narrowed in the way she found incredibly sensuous.

‘I
do
like lessons from you,' she murmured. ‘All sorts of lessons.'

‘I shall come to your room tonight, so we can start straight away,' he said.

She sat up straighter in her antique brocade dining chair. ‘Really?'

‘You didn't think I was going to let you stay all by yourself in this great rattling castle?'

‘I did wonder,' she said.

‘I have yearned to be alone with you for close on three months. Protocol might put us in different rooms. That doesn't mean we have to stay there.'

The soup course was served. But Gemma felt so taut with anticipation at the thought of being alone—completely alone—with Tristan she lost her appetite and just pushed the soup around in her bowl.

It was the first of four courses; each course was delicious, if a tad uninspired and on the stodgy side. Gemma wondered who directed the cook, and wondered, if she were to end up staying in Montovia, if she might be able to improve the standard of the menus without treading on any toes.

The thought took her to a sudden realisation—one she had not had time to consider. She knew the only way she would be staying in Montovia was if she and Tristan committed to something permanent.

Finding out the truth about her father's family had precipitated their reunion with such breakneck speed, putting their relationship on a different footing, that she hadn't had time to think about the implications.

If she and Tristan... If she stayed in Montovia she would have to give up Party Queens. In fact she supposed she would have to give up any concept of having her own life. Though there was actually no reason why she couldn't be involved with the business remotely.

She had spent much of the last year working to be herself—not the version of herself that others expected her to be. Without her work, without her friends, without identification with her own nationality, would she be able to cope?

Would being with Tristan be enough?

She needed to talk to Tristan about that.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

B
UT
SHE
DIDN
'
T
actually have much time alone with Tristan. The next day his parents insisted on taking them to lunch at their mountain chalet, more than an hour and a half's drive away from the castle. The honour was so great there was no way she could suggest she would rather be alone with Tristan.

The chalet was comparatively humble. More like a very large, rustic farmhouse, with gingerbread wood carving and window boxes planted with red geraniums. A hearty meal was served to them by staff dressed in traditional costume—full dirndl skirts for the women and leather shorts and embroidered braces for the men.

‘Is this the real Montovia?' she asked Tristan. ‘Because if it is, I find it delightful.'

‘It is the traditional Montovia,' he said. ‘The farmers here still bring their cattle up to these higher pastures in the summer. In winter it is snowed in. People still spend the entire winter in the mountains. Of course, this is a skiing area, and the roads are cleared.'

Would she spend a winter skiing here? Perhaps all her winters?

That evening was taken up with his cousin and his girlfriend joining them for the family dinner. They were very pleasant, but Gemma was surprised at how stilted they were with her. At one point the girlfriend—a doctor about her own age—started to say how grateful she was to Gemma, but her boyfriend cut her off before she could finish the sentence.

Natalia, too, talked about her brother's hard work in changing some rule or another, before being silenced by a glare from Tristan.

And although they all spoke perfect English, in deference to her, there were occasional bursts of rapid Montovian that left Gemma with the distinct impression that she was being left out of something important. It wasn't a feeling she liked.

She tackled Tristan about it when he came to her room that night.

‘Tristan, is there something going on I should know about?'

‘What do you mean?' he said, but not before a flash of panic tightened his face.

‘I mean, Mr Marco, you made a promise not to lie to me.'

‘No one is lying. I mean...
I
am not lying.'

‘“No one”?' She couldn't keep the hurt and betrayal from her voice.

‘I promise you this is not bad, Gemma.'

‘Better tell me, then,' she said, leading him over to the elegant chaise longue, all gilt-edged and spindly legged, but surprisingly comfortable
.

* * *

Tristan sank down next to her. He should have known his family would let the secret slip. No way did he want Gemma to feel excluded—not when the project had been all about including her.

‘Have I told you about the myth of the Montovian water nymph?' he asked.

‘No, but it sounds intriguing.'

Tristan filled her in on the myth. He told her how he saw her as
his
sea nymph, with her pale limbs and floating hair enticing him in the water of Sydney Harbour.

‘When I got back to Montovia, I was like the fisherman who escaped his nymph's deadly embrace but went mad without her and spent his remaining years searching the lake for her.'

Gemma took his hand. ‘I was flailing around by myself, too, equally as miserable.'

He dropped a kiss on her sweet mouth. ‘This fisherman did not give up easily. I searched the castle archives through royal decrees and declarations to find the origin of the rule that kept us apart. Along the way I found my purpose.'

‘I'm not sure what you mean.' she said.

‘Remember, I've been rebelling against this rule since my Playboy Prince days? But I began to realise I'd gone about it the wrong way—perhaps a hangover from being the “spare”. I'd been waiting for
someone else
to change the rules.'

He gave an unconsciously arrogant toss of his head.

‘So I decided
I
was the crown prince.
I
was the lawyer.
I
was the person who was going to bring the royal family of Montovia kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century. All motivated by the fact I wanted the right to choose my own bride, no matter her status or birth.'

‘So this was about
me
?'

‘Yes. Other royal families allow marriage to commoners. Why not ours?'

‘Be careful who you're calling a commoner,' she said. ‘Now I know why I disliked the term so much. My noble blood was protesting.'

Tristan laughed. He loved her gift of lightening up a situation. It would stand her in good stead, living in a society like Montovia's.

‘I practically lived in the archives—burrowing down through centuries of documents. My research eventually found that the rule could be changed by royal decree,' he said. ‘In other words, it was in the power of the king—my father—to implement a change.'

‘You must have been angry he hadn't already done so.'

‘I was at first. Then I realised my father genuinely believed he was bound by law. Fact is, he has suffered from its restrictions more than anyone. He has loved his mistress since they were teenagers. She would have been his first choice of bride.'

Gemma slowly shook her head. ‘That's so sad. Sad for your father, sad for his mistress and tragic for your mother.'

‘It is all that. Until recently I hadn't realised my father's relationship with his mistress stretched back that far. They genuinely love each other. Which made me all the more determined to change the ruling—not just for my sake but for future generations of our family.'

‘How did you go about it?'

‘I recruited some allies. My sister Natalia who—at the age of twenty-six—has already refused offers of marriage from six eligible, castle-approved suitors.'

‘“Suitors”
.
That's such an old-fashioned word,' she mused.

‘There is nothing modern about life in the royal castle of Montovia, I can assure you. But things are changing.'

‘And you like being that agent of change?'

‘I believe my brother would have preserved the old ways. I want
to be a different kind of king for my country.'

‘That's what you meant by finding your purpose.' She put her hand gently on his cheek, her eyes warm with approval. ‘I'm proud of you.'

‘Thank you,' he said. ‘You met my next recruit tonight—my cousin, who is in love with that lovely doctor he met during their time in the military. Then my mother came on board. She suggested we recruit my father's mistress. It is too late for them, but they want to see change.'

‘Your father must have felt outnumbered.'

‘Eventually he agreed to give us a fair hearing. We presented a united front. Put forward a considered argument. And we won. The king agreed to issue a new decree.'

‘And you did all that—'

‘So I could be with my sea nymph.'

For a long, still moment he searched her face, delighted in her slow smile.

‘A lesser man might have given up,' she said.

‘A lesser man wouldn't have had you to win. If I hadn't met you and been shown a glimpse of what life could be like, I would have given in to what tradition demanded.'

‘Instead you came to terms with the role you were forced to step up to, and now Montovia will get a better ruler when the time comes.'

‘All that.'

‘I wish I'd known what you were doing,' she said.

‘To get our hopes up and for them to come to nothing would have been a form of torture. I called you as soon as I got the verdict from the king.'

She frowned. ‘What about your arranged bride? Where did she fit into this?'

‘I discovered she did not want our marriage any more than I did. She was being pressured by her ambitious father. He was given sufficient reparation that he will not cause trouble.'

‘So why didn't you tell me all this when I told you about my grandparents?'

‘I did not want you to feel pressured by what I had done. My feelings for you have been serious from the start. I realised you'd need time to get used to the idea.'

She reached up and put her hand on his face. ‘Isn't it already serious between us?'

He took her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. ‘I mean committed. It would be a very different life for you in Montovia. You will have to be sure it is what you want.'

‘Yes,' she said slowly.

Tristan felt like the fisherman with his net. He wanted to secure Gemma to live with him in his country. But he knew, like the water nymph, she had to make that decision to swim to shore by herself.