The King's Bride. Lucy Gordon

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waited up to make sure she was home safely, and Bess in whom she’d confided.

      One time the Dame’s advice had been spot-on when she’d tried to warn Lizzie off Toby Wrenworth, a dare-devil motorbike rider.

      ‘That young man was made to be a lover, not a husband,’ she’d declared in her booming voice. ‘Don’t confuse the two.’

      ‘Auntie!’ Lizzie had exclaimed, not sure whether to be amused or aghast. ‘You’re not actually advising me to—?’

      ‘I’m advising you not to confuse the two,’ the Dame had repeated firmly.

      But the eighteen-year-old Lizzie had ignored the advice, and in due course she’d wished she’d heeded it. The Dame had glared all through their wedding, but when the inevitable divorce happened, two years later, she’d been a rock. If she hadn’t overflowed with sympathy neither had she uttered reproaches.

      ‘Stop crying and get yourself off to college,’ she’d commanded. ‘It’s what you should have done before, instead of wasting time on a man who was all teeth and trousers.’

      The robust approach had done Lizzie a world of good. For sympathy she’d turned to Bess, and they’d cried together.

      Even as a teenager she’d been sensitive enough to feel sad for the maid who lived in her employer’s shadow and had no life of her own, although she’d always seemed contented enough with her lot. Since the great lady’s death Bess had lived in a retirement home. It was a comfortable, even luxurious place, with large gardens filled with flowers, and Bess seemed happy there.

      Lizzie visited whenever she could, and made a point of going to see her friend before she left for Voltavia. Bess was old and frail, but her mind was clear, and her first words were eager. ‘Tell me all about your lovers.’

      ‘Lovers? Plural? You think I’m living a really exotic life, don’t you?’

      ‘I think you’re a pretty girl, and a pretty girl should have lovers.’

      ‘Well, I have a boyfriend or two.’

      ‘Do they break your heart?’

      ‘Do you want them to?’ Lizzie asked with a chuckle.

      ‘No, of course not. But I worry that it isn’t possible. You’ve been rather armoured since Toby.’

      ‘Good thing too.’

      ‘No, my dear. A woman should stay open to love, no matter how much it hurts.’

      ‘But I am. You should have seen me at the embassy ball. Flirting. And more.’

      ‘That’s different, and you know it. Throwing out lures, as we used to say, because you’re hoping to catch a prize.’

      ‘Yes, and I caught him too. Oh, Bess, he’s eating out of my hand. I’m that close to those archives.’

      ‘Yes, dear, but you’re hiding—as always. Work is such a convenient excuse, isn’t it?’

      Bess’s eyes saw too much, Lizzie thought. Abruptly she changed the subject.

      ‘What I came to tell you is that I’m off to Voltavia tomorrow.’

      Bess’s old eyes sparkled. ‘How lucky you are!’ she exclaimed softly. ‘It’s such a wonderful country.’

      ‘Of course, you went there with Auntie, didn’t you?’

      ‘That’s right. If only you could have seen her. She was at the height of her beauty, and she made a kind of triumphal procession around the main cities, and then she performed for the court. She was guest of honour at a ball, and danced with the King.’

      ‘Did you see him, Bess?’

      ‘Oh, yes. I was there too, in a little ante-room, so that I could look after her when she needed to take the weight off her feet. What’s King Daniel like? I’ve seen his pictures, but they make him look rather cold.’

      ‘He does, just at first. But there’s something about him that isn’t cold at all. I’m sure of it.’

      Bess nodded, smiling. ‘Ah, yes. Something deep inside, and he won’t let you reach it until he’s ready. Just like his grandfather.’

      ‘Did the Dame tell you that?’ Lizzie asked with a chuckle.

      For answer Bess laid a finger over her lips, with a look of mischief.

      ‘Have a wonderful trip, Lizzie, dear. And come and see me when you get back.’

      Voltavia lay in the very centre of Europe, with borders that touched France, Switzerland and Germany. It had a population of a million, four cities, one important river, three official languages—English, French and German—and one airport.

      Lizzie emerged from Arrivals to be greeted by a driver in the palace uniform. He took charge of her bags and escorted her to a waiting limousine. When she was settled in the back he showed her the well-stocked bar, asked what she would like to drink, and poured her an orange juice.

      ‘It’s thirty miles to the palace,’ he said, taking his place behind the wheel. ‘I hope you enjoy the journey.’

      The first part of the trip lay through some of the most magnificent rugged scenery Lizzie had ever seen. She watched, holding her breath, as mountains gave way to pine forests, where wild bears still roamed, and then to lakes, serene and impossibly blue under the summer sky. At last they neared Durmann, the capital, turning off just before the city to sweep down the long approach to the palace.

      It was a grand structure, a quarter mile long and built from a honey-coloured stone that looked beautiful in the soft glow of the sunset. Two Z-shaped staircases adorned the front, on one of which a man was waiting to greet her. Lizzie recognised Frederick from the ball. Smiling, he explained that he would be her host until the King was free.

      They embarked on what seemed like a long journey, down endless corridors, until at last they reached the apartment set aside for her use. It was a charming place, a bedroom, a living room and bathroom, with modern facilities, yet a touch of old-worlde grandeur. When Frederick had gone Lizzie stripped off for a shower and a change of clothes that left her feeling ready to tackle anything, even Daniel.

      Especially Daniel. Wryly she made the admission to herself.

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