that allows for the finest of ingredients and all he tells me is that he eats anything. Everything! Where’s the challenge in that?’
‘Inexcusable,’ murmured Simone with a shake of her head. She was, after all, French. ‘As for your impending fatherhood,’ she added and speared him with a very direct glance, ‘you really shouldn’t go blurting it out like that. Does Etienne know?’
Er…
She read the answer on his face. ‘While I am confident of Rosa’s discretion, Rafael, there’s gossip, and then there’s gossip. May I borrow your phone?’
Wordlessly he handed it to her and watched as she scrolled through his contacts list until she found the number she wanted.
‘Your Highness? It’s Simone Duvalier. Yes, we’ve just arrived at your magnificent estate. Yes, such a beautiful drive and so relaxing. We stopped so many times along the way to take in the views.’ Simone had dug a notepad from her handbag and was busy scribbling on it while his phone balanced precariously between cheek and lightly tanned shoulder. She held the note up for his and Rosa’s viewing pleasure. It said, ‘Dinner for three at eight?’
Rosa nodded vigorously.
Rafael shrugged indifferently. While he admired Etienne as a ruler, His Royal Highness had considerable shortcomings as a father. Etienne was trying, Rafael did give him that. But the father-son relationship that Etienne had been so intent on securing had far more to do with matters of state than it had to do with affection. Etienne would be thrilled by the notion of a new generation of little royal children who would, of course, be expected to fulfil their duty to Maracey and secure the royal line. Whether Etienne would ever be a grandfather to those children was open to speculation.
Children, he realised with a start. Not child. He wasn’t thinking of just one, and that was the danger of having Simone by his side. He wanted this child, their child, with an intensity that left him breathless. He wanted more.
Simone, by her actions and demands, was making it crystal clear that she had no intention of being a burden to him. She was not disguising her strengths or the assets she could bring to his table. She was here to see if they could make a relationship between them work. A practical woman.
A remarkable one.
For the first time in ten weeks, Rafael felt a ray of hope touch him and find purchase in his soul. As if somehow, with Simone at his side, there might be a way of making all these newfound responsibilities mesh together.
‘Etienne, would you like to join us here for dinner?’ he heard her ask. ‘Say, dinner to be served at eight? I’m pregnant, Rafe’s the father, and we’re celebrating.’
Rosa snorted. Simone grinned, and Rafael crossed his arms in front of him, eyebrow raised at her deliberately breezy delivery of such news. But he felt like smiling.
‘You would?’ she said next. ‘Wonderful. But of course. Adios. Bon soir. Bye.’
Snapping the phone shut, Simone handed it back to him with a smile he knew of old. ‘That ought to keep his senior statesmen spinning for a while. Rosa, you may now tell the world.’
Rosa smiled broadly. ‘As the mademoiselle commands.’
Simone smiled back, every inch the wanton, wilful and very astute princess. ‘You know what?’ she said as she tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and looked curiously around the foyer. ‘I think I’m going to like it here.’
Etienne arrived at exactly a quarter to eight that evening, and bearing two small gifts. A slim, leather-bound edition of poems that he handed to Rafael and a posy of violets that he bestowed on Simone.
Rafael looked at the violets and something turned inside him and clicked. He’d collected violets for Josien as a boy, searching valiantly for the first blooms of the season, those tiny fragrant petals that hid between fat green leaves. They’d always made Josien go quiet when he gave them to her. They always made her turn away.
Had Etienne given his mother violets once too? Had Josien once been deeply in love with the young prince Etienne?
‘Love poems,’ said Simone approvingly as she glanced at the book in Rafe’s hands. ‘Even Tennyson. Now there’s a man who could have almost been French, such was his understanding of the heart.’
‘There’s a marriage proposal in there somewhere,’ said Etienne. ‘Should anyone ever need one.’
‘Is there?’ Simone bestowed a charming smile on Etienne. A smile Rafael had learned a long time ago to be wary of. Etienne would learn Simone’s ways soon enough. Etienne was a master at reading people, but for now Rafe stood back and prepared to enjoy the show as Simone and Etienne established the lay of the land when it came to poets and proposals.
‘It’s a modern world, Your Highness, with modern ways,’ said Simone lightly. ‘And while I can understand your interest in Rafael’s intentions towards me, and mine towards him, let me be perfectly clear about something. I will have no interference or outside pressure brought to bear on our relationship.’
With a great deal of innate grace, Simone slid the book from Rafe’s unprotesting hand and set it on the side table before turning back and bestowing yet another smile on Etienne, only this time she’d swapped charm for steel. ‘I’m sure you of all people understand the need for any decision on marriage to be ours rather than one of necessities of State.’
‘Well said,’ added Rafe, bringing Etienne’s appraising gaze around to rest on him. There were some things Rafael was willing to do for Maracey. And some things he would not. Don’t push me. He held Etienne’s gaze. I’m here and I’m playing your stately games the way you want them played, but I guarantee you will not like the results when you push me.
Noted, was Etienne’s silent rejoinder as he turned back towards Simone, warier now, and well he should be. ‘My son is a constant surprise to me.’
‘Really?’ Simone’s expression softened as she looked at Rafael. ‘How sad. But then, had you acknowledged him as a child, he wouldn’t be the man he is today. And that would be a shame.’
‘You never knew your mother, did you?’ asked Etienne. ‘Such a beautiful woman and remarkably astute. Fiercely loyal to your father, of course. Every bit his equal and absolutely fearless in his defence. A valuable ally. A dangerous enemy. You remind me of her.’
‘Thank you.’ Simone’s polite smile didn’t waver. Rafael stepped closer to her, instinctively wanting to shield her from Etienne’s remarks, no matter how innocuous they seemed on the surface. The children of Caverness protected their own and talk of mothers was not encouraged. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘You should,’ said Etienne. ‘I do hope we’re not going to become enemies, mademoiselle.’
‘So do I, Your Highness.’ Simone favoured him with the sweetest of smiles. ‘You used to call me Simone once.’
‘You used to call me Etienne.’
‘Shall we attempt it?’ she said. ‘For the sake of peace, prosperity, and the debt you owe your son and his unborn child?’
‘That’s quite a card you have to play,’ said Etienne after a thoughtful pause.
