of that book, her mother had said.
You’ll never find a man in a museum, her father had cautioned.
What are you doing in the library all day? her husband Wilhelm had demanded.
“That’s ridiculous. Who was it who said if we don’t study history, we’re doomed to repeat it?”
She smiled. “It’s true, but you didn’t come here to discuss history,” she said. If he did, she could go on all day, having no one else to talk to about it, and neither of them wanted that. As much as she enjoyed sharing her love of the past with someone, even him, his presence disturbed her more than it should have. He looked like his brother, but didn’t act like him. He was tall and handsome and well-bred, but lacked the pretension of other members of his family.
She wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. Or why he was there in the first place. She didn’t know how to get rid of him. Or if she really wanted to. There were questions she wanted answers to: How many minds had his brother poisoned against her? How did his parents feel about her? What stories was his brother spreading about her? And yes, she had to admit she wanted to know, how did he, Charles, feel about her?
“No, I didn’t come here to discuss history. Although it’s an interesting topic and since Grandfather died I’ve had no one…” He paused as if he was unwilling to admit he’d had no one to talk to. “No, not history,” he continued.
Charles leaned back against a stone countertop and studied her for a long moment. He was trying to collect his thoughts, but just looking at the lovely princess caused his mind to wander and his heart to pound erratically. The last time he’d seen Lise de Bergeron had been on her wedding day.
He’d thought at the time that in her white satin gown and diamond tiara she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He’d been filled with an unbecoming rush of envy for his older twin. As usual, Wilhelm had succeeded in snatching the prize before Charles had had a chance to compete. He couldn’t help but wonder, even then, if his brother would be as careless with this prize as he’d been with all the others he’d won. The silver cup for polo, the gold medal for fencing—all tossed aside as soon as he’d gotten them. The contest forgotten, except for the bragging and the gloating that continued long afterward.
Marriage to Lise was a prize Wilhelm hadn’t even competed for. It had been handed to him by an official arrangement. Her father wanted to strengthen the ties between their countries; Wilhelm wanted the marriage because it would advance his claim to some of the Micheline royal lands, should the country revert to Rhineland control. Wilhelm was the elder brother by thirty minutes. In this case, those thirty minutes made all the difference between Charles’s loss and his brother’s success.
When his brother had found out Lise was illegitimate and would inherit neither her title nor royal land, he immediately divorced her. When Charles had heard that, straight from his brother’s mouth, he’d been stunned. His brother was not known for his kindness or compassion, he’d always had a ruthless streak, pushing aside anyone and anything that got in his way, but this time he’d gone too far. Charles was not only stunned, but he was ashamed on behalf of the family honor. Charles felt as if his brother had put a sword through his chest. He’d left the U.S. on the next plane and here he was, determined to do something to make things right.
Seeing the princess today, attired in the garb of a peasant with a smudge of paint on her cheek, her silky blond hair twisted in a knot at the nape of her neck, he found her even more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her in her wedding finery. He felt a rush of emotion he hadn’t expected. He’d thought he’d feel pity. But that wasn’t what he was feeling at that moment. Lise de Bergeron did not inspire pity. She was too confident and self-assured. What he felt for her was a much stronger emotion he dared not name.
He knew she needed help whether she’d admit it or not. Living in this humble cottage with only her faithful nanny was not suitable for a princess. Especially one pregnant with his brother’s child. Being deserted by his scoundrel of a brother was something that had to be righted. He was the one who could do it. He wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her away to the kind of life she deserved. However, she didn’t look as if she’d permit him or anyone else to sweep her off her feet.
She didn’t know why he was there, but he did. He’d planned his speech. He knew what he had to say, but now that he was there and she was looking at him with those incredible blue eyes, he could only stand and stare.
She’d changed. It had only been eight months, but she was not the same demure princess who’d so dazzled him on her wedding day. It wasn’t only her clothing, it was her manner. He’d thought she’d be meek and mild and jump at the chance he was going to offer her. Now he wasn’t so sure. She had a stubborn tilt to her chin, a proud look in her eyes and a certain tone to her voice. If he’d been infatuated with her before, he was fascinated now. He didn’t know what she was going to say next. He decided to put off his declaration.
He was saved by the entrance of her nanny.
“Lise,” Gertrude said, opening the greenhouse door just a crack. “Won’t you ask Monsieur Rodin in for some tea? I fear it’s chilly out there.”
Lise looked annoyed, but her manners didn’t fail her. “Of course,” she said. “Won’t you come in, Charles?”
He nodded. He was relieved, unwilling to leave without saying what he’d come to say, but not ready to say it. Not without some hope she’d agree to his plan.
In the cozy parlor a fire was blazing, the silver tea service was on the table and Gertrude was nowhere to be seen. Lise motioned to him to take a seat across from her on a chintz-covered love seat. He watched her pour the tea into two delicate china cups.
“Sugar, lemon?” she asked.
He shook his head. Though she was dressed like an artisan, she had the manners of a princess, and she always would. She’d grown up in a palace, but she seemed completely at home in this modest cottage. He wondered how much sorrow, how much disillusion she was hiding. He wondered if she still loved his brother. Or if she’d ever loved him. He knew it had been only a political match on his brother’s part, but what if he’d broken Lise’s heart? If he had, Charles would never forgive him.
“What are your plans?” he asked.
“Plans?” she asked.
“For the future.”
“Ah, the future. Good question. First I will call the repairman again about the leaky roof. When it rains, he’s always too busy, and when it stops and the sun shines, he goes fishing.”
He glanced at the ceiling.
“It’s in the kitchen.”
“Let me handle it for you. I know a man I can send. You shouldn’t have to live like this, you know.”
“I live very well,” she said so swiftly, he knew he’d said the wrong thing. Her blue eyes were cool and distant. “Much better than I lived in Rhineland. I have my nanny, my work and the freedom to do what I please, be what I please.”
“What about the baby?” He couldn’t help letting his gaze stray to her stomach. There was no sign of maternity there. Not yet. Yet he thought he noticed a slight rounding of her cheeks, a smoothing of her brow. But maybe he was just imagining the effects of pregnancy, of which he knew nothing. He’d always hoped to find someone, a woman to share his life with, to bear his children. But he’d always
