had such a disturbing effect on her.
Ah, well. If her work didn’t give her pleasure and satisfaction on its own, she wouldn’t be doing it. She refused to worry about the future. She was just happy to be home in St. Michel again, with her divorce final and the memories of her brief, disastrous marriage behind her. Next weekend was the dowager queen’s official seventy-fifth birthday party. Though her real birthday was in October, it was always celebrated in May when the weather was usually nice enough for a garden party.
Lise hoped everyone would be too busy scrutinizing the dowager queen at the party, wondering if she’d had yet another face-lift, and debating whether the reigning pregnant queen would even put in an appearance, or gossiping about the missing heir to the throne, to pay any attention to her. She wanted to stay out of the limelight, avoiding questions about her marriage, her pregnancy, her illegitimacy and more condolences on the death of her father. She was looking forward to a reunion with her two sisters: Marie-Claire, who’d been traveling abroad with her new husband, Sebastian, and Ariane, who was living in Rhineland with her husband, Prince Etienne. But after she’d had a chance to see them, she planned to slip away, back to the solace of her cottage.
The problem was she had nothing to wear to the party. Ideally, no one would notice her at all. But if they did, she didn’t want them to feel sorry for her. She wanted to look her best in a quiet, subdued, unobtrusive way, though without her wardrobe left behind in Rhineland, she didn’t know how she was going to pull that off.
“Maybe I won’t go to the party,” she said to Nanny very casually over dinner one evening. Though Nanny insisted on serving Lise, Lise insisted they eat together. How ridiculous to have the old woman eating alone in the kitchen. Besides, Lise was grateful for her company.
Gertrude laid her fork down. “What? Not attend the queen’s birthday party?”
“Well, you know, I don’t think I’d be missed.”
“You would most certainly be missed. You’ve forgotten how many friends you have here at home.”
Home. Yes, this was her home. Home, the place where no matter what you’ve done, whether they want to or not, they have to take you back again. They’d taken her back, however reluctantly, and she’d better make the best of it.
“All right. But what will I wear? I scarcely have any dresses and the ones I have are getting a little tight.”
Nanny suggested altering one of Lise’s few dresses or making her a new one, but Lise didn’t want the old woman to take on yet another task, so she assured her she’d make do somehow and put it out of her mind.
But the morning of the party, she stood in her small bedroom staring at herself critically in the full-length mirror. Yes, her pants were getting a little snug in the hips. Though she was still not quite ready for maternity clothes, it wouldn’t be long before her regular clothes didn’t fit at all. She opened her armoire and frowned at the meager selection of dresses in her closet. There was absolutely nothing appropriate for a garden party. She sat on the edge of her bed and sighed. How ridiculous she was, worrying about a dress when she had so many other things to worry about. Her future. Her baby. Her country’s future if the heir wasn’t found.
When she heard the sound of a vehicle arriving in front of the cottage, she jumped up and peered down through the second-floor window and saw a large pickup truck piled high with trunks she recognized. Her things. Her personal belongings had arrived. At last. Just in the nick of time. Surely there’d be something she could wear to this party.
Not only did the men bring the trunks into the house, they carried them upstairs to the extra bedroom. When she offered them a generous tip, they waved her efforts aside, saying they’d already been paid. She didn’t ask, but the words buzzed in her brain. By whom? Who had paid the delivery men? Who had arranged the transfer of the trunks when all her efforts to recover her things had gone unanswered? She knew the answer. It was Charles.
The only things I want from your family are my belongings.
Consider it done.
He was as good as his word. But how to thank him? She was not about to start asking questions about him, such as where she could find him, thus raising suspicions of why she needed to know. This was no time to dwell on the hows and whys and wheres regarding her personal belongings. She unlocked the trunks and began her search through the piles of silk, satin, wool and leather. Her trousseau clothes. All reminders of a life that was gone. The life of a princess. A legitimate princess with a bright future as the wife of a prominent Rhinelander embarking on a life of ease and luxury.
The memories came flooding back as she sifted through the clothes—parties, balls, dinners. The memories of Wilhelm, who viewed her, not as a person with feelings or needs or desires, but as a trophy to be shown off in her matching shoes, her hand-painted scarves and her designer dresses. The memories brought her nothing but sadness. Where was that young, naive princess with her whole life ahead of her? Lise stood up and paced back and forth in the small bedroom. That princess was gone forever. In her place was an older, wiser woman who would not dwell in the past. Who would learn from her past mistakes. Who would allow no one to force her into another marriage of convenience.
She told herself she was better off now than before. Anything was better than being married to Wilhelm. She would wear one of these dresses—hopefully one still fit—and not think of anything but the present. She would go to the party and face the future with her head high and show the world she was not ashamed of what had happened. After all, it was not her fault her marriage was over and she’d been cast out and returned home.
But when she stood on the flagstone path that led to the formal gardens of the palace, her nerves almost failed her. The figures in the garden, women in flowered dresses, men in black tie, the rows of willow trees planted hundreds of years ago and the vibrant green of the sweeping lawn looked like a painting. A painting that was beautiful to observe, but not to be a part of.
But she had no choice. Her sisters Ariane and Marie-Claire spotted her and came rushing across the vast lawn to hug her and demand to know how she was and where she’d been. She felt a surge of love for the two people she cared most about in the world. Being deserted by their mother and largely ignored by their father, the three of them had been exceptionally close growing up together. It was so good to see them again, her eyes filled with happy tears.
“I’ve missed you both so much,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re both here.”
“As if we could miss the queen’s birthday. But honestly, we came to see you,” Ariane said, squeezing her hand. “You don’t look as though you’re pregnant.” She dropped her hand and walked around her sister, looking at her from all angles and beaming her approval.
“Doesn’t she look wonderful?” Marie-Claire enthused. “You were the first to marry, and the first to get pregnant.”
“And the first to get divorced,” Lise said lightly.
Marie-Claire frowned. Divorce was nothing new in the family. Still, Lise’s situation was especially painful for her sisters to accept. “How are you, really?” she asked. “I can’t believe that horrible Wilhelm divorced you.”
“Believe it,” Lise said soberly. “And believe that it’s for the best. I’m so happy it’s over, and I’m back where I belong.” As she said the words she realized she was back where she belonged. Despite the fact that the country’s future was up in the air and that she had no real place to call home, St. Michel was where she belonged. The three princesses stopped at the edge of the formal English gardens
