Raoul’s eyes creased in disbelief-and then into stunned admiration, and the assembled media stared. There was a long pause as if no one could believe what they were hearing.
And then-finally-there was laughter. Tentative at first, and then deeply appreciative.
Jess was used to reporters. Her designs were known around the world and she’d learned to manipulate the media for her own ends. Now she chose to answer exactly what she wanted to answer. Any other questions she ignored with the deftness born of practice.
Had she a family in Australia?
‘Yes.’
She’d been married before?
‘Yes.’
Then it got trickier.
‘You’ve had a child?’ someone asked. ‘Our sources in Australia have done some fast research and they say your child died of leukaemia.’
‘Dominic died, yes.’ She paused, and then said softly, as if speaking personally to each and every one of the assembled reporters, ‘That’s why I believe family is so important. It’s why it’s so important that Prince Edouard can stay with his uncle and his grandmother, rather than his distant cousin. I’m sure every person in this country would agree, and this marriage makes that possible.’
They loved her.
They thought she was fantastic, Raoul thought as, questions completed, they made their way to the tiny palace chapel. Here their marriage would be blessed in a ceremony designed-hastily-to give the people their only chance to meet their princess.
This was right.
But it needed to continue.
If she stayed it’d be so much easier, he thought. Jessie’s hand was resting on his arm as they made their way through the long corridors. Cameras were working at full speed. She wasn’t flinching.
She was wonderful.
He could do this if he had Jessie by his side.
And Jess was alone. Back in Australia she had no one, and the thought made his gut wrench. She had no family and she’d lost her child. She was going home to the grey fog he could sense had been overwhelming her, and he knew that the fog was waiting to engulf her again.
But here she’d lifted his own bleakness, and she’d smiled and entranced the media and she’d brought happiness to a place that could give her happiness in return. She could set up her design centre here, he thought, his mind racing. He’d pay to bring any staff she needed over and maybe they could build Waves up even bigger than it was now. This country had the best yarns and the best cloth. Why not the best designer?
It could work, he thought, and the more the idea whirled through his mind, the better it looked. Jess would be surrounded by her staff-and by her family. Louise would love her. Edouard would love her.
And he…
In time maybe even he…
She was laughing at something one of the reporters had said. He glanced down at the smiling woman on his arm and he felt the growing realisation that things were changing very fast.
Maybe he already did love her, he conceded, but the nebulous idea was immense and overwhelming and even plain damned scary.
But sending Jess home alone seemed even more scary.
She had to stay. She must. It was a brilliant idea and not to try it seemed crazy.
So… He had this night to persuade her, he thought. This night the marriage was supposed to be consummated.
This night she had to agree to marry him in earnest.
The tiny ceremony devised to introduce Jess to the country, to the people, was a simple ceremony of blessing.
It shouldn’t have the power to move her.
But she stood at the end of the aisle and the old priest stood before them in his faded vestments. A soft smile lingered behind his kindly old eyes. He murmured the words of blessing as if he meant every one of them-blessing this marriage forever-and she was definitely moved.
Raoul’s hand held hers. The warmth of him, the strength…the look of pride on his face…
For this moment, this mock-marriage seemed almost real.
And for this moment she almost had a family. Louise was in the front pew, holding Edouard. The little boy had his arms around his grandmother’s neck. His time with Louise in the alpacas’ stall had obviously made him decide this lady was someone he might trust. The ghastly Cosette didn’t appear to be missed at all.
Raoul and Louise had made a tiny beginning to give this needful child a family, Jess thought. A family…
It made her want to cry.
Raoul’s hand held her still and as she looked up at him he smiled gently, reassuringly into her eyes. She was wearing his ring. Almost she could believe in fairy tales, she thought. She could believe that this was her prince and she was loved and she was walking into a happy ending.
Just keep remembering midnight, she told herself fiercely, desperately. The pumpkins will happen sooner than you think.
And somehow she managed to keep herself in control, even when, at the end of the blessing, Raoul turned and kissed her.
This was no kiss of passion. It was a kiss of gratitude, for all the world to see.
‘Thank you, Jessica,’ he told her, and his voice was firm enough for all who were present to hear, and through the microphone for all who were glued to television sets across the country to hear. ‘Thank you from me and from Crown Prince Edouard and from my mother. And thank you from my country, from my people. We all love you and you’ll be in our hearts forever.’
Yeah, right. Nice speech, Raoul, she thought, frantically fighting back stupid tears that meant nothing.
Bring on the pumpkins. Now.
There was a reception-of sorts. So many people, gathered at short notice to make this strange mock-marriage official.
There were so many people that the night was a blur. She smiled and shook hands and curtsied as if she’d been bred to it. She moved from one dignitary to another, being introduced, being questioned, making small talk. Raoul assisted as much as he could but the attention was all on her.
‘You’ve done enough,’ Raoul told her at last but she shook her head. She could do this. One night…
But Raoul had support. ‘Jess cannot stay any longer,’ Louise declared and she didn’t say it to Jess. She said it to the room at large. Louise had left the reception briefly to put Edouard to bed and she’d come back to see Jess wilting. Louise, of all of them, had the most experience of being royalty. She, too, had been a royal bride.
‘She’s not well enough for more,’ she declared now. ‘Raoul, it’s time to take your bride to her bed.’
There was a pause throughout the room as somehow everyone caught Louise’s words.
And then there was a cheer.
Raoul looked down at his bride and he smiled.
She didn’t smile back. She was close to being overwhelmed here and her autopilot seemed to be shutting down.
‘Can I take you to bed, Princess Jessica?’
‘If you must,’ she murmured, thoroughly confused, not just by the situation but also by the tenderness she read in her husband’s eyes. This whole situation was fantastic, and the idea that the assemblage was cheering the royal couple to bed was ridiculous. And that Raoul should look at her like this…
Back to basics, Jessica, she told herself. Get some control here.
‘Fine,’ she murmured, so softly that only Raoul could hear. ‘Or almost fine. You’re not taking me to bed. You’re taking me to the bedroom. That’s it.’ She hesitated and smiled around at the cheering audience before starting to whisper again. ‘But it’s bedroom door only, Your Highness. You stop at the settee. I’ll make it the rest of the way by myself.’
He smiled, his eyes gently teasing. ‘I’m glad you agree, my lovely bride.’ And then, before she knew what he was about, he swept her up into his arms. Her glorious dress hung about her. He stood among the gathering, holding her, claiming her, laughing down into her eyes.
A prince, laying claim to his bride.