A Kiss for the King Page 12

  Anastasia smiled.

  “Everyone talks about Kings! I doubt, however hard you tried – if it would have been possible for you to keep your love affairs completely private.”

  The King looked startled.

  “Are you saying that everything I do is common knowledge?”

  “I am not suggesting that everyone knows for certain,” Anastasia replied, “but people talk, they gossip. Even though it hardly seems possible, scandals are related from one country to another by those who love to tittle-tattle about famous people, especially when they are handsome Monarchs.”

  She was thinking of Lady Walters as she spoke and the King laughed a little ruefully,

  “I see I have underestimated my own importance. It is something people have seldom accused me of doing in the past!”

  He was silent for a moment and then he reflected,

  “Taking into account what you have just said to me, Anastasia, I think we have both to face the fact that anything we do now will be gossiped about and certainly noticed in Maurona.”

  “Yes, of course,” Anastasia agreed.

  “And that is why for me to accede to what you have suggested, to leave your room at this moment and sleep in my own bed, would doubtless be a tit-bit of gossip, if not scandal, tomorrow morning.”

  Anastasia looked at him apprehensively.

  “What I am therefore going to suggest is that I stay here for some hours at least and lie on your bed.”

  He saw her expression and added quickly,

  “You can trust me. I give you my word, Anastasia, I will not attempt to kiss you or touch you, although I would like to, until the invitation comes from you.”

  He smiled and asked,

  “Is that reassuring?”

  Anastasia was thinking quickly.

  She realised that, if the King was thought not to have made love to her as his subjects would expect him to do and if in fact it was rumoured that he had slept in his own bedroom there would be only one explanation.

  Everyone in Maurona would attribute it to the fact that his infatuation for the Comtesse le Graumont had blinded him to the attractions of his wife.

  The King’s suggestion was therefore extremely sensible.

  “You are right! Whatever we do, we must not let anyone think or suggest that our marriage is not everything it should be.”

  “Very well,” the King said. “I will do exactly what you want, Anastasia, and I shall hope that one day you will fall in love with me.”

  He smiled at her so beguilingly that for a moment she felt like saying,

  ‘I think that I love you already! Please kiss me and I shall know if it is as exciting as I hope it will be.’

  Then she saw the Comtesse’s dark eyes looking up at him and remembered that they had spent the previous night together. She knew without being told that they would have ‘made love’.

  She felt a little shiver go through her.

  The King might find her amusing. He might find her as attractive as he found the beautiful, extravagant ladies of Paris, but that was not what she wanted.

  She wanted love, the love the Archbishop had spoken about in the marriage service, the idyllic love she had read about, the love that was a part of God.

  “Thank you for being so kind and understanding,” she said, and rose from the chair to stand looking at the King.

  He was only about two feet away from her and she thought how easy it would be to move towards him, to feel his arms go round her. Then she could find out for herself whether she felt differently about him from the way she had felt about Christopher.

  In her flat slippers she was very small and he seemed to tower above her.

  “You are tired, Anastasia. You must go to sleep. Get into bed and I will lie here for a little while before I go back to my own room.”

  Anastasia moved towards the bed and while the King busied himself putting another log on the fire she drew off her blue wrap and threw it on a chair before slipping beneath the sheets.

  He turned and saw her looking very small and insubstantial in the big bed with its huge golden canopy of carved angels chasing doves, surmounted by the Queen’s crown.

  “Shall I blow out the candles?” he asked.

  “Yes, please,” Anastasia replied.

  The King blew out the candles on her side of the bed, and walking round, he extinguished those in the other candelabra.

  He sat on the bed and then lay back against the pillows covering himself with the Venetian lace coverlet that was padded with eiderdown.

  “Lie down and go to sleep, Anastasia,” he said. “I am very comfortable, and I may in fact very easily fall asleep myself.”

  “What are we doing tomorrow?” she asked.

  “If it pleases you, we could go driving in the morning. We can have luncheon at my Hunting Lodge which is some way outside the town, and then we can drive back at our leisure so that you can see the countryside.”

  “That sounds wonderful! I thought perhaps we would be going away on a honeymoon.”

  “As you have been travelling for so long,” the King replied, “I thought you should have at least two days rest here. After that I have planned for us to go along the coast to a Villa I own near the French border. It has extensive gardens which are very beautiful at this time of the year.”

  “I would like that!” Anastasia said. She paused and added hesitatingly, “You do not – think you will be – bored being – alone with me?”

  She wanted to add, “because we will not be making love!”

  She was sure that was what brides and bridegrooms did on their honeymoon.

  “If you continue to be as full of surprises as you have been up to date, I am quite sure, Anastasia, there is no question of my being bored!”

  “I am glad about that,” Anastasia said. “It is one thing that has frightened me more than anything else that you might find me dull.”

  “I think that possibility is too remote for me even to consider it. You are very unpredictable!”

  Now there was no mistaking the mocking note in his deep voice.

  There was silence.

  Then after a long time Anastasia said in a slow sleepy voice,

  “Are they very – beautiful?”

  “Who?”

  “The ladies – in Paris?”

  The King thought before he answered,

  “They are like pretty toys – gaily painted, brilliantly coloured.”

  He paused to add,

  “They are made of granite, with a specially added magnetism which draws the coins from a man’s pocket!”

  Anastasia did not reply and he turned his head.

  She was asleep!

  In the light from the fire she appeared very young, very innocent and very vulnerable.

  The King gazed at her for a long time.

  Chapter Six

  Anastasia awoke to find that she was alone.

  For a moment it was difficult to remember what had happened the night before.

  Then she recalled that she had talked to the King until gradually she found her voice getting slower and slower, and she must have fallen asleep even while they were still talking.

  She turned her head now.

  In the faint light of the sunshine coming into the room from the sides of the curtains, she could see the dent in the pillow where he had rested his head.

  When he had left her, he must also have deliberately turned back the bedclothes to make it look as if he had been sleeping in the bed.

  It had been a sensible idea, Anastasia thought, and would undoubtedly deceive the servants in the Palace. But she could not help wondering if anyone else had ever spent such a strange wedding night.

  She had been relieved beyond words that the King had not been angry, as she had feared he would be when she had explained her feelings to him.

  Now, lying in the great bed where many reigning Queens had slept before her, she wondered if they had been beset by a similar problem and if they too ha
d been married knowing their husband cared for someone else.

  An image of the Comtesse le Granmont came vividly to her mind. With her slanting, sensuous black eyes and her curving red mouth that seemed to suggest far more than she said in words, and the grace of her long neck and sinuous body Anastasia could see her attraction for men.

  ‘She is so chic, so polished, so absolutely sure of herself,’ Anastasia thought unhappily, and realised once again how young and ignorant she was.

  But the King had been kind and understanding when she had told him she felt it would be wrong for them to make love together.

  Hidden at the back of her mind had been the fear that he might overrule her arguments, not with words, but by insisting on his rights as her husband.

  She had known that in that event there would be nothing she could do, no one to whom she could appeal for help. Yet she wondered now if it would have been as alarming or indeed as horrifying as she had told herself it would be.

  But that was before she had seen him – that was when she had thought of him as stern, aloof, hard and inhuman.

  In actual fact he was none of those things.

  He was fascinating and attractive, and yet at the same time Anastasia admitted that she was still a little frightened of him.

  She found herself wishing that she knew more about men and had more experience of them.

  Then she thought she would know instinctively what she wanted, what she should do.

  But what did she want?

  The question seemed to leap out at her almost as if someone had spoken the words.

  And she knew the answer.

  She wanted to make the King fall in love with her.

  She wanted him to love her, not the fascinating French Comtesse but her – his wife – and then, she knew irrefutably, she would love him.

  When Olivia came to call her, drawing back the curtains to let in the golden sunshine, she began,

  “I understand, Your Majesty, you will be driving this morning. It’s a lovely day and you will find it warm in the sun. Nevertheless it would be wise for you to take a light jacket or a shawl with you.”

  “Am I to breakfast with His Majesty?” Anastasia asked.

  She felt slightly embarrassed at asking the question, and wished she had consulted the King the night before as to what would be expected of her.

  “You have slept late,” Olivia replied, “and I think His Majesty has already breakfasted.”

  “In which case I would like my coffee here please, Olivia.”

  When Olivia had gone from the room, she rose from the bed and walked to the window to look out at the Palace gardens.

  ‘What does the King feel this morning?’ she asked herself. ‘Is he looking forward to the day we will spend together or is he wishing he could be with the Comtesse le Granmont?’

  There was, however, little time for such thoughts, for when Olivia returned it was to inform Anastasia that His Majesty had ordered the carriage to be round in an hour’s time.

  “I must not keep him waiting,” Anastasia said quickly.

  She descended the stairs five minutes before she thought he would be expecting her, but nevertheless one of the aides-de-camp still informed her that His Majesty was outside inspecting the horses.

  As Anastasia walked down the steps, she saw a very elegant cabriolet of the latest design, which she was later to learn was the same model as those driven by all the smart gentlemen of Paris.

  The King had purchased it on his last visit there, but it had taken some time for it to arrive in Maurona and this was to be the first time he would drive it.

  Pulled by two superb black horses, it was painted in black and yellow and, Anastasia thought, it was a fitting complement to its driver, because the King himself was looking magnificent.

  She had not seen him dressed in civilian clothes before, and she thought that he looked if anything more elegant out of uniform than when he was wearing it.

  He swept his top hat from his head at her approach.

  She had no idea how lovely she looked, wearing a pale yellow gown that she and Olivia had chosen with much care. It was deceptively simple because it had been very expensive, but the huge skirt accentuated the smallness of her waist and her bonnet was trimmed with satin kingcups, the colour relieved only by the green of their leaves.

  “You look like a ray of sunshine!” the King remarked, as he raised her hand to his lips.

  Flunkeys helped Anastasia into the cabriolet and the King took up the reins as the grooms sprang away from the horses’ heads.

  As they set off, Anastasia realised that behind them, keeping their distance, were two mounted soldiers.

  The King saw her glance at them and explained,

  “I am afraid we have to have an escort, but they will not interfere with us and will keep out of sight as much as possible. They know I dislike the feeling of being confined.”

  “It must be tiresome at times,” Anastasia remarked.

  As she spoke, she wondered if he realised that the servants knew that the Comtesse le Granmont came to the Palace to see him.

  She could understand it would be impossible for him to go to her. How could the King ever move out of the Palace without being accompanied?

  He turned his head to smile at her and she found herself forgetting everything but the joy of being beside him, knowing that they would have a whole day together without being surrounded by strangers.

  Immediately after leaving the Palace the King had taken the road leading up into the woods that covered the side of the hills.

  It twisted amongst the trees and after they had travelled some way, Anastasia could look back and see Sergei lying beneath them.

  The white buildings, the trees bordering the streets and the vivid blue of the sea in the Bay were all were very lovely. But soon she could no longer see houses below, but only vineyards and acres of carnations.

  Every so often the firs gave way to trees of mimosa, their golden bloom the same colour as Anastasia’s gown.

  As they drove on, the King described the countryside and she realised he knew a great deal about the agricultural difficulties and problems of his people, besides having an extensive knowledge of Mauronian history.

  They drove on until the snow peaked mountains seemed a little nearer and the country became less densely inhabited.

  Now the wild flowers were breathtaking.

  Never had Anastasia imagined that wide expanses of ground could be a kaleidoscope of colour – pink, blue, yellow and white and the vivid scarlet poppies intermingled with the soft gentle pink of the wild orchids and the deep blue of the alpine gentians.

  “It is all so beautiful!” she exclaimed. “I cannot understand why everyone does not wish to come to Maurona, if only for a holiday.”

  “I think that is something you and I should try to do in the future,” the King said, “attract tourists to Sergei. It is far lovelier than Nice and yet crowds of people, including the English, flock there every winter. It is therefore exceedingly prosperous.”

  Without thinking Anastasia replied,

  “Perhaps that is why the Emperor would wish to annex it for France.”

  “That is untrue,” the King replied sharply. “Who has been telling you such lies? The Emperor assured me himself that he has no designs on Nice, and I believe him, just as I believe that he is not concerned with Maurona.”

  Anastasia wanted to argue that that might be his opinion, but a great many people thought otherwise.

  Then she told herself she had no substantial facts with which to backup such an argument.

  As she did not speak, the King went on,

  “I know quite well what your Foreign Secretary, Lord John Russell, thinks. I have heard the same forebodings from the Spanish. But the Emperor is my friend and I trust him! So I can assure you categorically, Anastasia, these lies are perpetrated about him only because other Nations are jealous.”

  “I am sure you are right,” Anastasia said. “At the s
ame time, the reason why Queen Victoria wished me to marry you was to help maintain the independence of Maurona.”

  “That is undoubtedly what you have done,” the King said firmly, “so we need have no further heart-searching where the French are concerned.”

  He paused to add in a more gentle tone,

  “One day I will take you to Paris. You shall meet my friend the Emperor and his very beautiful wife, the Empress Eugenie. You will then be convinced how quite unnecessary your fears are.”

  “Forgive me for – mentioning it,” Anastasia said.

  “There is nothing to forgive. We must always speak frankly with each other, Anastasia, just as you spoke frankly to me last night. Nothing could be more disastrous than for us to have reservations or secrets from each other.”

  Anastasia thought guiltily that already she had secrets from him, in that she was intriguing with Olivia and had taken the advice of Captain Aznar.

  Then she told herself that those secrets did not count. They were only because she was trying to do her best, not only for Maurona, but also for the King himself.

  And there was no doubt that he had his personal secrets where the Comtesse was concerned.

  Even to think of the fascinating Frenchwoman was to feel that a shadow of darkness dimmed the brilliance of the sunshine.

  Then, resolutely, Anastasia forced herself to forget everything in an effort to amuse the King.

  She told him about her Christmas at Windsor and made him laugh at her description of the cold of the Castle, the stiffness of the courtiers and the disapproval of the Queen when the revellers were noisy at their card games.

  “It sounds exactly like what I had to endure when my father was alive,” the King said.

  “Was it very formal?”

  “Intolerably so! One could hardly breathe without permission and every form of personal expression was frowned upon.”

  She knew by the tone of his voice how much he had disliked it and she said eagerly,

  “Do not let us have a Court like that. Let us encourage people with talents to feel they are welcome at the Palace. I would like to meet writers, artists and musicians. I would really prefer always to be surrounded by brains rather than by blue blood.”