A Kiss for the King Read online

  “No, of course not, Mama.”

  “And that is why Maurona must be encouraged to remain independent by having a Queen whose sympathies are British.”

  The Grand Duchess spoke the last words very slowly to make them sound as impressive as possible, and after a moment’s silence Anastasia asked quietly,

  “How does that affect me, Mama?”

  “You, Anastasia, have been chosen by the Queen to be the bride of King Maximilian!”

  Before Anastasia could speak, the Grand Duchess said quickly,

  “I know this will be a shock to you, and I know too, Anastasia, that you will be deeply distressed at the thought of having to leave me and England. But this represents all I have ever longed for where you are concerned. And I know that, were he alive, your dear Papa would rejoice, as I shall do, at the thought of your taking your place amongst the crowned heads of Europe.”

  “Why has the Queen chosen me, Mama?” Anastasia asked.

  There was a moment’s pause as if the Grand Duchess debated with herself whether she should tell the truth, and then with an unexpected smile she said frankly,

  “You are much the prettiest Princess available!” Anastasia laughed.

  “Having seen the others, Mama, I must protest that it is not saying much!”

  The Grand Duchess looked away from her daughter’s amused face to say a little severely,

  “King Maximilian is known to be very fastidious. It was not possible to send him someone he would not have admired or who would not grace the throne of Maurona.”

  She was remembering, as she spoke, how the Queen had said,

  “Anastasia is really too young and from all I have heard, far too frivolous for such an important position, but there is no one else. The Prince Consort and I have looked into the matter very thoroughly, and we can find no one who is both eligible for the position and who has the sort of attractiveness which, I am certain, Maximilian would consider essential in his wife.”

  “I am, of course, ma’am, very gratified by your choice,” the Grand Duchess had said humbly.

  She could not help feeling a little triumphant at the fact that the Queen had chosen Anastasia for such a responsible position.

  Ever since the Grand Duke had been killed in an accident four years after their marriage, Princess Beatrice had made her home in England.

  Hohlenstein had been annexed peacefully and without opposition by Prussia, and she had come back to her own country, bringing her only child aged two.

  She had very little money, and as a Grand Duchess without a husband or a Duchy, she had no official position except in respect of her Royal blood and her relationship with the Queen.

  She had been given a ‘Grace and Favour’ house in Hampton Court Palace, but she had always been made to feel she was the ‘poor relation’ and that she and Anastasia were dependent entirely on the benevolence and patronage of Queen Victoria.

  The Queen had allotted a thousand rooms in the beautiful Tudor Palace as apartments for the widows or children of distinguished servants of the Crown, or Royal dependents.

  Built by Cardinal Wolsey, the Palace had been given by him to Henry VIII, who married two of his wives there.

  Princess Beatrice had truly loved her husband, and if she had mourned him excessively there had been little alternative and no inducements for her to do anything else.

  The other occupants of the Grace and Favour houses were mostly very old, and it was only as Anastasia grew up that her mother realised what a restricted and monotonous existence they both endured.

  Occasionally, perhaps once a year, they were invited to stay at Windsor Castle. The Grand Duchess received a few invitations to State occasions at Buckingham Palace. But as far as Anastasia was concerned, there were lessons with her Governesses and Tutors, and little else to occupy her time.

  The Grand Duchess had a few friends remaining from her girlhood days who occasionally asked her to stay, although they usually found a woman without a husband was difficult to fit into their house parties.

  The Coombes were an exception, and when her childhood friend invited the Grand Duchess, Anastasia went with her.

  The Grand Duchess would not have been a woman if she had not sometimes wondered whether it would be possible for Anastasia to make a match with the wealthy and charming only son of the Earl and Countess of Coombe.

  But she had known it was only an insubstantial dream because Anastasia, as a Royal Princess, could not marry without the consent of the Queen, and Her Majesty always said categorically that no Royal personage should ever marry a man not of Royal blood.

  But now Anastasia was to be a Queen, and the Grand Duchess felt her heart overflowing with gratitude for the fate that had brought this unexpected bounty to them both when she had least expected it.

  “I wonder what would happen if I refused?” Anastasia said in a clear voice as the carriage passed by Eton College.

  Through the window she could see the beautiful Tudor redbrick buildings that had housed the sons of gentlemen for centuries.

  “Refused?” her mother ejaculated. “What can you mean, Anastasia?”

  “Do you not think it rather barbarous, Mama, in this day and age, when we are supposed to be democratic, when men fight and die for freedom, that a woman can be ordered to marry a man she has never seen or spoken to?”

  “How can you say anything so ridiculous?” the Grand Duchess asked. “You know as well as I do that Royal marriages are always arranged, as are indeed those of the aristocracy in civilised countries.”

  “I do not call it very civilised,” Anastasia sighed. “In fact if you ask me, Mama, I think it is rather like being sold across the counter of a shop.”

  She laughed as she went on,

  “The Queen has in effect said to King Maximilian, ‘you want protection and help from England? Well, in that case, we will send you one of our very special brides packed up neatly in the Union Jack’.”

  “Anastasia! You will give me a heart attack!” the Grand Duchess exclaimed in a faint voice. “If the Queen heard you speak like that, she would be furious – absolutely furious!”

  “I am not likely to say it in front of her, Mama,” Anastasia replied. “I am only telling you what I think.”

  “Then do not think it, Anastasia. Can you not realise what a wonderful opportunity this is for you?”

  Anastasia did not reply, and the Grand Duchess gave a little sigh.

  “I know, dearest, how dull it has been for you these past few months since you have grown up. I had hoped that after you had been presented in the spring the Queen might make a special effort to ask you to dinners and parties at Buckingham Palace. But she did nothing about it.”

  “I do not think Her Majesty approves of me, Mama,” Anastasia said blithely. “They always say she does not like anyone too pretty about the place.”

  “Anastasia!” the Grand Duchess exclaimed again.

  “It is true! You know perfectly well that ever since the scandal of Lady Flora Hastings, when they thought the poor woman was having a baby, but in fact she died of cancer, the Queen has been frightened of pretty Ladies-in-Waiting.”

  “How can you speak of that regrettable and unfortunate episode?” the Grand Duchess enquired in shocked tones. “Who told you about it?”

  “As you and everyone else in Hampton Court Palace whispered about it for years, of course I heard about it,” Anastasia replied. “And, as you know, Lady Flora’s aunt lives only three doors away from us.”

  “She should not have related anything that happened before you were born,” the Grand Duchess protested.

  “Old people have long memories,” Anastasia said shrewdly, “and they always like to talk about things which happened when they were young. I was only telling you, Mama, why the Queen does not like me.”

  “It does not matter whether the Queen likes you or not. Anastasia,” the Grand Duchess snapped. “She has shown that she has your well-being at heart, and that is all that matters. What
is more, Her Majesty has actually offered to help me with your trousseau.”

  Anastasia gave a little cry.

  “I don’t believe it! Oh, Mama, imagine being able to have some really pretty and expensive gowns for once. I am sick to death of the ones we have made ourselves, and poor old Mrs. Hawkins is really past being a seamstress. Her fingers are so crippled with arthritis that I feel a brute if I ask her to undo a seam or take in a tuck. It is obviously agony for her to use a needle.”

  “We have not been able to afford anyone better,” the Grand Duchess said almost apologetically.

  “I know that, Mama, and I am not complaining,” Anastasia said quickly, “but it would be wonderful to go to London and choose something really exquisite. How much did the Queen say she would spend?”

  “She did not restrict us to a price,” the Grand Duchess replied. “She just said she would give you half a dozen evening-dresses, a dozen day toilettes, twelve of everything you require underneath, and your wedding-gown.”

  “Now that is exciting!” Anastasia cried. “More exciting than being told I have to marry a King who has a penchant for French women and very likely dislikes the English.”

  “Anastasia!” the Grand Duchess exclaimed again. “How can you make such a statement? Who has told you such things about King Maximilian?”

  “Now, be truthful with me, Mama,” Anastasia said. “Have you not heard that the King has a leaning toward the French, which is why the Queen is so agitated in case Maurona should become part of the French Empire?”

  “I cannot think where you have heard – ” the Grand Duchess began, and then, as she met her daughter’s eyes, she added reluctantly. “I have heard that the King is often in Paris.”

  “French women are dark, Mama, dark, attractive and very gay! Do you think the King is likely to admire me?”

  The Grand Duchess looked at her daughter and found it difficult to reply.

  Although Anastasia had a Russian name because the Czar had been one of her Godfathers, and her father had come from Eastern Europe, there could have been no one who looked more English.

  She had two very blue eyes, the pale blue of a thrush’s egg, in a small, heart-shaped face. Her eyelashes were very long and dark, while her hair had the gold of spring sunshine and seemed, even on the dullest day, to have an unusual light about it.

  Her bones were small and she was very graceful – something she herself believed had been inherited from one of her father’s ancestors, who were Austrian.

  But her mother was English and her father’s mother had been English, so with her pale pink-and-white skin seeming at times as translucent as a pearl, Anastasia was the living embodiment of what most people quite erroneously believed, was a typical English beauty.

  Perversely, perhaps merely to confound her critics, instead of conforming to the general belief that a pretty face means an empty brain, Anastasia was extremely intelligent.

  She was also sensitive and, her mother thought with a little pang of fear, very vulnerable.

  ‘How would Anastasia,’ the Grand Duchess asked herself now for the first time, ‘knowing nothing of the world, so young, so innocent and ignorant of the problems and difficulties of diplomacy, cope with a man like King Maximilian?’

  Then sharply she told herself that she had been supremely happy in her own marriage, even though it had been arranged in somewhat similar circumstances.

  Granted, the Grand Duke of Hohlenstein could hardly be compared in importance or authority with the King of Maurona, yet she left England to marry a man she had seen only once, and she had fallen in love with him soon after they were married.

  At the same time her upbringing had been very different. She had been one of a large family, she had brothers and a father whom she had loved and with whom she had had a close companionship, and she had in fact been twenty-two before she married.

  Choosing her words with care, the Grand Duchess said now,

  “I think, Anastasia, that while a man might admire one type of woman, when he is seeking amusement, he will wish his wife to be different not only in appearance, but also in character.”

  “That is a consoling thought, Mama,” Anastasia answered. “But Lady Walters tells me that men usually fall in love with the same type of women, just as some men like Labrador dogs while others prefer Dalmatians!”

  “Lady Walters!” the Grand Duchess snorted. “I have told you before now, Anastasia, not to spend so much time talking to that woman. I have never understood how she managed to obtain accommodation in Hampton Court Palace. I can only think that the Queen has never met her.”

  “Oh, but she has, Mama! Lady Walters has often told me how snooty Her Majesty was, trying to give her a ‘set-down’ and finding it difficult as Lady Walters is so much taller.”

  “I have no desire to discuss the woman,” the Grand Duchess said, “and I do beg of you, Anastasia, not to talk to her about your forthcoming marriage.”

  Anastasia did not reply because she had every intention of finding out from Lady Walters a great deal more about King Maximilian.

  The widow of a distinguished Diplomat, Lady Walters was a walking fund of gossip that concerned every country in the world and every personage of any importance.

  She was very old now and yet she insisted on wearing a bright red wig and used cosmetics, which the Grand Duchess and the other inhabitants of the Grace and Favour houses denounced with horror.

  Lady Walters was amusing. She could make Anastasia laugh over the scandals that had taken place in every Court at which her husband had been Ambassador.

  If she was somewhat spiteful about the Queen of England, it was understandable, owing to the fact that on her husband’s retirement both he and she had been ignored or snubbed in Court circles.

  As the carriage drove on towards Hampton Court Palace, Anastasia thought eagerly of the many topics she would now want to discuss with Lady Walters.

  Yet she could not help remembering how vehemently the Viscount had inveighed against the idea of her being married to the King.

  ‘Christopher is jealous!’ she told herself.

  At the same time she knew he would not have taken up such an attitude merely because he loved her.

  There was no doubt that he genuinely did not approve of the King, and she wondered exactly what indiscretions His Majesty had committed, and if the anxiety he had aroused in the Queen was entirely due to the position of his country on the map.

  As they journeyed on she thought of what she had heard about Paris and the gaiety and the extravagance of the Second Empire.

  It was then she recalled that two years ago the Emperor Napoleon III and the Empress Eugenie had come to England to stay at Osborne with the Queen.

  The Grand Duchess had been invited to meet them, but of course, Anastasia herself had been too young. She had, however, taken a most tremendous interest in the visit and begged her mother to tell her every detail of what had occurred.

  The Empress’s gowns were fantastic and Anastasia had searched the illustrated magazines for sketches of them. The following year the Queen had visited Cherbourg but, unfortunately, the Grand Duchess had not been included in the party to cross the Channel.

  But Lady Walters had learnt all the details from one of her cronies. She told Anastasia how there was no smile and – certainly not the usual kiss – from Her Majesty for the French Foreign Minister’s wife, Madame Walenska.

  “Why not?” Anastasia enquired.

  “Her liaison with the Emperor has become too widely known to be overlooked,” Lady Walters replied.

  “You mean that the Emperor – ”

  “My dear, he is a Frenchman,” Lady Walters intimated with a smile. “There is not a beautiful woman in Paris on whom the Emperor does not look with interest. And who would be likely to refuse a man in such a position?”

  Anastasia had thought over what she bad been told and had known it was something she had never dreamt about in her quiet, uneventful life.

  H
er mother had always led her to believe that once people were married they lived happily ever after.

  But here was the Emperor of the French – a man who had lived in England and until the new talk of the invasion had been extremely popular there, being unfaithful to his beautiful and glamorous wife.

  It was not difficult to encourage Lady Walters to talk of the women who had charmed the Emperor of the French, and who made no secret about receiving his favours and the presents he showered upon them.

  Sometimes Anastasia thought Lady Walters forgot that she was so young and knew so little of the world, and talked to her as if she was one of her contemporaries.

  “Do you remember so-and-so?” she would ask, and then reel out a whole chapter of scandal, intrigue and passionate love, while Anastasia listened wide-eyed.

  ‘King Maximilian is not a Frenchman,’ she told herself now. ‘But if he admires French women and the French way of life so wholeheartedly, I suppose it is natural for him to follow the Emperor’s lead in affairs of the heart.’

  For the first time she thought to herself there was some justification for the Viscount to have spoken as he had. Would she be wiser to run away with him, as he had suggested, rather than to risk finding herself isolated in a foreign country and married to a husband who was interested in some fascinating, dark-haired French woman?

  Perhaps not one, but a dozen of them, if Lady Walters was to be believed about his affaires de coeur.

  “Think how splendid it will be, Anastasia, for you to be a Queen!” the Grand Duchess was saying. “I believe Maurona is a beautiful country. The climate is delightful and, if you are married within a month or so, you will arrive in time to see the spring flowers, the oranges and lemons growing on the trees and the mimosa in bloom.”

  “Married in a month, Mama?” Anastasia questioned, sounding slightly startled.

  “Perhaps I did not tell you,” the Grand Duchess said evasively, “but the Queen is very insistent that no time should be wasted. After all, if the French Army decided to march into Maurona, there is nothing that the King could do to stop them!”