A Kiss for the King Page 4

  “The answer is, of course, entirely up to you,” Lady Walters said.

  “What do you mean?” Anastasia enquired.

  “A clever woman can always hold her husband at her side. Look at the Queen. Do you think that pompous German Princeling has a chance of escape?”

  “That is different,” Anastasia said. “Everyone says that Prince Albert was very much in love with Her Majesty when they married.”

  Lady Walters snorted.

  “In love! Who would not be in love with marrying England, even if it involved embracing a fat little creature who had been dragged up by an overpowering and disagreeable mother?”

  “I am sure they are very happy,” Anastasia countered.

  “Just as you can be happy, my child, if you go the right way about it.”

  “What is the right way?”

  “Make sure that he falls in love with you,” Lady Walters said. “Once a man is in love he is like wax in a woman’s hands, and it should not be difficult with your looks.”

  Anastasia gave a little sigh.

  She was thinking once again that the Parisian women who attracted King Maximilian would be witty, vivacious and dark in colouring. But somehow she felt too embarrassed to ask Lady Walters any more.

  She had been so anxious to learn about King Maximilian, yet now as she listened she felt that the garrulous old woman made everything seem rather cheap.

  There was something almost unpleasant in the way Lady Walters described the courtesans, and Anastasia did not wish to hear any more about women who were so alluring that fortunes were cast at their feet by every man who looked at them.

  It was, however, one thing to start Lady Walters talking and quite another to stop her.

  “My friend was telling me,” she cackled now, “that at one dinner party given for those Birds of Paradise, the grapes and peaches were arranged not on leaves, as might have been expected, but on thousand-franc notes which disappeared into the low-cut décolletages.”

  It seemed to Anastasia as she came away from Lady Walters apartments that it would be impossible to forget diamonds and rubies flashing against white necks, mountains of francs being poured out in an endless supply on gowns, horses, carriages, and noisy parties which only ended long after the dawn had broken.

  It was difficult to know if everything Lady Walters said was true, and yet Anastasia could not help thinking that it was all too fantastic to be anything but factual.

  Then despairingly she asked how she could ever compete in a world where such women reigned, where wild extravagance was not an occasional experience, but something which continued day after day and year after year in the one city in Europe where any rich man would be welcomed.

  Then she told herself that even Kings might have other interests, and perhaps King Maximilian, when he was not in Paris, was concerned with governing his country well.

  ‘I must learn everything I can about Maurona,’ Anastasia told herself.

  As she hurried back home, she realised that she had already made up her mind that she must accept the position to which the Queen had assigned her.

  However, there was still the Viscount to contend with.

  Anastasia wanted to see him alone, so, when she heard his carriage draw up outside about half an hour after she had returned from Lady Walters, she opened the door herself. Her mother was still upstairs in her room. The unpacking had been done, but she was now compiling long lists of the clothes that would be required for the trousseau.

  The Viscount had driven his own horses from London and, when he stepped down and handed the reins to his groom, he saw Anastasia waiting for him in the open doorway.

  Before he could speak, she put her fingers to her lips, and then, as he checked the words he was about to say, she whispered,

  “Come in quietly. Mama is upstairs and I do not wish her to know you are here.”

  They walked very softly across the hall and Anastasia shut the door of the drawing room behind them.

  The Viscount moved across the room to stand in front of the fire burning in the grate.

  He was extremely well dressed, and Anastasia thought as she looked at him that he was nice looking. He was not handsome, but he had an air of breeding about him that was unmistakable.

  “I have been making plans, Anastasia,” the Viscount began in a low voice as she walked towards him.

  “I too have been thinking, Christopher,” she replied. “You know as well as I do that it is impossible for us to run away.”

  “Why should you say that before hearing where we can go?” he asked.

  “Because, for one thing, you must not leave England,” Anastasia answered. “You are an only son, Christopher, and one day you will have to take your father’s place, not only as regards his title, but also his position at Court.”

  “You are making that an excuse to refuse me,” the Viscount said harshly.

  “I have to – do what the Queen and Mama – want,” Anastasia said.

  “It is what you want, too!” the Viscount said accusingly. “Like all females you dream of being a Queen. You think a crown on your head will make you happy, but it will not, Anastasia, not without love – and if you fall in love with Maximilian, he will break your heart.”

  “How can you be sure of that?” Anastasia enquired.

  “Because I know him and I know you. You are too sensitive, too innocent to cope with a man like that.”

  “After all,” Anastasia said in a low voice, “he cannot marry the women he sees in – Paris.”

  “Who has been talking to you about them?” the Viscount asked.

  “Lady Walters was explaining to me about the extravagance of – ”

  Anastasia’s voice died away.

  She was not quite certain by which term she should refer to the women in question.

  “Lady Walters should know better than to talk of such things to you,” Viscount Lyncombe said sharply. “From all I have heard she was considered very fast herself when she was young.”

  “Oh, was she?” Anastasia asked with interest. “I always suspected that might explain why she knows so much about – the – Demi-Monde.”

  “Anyone who has been in Paris knows about them,” the Viscount interrupted.

  “Then it is true! “ Anastasia said. “All the things she has told me about the jewels, the parties, how the Emperor and King Maximilian dance attendance upon such – women.”

  “If they do, you should know nothing about it,” the Viscount said crossly. “Ladies should not speak of such women. The Grand Duchess would be furious if she knew that you had heard such tales, especially where the King is concerned.”

  “You said much the same thing!” Anastasia retorted.

  “That is different,” the Viscount said loftily. “I was trying to persuade you, as I still am, Anastasia, to realise how very much happier you would be with me to look after you. I love you, and I swear that you will never regret it if you will run away with me.”

  His eyes were on her face, and because she felt a little shy at the sudden throb of passion in his voice she looked away from him.

  “I think the truth is, Christopher,” she said in a low voice, “that if I loved you, as you say you love me, I would willingly come with you and risk the consequences, but – I do not – love you.”

  “Why not?” he asked sharply.

  Anastasia made a helpless little gesture with her hand.

  “Perhaps it is because we have known each other since we were children. I don’t know. I like you very much, and I will always have a deep affection for you, but I know in my heart it is not love.”

  She tried to smile and went on,

  “That is why, although I am very grateful, Christopher, for your offer and for wanting to save me from what you think will be an unhappy marriage, I can only say no.”

  “And that is something I will not allow you to say,” the Viscount said fiercely. “You know nothing about love, Anastasia, and nothing about men. I will teach you t
o love me.”

  He put out his hands as he spoke and drew her into his arms.

  For a moment Anastasia was surprised, and then, as she realised he was about to kiss her, she struggled against him.

  “No, Christopher! No!”

  “I love you, Anastasia! I want you!”

  She turned her head away so that his lips only touched her cheek, and at that moment the door opened and the Grand Duchess came into the room.

  Anastasia and the Viscount started guiltily and moved apart.

  But the expression on the Grand Duchess’s face as she moved towards them told Anastasia she had seen what was occurring.

  “You did not inform me, Anastasia, that we had a visitor,” she said and her voice was icy.

  “I – I was just coming to tell you so, Mama,” Anastasia replied quickly.

  The Grand Duchess looked at the Viscount.

  “I am afraid, Christopher,” she said coldly, “you have called at an inopportune moment. Anastasia and I have just returned from Windsor and we have a great deal to do.”

  “So I understand, ma’am,” the Viscount said, “but I was anxious to speak to Anastasia.”

  “I am afraid that is not possible,” the Grand Duchess replied as if Anastasia was not in the room. “As you will doubtless be told by your father, Anastasia is to be married very shortly.”

  The Viscount’s lips tightened, but he did not speak and the Grand Duchess continued,

  “You will therefore understand, Christopher, that she will have no time to spare even for so old and valued a friend as yourself.”

  For one moment it seemed as if the Viscount would defy the Grand Duchess and then, as he met her eyes, he capitulated.

  “I understand, ma’am.”

  “Then you had best say goodbye to each other,” the Grand Duchess said. “I am sure Anastasia is very grateful for the kindness and hospitality your father and mother have shown her all through her childhood. I am certain, too, she will always welcome you to her new country, whenever you are in that part of the world.”

  There was something stern and inflexible about the way the Grand Duchess spoke, which made the Viscount as well as Anastasia realise that nothing either of them could say would be of any avail.

  Anastasia realised that the Viscount was hurt and upset at being more or less thrown out of the house, but there was nothing he could say – and indeed nothing he could do except leave.

  “As I am obviously in the way, ma’am,” he said to the Grand Duchess, “I will return to London.”

  “You know as well as I do, Christopher, there is no alternative.”

  And Anastasia was aware that her mother had guessed what the Viscount had come to say.

  She looked at him pleadingly, hoping he would understand that she was sorry this had happened, and that after so many years of friendship he was being treated in a somewhat cavalier fashion.

  She put out her hand and to her surprise he lifted it to his lips.

  “Goodbye, Anastasia,” he said and his voice was unsteady.

  Then he turned and went from the room.

  The Grand Duchess did not move.

  She and Anastasia stood silent until they heard the front door shut and a moment later there was the sound of wheels and the horses’ hoofs.

  “How could you, Mama?” Anastasia said in a low voice.

  The Grand Duchess moved across the room with a rustle of her silk petticoats.

  “I do not intend to discuss this with you, Anastasia,” she said. “All I can say is that I am extremely surprised at your behaviour. I can only be thankful that I came downstairs when I did.”

  She went from the drawing room leaving Anastasia alone, and only after standing still for some minutes did Anastasia put her hands up to her face.

  ‘Have I made the right decision?’ she asked herself. ‘Would I have been wiser to go with Christopher, however difficult the future might be?’

  *

  It was, however, impossible to worry about the Viscount for during the next weeks there was so much to do that every night Anastasia was exhausted when the time came for her to go to bed.

  There were first of all innumerable trips to London to choose clothes, to fit them and to indulge in an orgy of shopping such as she had never experienced before.

  Besides this there was an incessant stream of visitors, some of them so distinguished that Anastasia had never expected them to condescend to someone so unimportant as herself.

  The Prime Minister requested the Grand Duchess to bring Anastasia to number 10 Downing Street, but Lord John Russell, the distinguished Foreign Secretary, called in person at Hampton Court Palace.

  “I do not need to tell Your Royal Highness,” he said, “the political importance of your marriage, because I am quite certain that your mother has explained that to you.”

  “Yes, she has told me that the independence of Maurona concerns the balance of power in Europe,” Anastasia replied. “But I think, my Lord, you have other reasons for wishing this marriage to take place so quickly.”

  Lord John Russell’s deep-set eyes searched Anastasia’s lovely face.

  “What secrets have you been told?” he asked with a faint smile.

  “I heard that you were worried that the Emperor might annex Nice and Savoy.”

  “That is the truth,” the Foreign Secretary replied, “but we would not wish it to become general knowledge.”

  “It will not, as far as I am concerned,” Anastasia told him.

  “Your Royal Highness is very young,” Lord John went on, “but that is not a disadvantage. With your beauty and charm you can do a great deal to influence the King to pay more attention to the interests of his Spanish subjects rather than those of French origin.”

  Anastasia looked a little puzzled and he explained,

  “You must realise from the position of Maurona on the map that the Pyrenees make a natural barrier which divides the country in two. Although the Mauronians are extremely proud of the fact that their history is steeped in antiquity, there is no doubt that continual infiltration across their frontiers has influenced the feelings and aspirations of the people.”

  “I can understand that,” Anastasia said.

  “As a result,” Lord John continued, “you have a population at times deeply divided amongst themselves with the Crown as the only bond that unites them.”

  Anastasia did not speak and Lord John went on,

  “I was in Maurona last year and I found quite an unusual amount of ill-feeling in the Spanish part of the country where the people think they are being neglected or overruled. They want consideration and, to put it bluntly, more personal interest from the King.”

  “I understand,” Anastasia said quietly.

  “If you can go out of your way to please the Spanish population of Maurona, then I think you will win the hearts of a people which, in my opinion, is among the finest in the world,” Lord John finished.

  Again Anastasia murmured that she understood and she had the feeling that when Lord John Russell left the house he was pleased with her.

  The Prime Minister said little of significance when they called at number 10 Downing Street.

  There were too many people there for them to have an intimate conversation and Anastasia had the feeling that he had only wished to see her and be assured in his own mind that she would do what was expected of her.

  She found Lord Palmerston charming, very much a lady’s man, and she could understand, after the flattering words he said to her, why he was nicknamed ‘Cupid’ amongst his friends.

  There was so much to do, so much to think about, that Anastasia could hardly believe it when she realised that she had only two more days in England before she was due to embark on the British battleship, which was to carry her to Maurona.

  Once again she realised it was a political move for her to be sent to her new country by battleship rather than to travel overland.

  It was like taking part in a theatrical performance,
she thought to herself. She was the heroine, but her part was stereotyped and there was no room for individual moves or personal interpretation of the part she had to play.

  The greatest statesmen, the finest political brains in England, were composing her lines, and they had chosen all her appearance, her scenery and props.

  She could not help feeling a little more afraid of the unknown future every day.

  It was impossible not to be overawed by the responsibility that had been placed on her shoulders, and by the knowledge that the Prime Minister and his Cabinet were depending upon her to save Maurona from being swallowed up by the greed of the French Emperor.

  ‘I cannot do it!’ Anastasia longed to cry. ‘I am too small and insignificant! It is all too big and overpowering, and when I fail, as it seems inevitable I must, you will blame me!'

  She knew that such an outcry would only be attributed to girlish nervousness, if in fact they listened to her at all. She was just, as she had told herself at the beginning, a ‘cat’s-paw’.

  All she had to do was walk on to the stage pronouncing the lines she had been taught and making the movements they expected of her.

  In simple words, she must behave as a puppet rather than as a real person.

  ‘I have ceased to have any identity of my own,’ Anastasia told herself more than once when she went to bed.

  Because she felt afraid, she took from where she had hidden them the letters Viscount Lyncombe wrote to her nearly every day.

  She had bribed the old servant to bring them straight upstairs to her when the post arrived to ensure that her mother did not see them.

  They were very passionate love letters, and she found it difficult to believe that they had really been written by the boy she had known all her life and who had teased her about her mosquito bites.

  “1 love you, Anastasia! Christopher had written over and over again. I love you! Come away with me, I want to hold you in my arms and kiss you. I want to awaken a fire that I know is there inside you so that you will love me as much as I love you!

  We will be happy anywhere in the world so long as we can be together. I will take you to the West Indies so that we can be in the sunshine. We will visit China and Japan. We can see Russia and travel back through Europe.