A Kiss for the King Read online

  Everything would be amusing, wonderful and gay if you were with me! It is all I ask of the future, that we can be together, and I swear that if you will trust me and come with me, I will make you very happy.”

  There were over a dozen letters all saying very much the same thing, and, when she read them, Anastasia could not help feeling unhappy because she must hurt Christopher.

  He had been so much a part of her life that over and over again she asked herself if in fact she did love him.

  What would she have felt, she wondered, if he had kissed her as he had meant to before her mother came into the room?

  Anastasia had never been kissed, but she had always imagined it would be something very wonderful and that a man’s lips would awake in her a wonder such as she had read about in books and poems.

  And yet when Christopher had tried to kiss her, she had instinctively struggled against him and she had known she did not wish him to do so.

  Why? Why?

  It was really the least she could have let him do when they were to be swept apart, perhaps never to meet again.

  But something deep inside her told her that what she felt for Christopher now would never turn into love.

  She could see he was attractive, she could see he was a young man for whom most girls would feel a fluttering of their senses, a rising excitement and a throbbing of their hearts.

  Yet, although she liked him so much, when he touched her it meant nothing.

  She had danced with him, she had held his hand, she had even for one moment been close in his arms, and nothing had happened.

  “Perhaps I am naturally cold,” Anastasia told herself.

  Lady Walters had often laughed at cold women.

  “She has as much feeling as a flatfish!” she had said of one woman whom she disliked, and of another, “She is like a piece of cold marble.”

  Because she was worried about herself, Anastasia attempted to talk to her mother.

  “What did you feel, Mama, when you became engaged to Papa?”

  “I was very happy, Anastasia.”

  “But you were not in love with him – the marriage was arranged and you did not even know if he was in love with you.”

  “Your father was extremely handsome,” the Grand Duchess said. “I think that almost as soon as I saw him I fell in love, but I was very shy and it took time for us to get to know each other. Afterwards, as I have told you so often, we were extremely happy.”

  “And Papa excited you?” Anastasia asked.

  The Grand Duchess was still for a moment and then she said,

  “I do not know who has been talking to you, Anastasia, but a lady always conducts herself with reserve and control. Her husband would not expect otherwise and would undoubtedly be shocked!”

  “Would that not be rather dull, Mama?”

  “No, of course not!” the Grand Duchess said positively. “If one is well-bred, Anastasia, and especially if one is Royal, one must not be overemotional at any time. I have spoken to you about this before and you know as well as I do that to show lack of restraint in public would be a betise beyond description.”

  “I was not thinking of what one – would do in – public Mama.”

  “The same applies to when one is in private. A man wants to honour and respect his wife, and a King particularly would not expect the woman who sat beside him on the throne to behave like some common creature in the street!”

  “Is it common to fall in love, Mama?” Anastasia enquired.

  The Grand Duchess obviously chose her words with care before she responded,

  “I think, Anastasia, you are quite intelligent enough to realise that romantic and passionate love as it is portrayed in novels does not happen to everyone. It is more often than not an illusion. But one can have friendship, pride and deep affection for the man with whom one shares one’s life. It can be far more important than seeking sensations that have no substance in fact.”

  There was a long silence between mother and daughter, and then Anastasia said in a very low voice,

  “Will you tell me, Mama, how a man and a – woman make – love together?”

  The Grand Duchess stiffened.

  “That, Anastasia is something your husband will explain to you,” she replied coldly after a moment. “It is sufficient for you to know that after you are married anything that occurs between you and your husband has the blessing of God. Apart from that it should not be thought or talked about at any time.”

  She rose to her feet as she spoke and went from the room without another word.

  Anastasia stared after her in bewilderment!

  Once again she told herself despairingly that she might have been wiser to accept the Viscount’s plea that they should run away together.

  Chapter Three

  “Good morning, Your Royal Highness!”

  Anastasia opened her eyes to see Olivia, the maid who had been sent from Maurona to attend her, curtsying in the doorway of the cabin.

  It would have been more dignified if she had not had to hold on to the door as she did so because the ship was pitching violently, as it had done ever since they turned from the English Channel into the Bay of Biscay.

  In fact the storm had grown worse day after day until, even though being in a battleship gave Anastasia a sense of security, she wondered at times if they would not founder or ‘turn turtle’.

  The rest of the party had succumbed to seasickness completely.

  When Lord John Russell and various other Statesmen of importance were seeing them off from Tilbury, Anastasia had done her best to appear dignified.

  The Grand Duchess had been the very epitome of dignity as, warmly wrapped in furs, she descended from the Royal carriage that had conveyed them from Hampton Court.

  She had greeted the party who were there to bid them farewell with graciousness and at the same time a slight touch of condescension, which told Anastasia without words exactly how her mother had behaved when she had been the reigning Grand Duchess of Hohlenstein.

  She herself had been too excited at the thought of the journey ahead to worry for long about the impression she created.

  But it was rather awe-inspiring to realise how distinguished and important the gentlemen were who had come to wish her ‘God Speed’ on what, apart from anything else, was the most important voyage of her life.

  The battleship H.M.S. Warrior looked very impressive.

  It was, Anastasia had been told, Britain’s answer to La Gloire and was the largest vessel in the world. It had been built by private contract by the Thames Iron Works and Shipbuilding Company.

  As she looked at the battleship she was to board, the First Lord of the Admiralty came to her side to say,

  “This will be the Warrior’s first voyage, and I hope she will prove as comfortable for your Royal Highness as has been predicted.”

  “She is armour-plated, I believe,” Anastasia said, anxious for him to know that she was aware that the Warrior was an exceptional ship.

  “She is indeed,” the First Lord replied, “and the weight of her armour alone is one thousand, three hundred and fifty tons!”

  He smiled as if he thought he was being too technical.

  “It was during the Crimean War that the effectiveness both of armour-plating and of shell fire was demonstrated.”

  “I have read what terrible damage shellfire did to unarmoured wooden vessels,” Anastasia said in a low voice.

  “Unfortunately, the quickest to learn the lesson were the French,” the First Lord said. “As I expect you know, La Gloire, the first sea-going ironclad, was launched last year.”

  “I am sorry we could not have been the first,” Anastasia remarked.

  “The Warrior is an improvement on her rival,” the First Lord said quickly, “and we have two or three other vessels being constructed on the same lines.”

  “She looks very large.”

  “Her total weight is eight thousand, nine hundred tons,” the First Lord explained, “ne
arly three times that of the wooden line of battle ships she has displaced.”

  “I am very honoured to be the first traveller on the Warrior.”

  Anastasia smiled as she spoke and she saw what she recognised as an unmistakable glint of admiration in the First Lord’s eyes.

  It was not surprising that the crowds who had gathered at the quayside cheered as Anastasia went aboard.

  Dressed in rose pink, her jacket trimmed with fur and her bonnet decorated with pink ostrich feathers, she looked very romantic and very lovely.

  “Good luck!”

  “Here’s to yer happiness!” the crowd shouted, and as she walked towards the gangplank small bunches of white heather and a silver cardboard horseshoe were thrown at her feet.

  The party who were to escort her to Maurona, consisting of her mother and Sir Frederick Falkland, the British Ambassador to Maurona, had been augmented by the Baroness Benasque, who was to be her Lady-in-Waiting, and Captain Carlos Aznar, who was an aide-de-camp to the King.

  Besides these personages who had travelled overland from Maurona to England, there was also Olivia, the maid who was to look after Anastasia on the voyage.

  She said proudly that she had been chosen because she came from a sea-faring family, and was never unwell at sea. It proved to be a great blessing because the Grand Duchess and Sir Frederick were not to be seen almost from the moment the ship left harbour, and the Baroness, after struggling white-faced for two days against the uneasiness of her stomach, finally capitulated and retired to her cabin.

  “Is the storm worse than ever?” Anastasia asked now as Olivia drew back the curtains over the porthole.

  “It is still exceedingly rough, Your Royal Highness,” Olivia replied, “and the Captain has sent a message suggesting that it might be wisest for you not to rise from your bed in case you should break a leg.”

  “I have every intention of getting up,” Anastasia said positively. “I must go on with my lessons. I am determined by the time I reach your country to be able to speak fluently to my new subjects.”

  “Your Royal Highness is learning fast,” Olivia answered. “You must have a natural aptitude for languages,”

  Anastasia smiled with satisfaction.

  It had pleased her to find that Mauronian was not as difficult as she had anticipated. It was in fact a mixture of French and Spanish, based on Latin, and as she was proficient in all three languages, Mauronian seemed to come quite easily to her tongue.

  At the same time she had applied herself to learning the language with an enthusiasm and a strength of will which was indefatigable.

  She talked to Olivia and, more important, she made Captain Carlos Aznar, the only one of the Mauronian party on his feet, give her lessons which lasted nearly the whole of each day.

  “I shall tire you, ma’am,” he had protested more than once.

  “I don’t mind being tired,” Anastasia replied. “I am determined to be proficient by the time we reach Maurona.”

  “I cannot tell you how gratifying it is, ma’am, to hear someone speak in such a way,” he said and there was a note not only of appreciation in his voice but undoubtedly of another emotion as well.

  After five days at sea, Anastasia was well aware that the Captain was falling in love with her.

  There was that unmistakable expression in his eyes and a note in his voice she had perceived in the Viscount, and it gave her a feeling of comfort to realise that to at least one Mauronian she appeared attractive and desirable.

  It would have been unthinkable in ordinary circumstances for her to spend so many hours alone with an attractive young man who had merely been sent as an escort with his other duties undefined.

  It should have been the Baroness who sat with Anastasia and instructed her, and the Baroness who should have told her all she wanted to know about her new country and what awaited her on her arrival.

  As it was, Captain Aznar was only too delighted to answer any questions Anastasia put to him.

  “Tell me about your Capital,” she suggested.

  “Sergei is on the French side of the Pyrenees,” he answered, “but only just, with the mountains towering up above it. It is also our largest port.”

  “The Palace is attractive?” Anastasia enquired.

  “It was originally a castle, and part of what remains of the old Palace is hundreds of years old,” he replied. “But about fifty years ago His Majesty’s grandfather built an entirely new Palace on the old site. It is extremely impressive and modelled on the Palace at Versailles.”

  “Again a French influence!” Anastasia remarked without thinking.

  She saw the expression on Captain Aznar’s face darken as he replied,

  “There is another Palace at Huesca on the other side of the mountains, which is like the Alhambra in Madrid.”

  “Does His Majesty often go there?” Anastasia asked.

  “It has not been used for many years,” Captain Aznar replied.

  This, Anastasia was sure, was the bone of contention.

  She had already learnt that Captain Aznar’s family was of Spanish origin and he was passionately devoted to the part of the country south of the Pyrenees.

  ‘It must have been deliberate,’ she thought to herself, ‘that while the Baroness is of French persuasion, Captain Aznar is Spanish.’

  Whoever had chosen her attendants had tried to be impartial.

  She had learnt from Olivia that while she came from Sergei and had worked in the Palace for some years, she also was a Spanish-Mauronian, as her dark skin and black hair suggested.

  As the girl helped Anastasia to dress she talked of the beauty of her country, but it was quite obvious she was speaking about the Southern Provinces and the olive groves like those over the Spanish border.

  “I want you to help me, Olivia,” Anastasia said now, as the maid arranged her hair, occasionally finding it difficult to keep her balance as she stood behind Anastasia’s chair.

  Fortunately, everything in the cabin had been battened down, but even to put a brush on the dressing table was to have it flung violently to the floor, while the waves beat wildly and tempestuously against the portholes as if they were trying to break the thick glass.

  “You know I’ll do anything Your Royal Highness asks of me,” Olivia replied in her warm voice.

  “When we are in Sergei, I want you to tell me what the people think about me.”

  She saw the surprise in the maid’s eyes and went on,

  “It is very difficult to learn the truth, when one is surrounded by courtiers who say what they think you want to hear, and by those who wish only to be pleasant. I am going to rely on you, Olivia, to tell me what I should know. It is the only way I can help your people.”

  “It’s Your Royal Highness’s wish to help us?” Olivia asked in a low voice.

  “I want it with all my heart,” Anastasia replied with a note of sincerity in her voice that was unmistakable.

  She saw Olivia draw in her breath.

  “Your Royal Highness is a very wonderful lady. I’m very grateful for the privilege of serving you.”

  Anastasia did not say anything more at the moment but she was determined to impress upon Olivia that she must not be afraid to speak openly, not only all through the voyage, but once they arrived at the Palace.

  ‘I shall be a stranger in a strange land,’ Anastasia told herself, ‘and I must have help.’

  She had seen enough Palaces to realise that the occupants lived behind plate glass windows.

  They had little personal or real contact with those they ruled because those who served and protected them against anything harsh or unpleasant wrapped them in cotton wool.

  ‘If I don’t learn of what is likely to occur before it happens,’ Anastasia thought, ‘then there will be no chance of my doing anything to prevent the French from marching in.’

  It was all very vague in her mind and she had no idea what she could do, but she was determined, if it was possible, not to return to Eng
land an exile and a failure.

  She knew how deeply her mother had suffered since she had been a widow without a country, compelled to live on the charity of her relatives.

  ‘That must not happen to me,’ Anastasia told herself.

  With a little quiver of fear she remembered that if ever she did have to leave Maurona, then the King would be with her.

  It was horrifying to think of returning to England defeated and unwanted, but even worse to imagine what it would be like with a frustrated and resentful husband.

  So often, when there was news from Hohlenstein, the Grand Duchess would say to Anastasia,

  “I thank God that your father did not live to see this day!” or “how your Papa would have hated to know that all he had worked for has been forgotten or changed!”

  ‘I will fight to save Maurona,’ Anastasia told herself every night before she went to sleep.

  Then, even as she said it, she thought how insignificant and ineffectual she was, just one ignorant girl who knew little about life and who had seen nothing of the world outside England.

  ‘Why did I not learn more?’ she asked herself a dozen times, and it was little consolation to realise that she was in fact far better educated than most girls of her age.

  Now, as she applied herself to learning Mauronian, she thought it was only the first step in what she already thought of in her heart as a crusade.

  “Tell me more! Tell me everything you think I ought to know,” she said to Captain Aznar when she found him waiting for her in the Admiral’s cabin.

  It was far more comfortable than Anastasia had expected, and, as they settled themselves in two velvet covered armchairs that were battened to the floor and faced each other across a table that was fixed in the same way, she saw the irrepressible admiration in Captain Aznar’s eyes.

  “I thought that after such a rough night, ma’am,” he said, “you would not brave the elements this morning.”

  “Was it worse last night than the night before?” Anastasia enquired.

  “One of the Officers has just told me that he thinks the storm has blown itself out, but it was exceedingly unpleasant after midnight.”

  Anastasia looked embarrassed.