A Kiss for the King Read online

  “What are we going to do now?” she asked in a voice that only the King could hear.

  “I present you to the Cabinet, the Members of the Household, the Diplomatic Corps and other influential people of Maurona,” he answered.

  “I hope I don’t say the wrong thing,” Anastasia whispered.

  “You have only to smile at them,” he assured her.

  They moved through the hall and down a passage, which led into a huge salon that Anastasia realised, was the Throne Room, designed as a copy of the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles.

  She had seen pictures of the French Palace and the imitation was unmistakable.

  “I hear you had a very rough journey,” the King said conventionally as they moved down the centre of the hall, seeing themselves reflected and re-reflected in the mirrors on either side.

  “It was very disturbing for Mama,” Anastasia answered. “Everyone succumbed except myself and Captain Aznar.”

  “I hope you found him entertaining.”

  “He was very kind and very instructive,” Anastasia replied. “He taught me to speak Mauronian.”

  “I shall look forward to hearing you,” the King answered in his own language.

  “I only hope Your Majesty will not be disappointed or too critical.”

  “But that is good! Very good!” he exclaimed. “How could you have learnt my language so quickly?”

  “I did not find it difficult. I am very anxious to understand your people.”

  The King looked at her with a faint air of surprise and she asked in a low voice that only he could hear,

  “Am I what you expected?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “The picture I saw of you was a very bad one. You looked stern and aloof and very inhuman.”

  “I can only hope that you will find me none of those things.”

  Anastasia smiled at him and he noticed that she had a dimple in her left cheek.

  “I was very frightened when I saw you at the top of the steps,” she confessed.

  “And now?” he questioned.

  “There are only half a dozen butterflies instead of six hundred fluttering inside me!”

  He laughed and Anastasia glanced around apprehensively, quite certain that her mother would be frowning.

  With an effort she forced herself to walk a little taller and then they reached the two gold thrones at the end of the hall.

  They did not sit but stood in front of them on the dais, and the Grand Duchess with the Prime Minister and several aides-de-camp stood behind them. Looking back Anastasia could see that they had formed the head of a procession, which had followed them all the way from the Palace steps.

  A resplendent official took up a position on her right and, as the notables one by one reached her, he announced their names and titles in stentorian tones.

  First came the Cabinet headed by the Prime Minister, whom Anastasia had already met. Nevertheless she curtsied to him again, and as he raised her hand to his lips he said,

  “I welcome you, ma’am, with even more sincerity than I did a little while earlier.”

  Anastasia smiled at him.

  “You are sure I have not been a disappointment to the people?”

  “You heard them cheering you,” he answered, “and now they believe in Fairy Princesses.”

  The Foreign Secretary took his place.

  “I had a letter from Lord John Russell this morning, ma’am,” he told Anastasia. “He informed me how beautiful you are, but words are a poor substitute for the reality!”

  “Do all Mauronians make such charming compliments?” Anastasia asked.

  “When they have someone so very charming to say them to,” the Foreign Secretary replied – and passed on.

  It was difficult to remember each individual in such a sea of faces as one Statesman succeeded another.

  After them came the Diplomatic Corps.

  “His Excellency, Don Alfonso Gerona, the Spanish Ambassador, and Madame Gerona!”

  Anastasia looked at them with interest.

  They gave her their good wishes, speaking in Spanish, and she replied in the same language.

  She had a feeling that the King turned for a moment to look at her in approval, and then Comte Henri le Granmont, Ambassador of His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of France and the Comtesse le Granmont took their place.

  Anastasia was suddenly alert.

  She remembered what Christopher Lyncombe had said and, even while she was curtsying to the French Ambassador, out of the corner of her eye she glanced at his wife.

  She saw an exquisitely-gowned woman curtsying almost over-effusively to the King and realised as she did so that two dark eyes looked up at him from under long lashes with a provocative expression in them that was inescapable.

  It would not have been noticeable, Anastasia told herself, if she had not been looking out for just such a sign of intimacy between the Comtesse and her future husband.

  The King’s voice was, however, quite formal and unemotional, although there was undoubtedly a caressing note in the Comtesse’s voice as she spoke to him.

  Then, as the French Ambassador moved away and the Comtesse curtseyed to Anastasia, there was no mistaking the change in her expression and the sudden hardness in her eyes.

  “I must bid you welcome to Maurona, ma’am,” the Comtesse said, and Anastasia thought wryly that there was certainly no welcome in her tone.

  “I am so delighted to meet you, madame,” Anastasia replied in perfect French. “I have heard so much about you.”

  She saw the sudden surprise in the Comtesse’s face, but before she could think of an adequate answer Anastasia turned to the Italian Ambassador who had just shaken hands with the King.

  The procession went on and on until, when at last it finished, the King once again offered Anastasia his arm and they mingled with the guests who were now drinking wine and eating refreshments in the room adjoining the Throne Room.

  They spoke first to one person and then another, while Captain Carlos Aznar hovered near them.

  Then Anastasia saw the Comtesse le Granmont deliberately walk forward so that it was impossible for the King to proceed without speaking to her.

  The Comtesse curtsied.

  “We are hoping, Your Majesty, that it will be possible for you to bring Her Royal Highness to the reception at the French Embassy this afternoon. It would be so delightful if you would watch the procession through the streets from our balconies from which there is a much better view than from the Chancellery.”

  The Comtesse was looking at the King as she spoke, but Anastasia, watching her, had the feeling there was something more behind her words.

  Then she was sure that this was yet another attempt to inveigle the King into showing his affection for the French community.

  Before he could answer, Anastasia parried,

  “It sounds delightful, madame, but I have the feeling that, as it will be my first appearance in public, I should stand on Mauronian soil.”

  She smiled as she spoke and added,

  “I may be mistaken, but I am sure I have read somewhere that an Embassy not only represents but is a piece of its own country. Therefore in the French Embassy I should in effect be in France.”

  It would have been difficult for anyone to suspect her of being anything but ingenuous.

  Nevertheless, the Comtesse’s face darkened.

  Pointedly she ignored Anastasia.

  “I am hoping you will not refuse our invitation, Sire,” she carried on in a soft voice.

  “I think the decision must be in the hands of my future bride,” the King answered. “She may, indeed, be too fatigued to fulfil any more engagements. She has had a most exhausting journey.”

  “Perhaps we could talk about it a little later,” Anastasia suggested. “I would so much like to see the procession and the Battle of Flowers.”

  Again she spoke ingenuously, but the Comtesse’s lips were set in a hard line as Anastasia and the King mov
ed away.

  Anastasia glanced at Captain Aznar.

  He had heard the whole conversation and she saw that he could not hide the delight in his expression.

  She had the feeling that the King was looking at her rather speculatively as if he suspected there might be some particular reason for her elusiveness in the face of the Comtesse’s insistence.

  There were still a large number of people to meet, but at last, when Anastasia was now feeling extremely hungry, the King drew her away from the reception room and they walked down the corridor towards another part of the Palace.

  “I think it is time for luncheon,” he said, “and may I congratulate you? You came through your first ordeal with flying colours.”

  “Did I really?” Anastasia asked. “Everyone was so charming. I only wish I could believe all the nice words they said.”

  “Why not?” he asked. “And have I been so remiss as not to inform you that you are very lovely – far more beautiful than I could have possibly have expected?”

  She knew he was echoing her first words to him and she blushed as she said,

  “I am so ashamed that I should have spoken like that without thinking.”

  “Do you often do that?”

  “Nearly always!” she confessed. “You looked so absolutely different from what I had anticipated that I could not believe it was true.”

  “And what do you think I look like now?” he enquired.

  She looked up at him from under the brim of her bonnet.

  Never had she seen a more attractive face. His features were classical, just as they had appeared in the portrait in the Illustrated London News. His nose might have been Roman or Greek and his broad forehead might have come from the same source.

  But his eyes were definitely raffish – the eyes of a pirate or an adventurer, a man who looked at the world with curiosity and a desire for plunder! There was also a twist to his lips that was decidedly mocking.

  He did not look like anyone she had ever seen before and yet, she told herself, with his broad shoulders and narrow, athletic figure he was very masculine and extremely attractive.

  “Well?” the King asked breaking in on her thoughts. “I am waiting and, let me add, I am extremely apprehensive!”

  “You need not be,” Anastasia said, “I think you look just as a King should look. Was Alexander one of your ancestors?”

  “The Great?” the King queried. “Are you expecting me to conquer the world?”

  “I think ‘the world’ means something different for each one of us,” Anastasia answered. “It could be just a home and garden – or half a continent.”

  She paused and added,

  “And sometimes it is a case of conquer or be conquered.”

  She saw the astonishment in the King’s eyes, but before he could reply they had reached the State Banqueting Hall.

  Chapter Five

  “You are nearly ready now, so I will go and put on my tiara,” the Grand Duchess announced.

  Anastasia was unable to answer as, at that moment, Olivia lifted her wedding dress over her head. Only when the huge full skirt was pulled over its whalebone frame and she slipped her arms into a small tight bodice, was she able to reply,

  “Yes, do, Mama. I don’t want to be a late bride.”

  “You certainly do not wish to be early!” the Grand Duchess retorted, as if she must always have the last word. She went from the room and Anastasia stood still while Olivia buttoned up her gown at the back.

  She could see herself reflected in a long mirror and she knew that the wedding dress she and her mother had chosen with such care justified the exorbitant amount of money it had cost.

  The satin bodice was embroidered all over with diamante, and the full skirt, trimmed with three flounces of Honiton lace and sprays of orange flowers and myrtle, sparkled with diamante like dew drops on a flower.

  There were more orange flowers just below the curve of Anastasia’s white shoulders, and the long train, which was to be affixed at the last moment, was lying on the bed.

  Edged with ermine and also embroidered in diamante, it was very impressive. Anastasia hoped that the four pages that were to carry it would be able to sustain its weight, for she reckoned it would be very heavy.

  “You look lovely, Your Royal Highness!” Olivia murmured.

  For a moment they were alone in the room, as the other maid, who had been assisting Anastasia to dress, had gone to fetch the bouquet.

  “I hope all the people waiting outside will think so,” Anastasia replied.

  “Already they are talking of you as the Queen they longed for!” Olivia answered. “The whole city is gossiping of how you added the red carnations to your bouquet yesterday afternoon.”

  Anastasia smiled.

  She was glad to think she had avoided an awkward situation – or had it been a trap?

  She and the King, her mother and a great number of officials had arrived at the Chancellery to watch the procession of flowers.

  Anastasia, half afraid that the King might be annoyed that she had refused the invitation of the Comtesse to the French Embassy, was making every effort to be charming and enthusiastic.

  She hoped that the King would not think she was suspicious of the French Ambassadress, or that her explanation that she must watch the procession on Mauronian soil had a deeper motive than had appeared on the surface.

  She had known, however, that Captain Aznar was delighted with what she had said, and she could not help feeling that her action would lose nothing in the telling.

  She considered whether she would tell him not to speak of it, but there was no possibility of her having a private conversation with him.

  After they had lunched formally in the huge State Banqueting Hall, there was only time for Anastasia to go upstairs and rest for half an hour before she changed ready to proceed with the King to the Chancellery.

  The Grand Duchess had thought it wise for Anastasia to wear a predominantly white dress to make her appearance on the balcony.

  “They will expect you to look like a bride,” she insisted.

  The gown she had chosen was very attractive. It was white, trimmed with tiny flouncings over the full skirt. Each flounce was threaded through with pale pink ribbon, and the same ribbons decorated Anastasia’s small bonnet, which tied under her chin.

  She looked very young and very lovely as she came down the stairs of the Palace to where the King, surrounded by Courtiers, aides-de-camp and resplendent officials, stood waiting for her.

  He raised her hand to his lips and she could not put a name to the expression she saw in his eyes.

  She hoped it was admiration, but she was not sure.

  She thought a trifle unhappily that there was definitely a mocking twist to his lips.

  “Are you always so punctual?” he asked, as they walked down the red-carpeted steps of the Palace to where the carriages were waiting. “I had anticipated I might have to wait for my future bride – and certainly for my wife!”

  “Doubtless tapping the floor impatiently with your foot!” Anastasia laughed. “I shall be very careful in case Your Majesty begins to stamp. That is when it is really dangerous!”

  “You speak as if you had some experience of impatient men,” the King commented.

  “Mama has told me how cross my father used to become if anyone kept him waiting,” Anastasia answered, “with the result that I am always afraid of being over punctual and finding that there is no one to receive me!”

  They reached the carriage, and once they had started on their way it was impossible to talk because of the cheers of the crowd.

  It was only a short distance to the Chancellery, but Anastasia found it exhilarating to hear the cries ring out, to find the carriage filling with flowers as it had on her way from the battleship and to see that many people were carrying a picture of her, holding it up on hastily, improvised banners or fixed to pieces of wood.

  There was also a profusion of Union Jacks mingling with the
flags of Maurona.

  “Do you always get such an enthusiastic reception in your Capital?” Anastasia asked the King.

  “Very seldom,” he replied. “It is you they are cheering.”

  “Not me alone,” Anastasia replied, “but us, because we are together.”

  She thought for a moment he was about to say something cynical.

  Instead he smiled and said, again with that mocking note in his voice,

  “You say all the right things. I cannot help thinking you have been extremely well trained!”

  “That is not very flattering,” Anastasia said severely. “It makes me sound like a performing bear!”

  The King laughed, and she knew that he was surprised to find she was so quick-witted.

  They were received with much pomp at the door of the Chancellery and were escorted up through a rather ancient and gloomy building to the Council Chamber. Off this was the balcony from which they were to view the procession.

  As they were being received, a child, obviously the daughter of one of the officials, handed Anastasia a bouquet. She accepted it, said a few words to the child and, carrying it in her hand, proceeded up the stairs.

  There were more introductions in the Council Chamber, most of them to wives of officials, and then, as flunkeys went forward to open the long windows to the balcony, Anastasia heard Captain Aznar’s voice beside her.

  “White carnations,” he said barely above a whisper, “are worn by the French element in Maurona, red by the Spanish.”

  For the first time Anastasia looked closely at her bouquet. She had noticed as the child presented it to her that it was white. Now she saw that it was composed entirely of white carnations.

  She wondered if she should leave it on a table in the Council Chamber. Then she thought that if she did so, some officious courtier was sure to think it was an oversight and put it back into her hands.

  She looked around the assembled company and saw that more of the ladies were carrying bouquets. Then she realised that there were magnificent arrangements of flowers on side tables around the room.

  She walked towards the nearest.

  “How beautiful your flowers are!” she exclaimed at large to those standing around her. “I cannot tell you what a joy they are to someone who has come from the cold and snows of England.”