Rebecca Winters: His Majesty's Marriage

© 2002

Rebecca Wintersis the mother of four who was very excited about the new millennium because it meant another new beginning for her. Having said goodbye to the classroom where she taught French and Spanish, she is now free to spend more time with her family, to travel and to write the Mills & Boon novels she loves so dearly.

Rebecca Winters has been nominated for a Reader’s Choice Award for her title The Faithful Bride and was previously voted Utah Writer of the Year! You can visit her Web site at www.rebeccawinters-author.com

PRINCERAOULMERTIERBERGERETD’ARILLAClevered his tall, ripcord-strong body from the car, and strode across the cobblestone courtyard of the seventeenth-century Swiss château nestled in the forest overlooking Lake Neuchatel.

Despite the lateness of the hour, the early July night felt warm and balmy. Perfect weather for him and his friends to enjoy a relaxing climb in Zermatt over the weekend.

Intent on reaching his newly modernized apartments, a surprise from his mother he could have done without while he’d been away climbing in the Himalayas at the end of spring, he didn’t notice a figure had stepped from the shadows of the giant chestnut tree until he heard his name called.

He paused mid-stride and spun around. “Father?”

“I didn’t mean to startle you, my boy.”

Raoul shook his head and walked toward him. “Why on earth aren’t you in bed?”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“So I gather. Philippe just got back from Paris this evening. We’ve been discussing a weekend climb of the Matterhorn’s North Face. I’m afraid we lost track of the time.”

In the moonlight, Henri Mertier’s gaze took in the handsome features of his only child, whose complexion had been darkened to teak by the elements on Everest.

He had nothing but praise for his devoted, hardworking, thirty-four-year-old son who not only was a brilliant banker and businessman in his own right, but possessed all the qualities a father could pray for in his offspring.

Temperate in most things, his son had a passion for climbing when he could get away, and he always handled his relationships with women in a discreet manner.

In truth, Henri was tremendously proud of Raoul. That was why a terrible sadness washed over him when he considered what had to be said now. He knew it was the last news his son wanted to hear.

Almost the same height as Raoul’s six-foot-two physique, he put a detaining hand on his shoulder. “Could we talk inside?”

Something important was on his father’s mind. “Of course.”

Raoul fell in step with his parent as they approached the main entrance to the château. He opened the heavy door, with the D’Arillac coat of arms emblazoned in stained glass, and ushered his father through the great hallway to the library.

“Let’s have a drink, shall we? I feel the need of one.”

The odd inflection in his tone caused Raoul to study his father’s sober expression which couldn’t be hidden by his trimmed brown mustache and beard. Only wings of silver at the temples indicated his seventy years of age.

The two men faced each other in front of the hearth with its ancient glazed tiles. Raoul stared at the wonderful man who’d always been his role model. The pale blue eyes held a mixture of sadness and anxiety.

Unsettled by the look, Raoul decided he needed sustenance after all and poured himself what his father was drinking.

“You obviously have something serious to discuss. What is so urgent you couldn’t wait until tomorrow to tell me?”

His father shook his head. His hands were clasped in front of him. He rubbed his thumbs together in an attitude of reflection.

“You’re familiar with the phrase, ‘God’s errand’?”

Raoul didn’t move a muscle, but something unpleasant twisted in his gut-some premonition of dread. He’d experienced it on several occasions climbing in the Alps during army maneuvers. The sudden crack of sound-then avalanche. Lines darkened his features.

“Say what you have to say, Father,” Raoul said with an uncustomary show of impatience. His parent’s comment had begun to alarm him.

“This concerns you and the Princess Sophie.”

A pregnant silence invaded the booklined room with its ornate hand-carved furniture and inlaid floors. Raoul felt as if someone had put a fist to his abdomen, dead center. He ran long, tanned fingers through his dark blond hair, a trait passed down from his mother.

“I thought we had an understanding that until I turned thirty-six she was a closed subject.”

“I’m afraid her father opened it when I received a call from him earlier this evening. He feels Sophie has reached the age where it has become an embarrassment for her to still be single. It seems he insists that the date of your wedding be moved up.”

Henri’s words extinguished any light coming from his son’s piercing blue eyes.

“How soon?”

After a tension-filled pause, “Two months.”

The wineglass slipped from Raoul’s fingers and shattered against the parquetry. All color drained from his face, leaving his lips whitened. He stood there clenching and unclenching his fists.

Henri’s heart went out to Raoul. If anyone understood how his son felt, Henri did. Thirty-five years ago he’d married Raoul’s mother, Princess Louise de Bergeret. They had been betrothed from infancy. Fortunately there’d been an initial attraction on both sides and their marriage grew into a love match.

But, lovely as Sophie was, he knew the fire wasn’t there for her on Raoul’s part. Though he’d had ample opportunity over the years, his son had never sought her company.

“I’m sorry the news is so distressing to you.”

Raoul ran trembling hands through his hair one more time. “I’ve got to be by myself for a while, Father. Excuse me.”

He slipped out the doors of the family château and climbed into the forest beyond the estate. He broke into a run as he left the gentler slopes and made his way through the pines clinging to the steeper hillsides overlooking the lake.

By the time he’d reached his destination, his breath was spent. He flung his body facedown into the bed of wild narcissus and gave way to his grief. Time had no meaning as pain continued to rack his body.

Much later, when he rose to his feet on unsteady legs, the stars had faded from their velvet backdrop.

As a pale yellow dawn filled the sky, he let himself back inside his apartment.

Gripping his cellphone with a hand still redolent of narcissus, he rang Philippe.

“Raoul-” he answered in a gravelly voice. “What time is it?”

“Five-thirty. Can you talk?”

“But of course,” his voice came back, much stronger than before. “You want me to come there?”

“No. Meet me at the pier. We’ll take a ride.”

“I’ll join you in ten minutes.”

A half-hour later Raoul cut the motor of the speedboat. They were far enough away from shore to ensure total privacy. Without preamble he told Philippe about the bombshell his father had just dropped on him.