Barbara Hannay - A Royal Proposal

Hours?

In no time she would find herself back in Sydney, back in her little flat that she’d decorated so carefully. She would be reunited with Dolly, her cat, and she’d see all her friends again and resume her role at the gallery. Once again she would be living in hope that she might sell her father’s paintings for an enormous sum.

Taking her seat at the breakfast table, Charlie wished she felt happier about the prospect of going home. It didn’t make sense to feel miserable about going back to her own world and her old life, the life that had been perfectly satisfactory until she’d been so suddenly plucked from it.

Her low mood was annoying. Puzzling, too. She knew she couldn’t have fallen in love with Rafe in such a short space of time. And anyway, even if she had, foolishly, lost her head, it couldn’t be an emotion of the lasting kind.

She was simply dazzled...starstruck. This man and his castle and his beautiful principality were all part of a fairy tale, after all. This world wasn’t real—not for an everyday average Aussie girl.

‘Is everything all right?’ Rafe asked her in French.

Charlie blinked and it took her a moment to compute his simple question. ‘Of course,’ she said at last. ‘I was just wondering when a certain person might be found.’

‘Oh, yes, I know.’ He frowned. ‘It’s very frustrating.’

Charlie suspected that Rafe might have said more, but a young man with carefully slicked-back hair, dressed in a pristine white shirt and black trousers, appeared to pour her coffee and to politely offer her warmed platters of food awaiting her selection. She copied Rafe and took a croissant with scrambled eggs and a little smoked salmon.

‘I’m going to be busy for most of today,’ Rafe told her as the young man hovered to pour his second cup of coffee and to make sure Charlie had everything she needed. ‘But I’ve arranged for Mathilde to give you that VIP guest list with the photos.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And I won’t forget our arrangement to meet prior to the ball. I think seven o’clock should give us enough time.’

‘Yes, I’ll make sure I’m ready.’ Charlie was rather looking forward to their dancing lesson.

Rafe nodded. ‘There’s nothing else you need today?’ And then almost immediately, he answered his own question. ‘Of course, you’ll need jewellery for tonight.’

‘Well, yes, I suppose I shall.’

‘What colour is your gown?’

Charlie thought about the beautiful gown hanging in her wardrobe. She remembered the slinky sensation of the fully lined satin and the way it had clung and rippled about her body as she moved. Now that the ball was drawing close, she was a bit self-conscious about wearing it in public.

‘It’s a sort of pale green.’ she said. ‘Not an apple green, a pale—I don’t know, a smoky green, perhaps?’ The colour was hard enough to describe in English, but trying to do so in French was almost impossible. Charlie knew she was making a hash of it. ‘I think Monique may have called it sea foam, or something like that.’

‘Sea-foam green?’ Rafe’s grey eyes widened. He didn’t look impressed.

Charlie lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. ‘Don’t worry, Rafe, it works. That colour shouldn’t suit me with my blue eyes, but it seems to.’

‘I’m sure it’s very beautiful, Char—Olivia.’ It was the first time Rafe had ever slipped up with her name. Was it a sign that he was nervous about her performance tonight? This would be her first real test in front of all the most important people in Montaigne. She was beginning to wish that she’d chosen a nice safe white or blue dress.

But then, to her surprise, Rafe said, ‘I can’t wait to see you wearing it.’ And he sent her a smile so smouldering it should have been illegal. Charlie was too busy catching her breath to reply.

‘I imagine,’ he said next, ‘that pearls and diamonds might be best suited to your sea foam.’

‘Yes,’ Charlie agreed, very deliberately calming down, despite the exciting prospect of wearing royal pearls and diamonds. ‘I think they’d be perfect.’

‘Good. I’ll arrange to have them sent to your room before seven.’

‘Thank you.’

* * *

It was yet another day of new experiences. Charlie had been to hair salons before, of course, and had once indulged in a spray tan at a beauty salon in Sydney. But she’d never been to a suite of salons as grand and luxurious as the place Rafe’s chauffeur delivered her to for today’s appointments.

She’d certainly never been so pampered. By the end of the day she’d been given a warm oil body massage and a winter hydrating facial, as well as a manicure, pedicure and eyebrow wax—and of course, there had been a beautiful healthy lunch that included a ghastly looking green smoothie that was surprisingly delicious.

Charlie’s hair had been given a special conditioning treatment, too, and her scalp had been massaged, her curls trimmed.

‘Oh, my God, Olivia! Your hair has grown so much since your last cut!’

Charlie merely nodded at this. ‘It grows fast,’ she agreed, crossing her fingers under her cape.

After a short but intense discussion among the hairdressers about the Prince’s expectations for the ball, Charlie’s hair was styled into a glamorous updo. And then her make-up was applied. She’d been rather nervous about this. She was worried that the make-up would be too heavy, that it would involve false eyelashes and she’d end up looking like a drag queen. She wanted to be able to recognise herself when she saw her reflection.

There was no problem with recognition, however. In fact, the results were amazing. The girl in the mirror was the same old Charlie, but her skin now had a special glow, a feat she had never managed before without making her nose shiny. Her eyes seemed to have acquired an extra sparkle and glamour. Her hair was glossy, her curls artistically tamed. The result was faultless.

Charlie was a little overawed by this newly refined and sophisticated version of herself. She almost felt like a princess. She quickly stomped on that thought before it took root.

* * *

By seven o’clock the names and faces on the supplied list had all been memorised—Charlie had tested herself several times—and she was dressed and ready. The sea-foam dress still looked good, she was relieved to see.

It was sleeveless with a scooped neckline and an elegant, low cowl back, but it was the slinky way the dress flowed, responding to every subtle movement of her body, that made it so special.

She had never gone out of her way to draw attention to herself, but she knew this was the sort of dress that would let everyone, male and female, know she was in the room. The addition of Rafe’s heirloom pearls and diamonds—delivered by his valet, Jacques—completed her transformation. She had expected a necklace and earrings, but there was a tiara as well, which Jacques kindly helped her to secure.

When the valet left she was rather stunned when she saw herself in the mirror. The dress was a dream, the make-up dewy-perfect. The elegant up-sweep of her hair and the gleaming pearls and sparkling diamonds of the tiara had combined to create the perfect image of a princess.

Charlie Morisset was in for a big night.

For Rafe’s sake, she only hoped she could get through it without making too many blunders.

* * *

Rafe was due at any moment and, rather than waiting for him to knock, Charlie opened her door, ready for his arrival. As she did so she heard strange noises—blasts and ripples of music floating up the staircase from the grand ballroom on the lower floor. Trumpets, clarinets, saxophones and flutes. The band was warming up.

Excitement and anticipation pinged inside her and she drew a quick, steadying breath. Not that it did her any good, for a moment later Rafe stepped out from a doorway across the hall and she completely forgot how to breathe.