Jane Porter - Midnight at the Oasis - His Majesty's Mistake

“Don’t you have a home of your own in Brabant?”

“My grandparents left me an estate in the north. It’s quite pretty, a small castle with gorgeous grounds—orchards, a rose garden and even a small wood with a lake for fishing—but my parents have said that it’d cost too much for me to actually live there. Staffing it, running it, security. And so it’s mine, but unlivable.”

“I thought you said you had some money of your own now? That you’d come into your majority?”

“I do, but it’s not enough to fund the running of a château, and my parents won’t help cover the difference, nor will they ask the taxpayers to help. And I do agree with that. Our people don’t need me being a burden. That’s why I thought that I would just go somewhere else, like England, and find a small place that I could afford.”

“I think your citizens would be hurt if you left them. They love you.”

She thought of the large crowds that turned out every time she made an appearance, all ages, waving flags and carrying flowers, of all the little children who lifted their faces for a kiss. “And I love them. They have always been so very good to me. So loyal. But now I am pregnant, and it will bring them shame, which doesn’t seem right. I was to have been their perfect princess, a replacement for my aunt Jacqueline who was a most beloved princess. She’s been gone longer than she was alive, and yet they still mourn her.”

“She was stunning.”

“She was so young, too, when she died. Just twenty.”

“But now you create a new life,” he said firmly. “A new royal baby for your citizens to love and adore.”

Emmeline throat ached with emotion. “But I’m not royal—”

“What?”

She nodded. “And Alejandro is a commoner so the baby won’t be given a title, or be in line for the throne. That’s how it works in Brabant.” Her voice broke. “That’s why I had to marry King Patek. I had to marry a royal, a blue blood. And obviously I can’t marry Zale now—can’t marry any royal—and so I’m no longer in line for succession. Which means, my child won’t be, either.”

“I don’t understand. How can you not be royal? You are King William and Queen Claire’s daughter—”

“ Adopted daughter.” Emmeline’s eyes met his. She hesitated, struggling to find the right words when none of them felt good. “They adopted me when I was six days old. Apparently I’m a bastard, which even today brings Claire, my adoptive mother, endless shame.”

He looked dumbstruck. “Do you know anything about your birth parents?”

“Only that my birth mother was a Brabant commoner. Young, pregnant and unwed.”

“And your father?”

“No one knows anything about him.”

“You can’t find out?”

Emmeline shook her head. “It wasn’t an open adoption. My birth mother had no idea who would be adopting me, and my parents are very private. I had no idea I was adopted until I was sixteen.” She paused, tugged on the cuff of the blouse with unsteady fingers. “My father broke the news to me just before my birthday party.”

Makin’s eyes narrowed fractionally. “The actual day of your birthday?”

She shrugged. “I know it sounds childish, but it crushed me. I’d had no idea, and then suddenly my father was telling me I was illegitimate—a bastard—born of sin.” Her lips twisted wryly. “There I was, in my beautiful party dress and brand-new high heels, my first real set of heels, feeling so grown-up and excited. Then Father called me aside and took it all away. I don’t think he meant to hurt me as much as he did. But to call me a bastard? To tell his only daughter that she was a product of sin?”

Her smile slipped for a moment, revealing raw, naked pain. “I fell apart. I think I cried the rest of the night. Silly, I know.”

“It would have been shocking for anyone.”

“Maybe.” She was silent a moment. “So you see, I understand the stigma and shame of being illegitimate. I know what it’s like to be judged and rejected. Who knows who my birth parents were, or why they had to give me up for adoption? But they did, and they must have imagined it was the best thing for me. And maybe it was. But I do know this—I want my child—he or she is not a mistake. And I will do everything in my power to ensure that he or she has the best life possible.”

EMMELINE sat on the edge of the bed while Risa blew-dry her hair with a big round brush, aware that once she was home, it would be absolute hell. Her mother would lose her temper, probably scream at her that she was stupid. Her father would look morose and deeply disappointed and let her mother do all the talking. It was how they handled problems. It was how they handled problems like her. Not that she’d ever done anything to be considered a problem before, but it was how they’d always viewed her.

Sometimes Emmeline thought she should do something outrageous to give them cause for complaint, as the worst thing she’d ever done—until now—was skinny-dipping while visiting her cousins in Spain. She’d been twelve and it had seemed so daring to swim naked at night in the palace pool. Thirteen-year-old Delfina had suggested it and ten-year-old Isabel had endorsed the idea so Emmeline, nervous and giggling, joined them. And it had been fun, up until the time the palace security reported them to their parents.

Aunt Astrid had given them a scolding but Emmeline’s mother had been furious. She’d demanded to know whose idea it was, and when Delfina didn’t speak up, Emmeline took the blame to protect her cousins.

Emmeline had expected that her mother would spank her and that would be the end of it. Instead her mother spanked her and sent her home to Brabant.

The spanking had been bad, but being sent away from her cousins in disgrace, so much worse.

In the fourteen years since then, not a lot had changed. Her parents were still distant, her mother rigid. Emmeline could only imagine their reaction to the news that she was pregnant. She was too old to be spanked or sent away, so what would they do this time? Lock her in a tower and throw away the key?

“Almost done,” Risa said, turning off the blow-dryer.

Which meant they were almost there, Emmeline thought, hands knotting into fists.

While Risa was styling Emmeline’s hair in the rear cabin, Makin sat in his seat in the main cabin replaying the last several conversations he’d had with Emmeline in his head.

She wasn’t who he’d thought she was. She wasn’t shallow, either. Just sheltered and naive.

How could you hate someone for being sheltered? Inexperienced?

He couldn’t.

He understood now that she’d panicked back in March. She’d turned to Alejandro out of desperation, wanting someone to love her, knowing her prospective bridegroom didn’t. She’d made a gross error of judgment, but she wasn’t a terrible person. He couldn’t condone her actions, but he couldn’t dislike her anymore. Not when he understood how painful it had been for her to be married off to the highest bidder, as if she were an object instead of a smart, sensitive and shy young woman with hopes and dreams of her own.

Makin suddenly wished he hadn’t been so quick to put Emmeline on the plane for Brabant. But it was too late to turn around. All he could do now was offer her his support and let her know she wasn’t alone.

An hour later they were in the back of a limousine sailing toward the palace. Just before landing Emmeline changed into a black pencil skirt and a chic black satin blouse, which she accessorized with a long strand of ivory pearls. Her hair, now a gleaming golden blond, was drawn into an elegant chignon at the back of her head. She wore pearls at her ears.