Lord at First Sight (The Montevor Royals Saga #8)

Chapter 39

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

ANTOINE

T he gardens of Chateau de Bellay are beautiful all year round. But in summer, with all the different varieties of roses in full bloom, they’re unmatched. It’s no wonder my parents hold their receptions and dinner parties here from May to September whenever the weather permits.

The brunch table is set with fine bone china arranged on crisp white linen. The silverware shines as if under military inspection. My parents are seated at each end. Celeste’s mother, Marie-Louise, is in the middle of the long side. The empty seat next to her is for the prime minister. He’s sent word that he’ll be delayed, and that we should begin without him.

Celeste is next to me, radiant with the post-ride glow.

“You’ve done an exceptional job with the Bellay Enterprises, Antoine,” Marie-Louise says. “Your family’s legacy is in good hands.”

I incline my head. “Thank you, Lady d’Alenq. It’s a privilege to build on my parents’ work.”

“But that’s not your biggest achievement,” Father jumps in.

Ardent royalist that he is, I already know what he’s going to say next.

He turns to Marie-Louise. “Like Henri and your son Jonas, Antoine’s greatest legacy will always be that he served the Crown and the country honorably by finding a lost Montevor key.”

Marie Louise nods. “Both our houses rose to the occasion and proved themselves worthy of their noble titles. Imagine everything we could achieve together!”

Her gaze darts to Celeste who glances at me.

“I must admit,” Mother says, “it’s a huge relief that Antoine broke the mold, like Darrel Vlovsky before him, and didn’t marry his Key to the Key.”

Father smiles. “Our prayers were heard.”

“No doubt,” Marie-Louise agrees. “It would’ve been a shame if the future Count de Bellay had married a foreign commoner just because she happened to be his Key to the Key.”

“May I remind everyone,” Celeste says sweetly, “that all three Montevor princes married foreign commoners?”

The silence that falls over the table is delicious.

“That’s not entirely accurate,” Mother says, shifting in her seat. “Prince Arnaud’s Key to the Key, Alexandra de Croy is not a commoner. She’s an authentic French aristocrat, noblesse ancien régime .”

Marie-Louise waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, we mean no disrespect to any Key to the Key, of course! After all, my son married a foreign commoner of his own.”

“As did I,” I say.

The table freezes up. I feel a pang of shame seeing the horrified expressions on my parents’ and Celeste’s faces. Deadpan jokes had always been Henri’s exclusive prerogative. Clearly, my entourage isn’t ready for me to make one at this time—or on this subject.

“I’m referring to my TV marriage,” I hasten to add. “It’s over now. Laura and I are officially divorced.”

The tension shatters into polite laughter.

Marie-Louise beams. “You’re such a tease, Antoine! Celeste values wit above all else in a man. Don’t you, dear?”

Her daughter nods, visibly uncomfortable.

Marie-Louise leans toward me. “Did she sign the divorce papers easily?”

“Oh, yes,” Mother answers for me. “No prevarication, I am told. And she signed the NDA as well. Surprisingly reasonable for a reality show contestant.”

I put down my fork. “She didn’t have to sign the NDA, you know. When I wrote to inform her that she was cleared to visit Mount Evor and meet Prince Richard, her reply was, and I quote, ‘Thanks, but no, thanks.’”

Marie-Louise adjusts her napkin.

Celeste picks at her fruit salad.

“Sounds like she’s turned the page on the whole thing,” Father comments.

“Oh yes!” Mother adds enthusiastically. “She’s back with that wedding singer ex-boyfriend of hers.”

Keeping an eye on Laura, are we? Looks like I’m not the only one who’s been pestering MESS for an update on my Key to the Key.

A soft crunch of gravel beneath shoes carries just enough weight to signal someone’s arrival. I turn to see who that is. The prime minister strides toward the sprawling chestnut tree shading our table.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” he declares. “Urgent business this morning. Took a little longer than I anticipated.”

He waves off the murmur of sympathy and takes the empty seat next to Marie-Louise.

The house cook appears immediately. “How would you like your eggs, sir?”

“Poached, please,” the PM replies.

The cook retreats to the kitchen.

“No sugar, no milk. Thank you,” the PM says to the maid pouring him some steaming coffee.

The table is quiet, as we all wait for him to set the tone for the rest of the brunch.

He turns his attention to me. “Lord de Bellay, I wanted to tell you personally that your work on the seventh key was remarkable.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

He turns to Marie-Louise. “Just like your son’s, Lady d’Alenq. Mount Evor is fortunate to have a new generation of such quality.”

A flicker of pride lights up deep in my chest. I glance at my parents who look elated. I bet they took the prime minister’s words as an endorsement of their parenting.

“Antoine’s always been the perfect son,” Mother says to the PM. “He’s so responsible, so thoughtful! Never gives us a moment’s trouble.”

Everyone at the table except Celeste nods. Mother’s characterization is objectively true, which makes it bizarre that it should annoy me so much.

To make light, I bow ceremoniously. “Antoine the Perfect, worthy descendant of Fat Amalric, at your service!”

Everyone laughs including Celeste this time.

For a short while, we eat in silence.

Then I remember something I’ve been meaning to ask the PM. “Sir, any updates on Kurt Ozzi?”

“According to the latest report I received from MESS, he’s still undergoing rehabilitation after his heart attack,” the PM replies.

“Do you think he might finally give up, and let us be?” I ask. “Even the most relentless men have their limits.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice!” Marie-Louise exclaims.

The prime minister leans back in his chair. “I wish I could say yes. But Kurt has never been one to surrender easily. His megalomaniacal ego wouldn’t let him.”

Mother chimes in, “I don’t see him retreating gracefully, after all the damage he’s done, all his crimes against our royals…”

“I agree we should remain vigilant,” Father says. “But while we wait for the oracle’s next vision, we can still pray that Antoine is right, can’t we?”

“Of course, we can,” the PM concurs with a gentle smile.

The conversation shifts to lighter topics over the dessert, which consists of delicate pastries and bowls of velvety ice cream paired with fresh fruit.

The prime minister brushes crumbs from his hands. “A splendid meal!” He stands and bows to my parents. “Agathe, Thibault, thank you! As always, your hospitality is beyond compare!”

My parents thank him for the pleasure of his company.

After he’s gone, Mother turns to Marie-Louise and Celeste. “Would you care to see my newest variety of rose on the east side of the chateau? It’s quite a sight!”

“We would love to,” Marie-Louise replies.

Celeste hesitates briefly, her eyes flicking to me. I pretend not to notice. She joins my mother and hers. Father asks for more coffee, settles deeper into his chair and unfolds his newspaper.

I head inside, starved for a moment alone.