Chapter 12 #3
“A traditional wedding breakfast is what you want?” Luke had not thought of a party.
“Well—yes? When these sorts of events return to the village—wedding feasts, and Christmas concerts, and flower shows—Ivy Hill
will feel like a proper community again. Celebrating important moments with your neighbors is unifying. It lends identity
and a sense of place. What better celebration than a wedding?”
“And all of Ivy Hill is to be invited?”
“Not all of Ivy Hill, but a few families. Miriam and Whittle put away a little money for the purpose of seeing me properly
wed. I’d hoped to allow them that privilege; a dress for me, a pretty hat for Miriam, a meal shared among friends. Of course,
if we move ahead with a wedding by Saturday, the hall will look exactly as it does now—”
“I’ll hire men to see it readied,” he cut in.
“You will?”
“Yes. An added joy will be making all the repairs Stinchcomb promised and then leaving the building in possession of the church.”
She laughed. “And what of my committee and our grants? We earned money for the refurbishment. We’ve sponsorships from historical
societies all over England.”
“Use your grants to buy new furniture, or stage lamps, or golden candelabras. Commission stained glass. Have angels painted
on the ceiling. I’ll take care of the repairs, you pay for embellishments. The sooner we have the wedding, the sooner you
can— The sooner we can relocate to Eastwell Park. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve asked Abbott to begin hiring staff. The
house is being aired and firewood brought in. In the beginning, we’ll live in just one wing, as you said. I’ll hire craftsmen
and you can manage the refurbishment from the inside out. Would this be acceptable?”
She gaped at him, her eyes bright with hope. The sail in Luke’s chest snapped full of wind.
“Alright,” she said carefully. “If you’re certain.”
“Yes,” he said. “Saturday for the wedding. And you should have what you want for the breakfast. Spare no expense. Here, take
my card.” He produced a small stack of calling cards that bore his name and direction. “Use my name to open accounts with
cooks or flower arrangers or whatever you may need. If you’ll allow me, I’ll have Fernsby speak to the vicar. And I’ll hire
men to make this building safe, as I’ve said.”
She took his cards and stared at his name. She let out a laugh, tearful and disbelieving. The sound slapped against his heart.
He ignored it. He was giving her what she wanted. It was fair—this was a fair arrangement.
No, he thought, this was fair enough.
“I wasn’t prepared for the urgency, Captain,” she said, placing his cards on the table with her lists. “I’m not opposed to
it, just surprised.”
“You are very agreeable.” He went to the heap of furniture on the wall and untangled a chair. He plunked it on the floor.
“I am?” She laughed again.
“Yes.” He gestured to the chair. She should sit when he told her why she must marry him. The real reason.
“I think disagreements set in when the bridegroom avoids his wedding,” she told him, “not races headlong to it. Or so I’ve been told.”
“Princess Danielle,” he began. His pounding heart could demolish this building.
“Oh, but wait,” she said, ignoring the chair. “Is there some manner of royal protocol that we must include in the ceremony? Some custom or . . . oh, I don’t know . . . velvet sash or insignia I should wear? Some
Orleans family motto read aloud in French, perhaps?”
He frowned. “No—not that I’m aware. We are free to do it however you and the vicar like.”
“Oh,” she said. “Oh. Well, that’s simplest, I suppose. One less thing. No fanfare means less bother. Anything French would
be awkward, considering England is at war with France.”
“Right,” he said cautiously, eyeing her.
She stared into the middle distance for a long moment. “Of course there would be nothing.”
Luke frowned. What was happening? Her voice had gone a little off.
“Naturally,” she went on, louder now. “There would be no distinctively French customs or references to the Orleans family. How foolish of me to presume. I’m meant to be this .
. . this princess . . . this hidden princess .
. . the secret of my royal birth so great, no one could even speak of it.
For years, no one said a word. And in the end, the silence endures.
Because no one really cares. Honestly, why even mention it? Truly?
When there’s nothing of France or the family of my birth at my wedding? To a national hero.”
Luke tried very hard to understand her particular concern in this moment. She’d begun to pace. A broom was propped against
the wall and she snatched it up, gesturing with it like a staff.
In an affected voice she asked, “What recommendation precedes the bridegroom?” In another voice, she answered her question.
“Why, he is a war hero, commended by the Prince Regent.” She chatted back and forth to herself, saying both sides. “How very
prestigious. But what of the bride? What of her prestige? Oh, she is a princess from France. A princess? How novel—but how
is she distinguished?
“In no way is she distinguished,” the princess finished. “In no way at all. No family. No crest. No decree. Not even a sash.”
“Princess . . .” he began.
She cut him off. “Why go about suggesting that I’m this . . . princess, when there is no outward proof or person to say it
is legitimate? It’s embarrassing, honestly. No one cares if I’m a princess or not. Literally, no one. Least of all me.”
To Luke’s horror, her eyes welled with tears. Damn.
“Danielle . . .” he said, crossing to her.
“No, no—I’m alright. It’s all settled, and for the better.
” She looked at the broom in her hand and then applied it to the floor, sweeping diligently.
“Miriam and Whittle raised me to be a village girl and not a princess. Why, in God’s name, would I presume that anything royal would be featured at my wedding? Why?”
Luke watched her make a maddened half circuit of the room, sending dust motes flying.
“Sorry,” she was saying, “I don’t know what’s come over me. I care nothing for ceremony or pomp and circumstance. Truly. I do not care.”
Luke searched his brain for some way to salvage the conversation.
From the center of the room, she was chanting, “Foolish, foolish, foolish.”
“It had not occurred to me that you might . . .” he began.
She stopped sweeping and bowed her head over the broom. “It’s not the pageantry,” she said softly. “It’s being forgotten.
And left behind. Honestly, why even introduce the notion of ‘royal birth’ only to be so very forgotten?”
“Actually,” Luke said, speaking without really thinking, “you’ve reminded me of something.”
“Do not placate me, Captain. I’m not a child.”
“No, no—when you said ‘pomp,’ I remembered.”
“We’ll not speak of it again. I’m being ridiculous. And that’s why I’m upset, not the lack of a family crest or . . . or what have you. I’m mortified over my own presumption. I never presume,
and for good reason.”
“It was a fair question,” Luke assured her. “And there is something. How careless of me to forget.” His heart thudded. He
was swimming toward another lie, and he could not stop.
“I am foolish,” she recited, “and you are careless, and it doesn’t matter.”
“There is a crown, actually.”
She shot him an exasperated look. “Stop.”
“Very old, I believe, this crown. Bejeweled, naturally. Priceless.”
“What crown?” A bitter laugh.
“An Orleans heirloom. It was especially thick of me not to remember, because I chose the sapphire ring to match it.”
She stopped sweeping. She narrowed her eyes at him and then raised her hand to check the ring.
“I was told blue stones feature prominently in the crown,” he said. “I’ve not seen the thing; it’s being sent down from London.
You are a princess and on your wedding day, you should wear a crown.”
He exhaled. There, he’d said it. And it wasn’t even the wrong thing to say—she should have a bloody crown. Who cared if it
was a made-up thing?
It was a way to avoid saying the other things. She’d been crying, for God’s sake. He could hardly tell her about his revenge
plot in the same moment.
“And what do I know of wearing a crown?” she asked.
“You pin it to your head, I think, and off you go.”
“Hmmm. How consistent with all the other mysterious bits of my alleged royalty. An afterthought, held in place with pins.”
“Well, some balance may also be required,” he said, watching her. Luke had no idea where he’d procure a bloody crown, but
he realized suddenly that he wanted to give it. When it came to Danielle Allard d’Orleans, he wanted to give, and give, and
give.
After she earns me what I need, he amended, I will give her Eastwell Park and a whole new life.
In the meantime, he thought, he could give her the actual gift he’d intended for this day. A sister.