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A Royal Proposition
Marion Lennox


As in a fairy tale, Penny-Rose O'Shea has been rescued from poverty by a handsome prince who wants to marry her!But this royal marriage is purely for convenience. Prince Alastair must marry a woman of unimpeachable virtue for one year, or his estate will be forfeited and his people will lose their homes….Penny-Rose can't refuse to help, and agrees to become Alastair's temporary princess - not suspecting that she's about to fall for a man who isn't hers to fall in love with!












The kiss grew deeper.


Neither could break the moment—break the contact. It was too precious. Too infinitely valuable.

It was as unexpected as it was magical.

Then Penny-Rose broke away. For one long moment the prince still held her, his hands on her arms and his gaze locked with hers. Their eyes reflected mutual confusion—mutual need.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he managed, and Penny-Rose shook her head.

“Don’t be. I had no business to kiss you.”

“I never meant—”

“Don’t explain things to me, Alastair,” she said gently. Because he couldn’t. And she had to let him off the hook. He was confused and angry with himself. She could see that. He’d broken his unwritten rule….


Marion Lennox was born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on—mostly because the cows weren’t interested in her stories!

In her nonwriting life Marion cares (haphazardly) for her husband, teenagers, dogs, cats, chickens and anyone else who lines up at her dinner table. She fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost). She also travels, which she finds seriously addictive.

As a teenager Marion was told she’d never get anywhere reading romance. Now romance is the basis of her stories. Her stories allow her to travel, and if ever there was an advertisement for following your dream, she’d be it!




A ROYAL PROPOSITION

Marion Lennox








To David, who took my heart to Paris.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE




CHAPTER ONE


‘ALASTAIR, I know you and Belle are planning to marry, but you must marry Penny-Rose first.’

Silence. Marguerite de Castaliae looked as unruffled as if she’d just talked of the weather, but Alastair and Belle were staring at her as if she’d dropped a bomb.

‘What are you saying?’ It was Alastair who first found his voice. His Serene Highness, Alastair, Prince de Castaliae dug his hands deep into the pockets of his faded jeans. His dark eyes closed. What now? He didn’t need his mother making crazy propositions. Not when he had so much else to think of…

If this inheritance didn’t go through, the village faced ruin. After months of effort, he’d found no way to save it. His own fortune couldn’t save this place. Nothing could.

Today he’d reached a final, joyless decision. He’d been up since dawn inspecting the cattle with stock agents, working out how much they’d make at market. He’d come in to make a final bleak phone call to his accountants. They’d given him their verdict and it was all looking futile.

The banks would never finance such a venture. The estate would have to be sold.

So Alastair was exhausted, and he didn’t need this.

‘Marry someone else? That’s ridiculous.’

‘It’s not ridiculous.’ His mother was wearing her I’m-about-to-solve-all-your-problems smile. ‘My dear, you do want to be a prince?’ She was probing, fishing for a reaction.

She found it. ‘No!’ Alastair turned to stare out the window, over the castle’s lush gardens to the river beyond. ‘No,’ he said again. His voice was surer still, and there was revulsion in his tone. ‘It was Louis who was supposed to inherit all this. Not me.’

‘But Louis is dead, dear,’ Marguerite reminded him. ‘And I won’t even pretend I’m sorry, because he would have made a very bad prince. If he’d inherited…’

‘It was his right to inherit.’

‘He drank that right away,’ his mother retorted. ‘He was a wastrel and a fool, and now he’s dead. So now the title is yours. And the responsibilities.’

‘I never wanted it.’

‘But it’s yours for the taking.’ Marguerite’s gaze shifted from her son to her future daughter-in-law, and her probing eyes were thoughtful. ‘If you want it badly enough,’ she said gently. ‘And if Belle wants it.’ Her voice became questioning again. ‘I’d imagine Belle would rather like to own this castle and be your princess?’

‘Belle doesn’t care about titles,’ Alastair said shortly. ‘Just as I don’t.’

Marguerite wasn’t as sure of that as her son was, but she kept her face deliberately expressionless. This tiny Castaliae principality, tucked between France and the rest of Europe, might be a very small player on the world stage, but it was a lovely place to live—and maybe a wonderful place to rule?

Wealth and position might very well appeal to Belle, she thought, but she’d have to use other ways to persuade her son.

‘Alastair, the people here need you,’ she told him. ‘The country is depending on you.’

‘We’ve been over this.’

‘Yes, dear, but you’re not listening. If you don’t inherit, there’s no one else to take it on.’ These were hard facts to be faced, and the sooner her son faced them the better.

‘If you don’t accept it, the estate will be carved up and the title will disappear,’ she told him. ‘Most of the people who’ve lived here all their lives will face losing their own homes. Then the village houses will be bought by holidaymakers who’ll only live here for three or four weekends a year.’

‘No!’ said Alastair, outraged.

‘Of course not. None of us want that.’ She was getting through. All she could see of her son was his strongly muscled back, but it was expressive enough. Alastair had been brought up to accept responsibility. Marguerite had every hope that he’d accept it now.

Despite Belle.

Or even with Belle’s assistance…

Alastair was a good son, she thought fondly. A son to be proud of. Until his recent involvement with Belle, Alastair de Castaliae had been considered to be one of Europe’s most eligible bachelors.

Well, why not? Of royal blood and with an inherited fortune, he’d been attractive even as a child. Time had added to his good looks until, at thirty-two, his mother—and a fair percentage of the principality’s female population—considered him perfectly splendid.

The tragedy in his background did nothing to lessen his appeal. In fact, the distance he’d placed between himself and the rest of the world since Lissa’s death had seemed only to make him more desirable.

And he was desirable, his mother decided, trying to look at him without bias. Alastair was six feet two in his socks—and his muscled, taut and tanned frame made him seem even taller. He was smoulderingly dark. His jet black hair, his crinkling, brown eyes and his wide, white smile had made many a girl’s heart melt.

Just as his father’s smile had melted her own heart all those years ago…

Sternly Marguerite blinked back unexpected tears and returned to the job at hand. Emotion wasn’t any use here. It wouldn’t convince Alastair—he’d held himself emotionally distant after Lissa died—and she was almost convinced that Belle didn’t have any emotion to play with.

‘It’s only for a year.’

‘What’s only for a year?’ Alastair turned back to face his mother, his brow drawn heavily over his deep-set eyes. ‘You sound as if you have this whole thing arranged.’

‘Well, I do,’ she said apologetically. ‘Someone has to think of the future. You’ve been so involved getting the estate back into working order—making sure all the workers are paid, organising the rebuilding of the stonework, doing all the work caused by two such sudden deaths—that you haven’t had time to look at the whole picture. So if you’ll only listen…’

‘I’m listening.’

It was the best she could hope for, but he was still glowering. And all she could do was explain.

‘Our problems are all caused by Louis’s father changing the inheritance,’ she told him. ‘Louis’s dissolute ways were giving him nightmares, so he put in the clause—’

‘I know this.’ Of course he knew. After all, Louis had bleated to him of it often enough, and the clause was the nub of his problems now. Alastair’s brow descended even further. ‘It decreed that Louis marry a woman of unimpeachable virtue or he couldn’t inherit.’

‘Yes.’ Marguerite tried very hard not to look at Belle. What she was about to say now wouldn’t be easy. Alastair already understood about the clause—but did Belle? ‘Your uncle couldn’t predict that Louis would end up in the grave three months after his own death. And now it’s left us in a mess, because the clause applies to anyone inheriting the title—which includes you.’

Silence. Then…

‘Contrary to what the lawyers are saying,’ Alastair said softly, in a voice that sounded almost dangerous, ‘Belle is a woman of unimpeachable virtue.’

‘No, dear, she’s not.’ Marguerite refused to be silenced. There was no easy way to say this but both Belle and Alastair had to face it. She’d been saving it for when Alastair saw how bleak his position was, and that time was now.

‘You know it, or you wouldn’t be spending all this time with the accountants,’ she went on. ‘The lawyers are all of the same opinion. Your cousins are prepared to take legal action to see that the estate’s sold and divided, and if you marry Belle that’s exactly what will happen.’

‘Just because Belle’s been married before—’

‘And also because she’s had affairs, ever since she was a teenager.’ Marguerite did look at Belle now, and her tone softened. ‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ she told her, ‘but it’s time for plain speaking.’

‘Go right ahead,’ Belle told her. Alastair’s companion sat with her hands loosely clasped on her elegantly crossed knees. She was wearing a chic, black dress, her silk-stockinged legs looked as if they went on for ever and her expression, rather than seeming offended, seemed coolly calculating. She tilted her head, causing her sleek bob of auburn hair to glint in the sunlight. It made a striking impression, and she knew it. ‘So I’m not a woman of unimpeachable virtue. Fine. Don’t mind me.’

‘I do mind you, dear,’ Marguerite said apologetically. ‘But the cousins have been digging up dirt. I gather you had an affair with a married man when his wife was pregnant…’

Belle’s beautiful face shuttered down at that. ‘That was ten years ago. It’s hardly relevant.’

‘The lawyers say it is. And it means that if Alastair marries you, he can’t inherit.’

‘Which is damnable,’ Alastair snapped, and his mother nodded in agreement. But her face didn’t look hopeless.

‘Yes, dear, it is damnable, but it’s also avoidable.’

‘I’m marrying Belle!’

‘But if you waited for a little—’

‘No.’

‘Just a moment.’ Belle rose, stretched, cat-like, and crossed to where Alastair was standing. And as she did, his mother had to acknowledge why her son had been attracted to her.

Falling in love had never been an issue for Alastair. Not after Lissa. However, he’d rarely been without a beautiful companion, and Belle was certainly beautiful. She was magnificently groomed and chic and incredibly feminine. She spoke three languages, which, in this tiny border principality, was a huge advantage, and her social skills were polished to perfection. Even in Alastair’s present occupation as a Paris architect, she’d be a hostess to be proud of.

Belle was sleek and feline and clever, and she’d spent a lot of effort persuading Alastair that marriage could suit them both. For maybe the hundredth time, Marguerite wondered how she could get on with such a daughter-in-law.

But Belle wasn’t thinking of marriage now—at least, not her own. Not yet. She laid one beautifully manicured finger on Alastair’s arm and turned to face Marguerite, her intelligence focussed. ‘Tell us your plan,’ she said softly, and with a stab of triumph Marguerite realised just how hungry for the title this woman was.

She’d thought that she would be. Married to Alastair while he worked as a Paris architect, Belle would have had wealth and position, but here was the chance of more. With the death of Louis—with the chance of inheriting this magnificent estate—came the title of Prince and Princess and money to keep them in unimaginable luxury for the rest of their lives. It was a windfall Belle would reach out and grasp with both hands.

If she could.

But the old man’s will stood between them. ‘A woman of unimpeachable virtue…’

‘Tell us your plan,’ Belle said again, and it was as much as Marguerite could do not to sigh with relief. She sat back and closed her eyes for one millisecond—to give her enough space to gather her thoughts. Then she started.

‘Penny-Rose,’ she said.

‘Who’s Penny-Rose?’ Alastair demanded.

‘The woman you need to marry. For a year.’ ***



Penny-Rose O’Shea settled the final stone into the dirt with a satisfied slap. Great. Finished! It had taken her all morning to choose the slabs that would be the foundation of her wall. It was immensely satisfying work, and Penny-Rose was satisfied.

She was also extremely hot.

Midday had arrived without her realising. She put up a hand to wipe sweat from her face, and felt ingrained dirt smudge thickly across her cheek. Urk! A beauty queen she wasn’t!

Never mind. It was good, honest dirt, she thought happily. She was doing what she wanted to do, and by evening she’d be even dirtier. Also, she’d have the next layer of stones complete. Building walls designed to last a thousand years might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but it was hers and she loved it.

‘Penny-Rose!’ She looked up to find her boss waving to her from the other end of the wall.

Was he reminding her of lunch? That was strange. Bert didn’t usually remind his workers it was time to knock off, but she rose gratefully to her feet.

But he wasn’t reminding her of lunch.

‘You’re wanted,’ he told her, thumbing toward the castle. ‘By them indoors.’

‘What?’

‘You heard what I said.’ Bert’s weather-worn face creased even further with a puzzlement that matched hers. ‘Someone came out just now and said could we send you inside. Pronto. There’s no mistake.’

‘They want me to go inside?’ Penny-Rose stared at her boss in disbelief, and then stared down at herself. She was wearing begrimed overalls, her shoulder-length chestnut curls were twisted into a knot under her filthy cap and every inch of her was covered with dust. She grimaced. ‘Why?’

‘They sent a message saying they want to see you, and that’s all I know,’ her boss said patiently.

‘You’re kidding.’ She glanced up at the forbidding ancestral home, where those who’d issued the summons were hidden.

‘They can see me by looking out their windows,’ she told her boss, and she grinned. ‘That way I won’t besmirch their ancestral floors.’

‘Don’t be clever, lass.’ Bert, normally the kindest of bosses, was perturbed and it showed. ‘I don’t know what they want, and I can’t say I like it. Do you want me to come in with you?’

‘Yeah, take him with you, Penny-Rose,’ one of the lads called. The whole stone-walling team was fascinated at this unexpected twist of events, and the cheekiest of the men came to his own conclusion. ‘Maybe the new prince has decided to increase his harem.’

‘Or maybe that other one—what’s her name, Belle? Maybe she thinks our Penny-Rose is prettier and she’s decided to tear her eyes out,’ another added, and his comment was greeted by hoots of laughter.

The entire team was in on the conversation now. They were all male, mostly a lot older than Penny-Rose, and concern for their protégée was behind their good-natured banter.

‘How would they know our Penny-Rose is prettier? We only see her for five minutes every morning before the dust settles back,’ one demanded.

‘She is pretty, though,’ the first lad said stubbornly. ‘Real pretty. If the prince saw her without her dirt…’

‘Well, he hasn’t.’

‘His mother has.’

‘Not without her dirt, and, anyway, what’s that got to do with the price of eggs?’

‘No, lass…’ Bert cut across the banter and his eyes were still troubled. ‘Seriously, they’ve asked to see you. You spoke to the old lady, didn’t you? You didn’t say anything to upset her?’

‘No.’ Penny-Rose wiped filthy hands on her overalls, thinking fast. ‘At least, I don’t think so.’

Penny-Rose had arrived at the castle with the team of Yorkshire stone-wallers six weeks ago, and she’d had her hands full ever since. There was so much to be done! After years of neglect, the west farmyard walls had almost entirely collapsed, and if they weren’t mended soon, the north and south walls would do the same.

So she hadn’t had time for socialising. The only contact she’d had with the titled landholders had been a conversation with the castle’s elderly mistress.

Marguerite had been out walking, and had come across a stooped figure sorting stones. ‘Good heavens, it’s a girl,’ the woman had said, startled, and Penny-Rose had chuckled. She’d deferentially hauled off her cap, letting her curls tumble to her shoulders.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘You’re part of the stone-walling team?’ the woman had demanded, her amazement deepening, and Rose had smiled and once more agreed.

‘That’s right.’

‘But the team’s from Yorkshire.’

‘And I’m not from Yorkshire.’

‘Now, how did I guess that? Where are you from?’

‘Australia.’

‘Australia!’ The woman’s eyes had still been creased in astonishment. ‘Why on earth are you here?’

‘I’m working with the best stone-wallers in the world,’ Penny-Rose had told her, not without pride. ‘I’m gaining my master-waller’s certificate, and when I’m finished training, I can go home and demand my price.’

Then Penny-Rose had looked up at the castle where the soft gold sandstone turrets and battlements shone in all their glory, as they’d shone for almost a thousand years. Her green eyes had twinkled in appreciation of the beauty around her.

‘It’s great work,’ she’d said softly. ‘It almost makes up for having to work in the shadow of rickety old shanties like this.’

The woman laughed, seeming genuinely amused. She stayed for some time, seemingly intrigued by Penny-Rose’s work. Her questions were gently probing, but maybe it was her right to probe the background of workers on her son’s estate. Penny-Rose thought no more of it, and when the woman left, she felt as if she’d made a new friend.

But now…

Had she taken her joking seriously? Was she about to send a message through Penny-Rose that the team was no longer required?

Help…

‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ Bert asked again, her worry mirrored in his eyes. This was an important job, and both of them knew there was a lot at stake. ‘Not that I think you have any need to worry, but I can’t think of any reason they’d want you.’

‘They’re hardly likely to toss me into the oubliette for insubordination.’

‘Have you been insubordinate?’

‘Only a little bit,’ she confessed with a rueful smile. ‘Not very much.’

He groaned. ‘Well, don’t be now. Get in there and grovel, and only say nice things about your boss. That’s me. Remember?’ Penny-Rose had never been reluctant to give a bit of cheek, and Bert shook his head at her. ‘Know your place, girl, and, short of letting the prince have his wicked way with you, agree to anything. I can always back out later.’

He meant he could always dismiss her, she thought, her laughter fading. If it was a choice of Penny-Rose or the team, it had to be the team.

Maybe she had been too cheeky. Was the aristocracy so sensitive? Heavens, why didn’t she learn to keep her mouth shut? Still, if damage had been done, it was she who’d have to undo it.

‘If I’m not back in a week, demand entry to the dungeons,’ she said, more lightly than she felt. She looked down at her grimy self and thought of what she was facing. ‘You really mean go right now?’

‘I mean go right now,’ Bert said heavily. ‘That’s what the aristocracy wants, so that’s what the aristocracy gets.’



They were waiting.

Penny-Rose walked up through the terraced gardens toward the main castle entrance and found the head gardener waiting. They walked into the courtyard where a butler was waiting in turn. He gave her a wintry smile, turned and led her into the house.

And what a house!

The castle had been built in the twelfth century and maintained by fastidious owners ever since. Castaliae was one of the few countries in the world where the royal family had never deviated from direct succession. It had led to a certain simplicity—the family were the de Castaliaes, the estate was Castaliae and so was the country.

It was confusing maybe, but it certainly must make ordering letterheads easier, Penny-Rose had decided when she’d first learned about the place. And now, looking around the ancestral home of the country’s rulers, she saw other advantages of continuous succession. The halls were filled with exquisite furniture, gathered over a thousand years, the walls were hung with fabulous tapestries and the whole place was filled with light and colour from a building designed far in advance of its time.

Every south face had been used to effect—no one here had worried about window taxes—and sunlight streamed in everywhere.

The Castaliae family had been known to sit on the fence for all the castle’s history, Penny-Rose knew. The independence of this tiny principality was a tribute to the political savvy of its royal family.

Penny-Rose glanced about her with awe as she was led from room to room. For a twenty-six-year-old Australian, this was new and wonderful indeed. She almost forgot to be nervous.

Almost. She remembered again the moment she entered the great hall.

They were waiting for her.

She knew them by sight. Marguerite, of course. The new prince’s elderly mother. She was the woman who’d spoken to her in the garden, and her smile was warm and welcoming.

Then there was Belle. Although it wasn’t official, rumour had it that she was engaged to be married to the prince. She was a cold fish, the boys had decided, but it didn’t stop them admiring her good points. She might be a cold fish, but she was a very beautiful cold fish. Belle didn’t move from her seat now, and she certainly didn’t smile.

And, of course, there was Alastair. Alastair de Castaliae… His Serene Highness, they said, if he could figure out the inheritance hiccups.

And why shouldn’t he be the prince? she thought. He certainly had the look of it. He might be dressed for farmwork now, in an ancient pair of moleskins and a shirt that was grubby and frayed at the cuffs, but he was still drop-dead gorgeous, with a smile to die for.

Mmm! He was smiling now—sort of—as he rose to greet her. It was a smile that stilled her nerves and caught her attention as nothing else could. What a smile. And what a…

Well, what a man!

Penny-Rose had never had time to play round with the opposite sex but a lack of time had never stopped her appreciating what was in front of her. And this one was worth appreciating! He was tall, lean and hard-muscled, with long, long legs, and…

And she wasn’t a schoolgirl, she reminded herself sharply. She was twenty-six years old, and she had too many responsibilities to be distracted by any man, much less royalty!

So, with an effort, she pulled her attention away from thoughts which were totally out of place. What on earth did they want?

The prince, gorgeous as he was, was looking at her like he wasn’t seeing her. Belle was watching her with a calculating expression Penny-Rose didn’t like. It was only Marguerite who was smiling as if she meant it.

‘Penny-Rose. How lovely. Will you sit down?’

Sit? Good grief! She looked at the plush cream settee and fought a desire to giggle.

‘Um…I’m afraid I’d leave a signature,’ she said, and received a swift appraising look from Alastair for her pains. ‘If it’s all right with you, ma’am, I’m just as happy standing. If you’d just tell me what you want, I’ll be off before I spread dirt everywhere.’

‘But we need to get to know you,’ Alastair said, in a voice that sounded as if he didn’t believe what he was saying.

Penny-Rose shook her head. She’d hauled off her cap before she’d come inside so her curls bounced around her shoulders and dust floated free. ‘You don’t need to get to know me, and I’m not dressed for socialising.’ OK, she was being blunt but she was at a disadvantage and she didn’t like it. Belle was looking at her like she was some sort of interesting insect, and kowtowing to those higher up the aristocratic ladder had never come naturally to Penny-Rose.

‘Just for a minute.’ Alastair’s voice was strained to breaking point, and she cast him an unsure glance. What was wrong with the man?

‘My boss can tell you about me,’ she said discouragingly. ‘Or are you intending to get to know the whole team better?’ That made an interesting plan, but it didn’t make her smile. She felt more and more like an insect brought in as part of a collection, and she didn’t like the feeling one bit.

‘No, but—’ Marguerite started.

‘Let’s just tell her what we want,’ Alastair said heavily. ‘Don’t confuse her any further.’ His eyes hadn’t left Penny-Rose’s face, and they didn’t leave it now.

He seemed nice, Penny-Rose thought inconsequentially. He also seemed exhausted, strained to the limit, but still very, very nice. His voice was deep and grave and soft, and he sounded as if he was concerned for her.

His English was excellent—well, it would be, as his mother was English. It was only his words that were troubled.

‘I’ll come to the point,’ he told her, speaking slowly as if measuring each word.

‘What my mother wishes to know—what we all wish to know—is whether or not you can be persuaded to marry me.’

For a long, long moment nothing stirred. She stared at them in turn, taking in each of their faces. All of them looked…for heaven’s sake, they looked as if they were serious!

‘You have to be joking,’ she said at last, and it was as much as she could do to find her voice. Her words came out a sort of high-pitched squeak. She coughed and tried again. ‘I mean…you are joking, right?’

‘I’m not joking.’ The look of strain on his face intensified. ‘Would I joke about something so serious?’

‘Yeah, right.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Did you say marry?’

‘I said marry.’

‘Then you’re either having a laugh at my expense or you’re all about in the head,’ she said bluntly. ‘Either way, I don’t think I should stay.’ She gave them a last wild look. ‘I…I’ll see myself out, shall I?’

She didn’t wait for an answer. She took herself out of the door and out of the castle, without a backward glance.




CHAPTER TWO


THE prince found Penny-Rose an hour later, when she’d been persuaded, against her better judgement, to go back to work. She was sorting stones and Alastair came up behind her so suddenly that she missed a couple of heartbeats.

As before, his voice was deep and soft and calm—as if nothing lay between them at all.

‘Why do they call you Penny-Rose? Why not just Penelope or Penny? Or even Rose?’

As a question it was harmless enough, but the situation was ludicrous. She caught her breath, regretted her missed heartbeats—while this man was around she needed all the heartbeats she could get—sat back on her heels and glared.

The fact that his shirt was open at the throat and the sun was shining on the wispy curls on his chest didn’t help at all…

Good grief! Cut it out, she told herself. Put your hormones on the back burner!

‘Bert says I’m not to fraternise with the upper classes any more,’ she said frankly. ‘You’ve had your joke. If you want something else, ask Bert. Go away.’ Already she could see her boss rising from where he’d been working. He’d been disbelieving when she’d told him what had happened, and then he’d been furious.

‘It’s their idea of a sick joke,’ he’d said. ‘It’s too bad we’re not back in England where I can have a word with the union.’

But they weren’t back in England. They were in this tiny principality where normal rules didn’t apply, and if Bert wanted to keep his team employed he had to bite his tongue and tell her to get on with stone-walling as if nothing had happened.

‘They’re paying excellent rates, lass,’ he’d told her. ‘The best. And we’ve gone to a lot of expense to get over here. We put up with it if we can, for the good of the team, but you’re not to go near them again. Just keep working and forget it.’

So she’d agreed. It had been a big thing for Bert to take on a female apprentice, and she wanted to make it as trouble-free for him as possible. But now this creep wouldn’t leave her alone.

‘Go away,’ she said again, and turned back to her stones. She concentrated fiercely on fitting a neat wedge between two blocks and refused to look at him.

Thankfully she heard Bert’s heavy footsteps, and then her boss’s Yorkshire accent. ‘I’d be grateful if you could speak through me if you have anything to say to the workers, sir.’ Bert’s words were deferential enough, but his tone was pure bulldog.

She risked a glance up, and to her surprise she saw Alastair raking his fingers through his ruffled black hair. It was a gesture that made him seem almost as bewildered as she was.

And it was gesture that suddenly made him seem much less of a prince—and much more human.

And much more…hormone-confusing?

Get back to work, she told herself fiercely, turning back to her ill-fitting stone. Forget your stupid hormones. And don’t look again!

‘I need to speak to Penny—’

‘Penny-Rose isn’t speaking to you. She’s heard what you have to say and it doesn’t make sense. So leave the lass be.’

‘I’m not offering her any indecent proposals.’

‘If you were, I’d take my team and walk off your land right now,’ Bert told him. ‘Money or no money. Penny-Rose is a good lass and a damned fine worker, and I won’t have her badgered.’

Wow! Under her cap, she felt her ears go pink with pleasure. Praise from Bert was hard to earn, and valued for what it was. She’d worked hard to get this far.

And for Bert to offer to withdraw his team on her behalf… Goodness!

But Alastair was still trying to speak. ‘I don’t—’

‘Look, what is it you want?’ Bert said, exasperated. ‘You’ve upset the lass, you’ve upset me. If you have anything reasonable to say, then say it. Now. In front of Penny-Rose. Clear the air, like. And then we can say no and get on with our work.’

‘I hope you won’t say no.’

Bert was getting angrier by the minute.

‘Well, what is it?’

‘As I said, I want to marry Penny-Rose,’ Alastair told him, putting his hands up as if to deflect the storm of protest he knew Bert was capable of. ‘I want to marry her for a year. As a business proposition. Nothing more.’

The silence went on for several moments. Penny-Rose stayed crouched by her stones. She wouldn’t look up but her fingers had ceased even trying to fit her rocks together.

This was crazy.

She left the answering to Bert, because she couldn’t think of a thing to say. Even the normally voluble Bert was having trouble.

‘Where I’m from,’ Bert said at last, in a voice that sounded as if he’d been winded, ‘people don’t take brides as business propositions. They take brides for life.’ His belligerent jaw jutted forward. ‘And just the one of them at that. The locals say you’re engaged to some woman up in the house. Well, then. You hang onto her and leave our Penny-Rose alone. Bigamy is something I don’t hold with and never shall, and if you so much as come near our lass—’

‘This isn’t bigamy.’

‘Look, I don’t know what your rules are—’

‘I imagine my rules are exactly the same as yours,’ Alastair said wearily, and once again his fingers raked his hair. He looked like he was finding this impossible. ‘I’m not intending to marry twice. Or…not at once.’

This was getting crazier and crazier.

‘What we want here,’ Bert said conversationally, and speaking to the world in general, ‘is a strait-jacket. Anyone got one?’

Amazingly, it was Penny-Rose who came to the prince’s defence. That last gesture of his had got to her. For some reason this didn’t seem like someone making indecent propositions. This seemed like a man at the end of his tether.

‘Give him a break, Bert.’ She rose and shrugged off some dirt. Then she stood back so there was distance—and Bert—between them, but her eyes met Alastair’s and held.

And her chin tilted. This was the look she used when she was meeting trouble head on, and she had a feeling she was meeting it now.

This man’s trouble.

‘Let him say what he wants,’ she told her boss. ‘He isn’t making sense, but we might as well listen.’

The silence stretched out under the afternoon sun, and in the stillness Penny-Rose was aware that Alastair’s gaze never left hers. Their eyes were locked, and it was as if there were questions being asked—and answered—without words being spoken.

And whatever the questions were, her answers must have satisfied him because he gave a slight nod, as if he’d come to a final decision. Some of the confusion left his face.

‘It could work.’

‘What could work?’ Bert asked belligerently, and Penny-Rose laid a hand on her boss’s arm.

‘Let him say.’

And he did. ‘I’m serious,’ he said at last, his eyes still fixed on hers. ‘I don’t have a choice. If I don’t marry a lady of unimpeachable virtue, this entire estate will be split.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Bert told him.

‘It’s the terms of the old prince’s will,’ Alastair said wearily. ‘If I don’t make such a marriage then the estate will be sold and, no matter how I look at it, there’s no way I can buy it. God knows, I’ve tried every way over the past couple of months, but the thing’s impossible. I’d assume the castle itself will go to the government and be opened to the public as a tourist venue, but the acreage around here will be split up.’

Bert frowned, but he wasn’t too surprised. He’d heard the rumours. ‘And the village?’

‘That’s the hard part,’ Alastair told him. ‘It’s the reason I’m considering such a marriage. There are over a hundred families living around the estate. All of those homes will have to be sold, and the cousins who stand to inherit stipulate that they’ll be sold on the open market.’ He paused and gazed around him, over the river banks to the village beyond. ‘I guess you’ve realised by now how desirable this place is?’

It was. The Castaliae estate contained a fairy-tale village built on the cliffs of one of the most picturesque rivers in the world.

But it still wasn’t making sense. Bert was still confused.

‘So?’ Bert demanded.

‘So they’ll be sold for a fortune,’ Alastair said simply. ‘We know that. It’s already happened to villages like ours that haven’t been protected by one landlord. The locals are well enough off, but they’re not so wealthy that they can match the prices of city dwellers and overseas interests.’

He sighed, his gaze returning from the far-off village to the girl before him. Now he was talking directly to her. ‘If I can’t save it, the village will be deserted in winter and filled with wealthy tourists and designer shops in the summer. The locals will have to move away. They can’t bear it, and I can’t bear it. So I’m asking you, Penny-Rose, to marry me. If you’ll have me.’

More silence.

Penny-Rose’s gaze didn’t waver. She took him in. Not just his amazing good looks, but the grubbiness of his clothes—he wasn’t nearly as dirty as she was, but he obviously hadn’t had time to change since he’d been out working with his farm manager this morning—the tension of his stance and the dark shadows under his eyes. He looked like a man close to breaking point.

Then, finally, she allowed herself to look around, at the land he was talking of.

This estate went on for ever. The castle itself was built into the cliff overlooking the river, and at the base of the cliff was a tiny village. Penny-Rose was boarding with a family there, and they thought of this man as their landlord.

But this was indeed a fairy-tale village, with its soft sandstone buildings set into the cliffs on the gently flowing river. Alastair was right. Tourists would outbid any villagers for their homes. And if he couldn’t bear to have the villagers evicted, she could understand why not.

‘It’s a stupid clause,’ she said at last, and Alastair nodded.

‘It is. My uncle put it in place because my cousin was…wild. What it did was to stop Louis marrying at all, and then Louis died just three months after his father.’

‘So why don’t you just do what Louis did? Not marry?’ It seemed a reasonable solution. Surely the gorgeous Belle could be talked into being a mistress only—with so much money at stake!

‘I can’t inherit unless I marry.’

‘But Louis inherited.’

Alastair shook his head, and the impression of weariness intensified. ‘Louis never formally inherited, and the cousins started legal action to recover the property. His death forestalled that, and legal opinion is that the estate and the title is now mine—as long as I do marry. As long as I do what Louis didn’t.’

‘And…your Belle’s not a lady of virtue?’ Bert butted in. He had things in his stride here—almost. His fierce intelligence was working overtime. ‘No?’

‘Belle’s a wonderful woman,’ Alastair said quickly. ‘But there are…shadows…in her past.’

‘I’d imagine there might be.’ Bert’s team had little time for a woman they’d decided from the first was prone to giving herself airs. On the first few days of working here there’d been a wall collapse on one of the men. Belle had been seen at the window, watching, but hadn’t enquired as to the state of Steve’s health or even sent down to ask whether she should contact an ambulance.

With Bert carrying a cellphone, her disinterest had been a minor enough offence and hadn’t mattered, but it had rankled.

‘What…?’ Bert said slowly, his eyes moving from Penny-Rose to Alastair and back again. ‘What makes you think our lass here is any different? Virtue-wise, that is?’

‘Hey!’ Penny-Rose said, shocked into comment. ‘Can we leave my virtue out of it?’

‘Well, that’s it. We can’t,’ Alastair said heavily. ‘My mother—’

‘I might have known she’d come into it somewhere.’ Bert seemed to be almost enjoying himself now. He had the solid workman’s view of the aristocracy, and he didn’t mind this man’s discomfort. ‘Now, there’s a lady of virtue.’

Marguerite, when she’d heard of the same accident a day later, had been horrified and had sent every possible comfort to Steve. Settled into the local hospital with a broken foot, Steve had appreciated the attention very much indeed, and so had his mates on his behalf.

‘My mother’s a lady who thinks ahead,’ Alastair told them. ‘While I’ve been seeing to the everyday running of the estate and trying to figure out financial ways of saving it, she’s been figuring out the only logical way. Which is marrying Penny-Rose. For a year.’

‘But—’

‘Like I said, it’s a business proposition.’ Alastair spread his hands. ‘I know this sounds intrusive, but my mother had Penny-Rose’s background checked. She’s employed investigators, and there’s now little she doesn’t know. In every respect, this is the sort of woman I need.’

He paused, and then said in a softer tone, avoiding Penny-Rose’s eye, ‘My mother also says she badly needs money.’

It had stopped being even remotely amusing. Penny-Rose’s colour mounted to a fiery crimson and she took a step back. Investigators… ‘My circumstances are none of your business,’ she snapped. ‘How dare you?’

But Bert was looking back and forth at the pair of them. ‘It seems to me the conversation’s getting private,’ he said.

‘It seems to me the conversation is over,’ she flung back, and Bert nodded.

‘Yeah, OK. But the man’s right. You’re strapped for cash, girl, and you know it.’ It was Bert who organised a huge percentage of her wages to be sent back to Australia. She kept so little for herself that he’d been horrified. ‘Maybe it’s like the man says—you need to listen to his proposition.’ Bert’s sunburned face creased in resigned amusement. ‘Now, what I suggest—’

‘Is what you suggested first and send for a strait-jacket,’ she said through gritted teeth, but Bert shook his head.

‘No. The man’s got a problem, and it’s a real one. I’m seeing it now. I don’t say his solution will work but you could do worse than to listen to what he’s proposing.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘So… It’s two o’clock. We knock off at four. When we do, you go down to the village, Penny-Rose, get yourself washed and into something decent, and you…’ He turned and poked a finger into Alastair’s chest. ‘You take her out to dinner. Properly. Pick her up at her lodgings at six and do the thing in style.’

‘I don’t need—’ Alastair started, but Bert was on a roll.

‘You ask a lady to marry you, you do it properly.’

‘I don’t want—’ Penny-Rose tried, but the stubby finger was pointed at her in turn.

‘Give the man a chance. You can always refuse, and that’ll be the end of it. You made me listen to him. Now you do the same. If he badgers you after tonight, he’ll answer to me.’

‘Bert—’

‘No argument,’ Bert said. He’d wavered, but now his decision was made. It was time to get on with what he was here for—stone-walling. Everything else was a nuisance. ‘That’s my final word.’ He turned back to Alastair. ‘Now, you get back to your castle where you belong and you, girl, get back to sorting your stones. There’s to be no more talk of marriage before tonight.’

‘Bert, I can’t go out with this man.’

‘You can,’ Bert said heavily, and the amusement was suddenly gone from his voice. ‘This is the man who’s paying us, girl, and he’s in trouble. You made me listen to him. Well, I have. You can put the good of the team before everything for the moment and give him a fair hearing. That’s all I ask.’

‘And that’s all I ask,’ Alastair said, his calm brown eyes resting on her face in a message of reassurance.

Which was all very well, she thought wildly as she sent him a savage glance. Reassure all you like.

Marriage!

The man was seriously nuts!

‘Six o’clock, then,’ he said. ‘You’re staying with the Berics? I’ll collect you there.’

‘How do you know where I’m staying?’

‘I know all about you.’

‘Then you know what I’m about to say to your crazy proposition,’ she flung at him. ‘No and no and no.’

‘Just listen.’

‘I’ll listen. And then I’ll say no.’




CHAPTER THREE


THE man who called for Penny-Rose four hours later was the same man—but only just. Madame Beric opened the front door, quivering in excitement. Penny-Rose didn’t blame her. She was waiting in the kitchen, trying not to quiver herself, and when Alastair was ushered in, she failed.

She definitely quivered.

Whew! This was Cinderella stuff. And where was her fairy godmother when she was needed? She’d put on her only dress that was halfway decent—a white sundress with tiny shoulder straps that was more useful for a day off than for a dinner date. She’d washed and brushed her curls until they shone, but that was as much as she’d done.

There wasn’t anything else to do. She wore no adornment. How could she? She didn’t have any adornment. Or any cosmetics. In fact, her entire outfit was worth peanuts!

Alastair, on the other hand, was wearing a formal suit that must have cost a mint. It was deep black, Italian made and fitted perfectly. The black was lightened by the brilliance of his crisp, white shirt and the slash of a crimson silk tie. His normally ruffled black curls had been groomed into submission, there was a faint aroma of very expensive aftershave about him and he looked every inch a man of the world.

Unlike Penny-Rose, who had the look of a woman who’d appreciate diving into a small, dark cupboard.

There wasn’t a small, dark cupboard available, and Alastair’s dark eyes were twinkling in amusement.

Good grief! She could see why Belle wanted him. In fact, she could see why any woman would want him! 28

‘You look beautiful,’ he told her, his wide smile taking in her discomfort and reacting with sympathy.

If she could have known it, he was also reacting with truth.

She did look lovely, Alastair acknowledged as he took in her simple appearance. Money made little difference when it came to pure beauty. Her glossy chestnut curls tumbled about her shoulders. Her face glowed with health and humour, her green eyes were edged with tiny, crinkling laughter lines and her diminutive figure was well suited by the simplicity of her dress. She was five feet four and beautiful, whatever she was wearing.

But Penny-Rose couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and the thoughts that were whirling around in her head were very different.

She was about as far from his beautiful Belle as any woman was likely to be, she thought bitterly. She wore little make-up, her nose had the temerity to sport freckles, and as for her hands…

Belle’s hands would be flawless—of course. They’d be groomed for wearing fabulous jewellery and doing little else. Penny-Rose’s hands had been put to hard physical work from the time she could first remember, and it showed.

Alastair reached out for her hand in greeting and she felt him stiffen as he came into contact with the roughened skin. He looked down involuntarily.

Her hands were worn and calloused. They were Cinderella hands, and no fairy godmother could have altered them in time for a date with a handsome prince.

She saw his face change—twist—in a half-mocking smile.

‘It is true,’ he said slowly, inspecting her fingers in a way that made her attempt to haul her hands out of reach. But he held on, and kept inspecting. ‘What my mother said about you is right.’

She was thoroughly flustered, by his words and the feel of her hand in his. ‘I have no idea what your mother said,’ she snapped, hauling free her fingers. ‘But if it’s that I have no time for nonsense then, yes, it’s the truth. So can we get this dinner over and be done with it?’

‘You sound like you aren’t looking forward to it.’

‘I’m not.’

But, in fact, that was a lie. There were few village families prepared to take in lodgers, so Penny-Rose had had to be grateful for what she’d been able to find. Madame Beric was a kindly enough soul but she was a gifted watercolour artist, with little time for anything else. Her cooking was therefore appalling. Penny-Rose was now up to turnip soup version thirty-four, and burned turnip soup version thirty-four at that…

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, despite herself, and Alastair’s face creased again into one of his blindingly attractive smiles.

‘Lilie’s, of course,’ he said softly. ‘Where else does a man take a woman when he’s asking her to marry him? It’s the best, and tonight only the best will do.’



It was a twenty-minute journey—twenty minutes while Penny-Rose sat in stunned silence in the passenger seat of Alastair’s car. A Ferrari. Of course. She’d never been near such a car in her life. Alastair’s shabby clothes of earlier had been token workman-like apparel, she thought resentfully. No wonder her hands fascinated him. He wouldn’t know what it was to work hard with his hands.

Everything about this man screamed money.

And now he wanted more and he was prepared to marry a stranger to get it.

Maybe that was unfair, she acknowledged. Maybe it was true that he was concerned about the villagers.

She glanced across at him as they pulled to a halt in the restaurant car park, and found that he was twisting to survey her with the same intensity she was using on him. Their gazes met. She flushed and turned away.

‘You don’t approve of me, do you?’ he asked cautiously and she bit her lip.

‘I’m not here to make a judgement,’ she said at last. ‘I’m here because my boss told me to be here.’

‘And to eat a wonderful dinner?’

There was that. She had the grace to concede the point and her lips gave an involuntary twitch into a smile. ‘Um…OK.’

‘My mother says you know what it is to be hungry.’

That comment killed her smiling urge. She returned to glaring, shoved the car door open and then stood and waited for him to get out and lock his damned expensive car.

‘I said the wrong thing,’ he said ruefully, as they turned toward the restaurant.

‘My stomach is my business,’ she said with dignity.

‘I guess it is.’

She said nothing—just concentrated on where they were going. Damn him, he had her right off balance and she didn’t know how to deal with it. Somehow she just had to get this over with. Concentrate on dinner…

Luckily, Lilie’s was worth concentration.

The restaurant was built into the parapets of another mediaeval castle. Well, why not? This was fairy-tale country, with castles here to spare.

But there were modern touches. A lift swept them to the rooftop, where the restaurant was situated among the battlements. Floor-to-ceiling windows were now installed where archers had once stood to protect their fortress—and Penny-Rose saw the view and gasped in delight. She’d been trying to disregard Alastair’s disturbing presence until now, but the view made her almost forget him.

Almost? Well, almost a little bit…

Focus on the view, she told herself. And what a view! It was as if they were perched in an eagle’s nest high over the river. Below were river plains, golden with buttercups and inhabited by placidly grazing cattle. At every turn of the river were more ruins, more castles, and more…

More stone!

‘What are you thinking?’ Alastair asked, watching her with bemused interest.

‘I’m thinking…’ she said slowly, and paused.

‘Yes?’

‘That there’s a lifetime of work for me in this country,’ she managed, and his eyebrows shot to his hairline.

‘What on earth…?’

‘Stone-walling,’ she breathed. ‘Look at it out there—all those stones. All those crumbling walls, just waiting for repair.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t believe this.’

‘What don’t you believe?’

That he’d taken a woman out to dinner—and she was talking about stone?

‘Um…stone walls are just stone walls,’ he managed, and she gazed at him as if he’d just uttered a profanity.

‘That’s like saying every house is just a house. And they say you’re a well-respected architect. Is that what you believe?’

‘I… No.’ He was flummoxed. This woman was like no woman he’d ever dated.

‘Well, there you go, then.’ She smirked. ‘I rest my case.’

He grinned. They were being led to a discreet table tucked into a niche where all they had for company was the view. ‘OK,’ he conceded. ‘But…’

‘But?’

‘I never thought I’d be wining and dining a woman who’d look at rock and gasp.’

She gave him a look of gentle mockery. ‘Surely not. You must be using the wrong rock. Have you tried diamonds?’

He cast her an amused glance—she certainly was different—but then was distracted by the need to order champagne.

Penny-Rose didn’t protest. She could count the times she’d tasted champagne on one finger. She cast another long look out over the valley, she gazed around her again at the opulent restaurant setting—and she decided there and then that she wasn’t about to let scruples get in the way of a very good dinner.

And Alastair saw it. ‘You’re intending to milk this for everything it’s worth,’ he said dryly, and she had the grace to blush.

‘Um…yes.’

‘Because?’

‘Because I shouldn’t be here. I have no intention of agreeing to any crazy marriage proposal but, as you say, I’ve been hungry.’ She beamed, abandoning herself to enjoyment, and gave a small bounce on the beautifully padded chair. ‘Wow. This looks like a very nice place to eat.’

He was fascinated. She’d bounced. She’d definitely bounced.

‘What?’ she demanded, seeing his expression. ‘What did I do wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I just said it looks a great place to eat.’

He took a deep breath. ‘That, Miss O’Shea, is an understatement. Can I interest you in some snails?’

‘You can interest me in anything that’s not turnip soup,’ she said, and received another startled look. ‘That’s what the Berics live on,’ she explained. She shook her head. ‘Every night, M’sieur Beric sits down to turnip soup, and every night he finishes it, looks up and tells his wife it was delicious. So she makes it the next night. And if she doesn’t, he gets all disappointed.’ She grinned. ‘So you see why I finally agreed to eat with you?’

‘Despite disapproving of me?’

Her smile widened. ‘Despite that.’

He paused, but he had to ask. ‘Why?’

‘Why what?

‘Why do you disapprove of me?’

‘Because you’re a prince and I’m a worker,’ she said frankly. ‘Cinderella was a fairy story. It doesn’t happen in real life.’

‘It might.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ It was a gentle jeer. ‘Even Cinderella’s prince didn’t propose marriage just for a year!’

Alastair thought that through and disagreed. ‘Her guy had his deadlines, too,’ he told her, semi-seriously. ‘Like midnight. Seeing carriages turn to pumpkins just as the going gets romantic might put a man right off his stride.’

‘I’d imagine it might,’ she said faintly.

‘So Cinderella’s beloved had to work fast.’ He paused again, and then his smile died. ‘As I do.’

‘If you want to be Prince.’

‘No.’ Alastair shook his head.

The champagne arrived. There was a moment’s silence while the bubbles were poured, and he waited until she’d taken her first gorgeous sip. He waited for her verdict, and he got it.

‘Yum!’ she said, and he smiled at her pleasure. Yum. It was a word Belle hadn’t used in her life!

But he couldn’t afford to be distracted by this strange Cinderella his mother had found for him. He had this one meal to persuade her, and he already knew persuasion would take some doing.

‘I really don’t want to be a prince,’ he said, and his eyes met hers over the glass. ‘Will you believe that?’

‘Um…’ She took another cautious sip and made her decision. ‘No.’

He had to make her believe. Otherwise nothing would make sense. ‘Fame,’ he said slowly, ‘isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. This principality is small, but as the eldest—indeed, only—male of the royal family, the spotlight is now on me. There’s a population of a tiny country waiting to see what I do.’

He motioned out the window to the tiny holdings scattered along the river. ‘There are so many families whose lives depend on my choice—and your choice, too.’

‘Don’t you dare try to blackmail me,’ she snapped, suddenly angry, and his expression softened.

‘No. I won’t. But according to my mother, our needs mesh.’

She glared some more. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘A year as my wife would set you up for life.’

‘I don’t need to be set up—’

‘You can barely afford to eat now,’ he pointed out. ‘Michael is still at secondary school and he wants to be an engineer. How are you going to afford three of them at university?’

She placed her champagne glass carefully down on the table. All of a sudden the bubbles tasted like vinegar.

‘You really have pried…’

‘My mother has on my behalf.’ His calm gaze met hers, and his hands reached out across the table and took hers. She didn’t pull back. He looked down at those work-worn hands, and his mouth twisted into the mocking smile she was starting to know well.

‘You want a résumé of all my mother found out about you?’

‘No, I—’

‘Because I intend to give it to you.’ He shook his head at her indignant protest, released her hands and sat back, assessing. His eyes rested on hers, like she was an enigma he was still trying to figure out.

‘Your mother was an invalid,’ he started, watching her face. ‘She had multiple sclerosis. She should never have had one child, let alone four, but your father was desperate for a son. After three daughters, she finally died giving birth to Michael. That was when you were ten.’

‘I don’t—’

‘I’m saying this no matter how much you interrupt,’ he continued. ‘So you may as well listen and make sure I have it right. We wouldn’t like to make any mistakes here.’

‘Of course not,’ she said bitterly, and Alastair smiled.

‘Very wise. So what did you have? A father who’s a farmer and an expert stone-waller, but who coped with his wife’s illness by turning to the bottle.’ He held his hand up as Penny-Rose made an involuntary protest and she subsided. Reluctantly. ‘And a mother who depended on her eldest daughter for everything.

‘And then your mother died.’ His voice softened still further. ‘Which left you at ten, caring for Heather, six, Elizabeth, four and Michael who was newborn. And a herd of dairy cows and a father who drank himself stupid every night, leaving everything else to you.’

‘I don’t—’

‘Welfare nearly stepped in,’ he went on. ‘The whole district was concerned. My mother’s investigators had no trouble finding people who remembered gossip about your family. I gather you came within an inch of being put into care. But for you.’

‘I didn’t—’

But he was brooking no interruptions. Like Cinderella’s prince, he was working to a deadline. ‘You worked your butt off,’ he told her. ‘You came home from school every night and you milked. You got up at dawn and did the same. The neighbours knew and were horrified but you wouldn’t have it any other way, and when Welfare tried to step in they were met by a little girl whose temper matched that of any adult. “Leave us alone,” you said. “We’ll survive.” And somehow you did, until you could leave school at fifteen and work full time on the farm.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘But it wasn’t much easier then, was it, Penny-Rose?’ he said gently. ‘Because your father drank any profits, and you had your work cut out keeping bread on the table. When your father got drunk one night and smashed his car into a tree, things might have been easier. If the younger children had left school. But you wouldn’t let them.’

‘Of course not. They’re so clever,’ she said desperately. ‘All of them. Heather wants so much to be a doctor. Like you, Elizabeth wants architecture.’ She flashed him a wintry smile. ‘And somehow you already know that Michael longs for engineering.’

‘You’re supporting two at university now and one at school. How are you going to do more?’

‘They have part-time jobs. They help.’

‘Not enough. It’s two more years until Heather finishes and Michael’s major expenses haven’t started. You’re up to your ears in debt already.’

‘I don’t need to listen to this!’

‘No, but you should,’ Alastair said ruthlessly. ‘You can’t do it. You’ve come to Europe because the pay’s better. With a great exchange rate you can send more money home, but there’s an end to it. You can’t stretch your debts any further.’

‘I must,’ she said in a small voice, and his hand came back across the table and caught hers.

‘You need a life, too.’

‘They’re great kids.’ Her green eyes sparked with anger. ‘We’ve talked it through. As soon as Michael’s finished, it’s my turn. That’s when I can start enjoying myself.’

‘Oh, great. In six years? More! How much more turnip soup, Penny-Rose? How long before they’re self-supporting and you have your debts paid off?’

‘I want them to have the best,’ she said stubbornly. ‘They shouldn’t suffer because my father…’

‘Because your father didn’t face his responsibilities.’ Alastair’s voice gentled. ‘You face yours, though, don’t you? And I do, too. That’s what this is all about. Facing responsibilities. That’s why I’m asking you to marry me. It could help us both.’

‘I don’t—’

‘No, don’t say anything.’ He smiled at her, a smile that lit his face and took the heaviness away from her heart. ‘First let’s eat a very good dinner. And tell me…’

‘Tell you what?’ She was thoroughly flustered. ‘You already know everything.’

‘I don’t know this.’

‘What?’

‘Why do they call you Penny-Rose?’



She didn’t answer him until she’d demolished the first course. Her snails were magnificent morsels of taste sensation. She’d never tasted anything so delicious in her life. And in a way, it was time out. Her whole attention had to be on conquering the tricky silver tongs and tiny fork—and on not missing a drop of the gorgeous juice.

She finally finished and looked up to find Alastair watching her. The look on his face was strange, as if he couldn’t believe she was real.

‘Oh, what?’ she said crossly. ‘Have I made a faux pas?’

‘On the contrary, you managed beautifully,’ he told her, just a hint of a smile lingering in his voice. ‘In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed watching someone eating snails more.’ He left her to make of that what she liked, and then pressed home his question for the third time. ‘Before our next distraction comes—’

‘Food’s not a distraction,’ she retorted. ‘What a thing to say!’

‘OK, I was brought up wrong,’ he admitted. ‘I could have had snails for breakfast if I’d wanted. But I do want to know—’

‘You know everything.’

‘Not this.’

‘So pay more money to your private investigators.’

‘My mother asked them,’ he confessed. ‘But apart from knowing your full name is Penelope Rose O’Shea…’

‘So? That’s why I’m called Penny-Rose.’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘It’d explain Penny, or Rose, but—’

‘I hate Penny.’

Alastair’s face was thoughtful, watching hers. ‘I see you do. Why don’t you call yourself Penelope, then?’

‘I’m not much into that either.’

‘Would you like to explain?’

‘My…’ She caught herself. No! This was none of his business. It was no one’s business.

But then she looked at him again, and he looked gravely back, and she thought, He does want to know. For whatever reason, he’s really interested.

In me.

The thought was so novel she could hardly believe it. Talking about herself was something she never did, but suddenly she couldn’t resist telling him. Just once.

‘My father called me Penelope,’ she began. ‘He insisted I was called that after a great-aunt, so she’d leave us money. But she never did, and my father hated the name because of it. And I think…’ She took a deep breath. ‘I think my father hated me.’

‘That’s a fair indictment of your father.’

She shook her head. ‘Maybe I don’t blame him. I was his conscience, you see,’ she told him. ‘From the time my mother died I badgered him. All Dad wanted was to drink himself into oblivion, and I wouldn’t let him.’

‘How did you stop him?’

She shrugged. ‘It was never easy. I’d steal money from his wallet to feed the kids, so when he went to the pub he didn’t have enough. A great little thief—that’s me. Or I’d wake him up sometimes…’ Her voice faltered as she tried to continue. ‘When I was ill or when the milking got too much for me, I’d sometimes be able to shame him into helping. And I badgered him into teaching me to build stone fences. He had to work a bit to get money to drink, so he’d take on a stone-walling job, and there I’d be, watching. Because it meant money, I’d help all I could.’

‘I’d have thought,’ Alastair said thoughtfully, his eyes resting on hers, ‘that he’d have been grateful.’

‘He wasn’t.’ There was no question of that. ‘He called me Penelope. He’d put on this dreadful voice and he’d say to the kids, “Penelope says we have to do this. Penelope says there’s not enough to eat…’” She broke off. ‘He’d tell the kids it was my fault they were hungry—because I’d taken his money! Sometimes it was as if I had another kid to look after, but he was my father. I couldn’t stop him hating me. The only way I could get through to him was to threaten to come into the pub and tell his drinking mates how much we’d had to eat that week.’

‘You didn’t!’ Alastair said, awed, and she managed a smile.

‘You have no idea what you can do when you’re desperate. Only then…after the first time I threatened that, he started calling me Penny instead of Penelope. He said I was constantly grubbing for money so I might as well be named for it. I hated that, too. So, behind his back, the kids started calling me Penny-Rose.’

‘I see…’

‘And it’s sort of stuck,’ she told him. ‘And maybe it fits me. Penelope Rose is on my passport and job application, but when I got the job with Bert they said I was such a two-bit thing they’d call me Penny-Rose.’ She smiled. ‘’Cos I surely wasn’t a two-bob Rose.’

There was silence as he took that on board. The waiter came and cleared their plates, but still Alastair didn’t speak.

‘I don’t think you’re a two-bob Rose either,’ he said at last, and he couldn’t quite keep the emotion out of his voice. He looked at her across the table and he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. All this… His mother had told him her background, but until now it had hardly seemed true.

‘I don’t think you’re a two-bob Rose either,’ he repeated. ‘I refuse to call you Penny. Or Penelope. I think you’re a Rose, and a million-pound Rose at that. A Princess Rose. You deserve it, and marriage to me might just make sure that you get it. From this time on…’ His voice caught with sudden, unexpected emotion. ‘From this time on, you’re Rose.’

‘Rose…’

‘Don’t you like it?’

‘Yeah, but it doesn’t sound like me.’ She grinned. ‘It sounds too dignified.’

‘You can live up to your name.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘If you want to…’

The main course arrived then, giving them welcome time out. Penny-Rose—or just Rose—was never going to be distracted from food like this, not for all the princes in the world.

Before her was roast duckling, snow peas and crispy roast potatoes, served with a jus that made her mouth water before she even saw it. Penny-Rose-cum-Rose forgot all about dignity and concentrated on what was important.

Which was a novelty in itself to Alastair. He wasn’t accustomed to taking a woman out to dinner and having all her attention focussed on the food!

He sat and watched, bemused, waiting for the moment when she’d scraped her plate clean, and then turned back to more mundane questions. Like marriage proposals.

She turned straight back to practicalities.

‘I can see you have a problem marrying Belle,’ she said at last, popping a final snow pea into her mouth and savouring it with regret that it was the last. ‘But why did you choose me as an alternative? I’d imagine there must be lots of nice, virtuous girls in your principality.’

‘Um, yes.’ He seemed discomfited and she pressed home her point.

‘So why did you choose to investigate my background?’

‘You were my mother’s choice.’

‘Oh, right. And you always do what your mother tells you?’

He grinned. ‘Always.’

‘Why don’t I believe you?’

‘In this instance I think she’s done very well.’

‘But why me?’ she pressed again.

He hesitated, but decided he might as well be honest. ‘Because you’re Australian.’

She frowned at that. ‘You’ll have to explain.’

‘At the end of our marriage,’ he told her, playing with the cutlery still lying on the table, ‘you’ll need to walk away. I don’t want television and newspapermen in your face for the rest of your life. I’d imagine you don’t want that either.’

‘No,’ she said, startled.

‘This marriage will create publicity.’ He paused. ‘You know I’ve been engaged to be married before?’

‘I did know that,’ she said, a trace of sympathy entering her voice. This man stood to inherit the rulership of this tiny country and you couldn’t cross the border without hearing the gossip. ‘Her name was Lissa and she was killed in a car crash three years ago.’

‘With my father.’

‘I’d heard that as well.’ Her face softened still further. ‘I’m sorry.’

He shrugged off her sympathy. He didn’t need it. He just needed to make her see why it mattered. ‘Then maybe you’ll understand why I don’t want to get emotionally involved again.’

‘Hence Belle.’ She nodded wisely, thinking of what the gossip columnists said about Alastair’s companion. ‘I can see that, too.’

He heard the gentle criticism—the same concern that came from his mother when she asked whether he was sure he was doing the right thing—and it stung. ‘Belle will make me a very good wife.’

‘I’m sure she will.’

His eyes narrowed, but Penny-Rose’s face was cordiality itself.

‘Apart from the virtue bit,’ she added. ‘That’s hard. To be hit now for flings you had in your youth. So…’ She cocked her head. ‘You’re not in love with Belle?’

‘I’m not in love with anyone.’

‘No?’ She was like a brightly inquisitive sparrow, he thought, impossible to take offence at. But she was insistent. She was still waiting.

‘No. I’m not in love with anyone,’ he repeated stiffly. ‘After Lissa, it’s impossible.’

‘Lissa was some lady?’

‘We were second cousins and we grew up together,’ he told her, his voice softening. ‘We were the best of friends.’

He received a probing look as Penny-Rose thought this through. ‘So… You’re thirty-two now, and you didn’t get engaged until three years ago. They say you’d only just become engaged when she was killed. And you and Lissa were friends for years.’ She paused and thought it through some more. ‘Then after years of friendship, passion suddenly overtook you so you decided to marry?’

He frowned at that, and fingered his wineglass, sending shards of candlelight glistening through the Burgundy. ‘Aged almost thirty, we realised how good friendship could be.’

‘So you weren’t in love with Lissa either?’

His face darkened. ‘I loved Lissa.’ And from the way he’d said it, she was sure it was the truth. But maybe he hadn’t loved her as a man could love a woman. Or…as she’d always hoped a man could love a woman.

For heaven’s sake… What would she know? she thought suddenly. Maybe what she was thinking of was a romantic dream. It was a dream she’d always had at the back of her mind, but still just a dream for all that.

She could hardly probe any further down that road, but there was still something not quite right. She sipped her wine and wrinkled her freckled nose. ‘And Belle?’ she pressed. ‘She’s a friend, too?’

‘Not like Lissa was, but…’ Alastair hesitated, but this was a major commitment he was asking of this woman, and it was important for him to be honest. He knew that. If she agreed, she had to know exactly what she was letting herself in for. ‘Belle’s an interior decorator—a partner with my Paris architectural firm. She knows what I expect in a woman, she entertains my clients magnificently and she doesn’t interfere with my need for privacy.’




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