“Yes, she is.” Inside and out.
“She cares for you a great deal, I think. You can see it in her eyes, in her voice when she speaks of you.” The prince’s expression grew bleak again. “My marriage was not a happy one. I hope yours will bring you great joy.”
When Jack didn’t answer, the prince cleared his throat. “Would you and Miss Fortin consider allowing me to show you the palace and grounds and then join me for luncheon afterward? If you are willing, I should like to introduce you to my—to our—country.”
Jack hesitated before finally nodding. “I am willing.”
“Then shall we meet in the Great Hall in
a quarter hour?”
“Yes.”
Jack started to turn away, then halted and glanced back at his father. “Your injury—you said it still pains you?”
“A great deal, yes.”
“I have a friend who was shot while serving in the British cavalry,” Jack commented. “He was deathly ill from a fragment of bullet still lodged in his chest. Once that was removed and the putrification stanched, he was able to recover. Perhaps you suffer from a similar affliction.”
The prince frowned thoughtfully, then shook his head. “My physicians have said nothing more can be done.”
Jack shrugged. “You must do as you like, but if I were you, I would consider seeing an English physician. There is a particular surgeon in London—a colleague of my cousin, Lord Traherne—who is known for his brilliant if unorthodox theories. He might be able to help you.”
Once more Jack started to turn away, but Prince Raoul spoke again. “Jack … do you have any memories from when you were very small?”
“What sort of memories?”
“Of me. Of us. You were always begging me to ride. Do you recall when I would take you up before me on my horse? Or lift you onto my shoulders? You squealed with laughter and joy. Those were your mother’s favorite times, watching us at play.”
A long-ago scene such as his father described flashed in Jack’s mind. A sunny morning with his mother and his father. The delight. The laughter. The love.
“I remember my mother was happy then,” Jack said in a low voice, a deliberate concession to his father’s need for forgiveness.
The elderly man looked grateful. “She was indeed. We were a family then, even if our union was not sanctioned by marriage. I loved you both dearly, Jack. I know I can never make amends for the loss of your mother and your childhood, but I would like to try.”
Jack nodded briefly and finally left. He had spoken the truth to Sophie. He would never be able to hold his father in affection as he would a real father, but perhaps he could ease Prince Raoul’s final days. It was what his mother would have wanted.
It was not forgiveness or even reconciliation, but it was a beginning.
For the following two days, Jack made a determined effort to quell his animosity toward his father, so that even though their relationship was tenuous and careful, he felt Sophie’s silent approval.
They toured the palace and royal estate first, including the extensive gardens and deer park, then branched out to the surrounding environs, which proved colorful and charming. Navartania boasted several villages, with one large enough to qualify as an actual town, while the rural countryside prospered with farms and vineyards, and mountain mines produced precious metals and gems.
In response to Sophie’s questions, Prince Raoul discussed ministers and government briefly, but dwelled most on the history of the country. During Napoleon’s reign, the royal family had fled to neighboring Austria with their portable wealth and fine artwork—the jewels, silver, paintings, and tapestries. They’d hidden the rest—the larger sculptures, furniture, and carpets—among their countrymen. They were eagerly welcomed back by the population, though. Whereas much of the wealthy French aristocracy ruled uncaringly over the dirt-poor peasants, in Navartania, class structure was more equitable. And although the denizens chiefly followed the culture of southern France, they had an independent streak and had never fully surrendered to Boney’s rule, instead pledging loyalty to the House of de Villars.
Given his deteriorating health, the prince had to rest frequently, especially after their outings. When he was not napping in his rooms, Sophie could be found at his side. Concerned for his welfare, she coaxed him out to the garden terrace into the fresh air and sunshine. While he reclined on a chaise, she read to him or merely kept him company, quietly speaking in a soothing voice.
“My mother is not well, your highness,” Sophie explained. “Although she has grown stronger over these past few months, she still has bouts of low spirits and spells of physical weakness that lovely weather such as this helps to cure.”
Jack suspected her chief goal was to foster discourse between father and son, a fact that Sophie readily admitted when they next discussed the prince.
“Your father is hungry for knowledge of you, Jack, even if you don’t care to know any more about him.”
She also subtly probed Prince Raoul’s life with Lady Clara, a subject that brought Jack conflicting feelings of pain and wistful memories of joy.
Jack and Sophie were often alone, however. Such was the case the afternoon of the third day when he received an unexpected surprise. Hearing the sounds of hooves and carriage wheels outside the palace, Sophie went to peer out a window of the salon.
“I would not have expected the prince to have so many visitors. I wonder what the occasion is.”