The Prince's Chambermaid

‘Then this happened, out of the blue,’ she said slowly, praying that his valet or her lady-in-waiting wouldn’t come in and disturb them—because Xaviero had never talked to her like this before. ‘And there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.’

‘No. My fate has been sealed,’ he said, with an air of finality, and then his face darkened. ‘And yet I have no right to express any kind of dissatisfaction with my lot. How can I—when my brother is lying insensible in what seems like a cruel enactment of our mother’s demise? And if I’m honest—really honest—weren’t there times in our childhood when I wanted the monarchy? When I wished it was me being prepared for the kingdom, not Casimiro. What is it that they say,’ he added bitterly. ‘Be careful what you wish for.’

Cathy flinched, praying for the right words as she saw the deepening of the painful lines etched in his face. Something which could lessen his grief and his guilt and might make him see the positives in a life he would never have chosen for himself. Couldn’t she persuade him that together they could learn a different way of living—if he was prepared to give it a try? But before she could speak, there was a gentle tap on the door and Xaviero opened it himself to find one of the butlers standing there.

Black eyebrows were arched in impatient query. ‘Yes, what is it?’

‘Highness, your guests have arrived.’

Xaviero nodded, wishing for a brief and crazy moment that he were back in her tiny cottage, sitting in the soft, scented oasis of her garden, drinking wine from those ridiculous cheap little tumblers she used to use. But there was no use yearning for the impossible—because hadn’t he learnt by now that duty always came first? And how could he expect Cathy to adhere to that principle if he found he was trying to shirk it himself? ‘We’ll be right down.’ He turned to her. ‘Ready?’

‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘Xaviero, there must be something you could—’

‘Forget it.’ Although soft, his tone was emphatic. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

She wanted to say that it did—but her heart sank as she saw the now familiar cool mask back in place and she sensed his confidences of just a moment ago already being erased from his mind. And yet his disclosures—far from bringing her closer to him—had left her feeling distinctly unsettled. Insecurity flooded through her as she realised she hadn’t been imagining his frustration at his life here at all. And what would happen if that frustration built and built?

Side by side they walked into the anteroom where the assembled guests were waiting and Cathy carefully composed her face to prepare herself for the inevitable scrutiny. She was used to this by now—the way the women always looked her over and sized her up, as if trying to decide whether she was fit to be married to such a devastatingly handsome and eligible prince.

This was the part of the evening where she and Xaviero again went their separate ways—she to chat to the wives of the visiting delegation and to sip at a glass of water. She had given up taking wine before or during the meal—it made her grow too pink and uninhibited and sometimes she had to bite back things she really wanted to say.

It’s as much a prison for me as it is for Xaviero, she realised suddenly as they were led into dinner, to opposite ends of the formally decorated table.

She watched Xaviero during the meal, her eyes straying to him despite her determination to respond enthusiastically to the man seated next to her. From time to time he would look up, his golden eyes sparking out a silent question—occasionally, he would even toss her a slow smile. And Cathy was aware that she seized on these little crumbs of affection as a starving dog would a piece of meat.

She saw the sultry woman at his side slant him a beguiling smile—and, to be fair to Xaviero, he didn’t respond to it at all. No telltale silent flirtation in return. But that was because they were newlyweds—when she was still completely captivating to him in the bedroom and he couldn’t seem to get enough of her. What would happen when that wore off—as people always said it did?

Trapped within the confines of their largely separate lives—might not Xaviero choose to dabble a little elsewhere, as royal men throughout history had been inclined to do? The opportunity was always there for them—they could have their pick of women so eager to bed a prince that discretion would be guaranteed. Why, didn’t weak and ambitious men sometimes even offer up their wives as some kind of noble sexual sacrifice?

Maybe that was another reason why he had chosen a compliant wife—one so grateful to be married to him that she would put up with just about anything. Was he expecting her to turn a blind eye to his indiscretions as royal wives were famous for doing? She shuddered, quickly putting her heavy fork down before she did something unforgivable—like dropping it on one of the porcelain plates.