Marrying the Rebel Prince: Your invitation to the most uplifting romantic royal wedding of 2018!. Janet Gover
Prince Nicolas. Of course he would have a secretary and probably a whole suite of offices filled with people whose job it was to look after him. She ducked back inside her studio, telling herself that it made perfect sense for an artist to work near her subject. She shouldn’t read anything into it – nor should she feel nervous about it.
For a few minutes, Lauren stood looking around the studio. She paced about and rearranged some of her brushes and paints on the worktop. She walked to the window, which looked out over a courtyard not unlike the one where she had seen the prince at the head of his mounted troop. She closed her eyes for a moment, and found the picture still in her head. The bright red of the uniforms against the grey stone of the stable block. The glint of sunlight on polished silver. The sense of barely restrained energy in the prince and his mount.
Lauren opened her eyes. An equestrian portrait? Why not?
She reached for a sketch pad.
* * *
Nicolas paused as he reached to open the door. He wasn’t used to knocking. Certainly not here in his own private quarters. But manners caught up with him in time, and he tapped gently on the wood. There was no answer, so he opened the door.
Lauren was sitting on a high stool, leaning over the large wooden refectory table he had selected for her workbench. She was as inappropriately dressed for the palace as she had been yesterday. Her black jeans were tattered at the hems. Her tight top, also black, sported a number of ragged holes. He wondered if that was a deliberate fashion statement. Perhaps Lauren had simply not noticed the holes – or not cared. Whichever, her unaffected behaviour and spontaneity were a delight in a place ruled by protocol. Her remarkable blue hair fell forward, partly obscuring her face.
For the first time, he noticed she had a slight bump in the middle of her nose. Far from detracting from her looks, it simply added to them. Her face would never grace the pages of a fashion magazine, but he found her enormously attractive. Her passion for life was writ clearly on her face. As was her devotion to the work that now engrossed her.
On the floor around her, a selection of crumpled and discarded sheets of paper suggested several false starts to the work that now held her so focused she hadn’t heard his knock. Her attention was glued to the sketch pad on the tabletop, while the thick pencil in her hand flew across its surface. She exuded an aura of intense concentration that seemed to build an invisible wall around her, cutting her off from him.
The younger son of a royal house understood barriers. His life of wealth and privilege came well supplied with rules and boundaries not of his own making. Nicolas had always known he was the ‘spare heir’, the guarantee of succession, should anything happen to his older brother. In fact, duty had dictated his very birth. His mother had married where she was told. His father had been distant from his sons for most of their childhood, leaving them with nannies and tutors. His death when Nicolas was just nine had barely impacted their lives at all and even now, his feelings for his father remained more sadness at a relationship he’d never had, rather than grief at the loss of a loved one.
Tradition had dictated the school he went to and his military service. There, at least, he’d found his own place. No – not found … he’d earned his place in the military. He’d felt like he’d belonged … right up until the terrible day that had changed everything.
Nick felt the darkness hovering at his shoulder, and he put up his own carefully constructed barrier. He would not allow his memories to darken this place that Lauren filled with light. Very few people knew the real story behind his exit from the military. Most thought he’d just moved to a ceremonial role. He would not disrespect the memories of his fallen comrades or the uniform they had all worn so proudly by having those events bandied about in public. Let them think what they wished. His family and those close to him knew the truth; he didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion.
Looking at Lauren, he wondered briefly if that was still true.
Most unusually for him, Nicolas was uncertain of what to do next. Normally there were rules for him to obey – or to deliberately break. But this time he was disadvantaged by his desire not to disturb Lauren. Instead, he contented himself with watching as her hand moved over the sketch pad with assurance and passion. Was she drawing him? Unable to contain his curiosity, the prince moved towards her.
‘Oh!’ Lauren jumped to her feet, brushing her hair away with one charcoal-stained hand. ‘You startled me. You should have …’ Her voice trailed off.
‘Knocked? In my own apartments?’ Remarkable, Nicolas thought, how easily she blushed, and how lovely she looked as she did. ‘Actually, I did knock. You didn’t hear me.’ He smiled to take any sting out of his words. ‘I see you’ve already started working.’
He walked to the wooden table, eager to see her drawing. Courtauld’s face stared up at him from the sketch pad.
For the second time in just a few minutes, Nicolas found himself taken aback. All that devotion and passion hadn’t been for him! Slowly he bent to retrieve one of the crumpled pieces of paper from the floor. He smoothed it across the tabletop. This page showed a mounted figure in a uniform, which was instantly recognisable as the one he’d worn on parade earlier in the day. The horse was even recognisable as his. The face of the rider, however, was blank.
A second rejected sketch proved to be a rough outline of the palace courtyard, with a soldier holding a horse – his horse. This soldier had a face, carefully and cleverly drawn. Nicolas wasn’t willing to look any further.
‘So, you can draw my servant, and my horse. But you can’t draw me?’
* * *
Lauren wished the floor would open and swallow her. How could she answer an accusation that was essentially true? She had started out meaning to sketch the prince. She had even managed to outline his body. But each time she tried to draw his face, her hand faltered. Her talent, which had served her so well in the past, had failed for the first time, as the woman behind the artist exerted herself. Each time she tried to focus on light and shade or form and composition, a pair of deep blue eyes had returned to haunt her. The same eyes that were now staring at her demanding an answer.
Unable to defend herself, Lauren chose the only other option. Attack.
‘That’s a terrible word to use.’
‘What … draw?’
‘No.’ Lauren shook her head in disgust. ‘Servant. That belongs in a past century. He’s not a servant, he’s an employee and a human being, and deserves to be treated like one – with respect.’
‘You are right,’ he replied with a calm voice, ‘in all except one thing. If you ask Courtauld, I’m sure he would say that he is proud to serve –’ the word serve was slightly emphasised ‘– the House of Verbier d’Arennes.’
Lauren almost winced as her argument crashed down around her. Prince Nicolas had chosen the exact words Courtauld himself had used just yesterday.
‘He may serve, but that doesn’t make him a lesser human being. Those who are served –’ Lauren made certain he heard the emphasis ‘– have a responsibility to remember that, and to treat those who serve with due respect.’
Feeling that she had somehow lost an argument, Lauren turned away from Prince Nicolas and his unsettling gaze. She carefully removed the sketch of the prince’s equerry from her pad. Having nowhere else to put it, she laid it with great care on a clear corner of the worktable.
‘I’m going to need some sort of board, to display the sketches,’ she said abruptly, hoping a change of subject might break the tension that filled the room. ‘I do a lot of sketching when I’m preparing a portrait, and I like to have them where I can see them.’
‘Of course. I’ll ask Courtauld to arrange it today.’
‘Thank you.’ Lauren felt stronger now the topic was her undisputed area. Eager to maintain her sense of control, she turned back to the prince. ‘We also should discuss the portrait. We need to arrange sittings, and talk about