A Bride For His Majesty's Pleasure. PENNY JORDAN
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guard than looking at the clock.
Ionanthe closed her eyes. She and her sister had never been close, but that did not mean she did not feel any discomfort at all at the thought of taking what had been her place. Tonight, when she lay in Max’s arms fulfilling her sacrificial role, would he be thinking of Eloise? Would he be comparing her to her sister and finding her wanting? They would have been well matched in bed, her sister and this man who somehow remained very sensual and male despite the formality of the dress uniform he was wearing. It caused her a sharp spike of disquiet to know that it was his sensuality, his sexuality, that was somehow foremost in her mind, and not far more relevant aspects of his personality.
Max watched the crowd down below them, laughing happily and enjoying themselves as they celebrated their marriage—the same crowd that, according to the Count, would have threatened to depose him if he had not followed the island’s tradition and accepted its cruel ancient laws. Once again he had a wife—this time one who had been blackmailed and forced into marrying him. Max wished he knew Ionanthe better. Eloise had never talked about her sister or to her, as far as Max knew, other than to say that Ionanthe had always been jealous of her because their grandfather had loved her more than he did Ionanthe.
Had he known her better, had he been able to trust her, then he might have talked openly and honestly to her. He might have told her that he loathed the way she had been forced into marriage with him as much as she did herself. Told her that as soon as it was within his power to do so he would set her free. And, had he thought there was the remotest chance that she would understand them, he might have revealed his dreams and hopes for their people to her. But he did not know her, and he could not trust her, so he could say nothing. It was too much of a risk. After all, he had already made one mistake in thinking he could trust her sister.
In the early days of their marriage, when he had still been foolish enough to think that they could work together to create a marriage based on mutual respect and a shared goal, he had talked to Eloise about his plans. She had sulked and complained that he was being boring, telling him that she thought he should let her grandfather and the other barons deal with the people, because all she wanted to do was have fun. Eloise had quickly grown bored with their marriage once she’d realised that he was not prepared to accede to her demands that they become part of the spoiled wealthy and well-born European social circle she loved.
Max had soon come to understand that there was no point in blaming Eloise for his own disillusionment at her shallowness and her adultery. The blame lay with their very different assumptions and beliefs, and the fact that they had each assumed that the other felt as they did about key issues.
Eloise and Ionanthe had been brought up in the same household, and whilst Ionanthe might seem to have very different values from those of her sister, that did not mean that he could trust her. As he had already discovered, the elite of the island—of which Ionanthe was a member—were fiercely opposed to the changes Max wanted to make. Given that, it made sense for him not to say anything to her.
Count Petronius appeared at Max’s elbow. ‘The people are waiting for you to walk amongst them to present your bride to them and receive their congratulations,’ he informed them both.
Max frowned, and told him curtly, ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’
Ionanthe drew in a sharp breath on another fierce stab of angry pride. Before she could stop herself she was demanding, ‘I presume that you followed the custom when you married Eloise? That you were happy to present her to the people?’
How many times as a child had she been forced into the shadows whilst her grandfather proudly showed off Eloise? How many times had she been hurt by his preference for her sister? Those he had appointed to care for them had pursed their lips and shaken their heads, telling her that she was ‘difficult’ and that it was no wonder her grandfather preferred her prettier and ‘nicer’ sister. The feelings she had experienced then surged through her now, overwhelming adult logic and understanding. For a handful of seconds her new husband’s unwillingness to present her to the people with pride in their relationship became her grandfather’s cruel rejection of her, and she was filled with the same hurting pain as she had been then.
But analysing logically just why she should feel this angry rush of painful emotion would have to wait until she was calmer. Right now what she wanted more than anything else was recognition of her right to be respected as her sister had been.
Max’s clipped ‘That was different’ only inflamed rather than soothed her anger.
Gritting her teeth, Ionanthe told him fiercely, ‘I will not be humiliated and shamed before the people by being bundled out of sight. I may not be the bride—the wife—of your free choice, but you are the one who has forced this marriage on both of us. In marrying you I have paid my family’s debt to you and to the people. I am now their Princess. They have a right to welcome me as such, and I have a right to that welcome.’
She spoke well and with pride, Max recognised, and maybe the fears he had for her safety amongst a crowd who not so very long ago might have turned on her in fury and revenge were unnecessary. She, after all, would know the people, the way they thought and felt, far better than he.
‘The Princess is right, Highness. The people will expect you both to walk amongst them.’
‘Very well, then,’ Max agreed.
The square was crowded, the air warm from the many food stalls offering hot food. The heavy weight of the gold overdress added to Ionanthe’s growing discomfort as they made their slow and stately progress through the crowd.
Initially, when they had set out from the palace steps, they had been surrounded by uniformed palace guards, but the square was packed with people and gradually they had broken through the ranks of the guards. The people might be enjoying themselves, but Ionanthe couldn’t help contrasting their general air of shabbiness and poverty with the extreme richness of the appearance of those connected with the court—including, of course, herself. Here and there amongst the sea of faces, Ionanthe recognised people from her grandfather’s estate, and a wave of self-revulsion washed over her as she acknowledged that her family was responsible for their poverty. That must change. She was determined on that.
A courtier was throwing coins into the crowd for the children, and it filled Ionanthe with anger to see them scrabbling for the money. Right in front of them one small child burst into tears as an older child wrenched open his chubby hand to remove the coins inside it. The small scene wrenched at Ionanthe’s heart. Automatically she stepped forward, wanting to comfort the smaller child, but to her astonishment Max beat her to it, going down on one knee in the dust of the square to take the hands of both children. To the side of him the families looked on, their faces tight with real fear. Cosmo had treated the poorest amongst the people particularly badly, Ionanthe knew, raising taxes and punishing them for all manner of small things, laughing and saying that they were free to leave the island and live elsewhere if they did not like the way he ran his own country.
Obedient to Max’s grip on their wrists, both children opened their hands. Max felt his heart contract with angry pity as he looked down at the small coins that had caused the fracas. A few pennies, that was all, and yet—as he already knew from studying the island’s financial affairs—for some of the poorest families a few pennies would be vitally important. One day, if he was successful, no child on Fortenegro would need to fight for pennies or risk going hungry.
Sharing the coins between the two children equally, he closed their palms over them and then stood up, announcing firmly, ‘My people—in honour of this day, every family in Fortenegro will receive the sum of one hundred fortens.’
Immediately a loud buzz of excitement broke out as the news was passed from person to person. The Count looked aghast and complained, ‘Such a gesture will cost the treasury dear, Highness.’
‘Then let it. The Treasury can certainly afford it; it is less, I suspect, than my late cousin would have spent on the new yacht he was planning to commission.’
There were tears of real gratitude in the eyes of the people listening to him, and Ionanthe could feel her own eyes starting