The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (46 page)

“And you are no small prize, Alejandro, king or no king. I know that you are not oblivious to the effect you have on women.”

“I do have an effect on her,” Alejandro remarked softly, recalling his last encounter with Nicolette with no small amount of regret. “Which makes the reality of our situations all the more difficult to bear.”

Why had they bothered to fence? One got all the exercise one needed simply traversing the palace. Not for the first time he missed his small quarters aboard the ship during his short naval career. They sped past the Gasparini Room, the private apartments of Charles III, which took fourteen years to complete and which he called in his mind the “gasp” rooms, or sometimes “the curlicue rooms,” an inconceivably dizzying monument to the Baroque style.

“Very well, Alejandro, but you are not married yet.” Esteban raised his eyebrows with a nonchalance that worried Alejandro. “And we have a coronation to plan.”

“Yes, but what has that to do with…?”

“Music is needed.”

They reached the staircase, and his guards were almost running to keep pace. He held up his hand, commanding them to maintain their distance, which they reluctantly did. He rested his hand on the head of a life-size statue of a lion flanking the end of the magnificent staircase, and the vision he presented appeared to have some impact on his guards.

“True, but…” A slow smile formed on Alejandro’s lips as the full weight of Esteban’s words embraced him. In an instant his spirit soared with the implications. “You are correct, Esteban. Music is needed. Music is desperately needed. Music is…
life
.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Free and aimless I must flutter

from pleasure to pleasure,

Skimming the surface

of life’s primrose path.

As each day dawns,

As each day dies,

Gaily I turn to the new delights

That make my spirit soar

—
Giuseppe Verdi,
La Traviata

“Mademoiselle Nicolette! A
rrêtez! Arrêtez!”
Monsieur Georges Beaumaris came running toward her, waving his arms, his face glowing with excitement as he spoke rapidly in French.

“Oui, Monsieur?” Nicolette stopped in her tracks as commanded, turning to face him. Never before had she seen the director of Paris’s premier opera company display anything outside of a refined composure. She was challenged to maintain a serene countenance.

“It is most arresting!” His face was lit like the Palais de l’Electricité she had witnessed at the World’s Fair in Paris four years preceding. His always-neat blond-gray hair was ruffled, and his bowtie was not straight.

“Monsieur Beaumaris, what is it?” she gurgled. She had no further incentive to contain herself once she was certain that he was happy rather than distraught. She giggled alongside the man before her in cream-colored silk trousers, dashing about and creating a blur of shimmer on the maroon carpet of the Palais Garnier.

“Do you believe it, Mademoiselle?” He took her hands and began to waltz with her.

“I most assuredly do
not
believe it—whatsoever it may be!” She laughed as she danced until Monsieur Beaumaris released her with a flourish.

“I pinch myself, I reread the letter, and still I do not believe it.” He waved linen stationery before her, which he pulled out of his jacket pocket, and her heart stopped as she observed a red seal waving in front of her.
Could it be?
She mustn’t let her heart betray her.

“Please, Monsieur Beaumaris,
tell me
,” she pleaded of the man who was known for his direct communication. Oh, she hoped Monsieur Beaumaris did not expire before he told her!

“I tell you now!”

“
Please
do!”

“We shall be going on tour! A most illustrious tour!”

“Where?
Where
shall we be going?”

“I must prepare our repertoire! Where is Caruso? He may very well extend his singing engagement with us before traveling to New York City to accept his position at the Metropolitan Opera. Oh, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” He turned to yell at his assistant, who was standing some six inches behind him, staring at him as if he had seen a ghost. “A pen and paper if you will.
Rapidement!
I must consult with Puccini!”

“Monsieur Beaumaris, may I beg you to tell me where we are going?” Nicolette strove to capture his attention before he floated off, trailing along beside him like a puppy too long departed from its master.

He stopped dead in his tracks, finally giving her the attention she craved. He studied her, as if he expected her to know that answer. Slowly a smile came to his lips. “Don’t you know, Mademoiselle?”

“No! No I don’t! And I fear I never will!”

“But Spain, of course!”

“Spain?” She swallowed hard. Somehow she found her voice. “But
why
?”

“Why?” He laughed heartily. “A personal invitation from the king of Spain. For the coronation.”

Nicolette covered her hand with her mouth, afraid that she would scream. Oh, but she should not feel this way. Why was her heart racing in her chest? She was an expert at combating nervousness, and yet none of her techniques were working.

Breathe, breathe, she told herself, but her heart just pounded faster.

She could not go to Spain. She simply would
not
. She had only started to get her life back, to feel like herself again, to feel peace again. She was never so confused as when she was with Alejandro.

“The principles of the opera troupe are to stay in the Palacio Real de Madrid.” Monsieur Beaumaris was grinning from ear to ear. “The personal guests of the king. Think of it, Mademoiselle Nicolette! The Royal Palace of Madrid. It is unheard of! It is a great honor.”

“But, Monsieur Beaumaris, how…when…?”

“The invitation comes from King Alejandro
himself
.” He waved the letter in front of her face. “We will be singing in the beautiful Teatro Real, of course, a magnificent opera house, as a part of the coronation-week festivities.”

“King Alejandro wrote the letter himself? No, surely you are mistaken. The Teatro Real? Truly? Oh, it is magnificent, I have heard…”

“Oui, oui. The Teatro Real is magnificent. But, even more than that, you—
you
, my angel—will sing a solo at the coronation itself!”

“I shall sing at the king’s
coronation?” she gasped.

“I must prepare our repertoire.” He bestowed a knowing smile upon her, winking as he did so. “I know to whom I owe this honor, of course.”

“But Monsieur Beaumaris, I am as stunned as you are.” Nicolette shook her head.

“Oh, are you, Mademoiselle?”

“Why, yes, I…”
I can’t. I mustn’t
.

“Never mind, never mind.” He turned to his assistant, yelling at the top of his lungs. “Find Caruso! I must persuade him to stay! To go! Oh, just
find him
!”

Chapter Thirty-Two

How should you understand

All the love that’s in my heart?

How should you know that I have proved it,

Even at the price of your contempt?

But the time will come when you will know,

When you’ll admit how much I loved you

God save you then from all remorse!

Even after death I shall still love you

—
Giuseppe Verdi,
La Traviata

“It’s positively
breathtaking
!” Caruso took her arm—not with the elegant ease of a gentleman but with a forceful strength, which indicated his doubts about the solidity of her footing. On her other arm was her grandmother, moving forward with more speed than was comfortable. As Nicolette entered the magnificent Palacio Real, she reveled in a sense of amazement at her circumstances.

“It is
incomparable
, is it not?” stated Lady Elaina, ever the political hostess, who would have eaten nails rather than miss the opportunity to accompany her to Spain for the king’s coronation.

“Everything is irreplaceable,” noted Caruso.

“And uniquely astounding,” Nicolette added, somehow finding her voice.

“The art collections alone are worth the visit,” Lady Elaina added, her head seeming like a twirling top as she took everything in.

“True.” Nicolette nodded, feeling dazed. “Thus far I have already seen Velázques, Gasparini, Caravaggio, and Goya.” She glanced at the hallway before her. “And it seems to go on forever!”

“It
does
go on forever,” remarked Lady Elaina with finality.

“There are over two thousand rooms in the palace,” Caruso clarified with a raised eyebrow. “The Palacio Real is the largest palace in all of western Europe.”

“Not only is the palace stunning,” added Lady Elaina, “but, as you have noted, Mr. Caruso, the royal collections are of great historical importance. The world’s
only
complete Stradivarius string quintet is here in the palace.”

“Despite having seen much of the world, I am
impressed.
” Her head began to swim as the full impact of the priceless art, the magnificent architecture, her unanswered questions, and her anticipation at seeing Alejandro mounted.

“I beg you will not forget the famous collections of tapestries,” Caruso interjected.

“Tapestries?” Nicolette giggled, grateful for the diversion, as she turned to face Caruso. It never failed, Enrico always eased the tension. His unmistakable boyish charm, not to mention his tendency to mischief, was just plain fun company.

“I don’t think one
could
forget the Hall of Mirrors or the Hall of Tapestries!” Lady Elaina chuckled. “It has taken us no small amount of time to traverse them.”

“Umm…yes. The tapestries astonish me.” Nicolette sighed, studying the red velvets, deep blues, and huge gilded mirrors lining the walls. “They are indistinguishable from masterpieces in oil. So
rich
.”

“‘Rich’ is the right word, Signorina Nicolette!” Caruso laughed, his thick, dark moustache dancing all over his face. His hair was brushed back high on his head, and he definitely looked the stage star. “And what of you, my little fire-eater? You seem more subdued than usual.”

She nodded as her breath caught in her chest. She would see
him
again soon. The supporting members of the cast had already been situated, and the principals were being led to the royal throne room. Her heart quickened despite a lifetime of experience managing nervousness. She had not felt this nervous when she had faced the terrifying Red Sultan—otherwise known as the
Great Assassin
—at eleven years old!

“Ah, the Royal Armory.” Suddenly Caruso’s attention was diverted, and he seemed to be of two minds. He bowed to Nicolette and Lady Elaina. “Its weapons date back to the thirteenth century. Do excuse me for a moment, signorina.”

“Only be a moment, Enrico, I beg you. We are expected in the royal throne room,” Nicolette advised, surprised that she could find her voice as their proximity increased. In an instant tuxedo tails had flown into the Royal Armory, disappearing from view.