‘I’ve been practising,’ Clotilde said proudly.
Catalina chose her outfit carefully from her limited wardrobe, now wishing she’d taken up Nathaniel’s offer all those weeks ago and gone shopping. When she thought of all the clothes left in the palace, hanging there, untouched and unloved, she wanted to cry at the waste.
Today, she would see if she could have them returned to her. She would have to play it by ear, gauge her father’s mood.
She hadn’t seen him since the wedding, when he hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye.
Eventually selecting a demure black knee-length dress with a collar and long sleeves, she slipped her feet into a pair of low-heeled black shoes and left the apartment.
It felt fitting to meet her father for lunch dressed appropriately for a funeral.
The bodyguards and Nathaniel’s driver were waiting for her. The last she’d seen of her husband had been when he’d kissed her goodbye after breakfast. She knew he was meeting with his sharpest legal minds, getting his pieces into place for the coming battle ahead.
Her welcome at the palace brought her much relief. All the courtiers, family members and others alike, were there to greet her. They must have known she’d run away. They must know of the threats made against Nathaniel to bring her back. None of them cared. All that mattered to them was the House of Fernandez and their own positions in it. But their smiles and well wishes were genuine, and that warmed her heart more than she could have thought possible.
It was an even greater relief to find her father’s private dining table set only for two.
‘Is Dominic not joining us?’ she asked after they’d exchanged a tentative embrace.
Her father’s welcoming smile was too forced to be trusted.
‘Your brother is on a state visit in the UK,’ he said reproachfully, as if this were something she should have known.
‘Of course.’ She smiled easily and waited for her father to take his seat before taking her own.
For the first five years after her mother had died, Catalina and her father had made all the state visits together. She knew he would have preferred to take his favourite, Isabella, with him but she’d been too young, so he’d had to accept Catalina as the best replacement. They’d got on well enough but any hopes of establishing a closeness with her remote father had been dashed. Her father’s heart was so closed it only had limited space for love. And that love had been reserved for Isabella. Catalina was able to find comfort in the knowledge that at least she’d had her mother’s love. Of that there had never been any doubt.
It had infuriated Dominic to see the sister he loathed having such high status within the family and enraged him to see the world fall in love with her. His subtle hints and needling to the King had eventually worked and now he conducted most state visits himself, effectively sliding himself into position to take over the throne.
She doubted her father would abdicate but knew he was proud his son and heir was taking the throne and its attendant duties so seriously.
She also doubted Dominic was happy to be missing this lunch. He would have enjoyed nothing more than to watch her squirm as she was given the anticipated dressing down that was surely to come.
‘He’ll be back on Friday. I know he’s looking forward to seeing you at my party next week.’
She gave another smile. That was all that was ever required of her. A smile of acceptance or approval or whatever particular outward emotion was deemed appropriate for the situation.
Their first course of cream of wild mushroom soup was brought to them. A courtier cut and buttered them a fresh roll each, then put a clean spoon into her father’s bowl and sampled a soupçon of it.
When he was satisfied the courtier wasn’t about to drop down dead, her father judged it safe to eat.
‘That Giroud,’ he said between noisy slurps. ‘He is mistreating you? Is that why you ran away?’
‘It isn’t an easy marriage,’ she said quietly, casting her head down so he couldn’t read the truth in her eyes.
Her answer clearly pleased him, for he chuckled. ‘The man is an animal.’
She clenched a handful of the skirt of her dress between her fingers. ‘Yes. He is. I’m sorry for running away, Father, but I couldn’t see any other way out. I hate living with him.’
‘Look at me, Catalina.’
She obeyed and found his brown eyes, so like her own but ringing with malice.
‘You have always been a good girl. It’s why I decided you should marry Giroud rather than cast you out as your brother wanted—you understand your brother was only thinking of what’s best for the House of Fernandez?’
‘I understand,’ she said meekly, wondering how he would react if she threw her bowl of soup into his face.
‘Good.’ He smiled. ‘You’re a valued member of our family but I will not tolerate any further dissent. Lauren will accompany you back to the apartment. You will give her your passport. I will keep it safe for you until your bastard is born and you’re married to Johann. He’s agreed to the marriage. Your honour will be restored.’
Her heart clattering against her chest so hard it was a struggle to get any words out, she said, ‘I don’t have my passport. Nathaniel—Giroud—has confiscated it. He doesn’t trust me,’ she added for good measure.
Nathaniel’s instincts had been right. Her father didn’t trust her.
The King inhaled deeply then flashed his teeth. ‘Bring it to me at my party. If you fail to do so I will have him arrested on the spot.’
He must have seen something in her eyes that she wasn’t quick enough to hide because his smile turned into a leer. ‘Do not underestimate me, Catalina. I might be transferring much of my power to your brother but I still rule this country and everyone who lives in it.’
* * *
Nathaniel knew there was something wrong the moment Catalina got into the car. He’d finished his meeting with his lawyers early enough so he would be there to meet her. He hadn’t been thrilled with her going to the palace on her own but they both knew that, for their plan to succeed, they had to carry on as normal. And that meant Catalina obeying her father’s commands.
‘What happened?’ he asked.
She shrugged and looked out of the window. ‘He’s arranged my next marriage.’
‘The Swedish duke?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t worry about it. It isn’t going to happen.’ He stared hard at her as a thought came to him. ‘Unless you’ve changed your mind?’
‘I haven’t.’ She turned to face him and smiled. It didn’t meet her eyes. ‘You know that’s not the future I want for our child.’
He let out a breath and reached for her hand. He razed a kiss across the knuckles she’d managed to slice. The cuts had healed beautifully, and were now only fading pink lines across the pale skin.
‘Is there something else troubling you?’ They both knew her wedding to the Swedish duke would never happen.
She gave a brave smile. ‘My mother’s jewellery. I don’t think I’ll ever get it back.’
He squeezed her hand lightly, wishing this were something he could fix for her but, short of launching a full-scale assault on the heavily guarded palace, he didn’t see how that was feasible.
‘How would you like to visit a Club Giroud next week?’ he said, wanting to distract her from something he knew caused her much anguish. ‘I would take you sooner but I think it’s best we stay in Monte Cleure for a while to try and stave off your father’s suspicions.’