The Royal Marriage. Fiona Hood-Stewart

      The Contessa was attractive and sympathetic, and had listened to Gabriella’s complaints—at the same time managing to prepare her for what was going to be a state occasion at very short notice. Gossip was rife, he realised ruefully. Everyone wondered if the young girl was pregnant. An amusing assumption under the circumstances, he reflected, pushing away the papers he’d been studying and getting up from behind the huge mahogany desk.

      Pregnant. Ricardo almost laughed. There was nothing amorous in their relationship. Far from it. In fact he wondered how they were going to fare in that department. He had never come close to kissing her again, and the day by the waterfall was nothing but a distant memory.

      But one that would not quite disappear.

      Still, despite that one occasion, Gabriella had kept him at arm’s length. This stuck in his craw. Most women found him devastatingly attractive. But Gabriella had made it plain that she had no desire for any intimacy, and on the few occasions when he’d tried to get things on to a happier footing she had rejected him outright. He grimaced, then glanced at the message from Ambrosia, to which he still hadn’t replied, and rose from behind the desk. He would deal with that problem in due course. Right now it was time to prepare for his wedding—hardly the moment to be ringing his mistress. The future would take care of itself. He could do no more than perform his duty.

      The rest was up to fate.

      ‘Gosh, you’re absolutely beautiful!’ Princess Constanza, Ricardo’s attractive younger sister, had just arrived for the wedding with her husband, the handsome Count Wilhelm of Wiesthun, and their two enchanting young children, who were to be attendants at the ceremony.

      Gabriella turned away from the mirror. She was standing still while the designer’s assistants gave the finishing touches to her magnificent yet simple satin wedding dress, a confection from Paris. Despite her unease she smiled at the attractive young woman at the door, and the pretty children.

      ‘Hello, hello.’ Constanza wafted in, a chestnut-haired woman of twenty-eight in a chic pale pink satin designer suit. She went over and kissed Gabriella on both cheeks. ‘I heard all about what happened. You poor, poor thing. I was so sorry to hear about your father. And now you’re stuck with Ricardo,’ she remarked, grimacing and flopping onto the chintz sofa. ‘He can be perfectly odious—even though he’s a super brother.’

      Gabriella eyed her and smiled. ‘Are those your children?’ she asked, watching the two little faces peeking at her from behind the sofa.

      ‘Yes, little rascals. They’re looking forward to being your attendants. I just hope they’ll behave. Particularly as we weren’t here in time for the rehearsal. Come, children,’ she said, turning and pulling them out, giggling, from their hiding spot. ‘Come and meet your new aunt.’

      Gabriella’s face lit up. Like most Brazilians, she adored children. Crouching, she beckoned to the lovely little girl and boy. ‘Hello.’ She reached out her hands to them. ‘Oh, you’re so beautiful,’ she exclaimed, stroking the little girl’s golden curls and smiling at the little boy, who grinned back shyly. They were already dressed, the girl in a pale blue satin bridesmaid’s dress that was a tiny replica of her own, and the boy in a page outfit with velvet knee britches and a lace ruffled shirt.

      ‘Ricky is three, and named after you know who.’ Constanza rolled her eyes. ‘And this is Anita, who’s four.’

      ‘What lovely names. Are you really going to help me at my wedding?’ Gabriella asked them in a conspiratorial tone. Both children nodded seriously. ‘I’m counting on you,’ she said, straightening, and took their hands.

      At that moment the Contessa hurried in, suitably attired in a rustling blue silk dress and coat. Several rows of large pearls hung about her neck and her ears gleamed with diamonds of the first water. She was followed closely by Sara. ‘Ah, Constanza, there you are. I was worried your plane might be held up due to that storm in Germany. I see all is arranged. Now, Gabriella,’ she said, turning towards her, ‘run downstairs, my love. Ricardo wishes to see you.’

      ‘But it’s bad luck for the bridegroom to see the bride on their wedding day before the ceremony,’ Constanza exclaimed, sitting up abruptly on the couch. ‘He must know that.’

      ‘Rubbish,’ her aunt dismissed with a wave of her bejewelled hand.

      ‘If it was me I wouldn’t go,’ Constanza said, jumping up and straightening the folds of the wedding gown.

      ‘Oh, who cares? It really doesn’t matter,’ Gabriella muttered.

      ‘At least take the gown off and slip something else on,’ Constanza urged.

      Their eyes met and, despite her desire to remain cool and aloof, Gabriella nodded.

      Slipping into the walk-in-closet, she carefully removed the gown and hung it on a hanger, where its train spread out across the thick-piled beige carpet. She swallowed and her eyes filled with tears. At any other time it would have been the gown of her dreams. She turned quickly away and slipped on a pair of sweats and a short T-shirt that revealed her midriff. Serves him right. She sniffed, raising her chin belligerently and making her way down the wide, ornate corridor painted with frescoes and gold leaf. Tough luck if he didn’t approve of her. She was damned if she was going to be everything he wanted.

      He’d soon learn.

      A knock on the double-panelled gilt door made Ricardo start. He’d been daydreaming for a moment.

      ‘Come in.’ He turned and faced the door, which a liveried servant was opening.

      ‘You requested my presence?’ Gabriella said with mock sweetness, thrusting her thumbs into the top of her sweats and standing at an angle, her foot drumming the floor.

      Ricardo watched her, half-amused, half-irritated. She certainly did not look like a blushing bride preparing for her wedding, which was to take place within hours. He was about to make a pithy comment about her T-shirt when he realised with a touch of humour that she had done it on purpose, to provoke him. He smiled inwardly. Let the wedding take place. Then he would make very sure she never went around looking like this any more. As his wife it would be utterly inappropriate.