Cinderella's Secret Royal Fling Read online

  ‘And the young lady herself. Does she seem to like you, Laurent? Will she welcome a proposal after so short an acquaintance? Can you be happy with her?’

  They were three very different questions.

  ‘I will be happy watching Armaria prosper,’ he said at last. ‘As for Bella Clayton... I do not believe a proposal will be either a surprise, or unwelcome. She’s twenty-seven and has been raised with an expectation of a place in society. Life here would not be the kind of shock it might be for someone from a different kind of background.’

  ‘Well, then,’ his mother said after a pause. ‘In that case I look forward to meeting her—and her family. When are you hoping that they will arrive?’

  ‘A few days before the ball.’ Walking over to the desk, he unearthed the invitation he had been looking at earlier and handed it to his mother. ‘I had this mocked up earlier. Once we’re happy with the design we’ll get them sent out, so get your secretary to send mine the list of everyone you would like to invite by the end of the week. I know the timing is tight, but this is the first royal ball held at the castle for two decades. I don’t think any guests will worry too much about prior plans, do you? And, hopefully, by the end of the summer Armaria will have both new investment and a new Archduchess.’

  His mother looked around the library, lips pursed. ‘I’ll also make a list of all the work that needs doing between now and then. It will have to be all hands on deck if we are going to open the castle up to hundreds of guests.’

  ‘I’m happy to wield a paintbrush if it gets the job done. Thank you. Don’t worry about the ball itself, Maman. Simone Clayton has recommended an events planner and, all being well, she should be starting at the weekend.’ He hesitated. ‘Obviously, I expect to cover all costs, as the host, but the Claytons do have some additions they’d like to make to the traditional plans—and of course they have their own list of guests to invite. As a result, they are insisting on paying for the event planner, their guests and for the cost of any of their extra requirements. I did my best to dissuade them, as you can imagine, but they were adamant.’ Laurent’s mouth thinned. His country, his castle, his responsibility. But he was supposed to be wooing Mike Clayton—and his daughter—not arguing with them, and in the end gracious capitulation was the only option.

  ‘I see. Are you sure, Laurent? Sure that this girl will make you happy?’

  Laurent merely bowed in answer. ‘I know exactly what I’m doing, both for myself and for Armaria.’

  For Laurent knew there was no real difference. He was the Archduke and with the title came responsibility for every man, woman and child, every meadow and mountain. He had never wasted any time wishing things were different; what was the point? His focus had to be on the future—and now his plans were finally coming to fruition. What was the point of might-have-beens and if-onlys? Bella Clayton was attractive, pleasant, well brought up and well connected—and the heir to a company with the capacity to change Armaria’s fortunes. If she was prepared to grant him those assets in return for a title then he was a fortunate man indeed.

  * * *

  Emilia Clayton leaned back in her chair and managed to summon up a professional almost-smile as she regarded her stepmother across the vintage desk.

  ‘You didn’t have to make an appointment to see me, Simone.’ Only both women knew that was a lie. Emilia did everything she could to avoid her father’s family. She was sure they were as relieved as she was when she excused herself from dinners and birthdays. Which was why Simone’s presence in her office was such a surprise, and not one of the pleasant variety. Just the sight of her stepmother made it hard for Emilia to be the quiet, controlled professional woman she had grown into, the memory of the rebellious teen with more anger than she could control shuddering through every nerve and vein. She shoved the memories back and maintained her smile.

  Simone’s almost-smile was as faux genuine as Emilia’s own. ‘You didn’t reply to your father’s last texts. An official appointment seemed like the only way to actually guarantee getting hold of you.’

  ‘If I’d known it was so urgent I would have made the time. But I’ve been busy. As you can see.’ Emilia kept her tone light but something in her chest twisted as she spoke. Was her father ill? His texts had been so non-committal, the usual wishy-washy hopes that she was well and that he would see her at some unspecified point soon. The same messages he’d been sending her for the last decade—when he remembered. Nondescript, impersonal, a salve to his conscience.

  Probably exactly what she deserved.

  ‘I’d heard you started your own business. This is all very quaint.’ Her stepmother looked around the spacious office space, with its soothing tones of white and grey and vibrant pictures and soft furnishings, with an air that strongly hinted that quaint was the most neutral word she could come up with. ‘I have to say, Emilia, I was very surprised to hear that you were living in Chelsea.’ The slight emphasis on ‘you’ conveyed myriad meanings, each one suggesting that Emilia was not the kind of person who belonged in the once bohemian, now rarefied borough.

  ‘No one was more surprised than me, but this is where our agency is based.’ The truth was, Chelsea was the last place Emilia would have chosen if she had had a choice. She hadn’t ventured to this part of West London since finally leaving home for good at just sixteen; it was far too close to her father’s Kensington apartment and there were unwelcome memories around every corner. But when her colleague and friend, Alexandra, had inherited an old townhouse in a beautiful tree-lined street in the heart of the old Chelsea village, it had been the catalyst for the two of them, along with their friends Amber and Harriet, to quit their day jobs and leave their rented rooms in far flung parts of London for the heart of West London.

  ‘Yes, the Happy Ever After Agency. How whimsical.’

  ‘We guarantee happy clients. Speaking of which, is this a business appointment, Simone, or did you just want to catch up? Only we are rather busy.’

  Simone raised one eyebrow ever so slightly, her only comment on Emilia’s manners. Emilia had never been able to rile her stepmother, no matter how hard she tried. And she had tried. Truth was, Simone had never cared enough about her for her behaviour to really matter, each act of bad behaviour and rudeness an inconvenience rather than a shock. ‘Lady Jane Winspear was highly complimentary about the party you organised for her.’

  Emilia kept the half-smile in place to hide her confusion. The party in question had been for a pair of particularly spoiled twins. In her opinion, Bella, her stepsister, was equally spoiled but somewhat past the age of unicorn rides and carousels. ‘That’s good to hear.’

  ‘So when I needed an event planner with immediate effect, I of course thought of you. My way of helping out your little enterprise. I know you’re too proud to accept help but I hope you wouldn’t be silly enough to turn down paying work.’

  Emilia curled her hands into fists under the desk. She had made it clear years ago that she neither wanted or needed anything from her father or his new family. But, although the Happy Ever After Agency was doing well, turning down work would be a foolish move, especially from people as well connected as her father and stepmother. ‘You want to hire me?’

  ‘That’s why I am here. I would like you to organise your father’s sixtieth birthday ball.’

  ‘My father’s...’ Emilia swallowed. Of course she was aware that her father’s sixtieth was less than a month away. How could she not be when his fiftieth had been the occasion when she had packed her bags and walked out of his family and his life, vowing that this time it was for ever? She had planned to spend his sixtieth as she had every one of his birthdays since then: in denial.

  ‘As I said, we’re very busy and it’s very short notice. And I can’t afford any freebies; this is a new business.’ She stopped, slightly appalled by herself as the excuses spilled from her mouth. How did Simone always have this effect on her? It was a
s if she expected the worst from Emilia and Emilia simply had to oblige her. And the only loser was Emilia herself.

  ‘I’m aware of the short notice. The truth is your father was planning a quiet family birthday.’ A family birthday which obviously didn’t include Emilia. And that might be partly her choice but it still stung. ‘However, he’s been invited to be guest of honour at the first Armarian Midsummer Ball to be held in over twenty years.’

  This was obviously very impressive news indeed and Emilia did her best to look awed whilst trying to work out where Armaria was. Was it the small country between France and Italy or the small country between Switzerland and Italy? Or was it in the Balkans? ‘Congratulations to Dad,’ she said and Simone threw her a hard glance.

  ‘Finally your father is getting the recognition he deserves. Of course he will want his friends, family and business partners to attend the ball, and so I offered to supply an event planner to make sure every detail is just how he likes it.’ Simone steepled her hands and looked at Emilia, her grey-eyed gaze as hard and piercing as it usually was where her stepdaughter was involved. ‘Will you be able to find the time to organise the event of the year or will I need to find another planner? One who isn’t too busy to accommodate me?’

  Emilia’s mind whirled as thoughts of palaces and royalty and all the delicious publicity such a job would generate passed swiftly through her mind. How could she turn an opportunity like this down? ‘Why me?’ she asked bluntly.

  Simone’s mouth thinned. ‘Believe me, Emilia, I thought long and hard about coming here today. I want this ball to be perfect and I haven’t forgotten your behaviour at your father’s fiftieth—and nor has he. But your reputation as an event planner is very good and I can’t believe you’d endanger it because of some long-held teen angst. And, whether you like it or not, you know your father better than any stranger ever could. If you put your mind to it then you can make sure this ball is as special as he is.’

  Emilia’s fists tightened. ‘I see.’

  ‘There’s a lot riding on the evening. Not only is it your father’s birthday but he is considering moving his European headquarters and new factory to Armaria. We have got to know the Archduke very well over the last few months and he and Bella... Well, I don’t want to say too much but I have hopes of a much, much closer tie with the royal family. Nothing can go wrong. Is that clear?’

  ‘Crystal.’

  ‘So, you’ll do it?’

  No. Both Emilia’s head and heart spoke in unison. Emilia might be twenty-six now, all grown up with her own business and a family of friends she’d assembled herself, but where her father was concerned she was still a hurt, lonely child. And when it came to Simone she was a hurt, angry child. She kept an emotional and a physical distance from them for a reason; she didn’t like who she had been when she lived with them, the way she had acted, her desperate bids for attention, each one more extreme than the one before, how out of control she had been. Better to stay far away. It was self-preservation and it had worked over the last few years.

  But the event promised to be lucrative and generate a lot of publicity. This wasn’t just about her; there were four of them with a lot invested in the future of the agency. She couldn’t make a decision like this on her own.

  ‘I need to talk to my partners. The notice is short and there is a lot to do; I’ll have to leave for Armaria straight away and that means more work for everyone here. Look, I’ll let you know in the morning. Send me numbers and a rough outline of what you need tonight and if they agree then I’ll send through a quote first thing.’

  ‘There’s no need for a quote. I’ll pay whatever you charge.’ Simone got to her feet in one elegant movement. ‘My assistant will email through the guest list and let you know your contact at the palace. Remember, I expect you to be professional, Emilia. Do not embarrass your father or yourself. No, don’t get up. I can see myself out. I’ll see you in three weeks. I’m expecting perfection. Do not let me down.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘WELL, OF COURSE we’ll say no.’ Amber’s green eyes burned with indignation as she paced up and down the small sitting and dining room housed in a conservatory at the back of the house. The whole of the ground floor was given over to office space apart from the galley kitchen and this light, if slightly cramped, area. Upstairs, the first floor and attic floor each housed two bedrooms and a bathroom; Alexandra and Emilia had one floor, Amber and Harriet the other.

  Emilia wasn’t sure what lucky star had been shining down on her the Christmas Eve she had decided to stay late at work rather than face her lonely rented room and ready meal for one. As she had finally left the modern South Bank building where she worked she had met first Harriet, then Alexandra and Amber, all, like her, in their early twenties and all with nowhere to go that Christmas. An impromptu drink had lengthened into a meal and, several years later, they were business partners, housemates and sisters, a bond even Harriet’s recent engagement to their former boss, Deangelo Santos, couldn’t break. Although Harriet officially now lived in Deangelo’s penthouse apartment while she and her fiancé looked for the perfect home, she still had her own room at the Chelsea townhouse and often stayed over when Deangelo was out of town. And not even a billionaire fiancé could tempt her to stop working. The Happy Ever After Agency was born of their hopes and dreams. It was far more than a job. Making it work was their top priority and, although they all knew that Deangelo would gladly bankroll them, their independence was too important to allow them to accept a penny.

  ‘Simone will pay whatever I quote, money no object. And think of the publicity, Amber.’

  Alex nodded. ‘The Archduke of Armaria is notoriously private. A ball hosted by him, the first in the royal castle in twenty years, will be headlines in all the gossip magazines, headlines which will give us the kind of boost we need to really get ourselves ahead.’

  ‘We’re doing okay and we can get ahead another way. Amber’s right. You can’t be an employee at your own father’s birthday.’ Harriet squeezed her hand. ‘You should be there, dancing the night away, not worrying about missing musicians and whether there’s enough canapés.’

  ‘We all know the only way I’ll be there is if I can invoice for the privilege. Family gatherings are not my style and it’s easier for them to play happy, perfect families without me lurking in the background like the Ghost of Family Past. Look, if we consider this objectively then you know I would be mad to turn it down. It’s a great job.’ Part of her even believed what she was saying, another part, the bewildered little girl she tried hard to forget, just wanted to be at her dad’s birthday party. And the sensible part of her agreed with her friends. She would be much better off turning the event down.

  But no way was she giving Simone the satisfaction.

  ‘Do you want any of us there as backup?’ Alexandra asked in her usual calm, cool way and Emilia seized onto the practical question gratefully.

  ‘No, thanks. There is plenty to do here; in fact I have another two birthday parties for the pampered Princelings and Princesses of Chelsea, a Golden Wedding and an engagement party in the next three weeks, plus a restaurant launch and a charity coffee morning. Amber, I know you have a lot of your own work on; will you be able to manage?’

  ‘With your notes and if you’re on the end of the phone, of course,’ Amber said stoutly.

  Emilia smiled at her gratefully. ‘We always planned to be doing huge charity balls and corporate launches; it’s time we moved on from children’s games, even if Pass the Parcel has a real diamond bracelet inside. How nice if we got to employ someone to take care of the small events and I could concentrate on the big league. Look, Simone thinks she’s putting me down with this whole scheme, but she’s actually doing us a huge favour so let’s treat this like any other job. Who knows anything about Armaria?’

  ‘Isn’t it the smallest country in Europe?’ Amber asked, but Harriet shook her head.
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  ‘Third, I think, or fourth. It’s a principality, but the ruling Prince is actually an Archduke for various historical reasons I can’t remember. Armaria is fiercely independent and proud, very patriotic, very beautiful. It’s in the sweet spot between France, Switzerland and Italy so gorgeous coastline, mountains and forests. Castles to die for; you couldn’t ask for a more picturesque location, Emilia.’

  ‘And how do you know so much about Armaria?’ Alex arched elegant eyebrows at her friend.

  ‘Deangelo considered investing there. The Archduke wants industry beyond tourism and farming without going down the tax haven route; it wasn’t right for him then but he’s been keeping an eye on the place to see how things change. The Archduke’s father died when he was just a little boy and his mother was regent for many years and she concentrated on stability not growth, which means the economy has stagnated. It’s still an absolute monarchy; there’s some agitating for more democracy, but the last referendum was pretty decisive in favour of the status quo.’

  Harriet clearly hadn’t finished but she was interrupted by a squawk from Amber, who waved her phone in the air. ‘According to Your Royal Gossip the pressure is on the Archduke to marry. The next closest heir is an older, unmarried second cousin who runs the local hospital and has no interest in changing that. Rumour is that Prince Laurent d’Armaria is looking outside the usual pool of local aristocrats and European royalty for fresh blood and fresh money...’