Red Wine For Miss Parker(5)
"You Grace, I believe?" The man was still laughing. "I wish I could, but I'm afraid she cannot walk."
"Clara, avert your eyes," Gigi snapped at her sister-in-law.
The man carefully lowered Flora down onto a bench.
"Thank you," she whispered and for the first time, dared to look up at his face. He was... breathtaking! Breathtaking! BREATHTAKING!!!
His moist, dark hair framed a face of supernatural beauty, with sapphire blue eyes framed by long, thick black lashes. His cheekbones were high and his mouth must have been painted by the great Botticelli himself, but his face was not similar to this painter's well known angels, oh no, it was far too masculine for that!
The droplets on his chest and and arms shone like diamonds in the sunlight. And a sweet melancholy, a longing, an urgent need lay in this features that appealed to Flora's most womanly instincts. She gazed at him in awe.
Much to her distress, he did not longingly gaze back at her, but at the disgustingly slender, charmingly freckled, honey-blond Clara St. Yves, the only one of the Surrey siblings who had apparently taken after the father.
Of course he would gaze at Clara.
No, now he gazed at Gigi.
Now back at Clara.
It was always the same with the tall blondes. Flora hated them. Well, not as human beings, they were her friends after all, but as blondes, she hated them.
"Coo coo, Clara," the man sang cheerfully and winked at the attractive girl, who was staring at him with her mouth wide open.
That man is insane!
Only then both Flora and Gigi noticed Mariella, who had sunk down to her knees. "Su' Altezza Reale!" she wailed and bowed her head.
Altezzawhat? What does it mean? "Alto" means "high". Is she praying? These Italians are very devout!
Suddenly Clara shot up with a loud shriek, clutched her hands to her breast and ran towards the man. She threw herself at him and screamed "FRANKIE!!!"
Three
Palazzo Sforza, Lake Maggiore, Lombardy, that very moment
Su' Altezza Reale Francesco di Chiaroburgo-Sforza, or to put it in more complete and understandable terms: His Royal Highness, Francis Ferdinand Joseph of Karlsburg-Sforza, Archduke of Lombardy, youngest brother to the ruling Grand-Duke, nephew to the Austrian Emperor, 17th in line to the re-established throne of France, great-nephew to his Holiness the Pope, cousin to the Duke of Surrey and a formidable swimmer, bestowed a kiss on Clara's freckled cheek.
He inspected her closely, holding her by the chin, turning her face from left to right, up and down then asking her to turn around.
"You are a woman!" he exclaimed indignantly.
Clara's eyes were wet with tears and she beamed at him without saying a word.
It was true. The last time he had seen her, she had been only nine years old, a lanky girl with cornflower blue eyes and a face full of freckles, looking up to their elder siblings, yearning for their approval.
Past events long pushed from his mind came rushing over the Prince like a wave.
Carlotta Sforza-St.Yves had died giving birth to Clara and the older St. Yves children had felt hostile towards the new sister who, in their eyes, had murdered their mother.
It had been Francesco, the exiled cousin, who had taken it upon himself to be the little creature's friend.
The old Duke, her father, had suffered a severe stroke at the news of his wife's death and it was to be an ailing from which he would never recover until his death in 1812, two years before Francesco was allowed to go back to his own country.
In those days Clara and Francesco had grown an alliance of the lonesome and despised.
Francesco had been the one to correct Clara at the dinner table. He had instructed her governesses and teachers, he had found a pony for her to ride. The little lass, who had looked so different from all the other Surrey children, had come to him to report her newest accomplishments or to ask him whether she should dare ask Gloria or Hermione for help with her piano lessons.
They would not help her, but Francesco could make them.
His one trump, alone and separated from his family for reasons of dynastic protection, had always been his name and rank. He was a Prince of Karlsburg.
Where the St.Yves children were to be addressed as "My Lord" or "My Lady", Francesco was "Your Royal Highness". They had loathed him for it.
He had always held various privileges whilst living in Seventree, privileges often begrudged him, especially by the heir.
As a boy, Dominic St. Yves had been vain and hostile towards the easy going, outspoken and spoiled Francesco. Later, much to Francesco's relief, Dominic had gone to Eton and the two young men hardly ever met.
As the new Duke of Surrey, Dominic had turned into an autocratic, severe young man, with a responsibility for thousands of people, a seat in the House of Lords, sisters coming of age, vast properties in Britain, Europe and in the Americas, and countless duties, which left him no time at all to worry about a tolerated cousin or a much younger sibling.