A Prince At Last!

“I understand you were born in Texas,” Simone said with a slight shudder. “Thank goodness Katie had the foresight to bring you back to Europe and civilization. Imagine if we’d had to track you down in Texas, as some kind of roving cowboy.”

“You’ve been watching too many movies,” Luc said. “Not everyone in Texas is a cowboy.” He knew, he’d traveled to Texas during the course of his investigation.

“Some are ruthless businessmen like J. R. Ewing,” the dowager queen continued, “on that television show…what was it called? ‘Houston’?”

“‘Dallas’,” Luc corrected her.

“There’s no point in worrying over what might have been,” the prime minister said. “We should focus on what our next course of action should be. I will need to notify the Privy Council.”

“I’m still trying to get information from the French customs agency about Katie Graham’s arrival and departure from France. Those records from over thirty years ago are in some warehouse waiting to be transferred onto the computer system.”

“What do you hope to gain from those records?” the prime minister asked.

“The date Katie arrived in France to marry King Philippe and the date she left for the United States,” Luc said.

“But you already have so much information from earlier in your investigation,” the prime minister noted, opening his own file on the subject. “The marriage certificate between Katie and Philippe, the birth certificate of her son Lucas Johnson, the marriage certificate of Katie Graham and Ellsworth Johnson, the divorce certificate of Katie Graham and said Mr. Johnson and lastly her marriage certificate to Albert Dumont.”

“I could still be Albert’s son, just trying to pass myself off as the king’s.”

“DNA testing would resolve that.” The prime minister gazed over the top edge of his reading glasses before removing them entirely to solemnly ask Luc, “Would you be willing to subject yourself to that?”

Luc paused before nodding.

“Ah,” Simone murmured. “I understand now. It is not that you want us to be sure you are the real heir, it is that you yourself are not sure that you want to be the king. Isn’t that correct, Luc?”

Yes, Luc silently noted, the elderly dowager queen was still sharp as a tack, all right. She’d certainly summed up his emotions in no time at all.

“Your Majesty?” the footman whispered to Celeste as he delivered her lunch to her suite on the second floor of the palace. “I have some information for you.”

Shortly after her marriage Celeste had completely redecorated the suite in shades of ivory and gold. She thought the colors complemented her own coloring—the ivory of her flawless skin, the gold of her perfectly cut hair.

“Information? It had better be something good,” she warned him. “The baby has been kicking me all day and I’m not in the best of moods, Henri.”

“I overheard a conversation…”

“Overheard?”

“I was clearing the dowager queen’s tea tray from the Ruby Salon, which is right beside the Throne Room.”

“I am aware of the location of the rooms in this palace,” Celeste said. “Get on with it.”

“I happened to be standing next to the closed doorway leading into the Throne Room and happened to overhear the conversation between the prime minister, the dowager queen and Luc Dumont.”

“Luc is back from France?”

“He arrived this very afternoon.”

“With news I presume?”

“Yes, ma’am. Outrageous news.”

“Well hurry and tell me, I haven’t got all day. I believe I’ve gone into labor.” Celeste gripped the front of the footman’s ornate jacket. “Tell me…and quickly!”

“Luc is claiming that he is the rightful heir.”

Celeste’s grip on the footman tightened until she was almost choking the small man.

“Of course, I do not believe it,” the footman wheezed, struggling for air. “You are our most beloved and beautiful queen.”

“And I’m about to give birth to a boy,” she said, panting slightly. “A boy who will be the king. Go now. Fetch Dr. Mellion. Get him and no one else. You understand?”

Henri nodded so fast his footman’s cap almost fell off.

“And tell no one what you have heard about Luc,” Celeste continued. “It is all a lie, a conspiracy by that dotty old woman and her crazy prime minister. Remember, Henri—” she released her grip on him and patted his arm as she smiled her famously charming smile “—I will reward those who are loyal to me. Reward them greatly.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. My only aim is to serve you.”

Her smile slipped as another contraction hit. “Then go get Dr. Mellion and be quick about it!”

Chapter Three

“Have you heard the news?” Juliet asked Luc the next morning. She’d come to his office first thing. They were alone, and with the office door closed, assured of some privacy.

Unlike her own working space, his was spacious and possessed every modern convenience—computer, fax machine, a bank of telephones. His desk held a blotter, a penholder and a lamp. No mess, no pile of papers. Everything was neatly in its place, under control. Even the chairs in his office possessed a firm practicality that didn’t make them particularly nice to sit in, but she plopped into the nearest one anyway.

“What news?” Luc barely looked up from the file he was studying.

“Celeste had a baby boy at four this morning.”

“Oh, that news,” he said absently. “Yes, I heard.”

He’d reverted back to his usual working attire of a perfectly-fitted black suit and light blue shirt with a burgundy tie. He looked very classy…and very much like a “hottie” to quote her sister Jacqueline’s favorite terminology.

Wishing she could just sit here and admire the view—him—Juliet realized she should try to keep her mind on court business and not funny business, like making out with Luc on his smooth desktop. “Did you hear she’s proclaiming he’s the next King of St. Michel?”

“Celeste has proclaimed a number of things over the past few months. It doesn’t mean any of them are true.”

Too jumpy to sit still for long, Juliet abandoned the chair for the corner of his desk, where she perched. Luc clearly hadn’t noticed the flowing floral skirt she was wearing, nor the gauzy pink camisole top that had required all her nerve to put on. After all, she was visiting the future king. She’d almost put on the nunnish gray dress she wore to chapel. But some spark of rebellion had prompted her to stick to her present attire. “Did you tell her that you’re the real heir to the throne?”

“No.” Luc closed the file he’d been studying. “She was rather busy last night.”

“When do you plan on telling her?”

Getting up to come around his desk and join her on the front edge of the desk, Luc replied, “As late as possible.”

Juliet nodded understandingly. “She’s not going to be pleased.”

“Now there’s an understatement,” he noted dryly.