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Authors: Julianne MacLean
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appear tenaciously
in her daydreams, always with a caring smile.
Her father stirred in the bed. Rose returned to his side as he tried to sit up.
“Lie still, Father,” she whispered, laying her hands on his shoulders. “Tell me what
you need, and I will get it for you.”
He laid his head down on the pillows. “All I require is right here. Ah, my dear Rose,
you are such a sweet girl. You’ve always been the brightest light in my world. What
is that you have there? A letter from Joseph?”
She managed a smile. “Yes. He writes to me of the warm weather in Vienna.”
Her father took hold of her hand and squeezed it. “It pleases me to see you betrothed
to such a good man. I have known Joseph since he was a boy, and he is one of the most
honorable and decent men I know. I couldn’t have chosen anyone better for you, and
you deserve the very best. Now I can leave this world knowing that at least two of
my children have found happiness. I will not worry for you, Rose. Nor will I worry
for Petersbourg.”
She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. “Yes, all is well now, Father. Randolph
has chosen the most perfect bride. Now all we need to do is find a wife for Nicholas.”
Her father chuckled, then gave in to a fit of coughing. When he recovered, he said,
“If you can convince that boy to choose a virtuous wife, I swear I will sing to you
from the heavens.”
Rose laughed. “I will do my best.”
She held his hand and sang softly to him until he fell back to sleep.
* * *
Later that night the king suffered a series of convulsions and slipped into a deep
coma. Thirty-six hours later, he was dead.
Rose had never known such grief. She was an infant when her mother died of tuberculosis,
and remembered nothing about her, nor of the sorrow her father must have endured at
the loss of his beloved wife and queen.
Rose had been raised at the palace by a devoted caregiver who was now retired to the
country.
This was the first time Rose had ever lost a close loved one, and on the day of her
father’s funeral, when he was laid to rest in the royal tomb at the Abbey of St. Peter,
it took every measure of strength she possessed to hold her head high beneath the
black tulle veil that covered her face, and weep only silent tears.
When it was over, she walked beside Nicholas and followed Randolph and Alexandra—now
king and queen of Petersbourg—down the long center aisle of the abbey while the congregation
stood and the angelic voices of the choir echoed gloriously throughout the ancient
cathedral. It had been a beautiful ceremony and she was grateful for the love and
support of the people.
Halfway down the aisle, however, she spotted Lord Cavanaugh in attendance, standing
at the rear of the church in the back pew. Their eyes locked and held as she walked
the rest of the way.
As she and her brother drew closer, Leopold bowed to them. She could not bring herself
to look away until they passed by.
Even then, she could still feel his intense gaze on her as she exited through the
open doors and descended the steps to their coach. Nicholas helped her inside while
Randolph and Alexandra rode separately ahead of them.
As soon as the vehicles pulled away from the abbey, Nicholas turned to her. “Are you
all right?”
“I am perfectly fine,” she replied as she lifted the black veil off her face and peeled
off her gloves. “I cannot believe it’s over, that he is really gone.”
Nicholas squeezed her hand. “Nor I.”
They gazed out the window at the crowds lining the streets. As the royal procession
passed by, everyone bowed solemnly.
“Look how the people adored him,” Rose said. “It pleases me to see it.”
“I suppose you saw Cavanaugh in the church,” Nicholas said.
“Yes.” She continued to look out the window, for surely there could be nothing more
to say about it.
“Did you mind that he was there?” Nicholas asked.
in her daydreams, always with a caring smile.
Her father stirred in the bed. Rose returned to his side as he tried to sit up.
“Lie still, Father,” she whispered, laying her hands on his shoulders. “Tell me what
you need, and I will get it for you.”
He laid his head down on the pillows. “All I require is right here. Ah, my dear Rose,
you are such a sweet girl. You’ve always been the brightest light in my world. What
is that you have there? A letter from Joseph?”
She managed a smile. “Yes. He writes to me of the warm weather in Vienna.”
Her father took hold of her hand and squeezed it. “It pleases me to see you betrothed
to such a good man. I have known Joseph since he was a boy, and he is one of the most
honorable and decent men I know. I couldn’t have chosen anyone better for you, and
you deserve the very best. Now I can leave this world knowing that at least two of
my children have found happiness. I will not worry for you, Rose. Nor will I worry
for Petersbourg.”
She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. “Yes, all is well now, Father. Randolph
has chosen the most perfect bride. Now all we need to do is find a wife for Nicholas.”
Her father chuckled, then gave in to a fit of coughing. When he recovered, he said,
“If you can convince that boy to choose a virtuous wife, I swear I will sing to you
from the heavens.”
Rose laughed. “I will do my best.”
She held his hand and sang softly to him until he fell back to sleep.
* * *
Later that night the king suffered a series of convulsions and slipped into a deep
coma. Thirty-six hours later, he was dead.
Rose had never known such grief. She was an infant when her mother died of tuberculosis,
and remembered nothing about her, nor of the sorrow her father must have endured at
the loss of his beloved wife and queen.
Rose had been raised at the palace by a devoted caregiver who was now retired to the
country.
This was the first time Rose had ever lost a close loved one, and on the day of her
father’s funeral, when he was laid to rest in the royal tomb at the Abbey of St. Peter,
it took every measure of strength she possessed to hold her head high beneath the
black tulle veil that covered her face, and weep only silent tears.
When it was over, she walked beside Nicholas and followed Randolph and Alexandra—now
king and queen of Petersbourg—down the long center aisle of the abbey while the congregation
stood and the angelic voices of the choir echoed gloriously throughout the ancient
cathedral. It had been a beautiful ceremony and she was grateful for the love and
support of the people.
Halfway down the aisle, however, she spotted Lord Cavanaugh in attendance, standing
at the rear of the church in the back pew. Their eyes locked and held as she walked
the rest of the way.
As she and her brother drew closer, Leopold bowed to them. She could not bring herself
to look away until they passed by.
Even then, she could still feel his intense gaze on her as she exited through the
open doors and descended the steps to their coach. Nicholas helped her inside while
Randolph and Alexandra rode separately ahead of them.
As soon as the vehicles pulled away from the abbey, Nicholas turned to her. “Are you
all right?”
“I am perfectly fine,” she replied as she lifted the black veil off her face and peeled
off her gloves. “I cannot believe it’s over, that he is really gone.”
Nicholas squeezed her hand. “Nor I.”
They gazed out the window at the crowds lining the streets. As the royal procession
passed by, everyone bowed solemnly.
“Look how the people adored him,” Rose said. “It pleases me to see it.”
“I suppose you saw Cavanaugh in the church,” Nicholas said.
“Yes.” She continued to look out the window, for surely there could be nothing more
to say about it.
“Did you mind that he was there?” Nicholas asked.
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