Note:
The Beautiful One
by
The day the invitation arrived, Catherine was dusting the front parlor. She picked up the delicate crystal vase that rested atop the old mahogany piano to dust it, and a sudden flash of memory halted her hand as it smoothed the tattered rag around the vase's intricately carved sides. She could see it clearly even now – her stepfather handing a crystal vase to her mother on their wedding anniversary, his eyes shining with ardency, and her mother's face glowing with the same expression as she lovingly took it. Catherine sighed wistfully, remembering; they had been so in love. They had all been so happy then…
The clip-clop of horse hooves on stone jerked her from her reverie, and she nearly dropped the vase. Hastily replacing it, she ran to the parlor window that overlooked the front courtyard. From here she could see all the way across the chateau's vast fields to the edge of the great forest that bordered the property. And she could see the figure on horseback riding swiftly through the great iron gates and up the circular drive towards the chateau. She got a glimpse of flaxen hair above a costume of black, scarlet, and gold before she dashed from the parlor to the entrance hall. A few paces from the great doors, she slowed to a demure walk. Her heart pounded with anticipation. We never have visitors, she thought, since we're so poor now. Smoothing her flying auburn hair and disheveled gown, she opened the doors. Her blue eyes widened in admiration. The man on the step was surprisingly young and handsome in his black silk stockings and breeches and his scarlet tunic embroidered in gold. With a flourish he raised his clarion to his lips and blew three short blasts. He announced in a pompous voice, "A message for the lady of the house."
Feeling quite shabby in her plain blue dress, Catherine replied meekly, "I'll fetch her for you, sir." She turned to summon her mother, but found her standing behind her in the hall. Lady Marguerite d'Anjou swept forward elegantly, her chestnut hair coiled in a knot at the nape of her neck, and spoke regally to the herald.
"I am she. Pray, sir, what is your message?"
"An invitation for the Lady Marguerite d'Anjou and her daughters. Their Majesties King Charles and Queen Adele hereby invite every young maiden in the kingdom to a ball at the royal palace in Paris in honor of the twenty-first birthday of his Royal Highness, Prince Louis, on Saturday, May 26, beginning at eight o'clock in the evening."
"That would be tomorrow night, then, good sir?" her mother inquired politely, a wry smile crossing her lips.
The herald flushed slightly but stood his ground and answered with the utmost courtesy.
"Yes, Madame." He waited.
"Thank you, sir, we will be delighted to attend," said Lady Marguerite, and she closed the great doors as the herald swept a low bow, then leapt onto his horse and rode away. Catherine stood there, transfixed with shock.
"Oh, Mother, a ball!" a voice behind her exclaimed. Catherine turned, startled, and realized, from their shining faces, that her sisters had come in behind them and had listened avidly all the while.
"Ah, Juliette, Isabelle, there you are," said Lady Marguerite. "Well, I see you have heard the news. It will certainly be a change to our daily routine, will it not?"
"Oh, Mother, please say we can go!" Juliette cried, ignoring her mother's dry tone. "I do so want to go to a ball! You can't say no; we never do anything fun. Oh, please, please, please?"
Lady Marguerite laughed kindly. "My dear, I had every intention of letting you girls attend."
Juliette gave a cry of delight, and Catherine smiled at her younger sister's excitement.
"However," their mother continued, holding up her hand in warning, "we only have one day to prepare. Therefore, girls, we must have all our chores completed before the ball, and – "
"Oh, we will, we will!" Juliette interrupted, unable to contain herself.
Lady Marguerite continued, " – and we will only be able to wear gowns that we already own, for there is no time to have new ones ordered."
"That's all right, Mother," Catherine replied reassuringly. "We don't mind."
Lady Marguerite smiled gratefully at her daughter.
"Well, I do." Isabelle spoke for the first time since the herald had left. "I don't see why we should have to go a royal ball in old, unfashionable dresses. Everyone else will have new gowns," she whined.
Catherine made a strangled noise of exasperation, and Juliette cried, "Oh, hush Isabelle, it's not that bad!"
"Yes it is," Isabelle insisted. "If my daddy were here, he'd make sure I had a new dress for the prince's ball."
Catherine saw the old pained look briefly cross her mother's face and silently willed Isabelle to stop. Doesn't she see how much she hurts Mother? she thought savagely. Why can't she just let it be? But she knew the answer already. It had been like this for two years, and nothing could change it now.
"Isabelle," Lady Marguerite said in a strained voice, "I know how much you miss your father. I miss him too." Her voice dropped, and Catherine could see her struggle to retain her composure. She felt a surge of compassion for her mother. Couldn't Isabelle see that they'd all suffered?
"But that can't keep us from going on, and doing what we need to do. You know there is little money now, as there is no steady income, and we must live off what the land will bring us. You know that we can't afford to keep servants, and must do the household chores ourselves." It was the same lecture, Catherine thought grimly, that her mother had to give at least once a week. She's been saying this for two years now; when will Isabelle understand?
"And there is not enough money," Lady Marguerite continued wearily, "to buy you girls new ball gowns either. I'm very sorry, my dears, but…" She trailed off, despair written in all the lines on her face.
Catherine leapt to her mother's rescue. "Don't worry, Mother," she said brightly, "we're sure to find something upstairs in all those old chests in your room. Come on, Juliette, Isabelle, we'll start looking now." She took Isabelle's hand to pull her away, but Isabelle jerked her hand out of Catherine's grip. She tossed her golden curls arrogantly.
"I don't want to look for a dress in some rotting old chest," she said, stomping her foot, "I want a new one! My daddy would have gotten me a new dress. He'd be able to get it in time for the ball. He – "
Catherine cut her off with a sharp "Hush!" and dragged her off toward the sweeping staircase that led to their mother's chambers. Isabelle coldly shook Catherine's hand off her arm, and haughtily swept up the stairs before them. Juliette followed eagerly, with Lady Marguerite slowly trailing behind. As they reached the innermost rooms in Lady Marguerite's suite, Juliette ran ahead in excitement to plop herself down in front of the largest chest at the foot of her mother's bed. She unlatched the chest and pulled out the first of the gowns. It was a deep sea green, embroidered with pearls and lace at the neck, sleeves, and all across the skirt. Juliette held it up and swirled it around herself.
"Don't I look grand, Mama?" She giggled happily, admiring her reflection in the mirror. The dress did look good against her creamy skin and chestnut hair, Catherine reflected, and brought out the green in her sister's eyes. She smiled as Juliette heedlessly let the gown slide to the floor and turned eagerly back to the chest. Catherine saw that Lady Marguerite had regained some of her color as she went through the dresses with Juliette. Mother looks happier already, even younger, she thought with satisfaction. But the smile faded to worry as she glanced toward Isabelle, standing in the doorway with a sulk on her pretty face. She sensed another storm brewing behind those clear blue eyes. Seeking to avert disaster, Catherine walked over to the chest and pulled out a gown.
"Here, Isabelle, this would look great on you. The rose color is well suited to your complexion, and see, it has little gems sewn into it. It's really quite elegant," she said, hoping to appease her stepsister with compliments. But all in vain, she thought wearily as Isabelle's expression darkened.
"It's so old-fashioned," Isabelle sniffed. "And I don't want to wear something of hers. Who is she anyway? I'm the daughter of a great lord. You are lower class."
"It's a very lovely gown, and you should be honored to wear anything of mother's!" Catherine retorted, feeling her anger rising and struggling to keep it under control.
"I don't have to wear her old dresses!"
"Oh? And what will you do instead?"
"I have my mother's old gowns. I'm sure I can find something better than anything you have."
"I think we've had enough of ball gowns for one afternoon," Lady Marguerite cut in gently. "Girls, it's time for your chores. We can think about dresses tomorrow. Off you go, now." And she shooed them out of her room and down the stairs. But as she went, Catherine stole a look back at her mother, standing in her doorway. Lady Marguerite seemed to have aged again, and the old sorrow had returned to her green eyes. Catherine knew she was thinking about Sir Thomas again. Silently wishing her mother peace in her heart, she followed Juliette and Isabelle to the kitchens to prepare supper.
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Catherine woke early the next morning, and for a moment she wondered why her heart was pounding so. Then she remembered – it was the day of the ball! She leapt out of bed, and winced as her bare feet touched the cold wooden floor. She scurried across the floor to her bureau, and stood there wrapped in her shawl to keep warm. But her excitement faded away as she regarded her wardrobe. I don't have anything near grand enough to go to the palace! she thought in despair. Everything here is either out of fashion, like mother's clothes, or too simple for a royal ball! Oh, what shall I do? She suddenly shook her head and scolded herself, It's just one ball! Who's going to notice you anyway, the daughter of a merchant? We're so poor now that it doesn't matter. She stood in indecision for a moment more and then thought, Well, standing here isn't going to get your chores done. I'd better go do them now, and I can agonize over this later. Having planned her course of action, she dressed swiftly and ran downstairs.
Catherine began her chores immediately after breakfast. She washed her clothes, scrubbed the kitchen floors, and weeded the garden, finishing just before the midday meal. Smiling with satisfaction, she wiped her grubby hand across her forehead. My, she thought in amazement, I certainly can work quickly when I want to! That's probably the fastest I've done anything in my entire life! Well, now I'll have time to get ready! Very pleased with herself, she skipped towards the chateau.
The door opened abruptly. "Oh, there you are, Sister!" Juliette exclaimed as she nearly ran into Catherine in her haste. "I was just coming to fetch you; it's time to eat; and you'll never believe what's going on inside!" she finished breathlessly, her words tumbling out in a rush.
Catherine hurried inside to find her mother and Isabelle in a heated dispute.
" – and you will do your chores today!" she heard Lady Marguerite finish.
"I won't be made a servant in my own home!" Isabelle cried shrilly.
But you're not, Catherine thought indignantly. You hardly ever do your share of the work around here! We work hard to feed ourselves, and keep this place going, and you barely even lift a finger to help out! But this wasn't a new argument, Catherine reminded herself. Isabelle used this excuse at least once a week, when she wasn't complaining that she wasn't used to hard work. As if we are either, she raged silently. You're just too lazy to get your soft, pretty hands dirty doing honest work!
"You will do as I say, or you won't go to the ball," Lady Marguerite replied coldly.
"I don't have to listen to you," Isabelle retorted. "You're not really my mother. You're just my father's widow. And I am your superior – never forget that! You were poor when you married my father, and you are still poor. You may live in a nice house, but it's my family's house. You can't tell me what to do!"
Stung, Lady Marguerite stood in shocked silence as Isabelle stormed up the stairs. Catherine and Juliette gaped at each other. They went to their mother to comfort her, but Lady Marguerite turned away with tears in her eyes. Catherine shook, as hurt as her mother. How dare she speak to Mother like that! After all she's done for her! But there was nothing she could do. She and Juliette left their mother standing in the hall and ate their meal in the kitchen in silence.
After lunch, Catherine returned to her chamber. Her work completed for the day, she now had the rest of the afternoon to prepare herself for the ball. I still don't have anything to wear! she wailed inwardly. What am I going to do? Then she remembered her mother's chest. I suppose I can find something suitably elegant for tonight if I look in there. It may be old-fashioned, but at least it won't be plain.
Wishing for the thousandth time that they weren't so poor, Catherine dashed off to her mother's chambers. Not wanting to disturb her mother, she crept to the chest at the foot of the bed and slowly, carefully, opened the creaky lid. She rummaged through the gowns, searching for something to suit her complexion. Aha, she thought triumphantly, this is promising. She pulled out an elegant blue satin gown, studded with pearls. She shook it out and held it up before her, admiring it from all angles. It's simple, but it will do quite nicely. Satisfied at last, Catherine ran back to her room to get dressed.
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Several hours later, Catherine walked slowly down the stairs, very careful not to trip over her precariously high-heeled dancing slippers. She held her head high so as not to disturb her hair in its delicate arrangement. Having spent the last hour piling the auburn curls onto her head and pinning them in just the right way, she wasn't going to have all her careful handiwork undone by one little slip in those awful shoes.
She reached the bottom in one piece, and found her mother and sister already waiting for her. Juliette was wearing the sea green dress she had found yesterday, and Lady Marguerite was elegant in her maroon silk.
Juliette giggled. "I feel like a little porcelain doll, all dressed up and ready to break at any moment. I don't think I'll be able to stand all night in these little shoes, but aren't they adorable?" She stuck out a foot to admire it, and Catherine smiled. Just then, Juliette gave a little gasp of surprise, and Catherine turned to see what it was.
Isabelle stood before them, a vision of white silk and lace, winking all over with diamonds. She wore her beautiful blonde curls flowing over her bare shoulders and a diamond-studded tiara of silver crowning her head. Catherine felt a stab of envy. It wasn't fair of Isabelle to look so lovely. She hadn't done anything to deserve such finery!
"Where did you get that beautiful dress?" Juliette breathed.
"Oh, it's just my mother's old wedding dress," Isabelle replied carelessly. "I found it in some old chest in my room, and I thought it would be good for tonight." She paused. "Come on, what are we waiting for? It's time to go to the ball."
She swept out the doors ahead of them all, and climbed into the waiting carriage. Catherine followed behind her mother and Juliette, feeling shabbier than ever. She just did it to show us that she's superior to the rest of us because she has all the money, Catherine thought resentfully. Well, she wasn't going to let Isabelle ruin her time at the ball. She climbed into the carriage behind her family, and it rumbled over the cobblestones and through the gate.
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The carriage rolled up before the palace gates just as the ball was starting. As she climbed out of the carriage, Catherine gasped in admiration. The palace was huge, with an enormous set of stairs leading to the great doors. The doors were guarded by two stony-faced men in palace livery. Catherine briefly wondered if they ever smiled but then sucked in her breath in awe at the splendor around her. I must look like such a country bumpkin, she thought ruefully as she looked around her at all the elegantly dressed courtiers. I certainly feel like one in this company. Overwhelmed with self-consciousness, she hung back in the crowd of young women waiting to descend the stairs to the ballroom where the prince awaited.
After what felt like hours, it was her turn to walk down the red carpet that ended at the dais upon which the golden thrones sat. Catherine's heart quailed within her at the thought of walking all that way in front of hundreds of courtiers. She forced her head up and hid her trembling hands in the folds of her gown. Slowly she descended the stairs and walked in a stately manner up to the dais. As she reached Prince Louis, she sank into a low, protracted curtsy at his feet. He bowed stiffly from the waist and she knew that was her signal to rise. As she did so, she looked up into his face. He had brown eyes and straight black hair that was swept away from a high forehead. His nose was dusted with a few pale freckles, and a stray lock of hair fell over chiseled cheekbones. As he shook it impatiently out of his eyes, Catherine felt an uncanny sense of familiarity. That's impossible, she thought; I've never seen the prince before. But as she backed away for the next girl to come down the carpet, the feeling refused to leave her alone. She brooded over it as she blended back into the crowd, and found her mother and Juliette.
A sudden hush swept over the assembly, and Catherine looked up to see Isabelle poised at the top of the grand staircase. She was stunning, Catherine had to admit, in her white gown that shimmered with diamonds and her hair floating around her shoulders in a golden cloud. The prince looked as stunned as everyone else. Isabelle glided elegantly down the carpet, carrying herself as regally as a queen. As she sank into a pretty curtsy before the prince, it seemed to Catherine that she looked coyly up at him. Prince Louis gently raised her by the shoulders, and held out his hand to her for the first dance. The musicians struck up a stately waltz, and soon other couples fell in after the prince and Isabelle. Catherine watched enviously. It wasn't fair that Isabelle should have everything. First she got away with laziness and rudeness, and now she outshone every other maiden at the ball!
As the prince and Isabelle whirled by, Catherine was struck with a flash of memory, and the ballroom faded from her vision… A young man in rough hunting clothes stood before her. She looked up from her gardening and gasped, but the young man smiled disarmingly, revealing perfect white teeth. He was very handsome, and she stood up quickly, flustered, hiding her dirty and work-roughened hands in the folds of her plain dress, smoothing her unruly curls under their kerchief.
"Please, Mademoiselle, don't be alarmed. I saw your chateau from the woods, and I mean no harm. I have just returned from a long journey and I am very thirsty. Could you spare a drink of water for a poor huntsman?" He spoke a soft voice, as though she was a young bird about to fly away. Too shy to speak, she simply nodded. She picked up her wooden bucket and carried it over to the stone well in the garden. Drawing the water, she dipped the cup that lay on the side of the well into the brimming bucket. Silently, she handed him the cup. He drank greedily, and when he returned the cup she filled it again.
"Thank you, kind maiden," he said gratefully. "You have saved me this day. How can I ever repay your kindness?"
"Oh, it was nothing, sir, nothing at all," she stammered shyly.
"My deepest gratitude to you, Mademoiselle," he replied gallantly, his warm brown eyes touched with his smile. He shook a stray lock of black hair from his eyes as he mounted his horse. Then he rode away down the path to the gate. Her eyes followed him until he was lost from view. As she turned back to her weeding, she glanced up at the chateau and saw a figure watching her from the parlor window, a figure with blonde curls and a sneer across her lips…
"Catherine?" A worried voice returned her to the ballroom, and she blinked her eyes to shake the vision from her mind. Lady Marguerite regarded her with concern. "Are you all right, my dear? You looked quite far away for some moments."
"What? Oh yes, I was just thinking," she replied vaguely.
"Yes, so was I," returned her mother in clipped tones. "And I was thinking about the irony of tonight… how you and your sister work so hard all the time and finally get a holiday, and your stepsister waltzes away with the prince within the first hour." Catherine was startled by the bitterness in Lady Marguerite's voice.
"But surely, Mother, you didn't expect me, or Juliette, to have attracted the prince's attention, did you?" she asked.
Lady Marguerite's silence was answer enough.
"Here, Mother, I'll move about, and enjoy myself," Catherine promised. "Will that make you happier? I'll have a wonderful time, really." And to prove her sincerity, she walked away over to the long tables of food that were set out for guests.
For the next few hours, Catherine faithfully kept her promise. She defeated her shyness long enough to timidly strike up conversations with fellow guests, and spent her time in flirtatious banter. She never lacked for partners, and the young men were gallant and kind. Heady with the wine of newfound boldness, she enjoyed herself thoroughly. Only once did it cross her mind that the prince was dancing only with Isabelle that night; but the thought was fleeting, for she was too happy to ponder it.
The glancing thought was recalled to her abruptly as the music paused at the end of a figure and loud voices raised in argument carried to her ears. Catherine looked over her partner's shoulder in the direction of the voices and winced. Since the young man seemed oblivious, as did many of the guests, to the commotion in a far corner of the room, Catherine continued dancing as the musicians struck up their instruments again to begin the next figure. Under the cover of the dance, she covertly sneaked glances in the direction of the disturbance. Snippets of heated debate floated to her ears as she strained to hear what her mother and Isabelle were saying:
"You don't deserve to even be here…acting like some noble lady!…"
"How dare you speak to me in such a way!…"
"…never do your share…acting above your station…"
"…not your place to say…!"
On that last cry, Catherine saw Isabelle turn on her heel and run from the room. The two women had been unnoticed by most of the people there, Catherine realized when nobody seemed to notice Isabelle's hasty departure. Nobody, that was, except for the prince, she soon corrected her tumbling thoughts. He had been conversing with his parents when the argument began, and had turned just in time to see Isabelle's white gown vanish through the ballroom doors. He had followed her, and now, finally, trudged slowly back inside, holding a small, glittering object in his hands. It was a delicate lady's slipper of some unknown material; it looked like glass to Catherine, but that was impossible, she scolded herself. The prince clutched this slipper to himself and, after speaking determinedly to his parents, left the ball.
As the music ended, Catherine thanked her partner graciously, and hurried away to where her mother stood.
"Why must you embarrass us like this?" she whispered harshly. "Everything was fine until you decided to make a scene!"
"My dear, the only one making a scene is you," Lady Marguerite replied placidly, "but if you are disturbed then we may leave."
Juliette came up just then, breathless, her eyes full of questions that her tongue stumbled over in her excitement.
"What just happened? Where's Isabelle? Why'd she take off so fast? Did you see the prince?" And then, "Why, Catherine, whatever is the matter?" noting Catherine's scowl.
"Come, Juliette," Lady Marguerite cut in, "your sister is tired and would like to go home. I'll explain to you in the carriage."
When they arrived back at their chateau, Catherine saw that a candle burned in Isabelle's room. Wondering vaguely how she had managed to get home, by herself, before them, Catherine pulled off her ball gown and had barely gotten into bed before she was fast asleep.
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The next morning, the family had just finished breakfast when there was a clatter of horse hooves on stone, followed by a resounding knock on the door. Catherine ran to the door and opened it to find a very handsome young man on the step. Behind him were some men dressed in black, gold and scarlet… The royal livery, Catherine realized with a shock. Which meant… this was the prince!
"Good – Good day, your highness," she stammered, blushing furiously as she swept a low curtsey. The prince barely noticed her.
"Where is the mistress of this house?" he asked.
Lady Marguerite swept in, Juliette and Isabelle following behind. "I am she." All three curtseyed deeply. "What can we do for Your Highness?"
Prince Louis held up the slipper that Catherine had seen him hold last night. "I seek the owner of this slipper. Whosoever the shoe fits shall become my bride and my princess. I have traveled throughout the city, trying the shoe on many feet, but it has fit none. Now, I come to your home. All young maidens in the house are welcome to try on the shoe." He held it out. For a moment, no one said a word.
"But that's my shoe," cried Isabelle into the silence. "I lost it last night at the ball!"
The prince started as he looked at her closely for the first time, and seemed about to recognize her, but then he shook his head and said, "Many have said the same. I will have it tried on all the young maidens in the kingdom."
"I thank you for the honor, Your Highness," Catherine said after a long pause, "but there is no need for me to try the slipper on. It is not mine, I know." She curtseyed to him and backed up into a corner. He seemed startled, but then nodded.
Following her sister's example, Juliette too declined the honor of trying on the shoe, for it was certainly not hers. Then she joined Catherine in the far corner of the room.
With only Isabelle left, the prince called for a chair. Catherine fetched one from the kitchen in silence. The prince had Isabelle sit, and then slipped the shoe onto her foot. It fit perfectly, as Catherine had known it would.
Prince Louis beamed up into Isabelle's face. He declared his undying love for her, and then kneeled before her as he asked her to marry him. Isabelle looked triumphantly at her stepmother and stepsisters.
"Look," she gloated, "I am going to marry the prince! I shall leave you all in this rotten old chateau, and live in the palace. At last, I shall have servants to wait upon me, and I shall live as obviously befits my station." She laughed gleefully, then turned back to the prince to give her answer.
But he was looking at her in horror. Catherine thought, Ah! Perhaps he sees that the great beauty that he danced with last night and was so taken with this morning is only a façade. She allowed a small smile to cross her lips before smoothing her expression back into one of humble composure. She glanced up again from the floor to find the prince's eyes not on Isabelle, now but fixed intently on her! He was staring hard at her, and she blushed under his scrutiny. In her confusion, all thought fled from her mind. Suddenly the prince's brown eyes widened in recognition.
"The servant girl…the water from the well…you are the kind maiden who took pity on a poor thirsty huntsman one day, some months back!" It was not a question, and Catherine nodded, embarrassed. She saw that her mother and sister looked puzzled at the sudden turn in conversation, and that Isabelle was glowering fiercely.
Prince Louis stood silent for some moments and looked from one stepsister to the other. Catherine found that her heart was beating very fast. The prince looked from the scowling blonde sister to the blushing auburn-haired one, and seemed to come to a swift conclusion.
He strode over to Catherine and knelt before her. "I remember a kind young maiden who took pity on a rough-looking huntsman. I asked her then if there was no way in which to repay her. I have an offer now. I had vowed to marry the beautiful girl whom I danced with at the ball; but now I break that vow. I wish to marry the most beautiful girl, and I have found that the beauty of selfless kindness is greater than that of the face. You gave me water that day, even though I was in poor garb at the time, and I have never forgotten that. I would be honored if you would consent to be my wife."
There was a great silence following his words, into which Isabelle cried out, "But you promised to marry me!"
Prince Louis answered her, "Your rudeness to your sisters and mother just now have caused me to change my mind. I will not marry for beauty alone, for beauty in spirit is what makes a princess, and someday a queen." He turned back to Catherine, who stood gaping at the sudden twist of fate, and said, "Will you marry me?"
Catherine took a deep breath. "Your Highness," she began, "I thank you for your great kindness in asking me, a lowly merchant's daughter, to be your wife. But I'm afraid I cannot accept." The prince looked stricken, Lady Marguerite and Juliette looked appalled, and Isabelle regained her triumphant smile.
"Why not?" the prince asked gently. "Many a young girl would be honored to marry the prince." He gave a wry smile.
"I'm afraid, your highness, that I believe in the old-fashioned idea of marrying for love. I admire you greatly, and you are grateful to me, but these are not things on which to base a marriage, any more than is beauty. Admiration should not be mistaken for love."
Prince Louis looked thoughtful. "Perhaps," he suggested, "If we were to get to know one another, eventually there could be love?" He smiled hopefully.
Catherine returned the smile shyly. "Yes, Your Highness, I believe there could."