Disclaimer: Meg Cabot owns the Princess Diaries books, Disney has claim to the movies. No infringement on either party is intended. This is purely for the enjoyment of PD fans and to help me practice my writing skills.
This is a WIP and updates might be slow in coming, so please be patient. Reviews will undoubtedly spur me on, as will, I hope, posting the first part of the story. This is based on the movie and Clarisse had only the one son. Since I am not familiar with the books and characters in them, I've had to make up histories of Clarisse and Joseph (it is fiction, you know) and if it does not suit your ideas of their past, simply shake your head knowingly and chalk it up to someone without the vision you possess.
I apologize in advance for any typos...no matter how many times I edit, a mistake (or too)still slips by. I've not quite learned all the tricks formats, so be tolerant if spacing is not ideal.
Now, be a dear and post a review after reading this.
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Different Beginnings
Chapter 1
Schooled at the side of her mother, a marchioness, and her grandmothers, a duchess and countess, Lady Clarisse knew how to comport herself as befitted her station in life. She was a sweet-natured and intelligent child who traveled extensively, visiting friends of her parents and grandparents or other members of the family, all of whom were the upper crust of Europe. Living in a world of wealth, privilege, and titled aristocracy, she knew the ways of polite society well.
For that reason, eight-year-old Clarisse did not gawk at the magnificent palace of the Genovian royal family spread out before her, but smiled happily as she got out of the limousine, glad to have arrived after the three-hour flight from London.
Her mother, the Marchioness of Tyron, and grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Blakewell, were in Genovia at the personal invitation of Queen Matilda to attend an equestrian show. Ranked second in Junior Dressage in England, Clarisse loved horses. Queen Matilda had very fine horse stables and Clarisse looked forward to riding about the meadows and woods that surrounded the palace.
Perhaps Prince Rupert would be home and could go riding with her. Her smile widened at the thought.
Rupert, the only child of King Wilhelm and Queen Matilda and heir to the throne of Genovia, was three years older than she was and Clarisse liked playing with him, even if he was a boy. They saw each other often since her mother and the queen were very close friends, having attended finishing school together in Switzerland.
Clarisse and Rupert played hide and seek in the throne room, laughed at the somber portraits lining the Portrait Hall, shared sweets snitched from the long buffet tables at lavish banquets and, while hiding behind potted palms or peeking through balcony railings, watched elegant ladies and men dance in swirls of color around the Grand Ballroom.
They even shared a kiss on Rupert's eleventh birthday after he lost the bet over a game of rummy. Grinning, he told Clarisse he would marry her and make her queen because she was the only girl who was not afraid to get the better of him.
She replied that being queen sounded like fun- almost as much fun as galloping across country, and promptly challenged him to a horse race.
The heavy, carved doors of the palace opened and Clarisse hurried up the steps, hoping there was enough time to go riding with Rupert before dinner.
"You're a very lucky boy, Joseph Coraza," the man said, peering down his nose at the scrawny child before him. He hoped the urchin wasn't going to start crying. The boy's grandmother was dead over a month now, his mother gone over six years; surely the child wasn't still blubbering over it. "Most orphans would be put in an orphanage, but your fa-, that is, my employer is paying for you to attend boarding school."
The child stared at him with eyes identical to that of the Dukeof Thornfield - blue with flecks of green.
"Why?" asked the skinny boy.
Because your father's mother, the Dowager Duchess of Thornfield, pitched a fit when she found out about her son's "little indiscretion" and insisted you be sent away dealt with, the lawyer thought. The call from Spanish authorities caused uproar behind the heavy paneled doors of the family's ancestral home.
He spent the past three weeks dealing with authorities in Madrid and Genovia, doling out money hand over fist to the right people to keep it quiet and push the paperwork through quickly. Born in Spain, the boy became a Genovian citizen when adopted by his Genovian grandmother after his mother's disappearance when he was two years of age. The grandmother had returned with the boy to Spain in hopes of finding her daughter's whereabouts, just months before her death. Private inquiries found the boy's mother died of pneumonia on a Paris street corner, five years prior. The grandmother's death made him a ward of the state and the state promptly notified the father listed on the birth certificate to come get the boy.
The Duke was not about to do so.
"Because my employer wishes you to."
The child continued to stare at him. "Why doesn't my father come see me?"
Because you are the embarrassing result of his forced attentions on a servant and have no place in his world.
The lawyer wasn't without some sympathy for the child, but he had a very real fear of what the Duke and, even more so, the Dowager Duchess would do if this eight-year old problem standing before him did not get taken care of once and for all. He decided to be direct.
"For all intents and purposes, you have no father, Joseph," he said slowly. "You must put the idea from your mind. It is neither your father's wish nor desire to see you or have anything to do with you- ever. Is that clear?"
The boy blinked several times. The man hoped there wasn't going to be a scene.
"Be glad you aren't going to a charity home," the lawyer added sharply, standing. "Stay out of trouble and don't do anything to embarrass him, such as trying to contact him, and you won't have to." …until the Dowager Duchess dies and the Duke has the power to ignore you and cut off what little support he's giving.
The child frowned, confused.
He threw his coat over his arm and picked up his briefcase, eager to be away from the depressing, third-rate school. At the door, he stopped.
"Look, your mother is dead, your grandmother is dead, and you have no relatives- you have no one. Be thankful you have this much," he said then turned and walked away.
Behind him, Joseph continued to stare, dry-eyed.
Christmas
Boughs of freshly cut holly and fir entwined with ribbons of red and gold adorned the entry and continued throughout the marble-floored public rooms into the Grand Ballroom, filling the Palace with the scent of Christmas. In the room's subdued lighting, clusters of tall, white tapers gave a warm glow to the room. Pots of glorious red and white poinsettias filled each corner at varying levels to create a waterfall of color. On a dais in one corner, a stringed sextet played melodies of the season.
A forty-foot tree, cut from His Majesty's forest and delivered by drawn horses, as were all of the royal Genovian christmas trees of centuries past, stood at the far end of the room. Thousands of miniature white lights twinkled, reflecting off hand blown multicolored glass balls made especially for the royal family by Genovian artisans. Behind the tree was a wall of French doors through which the garden, blanketed with snow and lit by two hundred lanterns, appeared to be but a wintry extension of the ballroom.
Tables lined both sides of the room, laden with delicacies of all description. Mounds of shrimp, plates of succulent crab cakes, dishes of chilled caviar, and a wide selection of smoked meats stretched the table's length, leading to platters of dainty sweets. Diminutive cakes, covered with white icing and sugary red bows, trimmed with holly and berries of fondant, or simply sprinkled with flecks of gold, graced three-tiered serving trays.
Wedges of Genovian pears and cheese slices, spiraling outward from the center of antique porcelain dishes, sat next to silver bowls of cherries, strawberries, figs, papaya, guavas, rambutans, and exotic fruits imported from around the world for tonight's festivities. Cut vegetables, from hothouses and warmer climes, covered plates along with an abundance of breads, crackers, and cheeses.
Flutes of pale champagne, the finest French cellars had to offer, filled trays that a small army of waiters served to the wealthy and aristocratic guests of Their Royal Genovian Majesties. Jewels glittered with each lift of the hand, each turn of a head. Ropes of pearls shone in delicate shades of grays and creams and white. Precious gems sparkled at the throats of the ladies; gold and ebony graced the cuffs and studs of the gentlemen.
Conversation hummed among the guests and anticipation was running high. Tonight was a special night; the betrothal of Genovia's crown prince would be announced.
Nineteen year-old Lady Clarisse stood in the center of theGrand Ballroom next to her intended, Prince Rupert. Her parents chatted with the king and queen, awaiting the proper time to make the pronouncement. Her future decided, she would finish her studies in International Relations at the Sorbonne in June, a month after her twentieth birthday, and be wed to Prince Rupert in August. There was staff, hired for the occasion by Queen Matilda, already attending to the elaborate decorating, catering, and printing arrangements necessary for a royal wedding.
Prince Rupert's proposal came as a bit of a surprise to Lady Clarisse, although not entirely. There were comments for years on how they suited each other. Invited for the weekend in late October, Clarisse and her parents arrived on a chilly afternoon and she and Rupert spent the remaining daylight riding about the grounds. After dinner that evening, he led her to the library, while their parents secluded themselves in the Blue Room.
"They are discussing our future," Rupert explained matter-of-factly.
"Our future?" Clarisse repeated, accepting the crystal glass he offered her.
"Yes." He led her to the leather couch by the crackling fire. After taking a sip from his wineglass, he placed it on a nearby table then sat beside her, looking at her intently. "Clarisse, if I am to one day be King of Genovia, I must have someone by my side." He paused then plunged on. "You would make and excellent queen…and mother."
He waited for her to comment. He would need an heir. Any marriage would have that as an end. She remained quiet, watching him.
"I'm extremely fond of you, as you must know, and I hope I am correct in supposing you find my company bearable," he added.
"Tolerably so."
"And I enjoy yours."
"Even when I beat you at chess?" Smiling, Clarisse looked at him over the top of her glass.
Rupert took her wineglass and set it on the table.
"Even then," he replied, grinning. He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently, his expression serious. "What about it, Rissa? Will you marry me and be queen of Genovia?"
Clarisse considered. She did not love Rupert and knew he did not love her. Nevertheless, it was her parent's wish and it would afford her the opportunity to engage in her chosen area of study far above what she ever hoped for and place her in a position to make a difference in people's lives. One day, perhaps she and Rupert would come to love each other, but it was not a certainty. She made her decision.
"Yes."
"Splendid!" Rupert said, smiling broadly. He leaned forward to give her a kiss on her cheek. "Mother and Father will be so pleased. I was hoping you would agree- there is no one else on my short list for the position."
"Liar. You know there is a whole continent of women who would love to be Mrs. Prince Rupert, " she teased, picking up her wine.
"Flatterer," he retorted. "Well, perhaps there are, but none of them have your qualifications- intelligence, beauty-"
"You think me pretty?" she asked, lifting a brow.
"Of course."
"You said my nose was too long."
Rupert heaved a mock sigh. "I wasthirteen years old. You said my ears were too big."
"Well, maybe they aren't so big, after all. You grew into them quite nicely, actually," she admitted, giving into laughter. Rupert was a handsome man.
"Thank you, my dear," he answered, "and to set the record straight, your nose is just perfect."
He put his arm around her and kissed her gently on the lips. "I'll do everything possible to make you happy, Rissa. You can travel, continue your studies, and become involved in the country's concerns, if you wish. You'll see; everything will be -"
"-simply splendid!" Prince Rupert gushed as he looked around the room, admiringly. "Mother, I think you outdid yourself."
"It befits the precious jewel joining our family," King Wilhelm replied, gazing fondly at Clarisse. "You are a treasure, my dear, and Matilda and I are overjoyed to have you as our daughter."
The king took her hand in his and patted it gently. He smiled at her, then looked to a staff member waiting nearby and signaled for the extra trays of champagne so that all might have a glass for the toast.
"And now, I think it is time to share our joyous news with our guests."
Lady Clarisse took a deep breath as the King called for quiet. After tonight, her life would never be the same.
Private Joseph Coraza carried his tray to the window at the far end of the chow hall, dumped the remains of his evening meal into the large, plastic trashcan, and stacked it on top the other trays. Christmas music blared from the speakers set into each corner of the large room, adding to the festive atmosphere of paper cutouts taped to the walls and tissue paper garlands hung from the ceiling. On the Christmas tree, artificial to meet the base fire codes, the lights that worked reflected off decorations of silver tinsel and plastic green, red, and white balls.
A chill rain mixed with sleet greeted him as he left the mess. He donned his cap, but the weather did not dampen his spirits in the least. Nothing could, for earlier that day he learned of his acceptance to Officer's School and his orders to report the first of the year.
All afternoon he gave thought to his future. After completing the course and his commission as a British officer, he decided he would apply for an assignment in Intelligence or ask to remain in Security as well as volunteer for overseas duty. He was ready to see something of the world.
Avoiding the deeper puddles, he made his way past the barracks to the postal center to check his mail. A bare bulb in the ceiling fixture cast a dim, yellowish glow, but it was enough to see that, not surprisingly, his mail slot was empty and he left, headed back to the barracks.
But for Marcus and Maria Helmar, he had no close friends.
He met Marcus at his last academy, a military boarding school near Lucerne, Switzerland, where he had earned a scholarship, to his surprise. Though far better than the school in Spain, it was not a premier academy, but heenjoyed the five years there, for the most part. It afforded him the opportunity to learn several languages, at which he found he was very good, and introduced him to a world that was far beyond the poverty he'd known before. With hard work, he knew that he, too, could succeed.
Marcus's father was the second son of an aristocratic family that had fallen on hard times. The Count, his uncle, owned extensive lands, all of which were nearly worthless. There were funds drawing interest that allowed the Count to live without having to work, but it was at a greatly reduced existence from what his earlier kindred had, and the funds would not last forever.
Doctors, and not wishing to take their children into the depths of Africa where they ran a clinic for the Peace Corps, Marcus's parents placed their children in boarding schools that were near to each other and the Helmar family. Assigned to share a room, Joseph and Marcus quickly became fast friends. The twin's extended family welcomed him to all celebrations, and by the time he graduated, he was as close to Marcus and Maria as a brother.
Marcus let it be known to Joseph that he would be pleased if Joseph one day became his brother in law. It was, Joseph thought, a shame that he and Maria did not love each other that way. Maria was beginning her second year at college, as was Marcus, and Joseph hoped they would stay in touch with him. With no family, their friendship were a great comfort to him.It was all he had.
Ice was beginning to form and the thin layers crunched under his boots. Lowering his head against the rising wind, he thought about his decision a year ago to forgo college and instead join the military. He had not an ounce of regret. At nearly twenty years of age, for the first time in his life, Joseph was beholding to no one. What he did, what he made of himself, was in his own hands.
It was a good feeling.