Part Seven

Once again, Clarisse found it impossible to sleep. After tossing and turning for hours, she finally got up and put on her dressing gown and slippers. Maurice was so tired, he didn't even lift his head when she patted him. He partially opened one eye then yawned and proceeded to ignore her. With a faint smile, Clarisse moved to the door of her suite, and went out into the hallway, nodding to the footmen at the door but saying nothing. She made her way to the suite she and Rupert had shared and which Philippe had taken over after Rupert's death. Somehow, these two seemed very close tonight. She wandered around the room for a while, lightly touching some of Philippe's 'treasures' which still remained. This 'master' suite would be ideal for Mia after her twenty-first birthday, Clarisse decided, looking around. She did not want to move back in herself, there were too many memories here. It definitely needed renovating to make it appealing to a young queen, but there were five years to do it, so that should not be a problem at all.

Sitting down on the sofa, Clarisse leaned back, closed her eyes, and thought about Rupert and Philippe again. Men she had admired, men she still missed. Her marriage may not have been perfect, may not have won any awards for deepest love, but it had been ... comfortable, for the most part. Now she wondered how her life was going to unfold. What would it be like in the future, in the very NEAR future, of next week? How would a new marriage change things? She sincerely hoped for the better, but she feared the worst. And the first change to come was the Betrothal Ball.

How Clarisse loathed the thought of that ball! Usually it was exciting to pick out a new gown, but somehow she could not manufacture her usual excitement. Instead, although Olivia and Priscilla had been horrified by her decision, Clarisse had insisted she would not get a new gown for the evening. "I do not expect to enjoy the ball," she had sighed. "The peachy one I wore in San Francisco has not been seen by too many people here, I shall wear that one. I like it."

That evening a week ago had been thrilling. The anxiety with which the evening had begun had changed to euphoria in the blink of an eye when Joseph had arrived at the Embassy with a dripping-wet, bedraggled and contrite Mia in tow. From that moment on, the Independence Day Ball had taken on a sparkle and an excitement it had never had before. Joseph had claimed Clarisse for many of the dances that night, and had walked her to her rooms, holding her hand as if they had been teenagers like Mia and her friends. Joseph had admired her dress aloud, and Clarisse hoped now he would remember the feelings of the previous week when he saw her again. Joseph. Clarisse's heart raced as she allowed herself to think of him again. She had not seen him since he had so gallantly defended her honour. Charlotte had prevaricated when Clarisse had tried to bring his name casually into the conversation last evening, and Clarisse had dropped the subject immediately.

Knowing that the only reason she was thinking so much about Joseph lately was simply because of the ruling from Parliament that she must marry in order to continue to rule for the next five years, Clarisse found herself yearning for Joseph to give her a sign that he truly felt for her what 'everyone' in Genovia had supposedly suspected for years. She had kissed him so very briefly the other night and had not really had time to ascertain how he had felt about it. What would he have done had Olivia not interrupted them? Would he have kissed her as she had thought, or would he have merely set her further away from him? What could she do, more than what she already HAD done, to show him that she wanted to know his feelings for her firsthand instead of via the grapevine? Seduce him? Clarisse smiled wryly. How could she possibly even begin to seduce the man when it had been years, if ever, that a man had been so attractive to her? She had forgotten how to seduce anyone, had she ever known in the first place!

Suddenly there was a soft tap on the door, and it opened as Clarisse sat up straight. Charlotte peeked around the door, trying to see through the dim light.

"I'm here, Charlotte," Clarisse said quietly. "On the sofa. Come in. Turn on the light, if you must."

Charlotte stepped inside and the door closed behind her. "I'm sorry, your Majesty. I don't mean to interrupt you, but Joseph saw you going down the hallway, and he was a little worried. He phoned me and asked me to come to see if you were all right."

"I'm fine. Just ... wide-awake and thinking. Thank you for worrying about me. Or rather, for getting up and coming after me because someone else was worried! I'm sorry to put everyone to so much trouble."

"It's all right. I wasn't sleeping anyway." Charlotte confessed.

"You may turn the light on if you wish," Clarisse said again. "Come over here and sit down. No need to hover by the door. Unless you'd rather leave ...?"

"If you want me to leave you alone, I ..."

Clarisse sighed. "Charlotte, you are a dear girl, but you are too much like a doormat, trying to please everyone, especially me, all the time. Come, sit beside me."

Leaving the light off, Charlotte made her way to the sofa and perched on the edge, trying to sit properly. Clarisse chuckled, pulled her dressing gown more tightly around her and curled up in one corner of the sofa, inviting Charlotte to tuck her feet up in the other. Charlotte obeyed, silently. Clarisse began to talk softly about her marriage to Rupert, her life in these very rooms, and how changed things had been when her best friend and husband had died.

"That must have been the worst day of your life," Charlotte murmured.

"Hmmm," Clarisse was non-committal. "It is always hard to lose a friend."

"Yes," Charlotte's voice was sad, and Clarisse realized with a start that she really did not know much about Charlotte's personal life. It sounded very much as if she had lost a dear friend as well!

"After Rupert was gone, Pierre had to affirm his abdication," Clarisse said. "He had a letter to Sebastian Motaz that very night. In a sense, I lost two people that night, as Pierre left immediately following Rupert's funeral, and only returned for Philippe's funeral."

"You could still see him," Charlotte commented after a moment's silence.

"I suppose I could," Clarisse admitted, "but it has almost been too long ..."

"I should think it hard to lose a child except to death," Charlotte's voice was low. "Even if you didn't see him, you would be wondering how he was, hoping he was warm, cared for ..."

After a brief silence, Clarisse whispered, "Charlotte? What are you saying?"

"I ... oh, nothing, your Majesty ...I was just ... talking ..."

Clarisse sat up and hugged her knees, staring at Charlotte's slight form huddled on the opposite end of the sofa. "Would you care to talk more?"

"Not right now," was the quiet response.

"I see. Well, then ..." Clarisse cast around for something else to say, and a picture on the mantel caught her eye. Her face relaxed into a smile. "I remember Philippe was always one for the girls when he was a teenager. Rupert, and even Pierre many times, were horrified by the antics Philippe would get up to while showing off. I loved Philippe dearly, but he never really grew up. I suppose that was partly my fault for spoiling him, as well as Rupert's for being so domineering. He was changed after being in America, but that was to be expected. It took a number of years, but the wildness was beginning to wear off when ..." she stopped, then continued, "Dear Philippe, he so wanted to make Rupert proud of the man he had become, but Rupert seemed to have blinders where his sons were concerned. Nothing Pierre or Philippe did was right in Rupert's eyes. He used to rage at Philippe's whiskers, for heaven's sake, and so many men have beards and moustaches!"

"Yes," Charlotte seemed to smile, and she continued dreamily, "He was so handsome, and so sweet. Oh, he LOOKED fierce with those black whiskers, but they were so soft to the touch. Like him, in a way. Tough outside, marshmallow inside ..."

Clarisse stared at her, realizing instantly that Charlotte had been talking more to herself than anyone and had obviously forgotten that she was sitting there. She exclaimed, "You were in love with him!"

Charlotte jumped, then began to stammer, "No! No, your Majesty. He ... he kissed me last year under the mistletoe, that was all ... No, there was nothing between us, not really ..."

Clarisse's face softened and, paying no attention to Charlotte's protests, she said, "So you miss him the way I do ..."

"He was going to marry HER ..." Charlotte whispered. "He truly never thought of me in that way, and he shouldn't have. I was not worthy ..."

Clarisse leaned forward and took Charlotte's cold hands. "I would have welcomed you as a daughter-in-law."

Now tears were sliding down Charlotte's cheeks. Clarisse could see them glinting in the moonlight. "I could not have married him, even had the thought ever crossed his mind."

"Why?" was Clarisse's simple question.

"Because ..." Charlotte's voice trailed off.

Then Clarisse took a chance and asked gently, "Was your child Philippe's as well?"

Charlotte pulled her hands from Clarisse's and buried her face in them. "No!" came the muffled sobs. "No ... no ..."

Clarisse quickly readjusted their positions on the couch, putting her arms around the younger woman and letting her cry out her pain. She rather awkwardly patted Charlotte's back, still not used to being in the role of comforter. "Oh, Charlotte, I'm sorry I never knew ..." she whispered. She had been feeling sorry for herself, feeling alone and frightened of the future, and someone as close to her as Charlotte had been carrying a heavier load than she had ever imagined. Clarisse worried about a second marriage, while it seemed that Charlotte had lost a child, then a man who might have been a husband. Sometime Clarisse hoped Charlotte would tell her the entire story, but now was not the time. It was almost dawn, the sky to the east beginning to grow a little lighter. If either of them were to be fresh for the ball in the evening, they needed a bit of rest.

Charlotte had grown quiet in Clarisse's arms, and now struggled to sit up, wiping her face with the back of her hands. "I'm ... I'm all right now. I'm so sorry, your M ..."

"Charlotte, please. Don't apologize," Clarisse interrupted her. "I DO think you need to go back to your room and try to sleep. I don't want to see you until noon, understand? Besides," she added lightly, "I need my beauty sleep, and hope not to get up until quite late."

Charlotte's smile was wobbly, but she nodded, and stood, tightening the belt of her robe. "Thank you, your Majesty. Good night."

"Good night, Charlotte," When Charlotte had slipped out the door, Clarisse leaned back again, closing her eyes. What a night! More and more unexpected happenings ... so much grief, pain and suffering! Idly she wondered how old Charlotte's baby would be now, and spared a passing wish that she HAD been the grandmother. Pierre would certainly never marry and have children, so Mia was her only one. Still, what a joy she was. For only having known the girl for seven weeks, Clarisse already loved her fiercely. She was so like her father! No wonder Charlotte had become so close to Mia!

At last Clarisse realized it was time to return to her own rooms. As she opened the door, however, she was startled to see Joseph standing there, about to knock. He came in, looking at her intently. Clarisse automatically backed up a pace and tried to smile. "H-hello, Joseph."

"I just walked Charlotte back to her room," he said softly. "She had been crying. She said you were all right, but I wanted to check for myself."

"I'm fine," Clarisse said, quickly. "Just fine!"

"You are no longer concerned about tonight's ball, or Saturday's wedding?" he asked bluntly.

"Oh," she tried to smile and looked away, her hands going to the lapels of her dressing gown and wrapping it closely around her.

"Clarisse, I ..." his voice trailed off, then he groaned and put his hands on her shoulders and drew her closer, forcing her to look at him. Joseph knew that, as her Head of Security, he shouldn't be the one to show her what it was her life had thus far been missing, what he suspected she might even think she didn't possess, or could ever even possibly understand. But even as he searched her eyes and warned himself to not go down that path, he could feel his reason slip away. He leaned towards her and his lips covered hers lightly.

Somehow Clarisse found her hands on his chest, not to push him away, but to steady herself so that she could tilt her head, and part her lips a little. He gave her soft kisses, whispers, a slight sweep over her lower lip, a sweep that sent a rocket of sensation through her body. Suddenly all the loneliness and pain Clarisse had felt for years took hold, a sob caught in her chest and then pushed its way up her throat. "I'm sorry!" she choked. "I don't know why I'm so emotional! I ... I just can't believe that Parliament is still going to make me do this!"

The next thing she knew, she was fully in his arms and he was holding her against him, delighting in the feel of her, stroking his hands through her hair, across her shoulders, down her back. She buried her face in the hardness of his chest, wrapped her arms around his waist and let him hold her tightly. Then slowly, inevitably, everything began to change. His body grew harder, hotter. And the pain of her past was superseded by the trembling of her limbs and the quickening of her heart.

He cradled her head in his hands, and lowered his lips to hers. His kiss was searing and, she realized quickly, moaning low in her throat, exactly what she needed. Clarisse's mouth turned to instant flame, surprising him and confirming her attraction with her intense response. He had almost expected rejection but not this ... honest need.

Clarisse was tired of pretending she could do without being touched or kissed or held, tired of a long period of abstinence and the absence of physical tenderness in her life. She wanted this closeness. She wanted Joseph, in every way possible. This man wanted her and loved her with all of his being. Clarisse knew it, had always known it deep in her heart, yet had denied it by refusing to even think about it. Now she felt as if she had been admitted to the silent part of his soul where his deepest secrets lay.

He pulled her closer still, and deepened the kiss. Her body came alive at his touch. No one could mistake her reaction. He certainly couldn't, especially when her arms wrapped around his neck. Each knew the other had waited a long time for this. He kissed her with every bit of finesse he had ever learned. Or tried to. Somehow, all seduction knowledge went out of his head with her in his arms. He felt as if he were a schoolboy with his first girl again. He kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her eyelids. He buried his face in her hair. It had been such a long time of wanting, hopeless waiting, loving from a distance. Now that a miracle had occurred, he couldn't touch her enough, hold her enough, love her enough.

Speech was unnecessary and impossible, for their joining was sweet and swift. They experienced power and strength and passion. It was breathtaking and exhilarating, inspiring and soul-stirring. And it was their chance, perhaps their only chance, to partake of a moment of paradise. When it was over and they lay spent, sated and replete, Clarisse absently trailed her fingers across Joseph's abdomen.

He got up on one elbow, and gently traced her passion-swollen lips. "You look well-kissed, my love."

Her lips curved in a gentle smile. "I am."

"I could stay here forever, but this floor is damned hard!"

Clarisse chuckled as she turned and looked out the window. "Oh my, the sun is coming up ... I must go."

Joseph helped her don her nightgown and dressing gown and stepped quickly into his own rumpled clothing.

As she stood with her hand on the door, Clarisse turned back and said softly, "Thank you, Joseph. Thank you." Before he could say anything, she was gone.

To be Continued