Royal Affair by Alice Gaines

a morning
stroll. He turned to go, but Ulrich’s hand caught his arm.
    “Wait a minute, Father. Isn’t that…” Ulrich
stared at Marta’s door for a few seconds. “…Lady Marta’s
suite?”
    Friedrich paused as if contemplating the
question. “I believe it is.”
    Ulrich briefly appeared puzzled, and then
recognition dawned. “You were just coming out of there. At this
hour in the morning.”
    So much for avoiding detection. “Keep your
voice down.”
    “And you’re wearing the same clothes you had
on last night. You haven’t been to your own bedroom, have you?”
    “Please, Son. The entire palace doesn’t need
to know our business.”
    “You and Lady Marta.” Ulrich sputtered for a
moment. “Father, how could you?”
    If there were ever a case of the pot calling
the kettle black. “And where were you coming from?”
    “I?”
    “You’re still in your pajamas.” Friedrich
used his best stern-parent tone. Not that it worked on his sons any
longer, but he could try.
    “That’s different.”
    “I don’t see how,” Friedrich said. “At least
I’m decently dressed.”
    “Dixie and I are engaged.” Ulrich made a
sweeping gesture with his arms as if to point out the obvious
difference.
    “And you never snuck into her bedroom before
you asked her to marry you?”
    That shut Ulrich up for a moment. “It’s
still different.”
    The whole situation might have been
insulting were it not for the fact that Ulrich’s posturing made
Friedrich want to laugh. The son who’d always been the joker and
ne’er-do-well—the fellow who’d painted his fiancée in the nude and
had hung the portrait in an Italian exhibition—had suddenly
transformed into the keeper of Victorian values. For other people,
of course, but not for himself. A towering paragon of morality,
sneaking along a hallway in his robe and slippers.
    “A man of your station,” Ulrich said.
“Behavior like this isn’t seemly.”
    “You mean my age, don’t you?”
    “That, too,” Ulrich said.
    “ Ach , Son. Someday you’ll
understand.” He started to leave, but Ulrich stopped him again.
    “I’m going to have to tell my brothers,”
Ulrich said.
    Friedrich glanced at where Ulrich’s arm
rested on his sleeve and then into his son’s face.
    Ulrich got the warning and released him. But
he didn’t back down. “They have a right to know.”
    “Don’t you think they’ve already figured it
out?” Friedrich said. “Or perhaps you’d like me to tell them all
the details.”
    “Heavens, no.” His son’s eyes widened in
horror at the thought.
    The door to Marta’s suite opened, and she
stuck her head out. She wore a dressing gown over her negligee. “Is
everything all right out here?”
    “Splendid, my dear,” Friedrich said.
    “I’ll leave you to it, then.” She paused.
“Good morning, Ulrich.”
    “Morning?” Ulrich repeated, as if he’d never
heard the word.
    With a smile, Marta closed the door
again.
    Ulrich pointed at where she’d just stood.
“What if the Beaumonts find out about this?”
    Good Lord, not them. “There’s no reason they
would unless you keep shouting.”
    “Dev and Kurt and I will want to have a talk
with you about this.”
    No doubt. But surely one or both of his
older sons would stick up for his right to do what he pleased. They
might even find Ulrich’s sudden umbrage at sexual indiscretions
amusing.
    “In the gold drawing room,” Ulrich said.
    Naturally. He’d called all three of them on
the carpet in that room over the years. Now would be his turn. He’d
faced worse things in his life.
    “Very well, Son, but make sure to get
dressed before you convene a committee to criticize me.”
    With that, he did leave. That had gone far
better than he could have expected.
    *
    A flutter of estrogen descended on Marta as
she sat for Hilde to do up her hair. Thank heaven, not the Beaumont
women but Felice, Casey, and Dixie. Ever efficient, Hilde left so
they could have a private conversation The