A Love Like Ours

by Denise Robins

Genres: Romance

Synopsis

A captivating love story from the 100-million-copy bestselling Queen of Romance, available now for the first time in eBook. A fleeting moment--is that all she meant to Prince Dominic of Montracine? Catherine Leigh-Holmes was just someone who danced one dance in his arms, just one of the many girls he'd known. Or had he lost himself in the sea of her deep green eyes. She only knew her love was desparate. And perhaps hopeless. If Dominic loved her in return, it might mean despair for them both. She was just the green-eyed daughter of an old friend--but he was the world's most eligible bachelor.

Release date: June 26, 2014

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 400

Sample

The quiet dignity of the handsome white house in Chester Square had never seemed more attractive to Catherine Leigh-Holmes than it did today—the great day when she was home for good—looking forward to being with her father, helping to run the place for him and to entertain his friends.

She had thoroughly enjoyed the last eight months in Paris studying with one or two of her Oxford friends, perfecting her French. Before that she had taken a degree in Modern Languages at St. Anne’s College and got a two-one. Not bad! But she had wanted that extra time of study and made the most of it.

Now, in her twenty-second year, she was finished with studying. Her much-loved mother had died in a tragic air disaster while Catherine was still at University, and the girl had been naturally shocked and grieved. Her father had taken his lovely wife’s untimely end badly, and although he had much to occupy his mind—he was in the Diplomatic Service—Catherine knew that he was a lonely man these days. She was going to alter that. She adored her father. They were tremendous friends. She had inherited her mother’s grave, special beauty, but her father’s brain—his serious side—his thirst for learning. She wanted to do a serious job; perhaps in the Foreign Office. But it could wait. A year at home wouldn’t matter.

The taxi-driver helped carry her cases into the hall. She paid him, shut the door, and called out:

“Daddy! Da-a-ddy! Are you in?”

He came quickly down the stairs and she greeted him rapturously, hugging and kissing him. How good-looking and distinguished he still was at the age of fifty, she thought, with that boyish figure and the silver fleck in his hair, and those clever eyes behind their horn-rimmed spectacles—eyes most unusually green which she had inherited. Her satin-smooth chestnut hair was like her mother’s.

“Home is your daughter, home from the sea,” she misquoted, laughing.

“Home from the air would be more apt. How’s Paris?” he asked.

“Just Paris—fabulous!” she exclaimed and shook the long brown hair back from a face usually creamy pale, now pink with excitement.

“Oh, it’s good to get my lovely girl back,” he said tenderly. “Come up and sit down and tell me everything. You’re just in time for a sherry.”

Up in the elegant double drawing-room an electric fire glowed on this cold spring evening. Mr. Leigh-Holmes thought how attractive his daughter looked in her grey skirt and white shirt, with a short green suede coat which she was fast unbuttoning with thin nervous fingers.

“Well, Daddy, are you free tonight? Are we going to be able to eat together and celebrate the Wanderer’s return?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “I’ve fixed that, Cath darling, but the day after tomorrow for quite a week, I shall be tied up because—”

She broke in.

“Never mind. I’m used to it. I’ll go all-domesticated, and I can always call up one of my boy-friends.” She laughed and spread her hands to the red glow of the fire.

But Edward Leigh-Holmes sighed a little as he went to the handsome Chinese lacquer cabinet which held their drinks, and poured his daughter out a sherry.

Catherine had come of age just before she got her degree. She never lacked followers. He was of an older generation yet did not disapprove of the rather motley crowd of friends who came in and out the house whenever Catherine was home. They were some of them insubordinate, untidy, long-haired and careless, but a clever lot, these young men and women of today. He envied them their vivid interest in life. The changing world was for the old a sadness—an anxiety. But for the young—a joy and a challenge.

However, he did feel it was time that his beautiful Catherine met some really nice fellow and got married. He didn’t want her to wait too long.

Catherine sipped her sherry and looked round the room. It was very handsome with its long windows opening on to wrought-iron balconies—its polished floor—Adam fireplace and fine period furniture. Daddy was a connoisseur of art and they had one or two exquisite paintings.

It was a room Catherine admired, but with a discerning eye she noted that the curtains and carpet needed a good shampoo, and the Meissen birds on the glass shelves in the corner cupboard wanted a wash. Daddy had bought these when he was stationed in Bonn.

“How’s our staff?” she asked suddenly.

“Fine. We’re lucky. No one’s left yet.”

“Then we are lucky,” she laughed, although she knew that the staff problem was always a trouble for Daddy with his pre-war standards. Because of his job and constant need to entertain, they had to be extravagant about the running of the place. The basement flat was occupied by a couple: the elderly Mrs. Anders, cook-housekeeper, and the even older Mr. Anders who acted as handy-man and butler. Other than that, there was a daily who, as Catherine often declared, produced more ‘spit’ than ‘polish’.

Now her father was breaking it to her that she wouldn’t have much time for domesticity because he needed her help.

“I’ve been detailed to entertain His Serene Highness Prince Dominic of Montracine,” he said, “and you could be of real assistance, darling.”

Her lovely eyes opened wide.

“Oh, lord, who’s His Serene Highness? I forget.”

In response, Mr. Leigh-Holmes picked up a glossy periodical and handed it to her.

“This might interest you.”

It interested Catherine very much. Almost an entire page was devoted to the Ruler of Montracine.

How handsome he was, she thought, and remembered now having seen many photographs of him taken in various parts of Europe. She studied the fine-cut features. She liked the hint of humour about his lips. It was not a particularly strong face yet it was far from weak. The chin was obstinate and the large dark eyes compelling. A Latin type, of course, she reflected. In this particular photograph he wore State uniform.

The epaulettes on the shoulders and the rows of medals might suggest musical comedy, but somehow failed to do so. Catherine did not jeer. The Prince looked much too serious and dignified. Besides, she had seen him in other guise and knew that he was a noted sportsman. She especially recalled an account of his triumph on the Cresta Run. He was a dedicated winter-sportsman, and also played excellent polo.

She glanced down the ‘Gossip Column’, devoted in this issue to the Prince. There were four long paragraphs:

The twenty-five year old Prince Dominic IV of Montracine will be welcome here when he comes on his goodwill visit next week. This lucky young man is probably one of the most sought-after bachelors in Europe. Besides being the Crowned Head of a rich flourishing Principality, he is a millionaire twice over. The Crown Jewels now worn by his mother, Princesse Isabella, are worth several fortunes in themselves and await the wife whom the Prince must eventually choose. Montracine is an enchanted island and a large one, second only to Monte Cristo in size; it is situated fifty miles out in the Mediterranean facing the French and Italian Coast. For the most part the Principality is French-speaking, but there is a large Italian quarter and the Montracineans have a patois of their own.

Independence was guaranteed to Montracine (which has an area about 120 square miles), to the great-grand-father of the present Prince, who ruled as Dominic I, by Napoleon III and Garibaldi during the War of Independence which ended in 1870.

The island has a population of about 80,000 people. They export olive oil, fruit and silk. The islanders are past masters of the art of weaving glorious silks and of wood-carving.

Catherine lifted her head, having absorbed these facts, and drew breath.

“I say! Dominic must be quite something, Daddy!”

“Oh, he is, my dear. If he could only push his difficult mother more into the background, he’d be one of the best among the few ruling princes. He’s a born statesman, and young though he is, he has had to deal with severe internal struggles already. But at least he can claim a guaranteed independence of his Principality which is indeed something these days. You remember the Greyharts, darling. He was our Ambassador over there before the poor chap had his first attack of angina, and they brought him back. He was dining with me at the Club last night, and reminded me that when he had lived in Montracine, he found that the Prince had a genuine and passionate desire to modernise and reform the Island completely, which was the opinion I also formed when I was over there for a short time.

“You must tell me something about the type of government they have on Montracine. I’d like to know,” said Catherine. “Incidentally is the Prince a useful ruler?”

“Yes, indeed. When Sir Mark Daltry was over here the other day he was telling me how enormously the young man has developed. You met the Daltrys with me last summer just after Mark took over from Greyhart, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Catherine nodded, “a charming rather thin little man with horn-rimmed glasses. And he has a huge tall wife—fair-haired and as jolly as a sixth-form schoolgirl, if I remember.”

“Right. Daltry has plenty of brains and I don’t think he’d have said much in favour of Montracine if it hadn’t been true.”

Catherine drew her brows together.

“Why did they send such a first-rate man as Sir Mark to a place like Montracine?”

“Make no mistake,” said her father smiling, “it’s becoming a very important Principality and we need a good man there.”

“Tell me more about the Prince,” said Catherine looking down at the intriguing face of Prince Dominic again.

“When he took over, he induced some of the big families to accept excellent reforms. For instance, he won’t allow the people to be dominated by greedy landlords as they used to be, and he has built some excellent schools and first-rate hospitals. They have their own small Army because Dominic approves of military discipline. The nigger in the wood-pile is Her Serene Highness. Isabella is clever and a bit of a witch. She believes that the Island would be more settled and united if the Prince got married and had a family. There has been a lot of gossip lately in the Continental papers about the Princess trying to push him into the arms of the young daughter of his father’s cousin, the Duc d’Arlennes. He’s a man I can’t like, and on Isabella’s side. But Dominic won’t consider the match. He wants to choose his own wife.”

“It all sounds fascinating,” said Catherine, “I’ll do what I can to help but as you know, Daddy, millionaire princes aren’t really my type.”

“Make no mistake,” said her father quickly, “Dominic is no fool. He is extremely cultured and aware of the industrial crisis in Europe. Greyhart says it was his idea to spend this week with bankers and industrialists, quite apart from enjoying himself. He intends to arrange for further imports to us, and it will all boost our own exports to Montracine.”

Catherine picked up the magazine and looked more closely at Prince Dominic’s handsome face. Yes, she thought, Daddy’s right. He’s no fool.

There was a lot behind those strange heavy-lidded eyes. It was the face of a dreamer, and of a thinker—definitely intriguing.

Maybe she would have to reverse her feelings about ‘puppet princes’ and find these next few days in the company of Prince Dominic very interesting.

Caroline’s first meeting with the Prince was at Claridge’s Hotel.

Catherine and her father arrived with Sir John and Lady Greyhart, and the aged Princesse de Palvarias, a native of Montracine who had lived in England since her husband died, just before the war. Catherine had had time before the Prince’s arrival, to exchange a few words with Veronica Greyhart. She was an attractive woman, younger than her husband, still in her forties.

“You’ll adore Dominic. We all call him that among ourselves,” Lady Greyhart said enthusiastically, “and I’m sure he’ll fall madly for you, Catherine.”

“I’m sure he won’t,” said Catherine hastily. “He won’t look at me with you around.”

Veronica Greyhart smiled at the young girl affectionately.

“You’re always too flattering, dear. I couldn’t have got an ‘A’ Level if I tried when I was young. Here you are with three of them and a two-one degree in Languages. I’m sure the Prince will be most intrigued. Added to which you don’t look like a bluestocking with that gorgeous figure and those big green eyes. You’re much more the glamour-girl!”

Catherine protested, but Lady Greyhart laughed and turned to say a few diplomatic words to the Princesse. The old Montracinean wore black from head to foot, and leaned heavily on an ebony stick. She suffered from some obscure disease of the muscles, and lived permanently in London. She had implicit faith in English doctors.

Catherine suddenly caught sight of herself in a mirror. Yes, she thought, she would ‘pass’. Shopping yesterday had been fairly successful. The new dark green dress suited her. It was short and chic, with a beaver-lamb jacket. She rarely wore a hat but for this special occasion there was a beaver-lamb cap on the side of her head. The chestnut hair was brushed smoothly to one side, and curved against her cheek.

The little reception party moved forward and stood to attention as the Prince of Montracine walked into the vestibule, followed by his private secretary; outside the staff coped with a considerable amount of luggage at the back of the magnificent Rolls that had brought the Prince from the airport. As he shook hands with Sir John and Lady Greyhart, Catherine privately wondered what he thought of Sir John whom she termed one of Daddy’s ‘fussy friends’. He lacked a sense of humour. Catherine was sure his own wife must sometimes find him boring. But the Prince’s boyish face lit up as he turned to Edward Leigh-Holmes, and it was obvious that he had a great liking for the distinguished diplomat with his fine features, greying hair, and friendly smile.

“Ah! Good to see you again, Mr. Leigh-Holmes.” The Prince held out his hand.

Leigh-Holmes bowed.

“Welcome to London, sir. May I introduce my daughter, Catherine, to Your Highness.”

For the first time, Prince Dominic looked directly at the young girl. She looked at him. And for all her learning and the fact that she was used to the diplomatic world, she felt suddenly at a loss for words. She was mesmerised by the piercing glance from the Prince’s large shining eyes. How very dark they were! As brilliant as agate in a fine-boned face that was well tanned by the Mediterranean sun.

He did not really look like his photograph in the magazine, she decided. It must have been taken when he was younger, and he had carried more weight. Certainly this was no self-indulgent playboy. Daddy was right—Prince Dominic was a serious young man, and most attractive. His figure was lean and graceful. All his movements were easy and swift.

He held out a hand. Catherine took it and made the smallest curtsy. She had recovered her equilibrium.

“So,” he said, “this is the daughter of my good friend, Mr. Leigh-Holmes. I am delighted to meet you, Miss Leigh-Holmes.”

“I am honoured, Your Highness,” murmured Catherine.

His fingers felt cold. He looked pinched. No doubt he was already feeling the change of temperature. This happened to be a bitterly cold spring day and on his Island the sun must already be warming up. The countryside she thought would be golden with mimosa, and pink with almond-blossom, as was usual, throughout the entire Midi.

“I remember your delightful mother,” the Prince added. “She charmed us all. Her accident was a tragedy.”

He had a warm attractive speaking voice. Catherine found his English excellent, with only the faintest accent. He wore very English clothes, too; a suit obviously tailored in London; a short camel’s hair coat with a fur collar. He kept pulling a pair of dark glasses out of his pocket and putting them back again as though slightly nervous. She didn’t think he could possibly be so, but learned later on that despite his background and education, Dominic possessed a highly-strung nervous system. He had always had to exert great strength of will in order to conquer this weakness.

“It is good of you to remember my mother, sir,” murmured Catherine. She was soon to learn more about his astonishing memory. Prince Dominic must have received visits from, and entertained, a vast number of foreigners in his own country. How pleased her poor mother would have been to know that he had found her charming and memorable and regretted her death.

The Prince, still looking at Catherine, continued:

“I think I am right in saying that you were just about to go to University when your people were in Montracine. They were so proud of their clever young student.”

Catherine coloured.

“I can’t think why, sir,” she stammered.

“I, myself, spent a year at Trinity, Oxford,” he went on. “One of the happiest times of my life.”

“I think most of us who have been up at Oxford remember it was a time of great happiness,” she said.

“And you are now a Bachelor of Arts. What was it you read? English? Or Science, like so many young people today?”

“No, Modern Languages, sir.”

“Ah! I shall test your French when we meet again.”

“Please don’t, sir! You terrify me!” she exclaimed, smiling.

“I am sure I do not,” he said. Then moved away to speak to the old Princesse.

Now Catherine heard a flow of French exchanged between the two Montracineans.

The Prince’s back was turned to her but she could still feel the extraordinary compulsion of his gaze. He did in. . .