The Royal House of Niroli: Innocent Mistresses: Expecting His Royal Baby / The Prince's Forbidden Virgin. Robyn Donald
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Автор: Robyn Donald
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежные любовные романы
isbn: 9781408935279
isbn:
But as they searched Carrie’s confidence began to falter. She flicked determinedly through the press of garments a second time. There were so many gowns to search through. If there was one thing she had learned it was that Princess Laura didn’t do anything by halves. Once the dressmakers had taken her measurements they must have been sewing non-stop. But there was only one special gown for tonight, and it was nowhere to be found.
She hid her feelings from the maid, but she had lost more than a gown, she had lost her chance to make Nico see her differently….
‘Maybe you could wear another dress, signorina?’ the maid suggested in desperation.
Carrie’s concerns switched immediately to the young girl’s disappointment. ‘What a good idea. Let’s look for one together,’ she suggested, forcing a bright note into her voice.
But there was nothing to compare with the matchless gown, and after a fruitless hunt the maid suggested checking all the other dressing rooms in the palace in case there had been a mix up of some sort.
‘Whatever’s happened to the gown it’s not worth crying about,’ Carrie assured her. ‘And it’s too late to start searching the palace,’ she pointed out logically. With the maid on the verge of tears again she had to be practical, but it wasn’t easy when the loss of the dress was such a bitter blow.
‘Please, let me go and look for it, signorina,’ the maid pleaded with her. ‘You never know, I might find it.’
‘All right, but I don’t want you to worry if you don’t. This isn’t your fault. While you’re gone, I’ll have another look through the wardrobe. I’m sure I’ll find something else to wear.’
Carrie picked out several formal dresses and then discarded them again for various reasons. Some of the neck-lines plunged to the waist, which with her voluptuous figure was hardly prudent, and others had slits almost to the crotch. All the shoes seemed to have spindly heels, and she dreaded wearing them, but time was marching on and there was still no sign of the maid returning.
Carrie glanced out of the window and her throat dried as she caught sight of the stream of limousines rolling in procession along the road towards the palace. Their passengers would be ambassadors and billionaires, and enough European royalty to fill the pages of a celebrity magazine. Princess Laura had wanted to prepare her for this, and had wanted her to feel comfortable in such elevated company, and now everything had gone wrong. She glanced at the door, she couldn’t wait for the maid any longer. She wouldn’t risk being late for Princess Laura. She would just have to choose something else to wear….
But now Carrie made another worrying discovery—everything in the wardrobe was at least one size too small. It didn’t make sense. Princess Laura’s dressmakers had been so thorough and precise with their measurements and she found it hard to believe they would have made such an elementary mistake. She began to suspect someone had done this on purpose to humiliate her.
Returning to the wardrobe, she selected a beaded sheath with an impressive fishtail train, for no better reason than it fell off the hanger at her feet and she took it for a sign. Now she just had to hope the Fates were on her side.
Having shoehorned her way into the dress, Carrie found she couldn’t fasten all the tiny silk-covered buttons that ran up the back. Glancing at the clock, she grew increasingly anxious. For her to walk into the banqueting hall after the king had sat down was an unimaginable breach of etiquette, and she had no intention of embarrassing Princess Laura.
So where was the maid? Had she been hijacked along the way? Carrie was beginning to think that the loss of the gown was no mistake, and that perhaps the maid had been sent on some new, time-consuming errand by the same person who had removed the gown. Because the dress had been taken, Carrie thought grimly as she battled with the buttons.
The only way she could secure the dress she had chosen was by tugging it round, fastening the buttons, and then heaving it back again. Unfortunately by this time her cheeks were beetroot red, and her carefully dressed hair was hanging in tangles. Gazing at herself in the mirror, she felt like crying. The jewelled bodice barely covered her big bouncing breasts that threatened to erupt out of the confines of her gown at any moment. She looked a mess, and now it was too late to choose something else to wear. The fabulous couture gown didn’t hang on her as it was supposed to. It clung in a most unflattering way, revealing every cream cake she had ever consumed in her life. And she still had to choose some shoes….
How could she choose when she couldn’t bend over? Hopping around, she managed to hook some stratospheric stilettos with her big toe. ‘Lengthen your line’—wasn’t that the advice for small, plump people in women’s magazines? She had certainly done that, and had become a five foot nine walking disaster along the way. Grabbing a handful of hairpins as she tottered towards the door, she stuck them in her mouth, intending to stab them into her hair as she hurried to the banquet.
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