It was ridiculous that he was nervous. He was the sovereign prince of an entire country. A century ago, he could have had these peasants’ heads chopped off if they squawked.
“Mr. Clark, sir.”Oh, God. His voice was shaking.“Your daughter Andrea is an amazing woman. I would like to make her my wife, and I’m asking your permission to ask for her hand in marriage.”
Bartholomew Clark squinted at Maxence. “Do you have an income that would allow you to marry my daughter?”
Casimir’s grin didn’t change, but Arthur snorted. He covered it up with a sneeze and scowled at the dead plants around them. “So sorry. Allergies.”
Maxence told him, “I believe it’s sufficient.”
Arthur ducked his head and whispered to Bartholomew Clark, “Ask him what he does for a living.”
That twatwaffle.Max was going to box Arthur’s ears when they were next alone.
Bartholomew turned his head, still squinting his pale eyes so much like Dree’s. “Yeah, what do you do for a living, anyway?”
“I’m sort of a politician,” Maxence admitted.
Bartholomew reared back, almost stumbling back on his heels.“A politician!I don’t know about that. I never met a politician who could tell anything like the truth.”
Max backpedaled with his answer. “I suppose it’s fairer to say that I work for the government. I don’t ever have to stand for election again. Just the once, and that’s done. I’m practically a civil service worker now, so to speak.”
Bartholomew nodded. “So it’s a steady job then.”
“The steadiest. The last five people who had this job worked it their whole lives.”
His whole life.
Maxence shoved that thought aside.
Her father asked him, “Don’t you retire over there?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes not. A friend of mine’s great-aunt has the same job, and she’s been in the same position for nearly seventy years now. Her husband chose to retire from it though.”
Bartholomew frowned. “And she didn’t get a promotion?”
“It’s not that kind of job.” Flicka’s great-aunt was Queen Elizabeth the Second of the United Kingdom.
“All right then. They do things weird over in that Monagasquay, do they?”
Maxence admitted, “The name of the country is actually Monaco. ‘Monagasquay’ is a joke Dree and I came up with. She was being funny with her sister.”
Bartholomew scratched his chin. “Where have I heard of Monaco before?”
“James Bond films, perhaps? That’s what it usually is. Monte Carlo is in Monaco.”
“Yeah, that’s probably it, maybe. I heard you’ve got a casino over there.” Bartholomew fixed him with a steely blue eye. “Do you gamble, Maxence?”
“It’s illegal for Monegasque citizens to gamble in the casino. It’s for tourists only.” That was absolutely the truth, although royal family members were expected to make frequent appearances for publicity purposes.
“Are you Catholic?” Bartholomew pressed.
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I seriously considered the priesthood for many years. Meeting your daughter made me realize that I would rather spend my life married to her with a family than be a priest.”
Bartholomew nodded. “So, you’re a devout man?”
All those hours spent in front of a crucifix that never answered must be some sort of faith. “Yes.”
Dree’s father asked Max some softball questions about kids and raising children, and Maxence answered those easily. He seemed satisfied.
