Voice of Abandon

  Voice of Abandon

  Or,

  The Princess and the Violinist

  Rae Lori

  Voice of Abandon

  A RavenFire Books Production

  Copyright © 2009 by Rae Lori

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design illustration: Copyright © 2009 by Rae Lori

  All rights reserved

  Smashwords Edition 1 December 2009

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

  Blurb

  His music inspired her to live again. His heart inspired her to love again.

  After losing her husband to a fatal heart condition, Her Serene Highness Julianna DeWinters falls into a depression. She lives her life on auto pilot, making preparations and setting things in order for her country but not for herself. Assisted by her in-laws on an evening visit to a classical concert, Julianna hears the most beautiful sound that awakens her to life once again. The violinist’s passion through his music not only livens her will but also her heart as she finds the ability to love. If she allows herself the possibility...

  Andrew Graham never settled down and loved again after losing the love of his life. Throwing himself into his music, he fuels his passion through the strings of his violin. Once he stops in Welshire to play for the royal family, a beautiful princess captures his interest and his heart. Soon he finds himself on the edge of a romance that will test his ability to trust and love once again.

  Voice of Abandon or, The Princess and the Violinist is a sweet, classical novella that proves life and love can begin after loss. Especially when you least expect it.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all those who have lost a loved one.

  Chapter 1

  “Don’t let the light go out of your heart. Don’t stop living. Promise me that.”

  His deep, British-accented voice always came back to her in the small moments she stole to herself. Even now she could hear her own voice breaking into the silence of the hospital where they had spent their last nights together.

  “I promise.”

  Her Serene Highness Princess Julianna DeWinters looked out of the boudoir window of the second floor of her castle. Raindrops dented the windowsill as the deluge started again.

  The 18th century walls of the Welshire castle had been no comfort to her for the past few days. The high tapestries of blue and gold lining, enriched with threaded imitations of classic paintings around the cream and dark wood walls was her home for the duration of her marriage. Rich with history, the house boasted stories of Kings and Queens who have come through these doors to trade equal interest of sport and country. Many hands shook in deals that often, with a single word or wave of a hand, begat the start of war. Whether through an skirmish themselves or a fatal alliance with an intended friend’s foe.

  Julianna always felt comfortable here. She was proud of her husband’s history and bloodlines that she now shared. Years ago, they made plans to pass it all on to their children who would share her own history and culture as well as his. But now the crème lined enclosed walls served as a distant reminder that she was alone. To anyone else on the outside she would be a black American designer who had met and married a prince from a small European country called Welshire. She had been afraid to meet his family who she was sure had expected someone much different and of higher standing than she. But it had been a smooth transition and even her own parents were excited, albeit nervous, at the news of their twenty-eight-year-old daughter moving abroad. She still wasn’t used to the press and was happy that Frederick enjoyed a quiet uneventful life with her aside from keeping the country in order. After her duties during the day, she would wait for him.

  The grimace that formed in the middle of his smooth brow upon his handsome regal face would always tell of the decisions he had to make for the family business. He would sit on the bed with a soft grunt, his wide shoulders somewhat bent in thought and stress. Julianna would immediately dig her fingers into his shoulders and back, easing the tension away with a soft kiss to his neck.

  “Did anyone tell you that you’re the best wife I ever had?” he had said one time.

  She had leaned over his shoulder, noting the slight turn of his head toward her and the half smirk that he knew got a curious rise out of her. “I hope not because I’m the only wife you ever had,” she said half jokingly.

  His large, lithe build would twist, catching her as she moved forward so that she fell over his lap with a gasp. “That’s why you’re the best wife I ever had,” he said deeply, leaning over her.

  His lips were soft and warm as they had always been. Despite living in the cold climate he always managed to feel warm, welcoming and tender.

  Julianna placed her fingertips against her lips, tingling as if he had just given her one of those warm kisses. The sound of voices downstairs made her pull back the thin gossamer curtains to see the car waiting downstairs. She spotted the large shiny casket gently being placed in the back of the vintage Hurst to ready the funeral ceremony that would commence in a few hours. The road lay ahead, as if an invitation sat suspended within its open shade. A part of her wanted to shed this pristine royal disposition she had adopted once they married. Instead she wanted to run across the lands barefoot and free and just let the Earth take over her body as it may.

  She was alone now. A widow who had lost the love of her life to a heart disease the doctors couldn’t cure. She was now a loner in a land where she had gained royalty by way of marriage, a black woman who had become the first to take a noble crown of a European princess in this line. Now she had to bury her husband and await news of the new rulership.

  Julianna suppressed the urge to leave and took a deep breath to clear her head. Today she made sure to wear her best black dress. Comfortable satin. It served its purpose well.

  “Your Highness.” She turned to her lady-in-waiting. Julianna dabbed at her eyes that she was sure was already stained with redness from the hot empty tears.

  “Yes?”

  “We are ready for you.”

  With a nod, she lifted her dress slightly to step across the floor. The walls that she had felt so comfortable in all these years turned into enclosures of a shelter that felt like it belonged to someone else. No longer did it feel like the home she and Frederick had made for themselves. Perhaps it was just Frederick’s arms that formed her true shelter.

  Arms that she would never feel around her again.

  The 50s Roadster waited outside—Frederick’s favorite car—that matched his parents. As she descended the stairs, Julianna saw her mother-in-law, Her Serene Highness Princess Marie Caroline sitting next to her daughter, Tiana. The older sophisticated woman wore her elegance like the designer dresses she was so known for. Her long silky grey hair was pulled back in an intricate tie, allowing the strands to cascade down her back. This morning she wore a vintage black Yves St. Laurent tailored designer suit and overcoat looking the epitome of the golden days of cinema.

  Tiana’s silky blonde main was wrapped against her crown. Her thin build was draped in a simple black dress. On any other person it would be a low key style. But Tiana’s elegance caught the eye of any fashionista and designers would surely be lining up to take note of a new spin on the style. It was one thing Julianna still took pride in. Her sister-in-law was ecstatic when Frederick brought her home and told his family how she studied fashion. Tiana wanted original designs right away, chatti
ng excitedly about how proud she would be to wear Julianna’s beautiful creations.

  Julianna still found comfort in designing her own clothes, even though any designer would be eager for her to wear their designs. There was something deep down that still called to her to create. She had a feeling it would be calling her even more after Frederick’s passing.

  Once she saw Julianna exit the palace, Tiana immediately rushed over and linked their arms.

  “I was just coming up to see you, dear sister,” she said. Her brow furrowed in worry. “The men will take the front car and we’ll follow behind. Are you ready?”

  Julianna nodded, not sure what else to say. Instead, she smiled as best she could. From the pursing of Tiana’s lips, her best wasn’t much. Her sister-in-law rubbed her hand and flashed her a look that said it was the least she could do.

  Silently they piled into the backseat of the waiting Roadster, sitting in stillness except for the pitter patter of the rain and the car’s roaring engine along the grass road.

  “Frederick wouldn’t like it raining on his day,” Marie Caroline said, fixing her gloves over pale, aged hands. “I wish it would let up soon.”

  “I’m sure it will,” Tiana said. The ruffle of her dress brushed against the her seat as she shifted. “Frederick wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Julianna stared out the window as the Roadster exited through the gate. She watched the drops hit the window in sheets. The castle, a remnant of the memories, slowly disappeared in the distance as they drove further and further away.

  “It won’t,” Julianna said softly. “The weatherman said it’s supposed to continue all week.”

  “Unfortunate.”

  The ladies fell into silence once again. The already dreary day felt even grimmer as soon as they pulled up to the family plot. Outside, the mortuary was already lined with flowers, pictures and mementos filling up less than a hundred feet. Guards of the palace were already in place, holding back a group of people standing outside to grieve and give condolences for the late Prince Frederick of Welshire.

  Camera flashes went off in succession as the Roadster car made its way behind the funeral procession. Julianna spotted the line of reporters ready to catch a glimpse of her. She would be ready for them, she told herself as she took a deep breath. She exhaled, feeling Marie Caroline’s hand on her arm.

  Julianna turned to the older woman who warmed her with a smile. “Go with your heart, Julianna. These people are here for you.”

  Tiana’s smile and nod reassured Marie Caroline’s words.

  The Roadster came to a halt. The driver climbed out and in one smooth movement, pivoted and pulled the back door open. Julianna slowly stepped out. Her pumps clicked against the cemented ground as she forced herself to her feet. An energy like no other immediately filled the area with the rush of voices. The strain of all of their eyes watching nearly crippled her. She was used to this type of show. She had come to expect it, even revel in it at times. As a girl she was like any other, dreaming of what it would be like to be a princess. And here she was without her prince.

  Julianna kept her eyes ahead and forced herself to continue along the green grass. She was here to do a duty and follow through with it. Despite everything that had happened, she was the strength of a nation often anchoring Frederick whenever he needed it. Even now she could still feel his large, warm hand over hers. His masculine fingers intermingling with hers and the warm smile he shared to assure her everything was fine because they were together.

  Julianna peered over at the blown up framed portrait of Frederick, imagining he was standing there right next to her. She could still sense his presence surrounding her as if he never left. She could almost feel the silk of his hair between her fingers, the deep voice with a hint of a refined London accent off the tip of his tongue. His pictorial handsome smile touched her even then.

  “What’s in your heart is what will be,” he always told her. No matter the desires she had, if she wanted it bad enough and if she put her mind to it, she would have it. Frederick was always the first to remind her. Right now all she wanted was him.

  Julianna heard the sniffles, cries and sobs, but there was nothing left within her anymore. Nothing at all to alleviate her release.

  “He was such a good man.”

  “He died too young.”

  She knew the words would haunt her that evening. The night would feel lonelier than ever before as she resisted going to bed, knowing the emptiness would likely swallow her whole. For now, she would take this time to say goodbye to the man who would always have her heart.

  Music. The universal tongue. Andrew knew the power of sound since he was a child prodigy hearing the lyrical pulse beats of Beethoven, the choppy staccato of Vivaldi and the symphonic styling of Rachmaninoff to name a few.

  His left hand danced across the delicate strings, tapping and caressing the notes while his right ran the bow on a succession of powerful strokes. Each seat of the theatre was filled; top to bottom, side to side on each level. A full orchestra of strings, woodwinds, brass and percussion filled the hall with a soundtrack that transported the listeners into another world particular to each individual.

  Even he was transported, despite the music he produced from the carefully crafted string instrument. His body moved with the voice of the violin but he had no control of his hands as he usually did when playing. Perhaps he was taken to a time back when the composer created the piece on a single sheet of vellum with a leaky ink tipped pen. His ink stained hands poured onto the paper in the form of notes. A story of what he was feeling for a love long forgotten and perhaps lost within the pages of history.

  For those few moments the world slipped away like a dream upon awakening.

  Perhaps that’s what he would liken it to. A dream. It was the closest interpretation he could put into words to describe this feeling.

  No matter how many times he played before a crowd, he always felt the strength of the room coursing through his veins. The energy of the music fueling him to pick up the strings and create a voice that told a story through song. Once he began, it was as if the Earth slipped away and he was flying on the wings of a song. It was a feeling he craved more and more.

  As he took a final bow, he retreated to the back of the stage and took a breath.

  The chorus of applause extended all the way to the backstage as he gathered himself among the well dressed stage hands and performers of the philharmonic.

  “Mr. Graham…”

  Andrew turned at the sound of his name. A young intern with a mic attached to her ear and a green jewel-toned evening gown draped over her thin frame handed him a towel with her free hand.

  “Oh!” Gently he handed his violin to an older gentleman whom he didn’t notice had rushed to his side. “Thank you very much.”

  He was rapidly approaching forty but his youthful appearance and dedication made him forget all the years he had been playing.

  Even after all the concerts he played at different venues, Andrew couldn’t quite get used to being doted on. The quiet nature of his disposition at times clashed with the need to come into the light of day and perform. Yet he always felt more than willing to accommodate his listeners.

  “Thank you, Maurice,” he said to the older gentlemen.

  Andrew patted his forehead with the towel and marveled as he realized how much perspiration he drew. Despite the mess he felt, the young assistant, Grace as he recalled her name just then, looked upon him with large doe eyes as her frail hands gripped the clipboard in her hand.

  He flashed a warm smile as he handed the towel back to her. “I’ll never get used to the lights, I’m sure.”

  “I’d be shocked myself if I had to go out there in front of all those people. I don’t know how you do it so calmly every time.”

  He turned to the closed curtain and listened to the shuffling of instruments and the orchestra as they prepared for the next set. “I don’t know either.” He couldn’t remember standing out th
ere moments ago. It was as if time had vanished in between his disappearance and reappearance behind the curtain.

  After a moment of silence, Grace finally shifted and smiled nervously. “Well, I’ll go get you a glass of water before you start your next set.”

  “I appreciate that.” Andrew couldn’t help watching her put an extra sway in her step as she walked off to get the glass. Her slender frame slinked back and forth, swishing the green grown she wore. A juxtaposition of sorts, he surmised. It had been a long time since he acknowledged the attention from a woman. He brushed back his sandy brown mane and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. No woman has captured his heart since he lost his childhood sweetheart long ago. No one seemed to fill the void and nothing brought that feeling back more than the moment he stepped out to play a set of classical pieces. He wasn’t himself anymore and he wasn’t of this time. The music was an escape that allowed him to free himself and for that he would forever hold on to it.

  He pushed the thoughts aside as he gratefully received the glass of water to wet his parched throat.

  “Are you ready to go back out?” Grace asked, her blue eyes sparkling.

  “Always,” Andrew said. He handed her the empty glass and turned to take hold of his violin. He felt the familiar rise of his blood pumping as the crowd gave applause as the orchestra finished tuning their instruments.

  Andrew took a deep breath and waited for the ovation to even out before he continued toward the stage once again.

  Chapter 2

  March 31st