“His bed apparently wasn’t even slept in,” Meredith expanded. “And there were signs of a struggle. A door to his bureau was open, and the things atop it had fallen over or onto the floor. It was as if someone had been thrown against it.” She pulled in a deep breath, remaining stoic for her mother. “That is absolutely all we know. The only reason we know that much is because Owen’s valet told my chambermaid.”
Distressed that they could obtain more information from the royal grapevine than from their own security people, trying to mask it, the oldest princess turned to her mother. “Did you say it was about eleven o’clock when the three of you left?”
Standing by the damask divan, Marissa gave a shallow nod and slowly sank to a cushion.
Gwen thought the queen had made it beautifully through the circus of the press conference and second round of security interviews, but she had refused breakfast and lunch, and her lack of rest last night was becoming more visible by the hour. Even Roberto’s artfully applied makeup could no longer hide the worst of the stress.
“It seems so,” Marissa said to Meredith, “but we’ve been over it so many times I’m beginning to question even what I thought I knew. I simply can’t believe that someone was inside our home and that no one…not even a guard…saw or heard a thing.”
Princess Megan, the shy new bride of Jean-Paul Augustuve, the Earl of Silvershire, sat down quietly next to her mother. Meg had come from a walk on the beach with her new husband and her bodyguard. A few grains of sand clung to the hem of the designer jeans she wore with a baggy white sweater.
Her shoulder-length brown hair gleamed with auburn highlights, but her green eyes betrayed little of the joy that had brightened them only days ago when she’d returned from her honeymoon.
“None of us can believe any of this.” Her wedding ring flashed brightly as she placed her hand on her mother’s. “Not about Father. Not about Owen…”
Marissa folded her free hand over Meg’s. “At least we know you and the baby are all right. I don’t know what I’d do if we had to worry about you, too.” New concern deepened the lines of worry, anyway. “You’re certain Dr. Waltham said everything was all right?”
“Positive. He said all the test results look great. It was the same strain of encephalitis as Father’s, but my case was so mild that the baby wasn’t affected. Your first grandchild is just fine.”
Anastasia had been studying a small silver-framed picture of her and her siblings as she stood by the fireplace. Placing it back on the marble mantel, she arched an eyebrow at her middle sister. “Do you know what it is, yet?”
A hint of animation slipped into Meg’s pretty face as she placed a protective hand over the tiny bulge of her stomach. The child she carried had precipitated one of the hastier royal weddings on record. “We don’t want to know. We want it to be a surprise.” Animation faded. “And we want Father to be well. And for Owen to be found safe.”
“It doesn’t help that they’re leaving us in the dark,” Meredith murmured. “I can’t get anything out of Pierce. I haven’t even seen him today.”
The young woman’s frustration was completely understandable to Gwen. Meredith had been engaged to Colonel Prescott less than twelve hours when the rug had been pulled out from under her family’s world.
“It’s possible that we know all they know,” Gwen offered, suspecting that the colonel was as swamped as Harrison appeared to be with all that was going on.
Meredith gave her a thin, uneasy smile. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Her restlessness growing, she turned from the window. “I’m going to the office. At least there I can find out what rumors are going around. Here there’s nothing to do but wait until someone decides to tell us something.”
As protective of the princesses as she was of her own daughter, Gwen turned to the door. “I’ll call your bodyguard and your escort.”
“Is the escort really necessary?” Meredith asked.
All it took was the thought of a threat to another of her children to return certainty to the queen’s voice. “Absolutely,” Marissa insisted before Gwen could say a word. “We are all under full security. You girls have all known since you were children what that means. If you leave the residence, you have a full guard.”
Ana spun from the mantel, distress marring her refined features. “Even to go for a ride?”
Apprehension slipped into Marissa’s eyes. Seeing it, Gwen interceded.
“That probably wouldn’t be a good idea, Ana.” Whenever the headstrong princess had been troubled as a child, she could inevitably be found in the stables. The horses seemed to be her refuge. “Anyone could be in the woods.”
“Rory would be with me,” she insisted, speaking of the bodyguard she’d had for years. “He’s always protected me. I don’t need other guards.”
What she meant was that she didn’t want those men around. She was seeking solitude—something she definitely wouldn’t find flanked by soldiers bearing arms.
“You’re best off staying in the palace,” Gwen gently insisted. “Or going to work.”
“I’d rather go for a ride. I can’t concentrate on work. And I can’t stand just sitting waiting to hear something.”
“None of us can,” Megan offered, her tone conciliatory. But whatever else she was about to say was abruptly silenced by the sharp rap on the outer door.
“That will be the admiral,” Gwen murmured. Caught a bit off guard by the way her heart bumped her breastbone, she glanced toward the queen. “What do you want me to do?”
The look in Marissa’s eyes seemed to say, Ask him to go away.
“Marissa?” she quietly prodded.
The breath the woman drew momentarily straightened her shoulders. “I sent for him. Since the man is practically running the country at the moment, I supposed we’d best let him in.”
Harrison had run from one meeting to another that afternoon, all with the minister of foreign relations, the RET and the royal press secretary. Or some combination thereof. He would meet again with the press secretary the moment he left there. Hopefully, to give him the statement the queen had omitted from her speech that morning.
He needed a definitive response from Her Majesty about the state dinner.
He needed a firm commitment from her about a laundry list of details he had yet to address with her because he could never get her alone.
When the door of the queen’s drawing room was opened to him, he decided that more than anything else, he needed a break.
The last thing he’d expected was to be greeted by a roomful of women. Beautiful women, he had to concede, nodding to the royal females clustered around the divan. Consciously keeping his glance from drifting to the particularly disturbing lady who’d opened the door, he stepped inside.
The Princesses Meredith and Anastasia moved back to reveal their mother. Princess Megan remained where she was on the cushion beside her.
“Your Majesty,” he said, covering his quick dismay with a deep bow. He had exactly thirty minutes before the United States ambassador arrived from Washington. Meeting with the press secretary first no longer looked like a possibility. “I came as soon as I could get away. I didn’t realize I would have the pleasure of seeing Your Highnesses.”
Princess Anastasia immediately demanded his attention.
“Admiral Monteque,” she said, frowning. “Since you’re here, you can answer something for us.”
Moving into the room behind Harrison, Gwen watched Ana’s glance slide nonchalantly over the impressive rows of medal ribbons on his equally impressive chest as she tipped back her head. In the rarefied atmosphere the girls had been raised in, they had become as accustomed to men of rank as they were other royalty and celebrities.
“We understand an escort is necessary if we wish to leave the residence.”
The crystal chandelier above them caught the threads of silver in his dark hair as he nodded. “That is correct, Your Highness.”
“Do you have reason to think somet
hing is going to happen to us?”
“I have reason to think we should be cautious,” he replied, the deep tones of his voice utterly certain. “Security was breached here. I believe Sir Selwyn explained that until the situation with your brother is resolved, we can’t be too careful with any of you.”
“I want to go for a horseback ride.”
“The woods are the last place you should go. We have no way to secure them.”
“Gwen…Lady Gwendolyn,” the queen quickly corrected, “already told you that.”
“I just don’t understand why,” Ana insisted. “No one will tell us anything.”
It wasn’t petulance in her tone. It was frustration.
Feeling as if he could pace out of his skin himself, Harrison couldn’t help but think there was a lot of that going around.
“It’s because whoever took your brother could easily decide they need another hostage,” he told her. “If something were to happen to him, they would have backup. Historically, female hostages don’t fare as well.”
Princess Meredith’s astute glance pinned him. “I’m sure you don’t mean they fare worse because women are considered weaker, Admiral Monteque.”
Being a gentleman, he hesitated. Colonel Prescott’s fiancée was normally not the sort to challenge. Apparently she was feeling that same frustration, too. “No, Your Highness. The reason they don’t fare as well is because of the temptations they present to their captors.”
As his meaning sank in, the girls’ glances faltered.
Gwen apparently noticed that, too.
“Do you want me to call for an escort?” she asked Meredith.
“Please,” came the princess’s complying reply.
“I think I’ll just go to my room,” Princess Anastasia murmured.
Princess Megan rose and brushed a kiss against her mother’s cheek. “I’ll come with you,” she said to her sibling. “I’ve already canceled my day at the foundling home. You can help me write thank-you notes for wedding gifts.”
“We’ll see you for dinner, Mum.” Meredith kissed her mother, too.
So did Anastasia.
“We’ll see,” was the queen’s only reply.
Harrison suddenly felt like the proverbial bull in the china shop as he stood to the side waiting for the princesses to depart. There was none of the formality here that he’d always seen among the royal family. Even with the undercurrent of anxiety about their brother, a sense of casualness permeated the very feminine room. But it was the way they treated Gwen that he found most interesting. Seeming mindless of his presence, the princesses each walked up to her on their way out, stopping to give her a hug as if she were family herself. Gwen murmured something to each of them, words of encouragement, a reminder to call if she could be of help.
Meredith was last.
“Make her join us,” she muttered to Gwen. “She needs to eat.”
“I know,” Gwen murmured back. “I’ll work on it. And, Meredith, I’m sorry this all had to happen the night of your engagement. This should be such a wonderful time for you.” A smile lit the depths of her eyes. “Your Pierce is a very lucky young man.”
Stepping back, Gwen released her. “You girls be careful.”
“We will be,” the princess assured her on a whisper and, after giving her another quick hug, followed her sisters past the guards in the hall.
Harrison found himself staring at her back as she finally closed the door. He’d already suspected that she was far more influential with the queen that he’d first thought. Considering what he’d just witnessed, he realized she was also the anchor here, the person they were all looking toward to get them through a rough stretch of stormy sea.
He hadn’t expected that. Nor had he expected the very real affection between her and the queen’s children. Watching her with them, he’d seen none of her reserve. Just genuine interest and a gentleness that put another crack in the ice maiden image he’d once had of her.
Had it not been for the other affairs on his mind, he might have wondered at how easily she’d been sabotaging his concentration all afternoon. She was doing it at that very moment. Having fewer moments by the second to spare, the only other thought he allowed himself about her was that she didn’t need to be there now.
As if she’d just read his mind, she turned to where Queen Marissa remained seated on the divan. From the moment he’d come in, he’d been aware of her. He was aware now of the way she deliberately avoided his eyes.
“Do you wish me to stay or leave?” she asked the queen.
“Stay.” Her Majesty’s ringed fingers were clasped in her lap, her knuckles nearly white against her sapphire skirt. “Please.
“Admiral,” the queen continued, oblivious to the quick disapproval shadowing his rugged face. “Would you like to be seated?”
With his hands clasped behind him, he glanced at the groupings of dainty chairs. The queen was sitting on the only piece of furniture he wasn’t afraid he’d break. Gwen stood next to the only chair he might have considered next.
“I’m fine standing,” he decided, impatient to get through the civilities and on to the point of their meeting. “But thank you.”
“Well, then.” Though her posture was erect as always, there was a weariness about the queen that washed the color from her skin. Beneath the slashes of pink on her cheeks, she looked as pale as milk. “I have considered the information you provided me through Lady Corbin. She explained your rationale regarding the dinner, and convinced me it would be in the best interests of my son to do as you are insisting. But I need you to understand that I’m only doing this because of him. He is my first concern.”
“I do understand,” he quickly assured her, more relieved than he cared to admit that he wouldn’t have to argue his point yet again. “You have made the right decision.”
“I truly hope so.” The strain in her features entered her voice. “I also hope you will understand that I meant what I said this morning. Preparations will continue for the dinner, but we have canceled my other engagements for the next several days.
“I can’t convincingly present the unruffled front you say you need,” she informed him, suddenly looking beyond tired. Now she simply looked drained. “I don’t understand why it would be necessary, anyway. Lady Gwendolyn and I have discussed the matter at length and we feel the public will expect me to be at my husband’s side and here awaiting news of my son. I said as much in my address, so my absence from the public eye during this time should cause no undue alarm. Especially with Prince Broderick being so…visible.”
With the exception of her last statement, Harrison could find no fault at all in her logic. Broderick was still an unknown entity as far as he was concerned. The rogue wolf of the royal pack, as it were. But his interest now was in finishing his business with the aristocratic and decidedly pale woman rubbing the middle of her forehead. It was she who held the power to make or break the alliances the RET was struggling to keep intact.
“You obviously understand how important appearances are just now,” he told her, carefully considering the logic behind her conclusions. “And your rationale is good. Prince Owen’s captors shouldn’t have any problem buying it, either.”
His brow furrowed in concentration, he paced toward the fireplace. “Your lack of visibility could serve another purpose, too,” he murmured, his mind racing with each deliberate step. “We’ve been concerned that your sudden presence in the political arena will make the people even more aware of the king’s absence. They’re accustomed to seeing you in your usual venues. Education. Charities. The arts,” he enumerated, mentally perusing the lengthy list of her normal activities. “If you are suddenly seen with heads of state in chambers or are associated with the alliances, it would just cause people to remember our present situation. Your absence from the press will be the easiest way not to constantly remind them that the king is ill.”
Gwen had remained as still as an alabaster statue beside the exceptionally ornate chair. D
espite her disagreements with him, she had clearly understood what the RET needed. Because of that, he would have thought she understood his rationale now, too—which was why he had no idea why she was regarding him with obvious disapproval.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said, intent on ignoring Gwen’s frown. “This will truly assure our allies that we are committed to our agreements.” He hesitated, having to think of Gwen, anyway. “Which brings me to the other matters I must discuss with you.”
The small clock on the mantel struck six o’clock with genteel pings. The ache in the queen’s head seemed to throb with each note.
“I told you, Admiral, I don’t care about the other matters. I’ve agreed to what you wanted.”
“There is still more to be decided.”
“Not now.”
“It has to be now,” he insisted, politely. “The next twenty-four hours are critical.”
Looking numb, the queen simply shook her head and started to rise.
“Your Majesty—”
Gwen had resisted as long as she could. “Her Majesty is tired.” She stepped forward, inserting herself between him and the woman he didn’t appear to hear. He’d actually seemed to think that the queen was talking strategy moments ago. “Please leave her alone,” she quietly asked.
Giving her a look that clearly said he would go when he was through, he deliberately stepped around her.
“There is too much at stake to delay,” he insisted, utterly determined to do his duty. “You know our trade agreement with the U.S. is contingent on signing the alliance with Majorco. We have only five days left to negotiate certain points. You need to hear your advisors.”
“Anything I need to hear can come through Lady Gwendolyn.”
A muscle in his jaw jerked. “With all due respect,” he said, doing a commendable job of keeping his frustration from his voice, “that won’t work. The lady’s security clearance isn’t high enough to be privy to such matters.”
Royal Protocol (Crown & Glory Book 3) Page 8
