To Love a Prince

by Rachel Hauck

  A royal ball was going to be somewhat of a media storm, but the secret baby angle added hail, thunder, and lightning.

  On top of the bounty-hunter media types, the formal, age-old press arrived from America, England, France, Australia, Ireland, Brighton, and well, everywhere.

  But the melee of media was nothing compared to missing Daffy. No amount of persuasive words or actions convinced her to join him at Hadsby this weekend.

  He’d sent flowers. Cards. Texts. They talked every night about the madness in Dalholm, her adventures in creating Daffy 3.0, music, television, movies, news, sports, even their love for one another. But she refused to attend the ball.

  “Is this what I have to look forward to when we’re married? Sheer stubbornness?”

  “Who says we’re getting married?” She sounded serious, but he heard the smile in her voice. At least he hoped so.

  Last night she’d regaled him with a story of being chased by paparazzi. “Are you the lass in the photo with Prince Gus?”

  Several reporters had rung up, wanting to know about her girlhood diary. How they got her number, she didn’t know.

  “They have their ways, Daffy. Trust me.”

  The press mess in Dalholm, along with her experiences in Port Fressa, only strengthened her resolve to avoid the ball. She feared she’d be the teeny tiny firecracker that would blow up the tinder box.

  Gus hated to admit it, but she was probably right. Did he want the start of their relationship under such scrutiny and craziness?

  However, he was not willing to give up so easily. He confronted Mum the Wednesday before the ball. “Ring Daffy and invite her to Hadsby. Please.”

  Mum remained steadfast. “If she wants to stay away to avoid further scrutiny, respect her decision. Frankly, I think you should get over this little crush, but you’re a grown man, so I leave you to it.”

  Gus steered clear of her for a day and a half to guard against saying something he’d regret.

  Then Thursday Mum’s secretary announced a family portrait out on the old eastern portico Saturday night before the ball. Mandatory. Even Holland protested the evening.

  “Your Majesty, won’t we be too busy? We’ll have formal photos after the wedding.”

  “Surely we can spare a few moments for a private family portrait while dressed in our finest.” Mum poured a coffee and sat in her favorite chair. Dad listened in, telly remote in his hand. “I’ve always wanted one on the portico and now I shall have it.”

  “Mum, the portico is a hundred meters from the castle.” John stood beside his future wife. “We’ll be dressed for the ball. The grounds will be soggy from all the rain. The portico foundation is cracked and old. It will snag Holland’s gown.”

  “I’ll have a runner put down. Edric, the coffee is good. Would you like a cup? As for the photo, we’ll drive out and back in the carts. I want a group shot, then one of your dad and me, then John and Holland, and then Gus.”

  “To what end?” He was with John and Holland on this one. “Mum, we have a thousand family portraits. We’ll have wedding photographs. We don’t need one Saturday night. At least not on the portico. And not one of me, alone.” The image of him posing by himself while his parents, his brother and his fiancée snuggled would make Daffy’s absence all the more pronounced.

  “We do if I say so.”

  Mum was not afraid to use her I’m-the-queen card. Even Dad had to discern if he was confronting his wife or his queen.

  Perhaps there was an underlying reason for this sudden family portrait. To focus her heart on her husband and sons instead of the mistakes, or rather decisions, of the past.

  Mum seemed over the initial shock of her exposure. At dinner the other night, she’d had an air about her that Gus had never seen—deeply calm and at peace. Nevertheless, the topic of his unknown sister had been put aside for the ball week. Yes, decisions had to be made. But in due time.

  For now, it was fun to enjoy a castle full of guests with their lively conversations, laughter, and music.

  Friday afternoon at two, the official weekend began. Dressed in a suit and tie, hair styled and beard trimmed, HRH Prince Gus of Lauchtenland, House of Blue, stationed himself in the marble-and-gold Grand Foyer.

  One by one, he greeted guests, who were then ushered by a footman into the Grand Drawing Room where they were greeted by the queen and king consort, followed by the bride’s parents, Lord and Lady Cunningham, and the beaming bride and groom.

  Those already on the premises came down the Grand Staircase to blend in with those arriving by the front doors.

  Greeting was fun, really, seeing old friends, laughing at a quickly shared memory. But in the back of his mind, he knew the moment would come when Coral would walk through the doors with her new husband.

  This was when he ached for Daffy the most. She reminded him this morning of the opportunity to face his past, discover the truth, and go forward with a clean slate.

  “Whatever she says, love, we’ll face together.”

  “Daffy, please, come to the ball. I need you with me.”

  “No, you don’t. I am sure this is where I need to be. Please don’t ask me again. And remember, If I climbed the treacherous path to the Hand of God on a blustery, stormy day, you can listen to Coral.”

  A ruckus at the doors nabbed him from his thoughts. Gus slapped hands with his mates Turner, Lute, and Charles Larrabee, who promptly began plans for a rugby match.

  The line moved quickly until Gus spotted his friend and fellow spare heir, Prince Stephen of Brighton Kingdom, who arrived with his beautiful wife, American heiress Corina.

  Stephen came at Gus with a low rugby tackle, and Gus juked to the left, spinning, pretending to run across the marble foyer with a ball tucked in his arms.

  “Still don’t have any moves, I see.” Stephen laughed as their hands clapped together for a brotherly embrace.

  “And you’re still as arrogant. Corina, how do you put up with him?”

  “Someone has to do it.” Her brilliant smile reflected her genuine heart, and her polished, regal voice still carried a Georgia accent.

  “By the way, chum, Nathaniel wants a bocce ball rematch. Said you’re going down.” The Brighton Kingdom prince rolled his eyes. “I said, ‘Whatever.’ He and Susanna arrive tomorrow morning and I think he’ll challenge you straightaway.”

  “Bring it on. How many times does he have to lose to crown me champion?” The king of Brighton Kingdom possessed no skill in the ball and jack game. “By the way, Charles Larrabee wants a rugby match. He’ll be angling for you to be on his team.”

  Stephen used to play the sport professionally. One of the best players to ever come out of Brighton Kingdom.

  Through the centuries, the Blues and Strattons, leaders of North Sea Island countries, were friends and allies. In John’s and Gus’s younger years, the families summered together in the south of France. Skied every other winter in Jackson Hole.

  “How are you?” Stephen leaned in close, his words for Gus alone. “I saw you spent time in Florida. You should’ve rung. I’d have introduced you to Corina’s family.”

  “I was hiding. But I’m good. More than good. We’ll talk later.”

  Stephen popped him on the shoulder. “Anytime.”

  “Stephen, darling.” Corina appeared at his side. “Come meet a friend of mine from America.”

  The brotherly look of spare heirs passed between them as Stephen headed away.

  Next Gus welcomed Holland’s sister and her husband. Then Edward Tucker arrived. John was a huge fan, and the African American singer-songwriter had graciously agreed to a concert later tonight.

  More guests trailed over the foyer’s marble floor. Family. Friends from uni. One by one, Gus relaxed, laughed a bit easier, enjoyed the vibrant atmosphere. He’d just reminisced with his cousin Winifred about being caught in a Dalholm deluge when he turned to see the golden mane and vibrant eyes of Coral Winthrop.

  His breathing quickened with his pound
ing heart. Next to her, a giant of a man blocked the light of the open door. Gus glanced away. His foot twitched and a hot vise squeezed his torso. The voices in the foyer seemed to soften, and the light of the chandelier faded.

  The moment of truth had arrived. Steady, mate. They’re just another couple. She’s a friend of Holland’s. Don’t look eager. Or anxious. Don’t avoid her either. Just, relax. Be cool.

  Words. He needed words. What should he say? “Hello, Coral? Run out on anyone lately?”

  Suddenly she stood before him, her gaze locked with his. She smiled and reached for the big bloke’s hand. He whispered in her ear, and her shoulders relaxed as she nodded.

  Coral. His Coral. The woman he wanted to marry. The one who filled, then broke, his heart. Gus braced for the cannon fire of anger and heat of resentment.

  Sour words lined up, ones he’d stored up for this moment, should it ever come, ready to march through his lips and shame her the way she’d shamed him.

  Every speech, every spitting word he’d delivered while driving in his car, showering, or mopping a greasy floor at the Captain’s Hideaway was polished and ready for action. Of course, he’d filled himself with nothing else. Nothing forgiving or redeeming.

  “Coral.” His tone was cold. Hard.

  “Your Royal Highness.” She offered her hand, bowing low into a deep curtsy. The kind one offered in surrender, in humility, head bowed so her chin nearly touched her chest. “Thank you for having us.” Her soft voice barely reached his ears.

  Just like that, every barricade crumbled. His eyes filled and after a moment, he cupped his hand with hers. She raised up, her heart swimming in her eyes. A sob broke through her chest. “I’m so, so—”

  “Coral.” Gus enveloped her in the tightest possible embrace, cradling her head as her cheek fell against his shoulder. Her soft weeping watered his dry, cracked ground.

  “I am so, so sorry. I never, ever wanted to hurt you. Never.” Her repeated repentance filled his ears, his heart, his soul.

  “Shhh, Coral.” Together they swayed side to side. “Of course not, of course. It’s all right, love, it’s all right. I forgive you. I forgive you.”

  Headlines flashed across his memory.

  Panicked Princess.

  Princess-Almost Is Pathetic.

  Prince Augustus Barely Escapes Mad Heiress.

  Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie.

  How did he not see? She’d suffered every bit as much as he. Pieces of buried conversation came to mind.

  “What do you think about God? Our wedding vows are full of pledges to Him.”

  “I think nothing of Him. Those vows are a thousand years old. Just tradition.”

  “Gus, do you believe in a higher power? In God?”

  “What? No. I believe in myself. I’m my own higher power.”

  “I thought we could read the Bible.”

  “You read. Give me the Twitter version.”

  “Do you forgive me?” He spoke the words low, the urge to justify himself gone. “For not coming after you? For not hearing, not listening?”

  “No, no, you must forgive me. I was so wrong and foolish.”

  “Yes, love, but now I realize, so was I.”

  The foyer guests no longer mattered. How long they held each other weeping and healing, letting go, whispering deep sentiments didn’t matter. Moment by moment, they were healing each other and finding freedom through the simple gift of forgiveness.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Gus

  They agreed to meet in his apartment that evening after Cranston rang the dinner gong. From now on out, Hadsby reverted to the old ways.

  The dressing gong rang an hour before dinner, allowing guests time to change into suits and ties, and dresses. Nothing fancy. No one had a lady’s maid or a valet. Though Gus noted a few personal stylists sneaking around the back stairs.

  After dinner, the women adjourned to the drawing room to talk, play cards, and sip hot wine, while in the dining room the men swapped stories over port and cigars. Those who hated cigar smoke broke away for a game of billiards.

  He actually enjoyed this old-fashioned tradition. It fostered an anticipation of returning to the company of the women.

  The archaic rituals faded in the mid-twentieth century, but even in the age of instant communication, the old way fostered quick friendships. By Saturday night’s ball, the guests would be fast friends.

  In his apartment, Gus took a moment to unwind after the three-hour meet and greet. He wanted to process before meeting with Coral and Chuck. Wanted to unpack the foyer reunion.

  Chuck was a bear of a man with a tender heart. Coral had chosen well, and Gus liked him. That made him laugh. Six weeks ago, he still resented her. Deeply. Maybe even hated her. And now? She was his friend.

  He owed so much to Daffy and the power of true, sincere love. Being with her conquered his fear. He could not genuinely love her while resenting Coral—which held him locked in the past.

  Fear of the truth. Fear of rejection. Fear of not measuring up. But right here, right now, a warm peace had replaced the zings of anxiety. He noticed when he spent time with Emmanuel, peace rose within him. The old carpenter was a mystery, to be sure.

  When they arrived, Coral greeted him with a kiss, while Chuck shook his hand. She’d changed into a red dress, which she wore well. Another reason he’d fallen for her.

  Chuck, blessed chap, was a wall of muscle squeezed into a shiny designer suit. He appeared both amused and uncomfortable.

  “I’d say nice place you got here but makes me sound like an idgit.” Chuck sat with an oomph!, his pronounced New Jersey accent confident and loud.

  “Darling.” Coral motioned for him to stand.

  “Oh, sorry, still learning the protocol.” The Uber driver stood, straightening his jacket.

  “No protocol here.” Gus motioned for them to sit. “I spent a year in Florida as a barback named Pete George. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “None for me, Your Highness, thank you.” Coral perched on the edge of the couch cushion.

  “Same here.” Chuck exhaled as he unbuttoned his jacket. “Thanks for seeing us, um, Your Highness.”

  Gus took a water from the mini fridge. “Call me Gus or I’ll call you Mr. and Mrs. Mays.”

  “I didn’t want to assume.” Coral exhaled with a glance at her husband and sat back under his arm.

  “I’m too new to all of this royalness to assume. So you’ll have to forgive me,” Chuck said. “American bull in a China shop coming through.”

  “Do you by chance play rugby, Chuck?” Gus took a sip of water. “If so, you’re on my team.”

  Charles had texted a presumed match in the morning. Stephen and Gus would be captains.

  “Played football in high school. American football anyway. Anything involving a ball, running, and tackling, I’m in.”

  Crikey, Gus liked the guy. Not only his eagerness to knock some heads on the pitch, but how he supported his wife. How he’d helped her heal.

  “I’d say this is long overdue, eh?” Chuck got the ball rolling with a blast of honesty. He glanced at Coral, then Gus, adjusting his tie. “Might as well break the ice.”

  Coral laughed. “All he’s heard since we arrived was how nervous I was.”

  “Had a bit of that going on myself.” Gus met honesty with honesty. But now that they’d wept through forgiveness, she didn’t seem like the evil witch he’d fabricated to pay for his pity party.

  “How’d you two meet?” he said.

  “At a library, if you can believe it.” Coral spoke first. “One that belonged to my great, great grandfather. Five of us received odd, mysterious invitations to the Fifth Avenue Story Society. We thought it was a prank at first, but it turned out to be rather divine. We became fast friends, helped each other through some trials. Turns out we were all a bit stuck in life.”

  “I never thought she’d fall for a dolt like me, but God had other plans.”

  God? So the Almi
ghty was still part of Coral’s equation.

  “Now all of us in the society are married.” She angled toward Gus. “I’m a stepmom now. Can you believe it?”

  “You’ll be a smashing mum.” There was no reservation in his words.

  “My kids love her, which ticks off my ex, so it’s a bonus for ole dad.”

  Yes, sir, he and Chuck were going to be good friends.

  “What about, um, you? Anyone special?” Coral’s question came with a bit of awkwardness.

  “You knew about Robbi.”

  “I did.”

  “I went to Florida after we split, which was more mutual than our parting. I lived in a large five-bedroom beach house with a gourmet kitchen. Totally wasted on me, as you know, but I worked at a pub pouring drinks. Never partook myself but loved chatting with the lads on the barstools. I took up running and lifting, lost a few stones, and tried to move on.” He anticipated embarrassment over his second romantic failure, but it felt good to talk about it. “While in Florida, I ran into a childhood friend from here. Accidentally hit her in the head with a Frisbee. Since then things have become serious.”

  “I look forward to meeting her. Will she be at dinner?”

  “She won’t be here this weekend. Or at the wedding. She’s the girl with the diary My Life with the Prince that launched the whole debacle about Mum. I assume you know about all that mess.”

  “I’m afraid there wasn’t much chance to miss it. Plus, Chuck hears all sorts of tales in his car. He knew I was the Panicked Princess the moment we met. So, you love the girl behind the diary?”

  Gus explained everything from his childhood friendship with Daffy to the mishap of Leslie Ann Parker possessing the diary.

  “I wanted her here this weekend, but she felt her presence would only add fuel to the fire. Since the queen agreed, as well as John, we let it go. We’ll wait, take up publicly when things settle down.”