The room rumbled. Men and women shifting in their seats. Leaning toward one another with bold whispers.
Nathaniel went on. “I remind you that our trade and peace accords will be dissolved. Not by my choosing, but by our own laws, if the monarchy is removed. All will be wrestled over and reestablished. Brighton will go on, but who will be our leader? Who will establish a new constitution? Brock Bishop? The man leading us toward chaos?
“Brighton Kingdom, which has found economic stability in the past year, will have our front door, back door, and every window in the house open to our enemies, known and unknown while you scramble to reform a government.” He tapped the podium. “So as you debate this issue and cast your vote, keep those details in mind. And know that the House of Stratton will continue to stand. With or without me as King of Brighton.
“Meanwhile, Susanna will be at the Justice House swearing in as a full, complete, and proud Brightonian citizen. Good day to you all.”
As he departed, trembling beneath his suit, Susanna slipped her hand into his. “Brilliant, babe. My heart is swelling with pride.”
Then he heard the rumbling and shaking of the assembly floor by shouts and stomping feet.
Then at last, the one-chorus royal approval, “Hurrah!”
WEDDING DAY!
A ROYAL WEDDING IN BRIGHTON: KING NATHANIEL MARRIES THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE
BRIGHTON WARMING UP TO SUSANNA TRUITT: “SHE’S OUR PRINCESS; SHE MAKES THE KING HAPPY”
WATCHMAN ABBEY
MARCH 21
Susanna stood at the palace window, gazing down onto the street, overflowing with Brighton citizens who were waiting for a glimpse of the bride. Of her.
Butterflies and bees battled in her belly. Joy wrestled with anxiety.
Her swearing in as a Brighton citizen was heralded on the front page of the Liberty Press with the headline “America’s Loss Is Our Gain. Welcome, Princess Susanna.” She clipped that headline and tucked it into her Bible to read on the hard days, in the moments of doubt. Though she’d always be an American at heart, born and bred, she felt a certain newness in her soul about being a Brightonian.
At the light knock on the door, she turned back into the room. Her lady’s maid stepped aside for Daddy to enter, looking dapper and smart in his tuxedo with a white cravat and waistcoat.
“Don’t you look handsome.” He’d even slicked back his hair.
“You’re even more beautiful the second time around, kitten.” Daddy joined her at the window. “You nervous?”
“A little.” They leaned in unison to peer outside. For as far as the eye could see, people filled the streets, gathering under the Brighton banners snapping from every lamppost. A barricade of dark-uniformed police officers held them all in check.
“Shee doggies, that’s a lot of people, Suz.”
“And we have to drive through that to get to the abbey.”
“Speaking of, it’s time to go. Avery and your mama just left for the church. They’ll meet us there.” Daddy squeezed her hand. “Come on, this is a piece of cake. You’re an old married lady of two weeks now.”
She exhaled and made her way toward the door, picking up her bouquet of white roses.
“I’m not sure being married for a hundred years could prepare me for that crowd out there.”
“Remember this, Susanna. They are all for you. Cheering you on. Did you see the headlines this week? Seems the press is coming over to your side.”
“They’ve been kind this week.” She smiled and took his hand. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
With Daddy, Susanna maneuvered down the palace steps, her ivory organza and tulle skirt taking up nearly half the width of the staircase. The fitted bodice with the Cinderella neckline was made of organza and handcrafted lace. And she wore the Princess Crown, designed by Cartier in 1860 for the royal family.
Today, all the world would judge her beauty and her fashion sense. Was she ready? She quelled a blip of nerves by calling up a memory from her garden wedding at Christ Church. Then she remembered Gracie and Ethan, Granny and Grandpa, along with parishioners, family, and friends who were gathering on the grounds right now to watch her wedding. Again.
Then she remembered the man waiting for her at the abbey.
He was so worth it all.
In the palace drive, just beyond the doors, a white carriage with red and gold wheels stood waiting. Four footmen dressed in breeches and buckle shoes helped her ascend the carriage steps and settle in beside her father. The moment the carriage left the palace with security officers riding beside the coach on dark, curried mounts, the abbey bells began to ring through the crisp air, pealing a wedding sound through all of Brighton.
The noise of the crowd rose to a fevered pitch.
Susanna waved and smiled, a peace beyond understanding rising in her heart. This was her destiny. What God created her to do and be. And at the end of this life journey with Nathaniel, she’d meet another amazing King face-to-face: Jesus.
Daddy leaned toward her, laughing, shouting, “I think they like you, Suz.”
“And I’m starting to love them.”
Once they arrived at Abbey Road, she stepped out of the coach with Daddy’s aid, pausing for the photographers. She’d given permission to each approved media outlet to send one photographer to walk with her, at a distance, as she made her way down a carpeted path to the abbey’s entrance. It was tradition for the bride to walk from the road to the church on a red velvet runner.
Besides, this was Brighton’s day as much as hers and Nathaniel’s. Their day, their first wedding, would always be a private, special memory.
Avery met Susanna at the beginning of the walk and helped her lower her veil. When Daddy offered his arm, Avery picked up Susanna’s long train and they commenced the slow processional. As they made their way toward the ancient church down the path lined with hornbeam trees and potted hyacinth and hydrangea, the people cheered.
We love you, Susanna.
The walk stopped at the abbey’s ivy-covered walls where the archbishop met them, looking regal in his intricately embroidered robes. The Royal Brighton Orchestra began to play, filling the abbey with the notes of their own unique wedding song.
“Ready?” Daddy said, holding on to Susanna as much as she was holding on to him.
“Yes, I am. Very much.”
Together they followed the archbishop down the long, red-carpeted nave.
Susanna’s heart fluttered at the first sight of Nathaniel waiting for her on the altar steps, amazing-looking in his own dark blue naval uniform replete with ribbons and medals, his silky hair clipped and trimmed, shining in the soft light.
When she arrived before him, he bowed ever so slightly and reached for her hand. “You are stunning.”
With all the warm confidence of love, she held his hand and followed him up the steps, never looking back, never feeling so comfortable and safe as she did right now. In the garden of her husband’s heart.
1. Susanna has given up everything to marry King Nathaniel. But when he tells her that she has to give up her American citizenship, it pushes her over the edge. Some of my missionary friends feel very proud and possessive of the American heritage and citizenship. Giving it up would be letting go of their last hold on home. How do you feel about this? Would you hesitate to give up your citizenship—your last piece of “you”?
2. The reverend reminds Susanna that her citizenship is really in heaven. Not Brighton or America. This revelation is something I try to meditate on. I’m of the kingdom of our Lord and His Christ. What about you? Has this reality impacted you? How does it change the way you live?
3. Nathaniel has a romantic wound. The public rejection of Lady Adel. It causes him to hesitate with Susanna. But he faces his fear when he sets up the surprise wedding. Is there a wound in your past that causes you to be afraid of something or someone? Even the Lord?
4. Love and marriage require a lot of giving, a lot of commitment. Susanna surrendered ev
erything for love. Love is worth our all. Don’t we see this in Jesus’s birth, death, and resurrection? How He became His own creation because of love. How can we be more like Him? He’s worth giving up everything for love.
5. The Bible tells us that love covers a multitude of sin. It also enables us to trust and give, allows us not to cling to our own ways. We see this in the blending of low-country Georgia culture and European royal culture at the wedding reception. How can growing confident in His love for you enable you to love others more?
An Excerpt from A February Bride
If wedding dresses could talk, Allie Andrews was fairly certain hers would have a sailor’s mouth.
Four months later—to the day, actually, after she’d shucked out of her wedding dress in the backseat of the meant-to-be honeymoon car and gunned it down the highway with nothing but a bottled Yoo-hoo and her favorite faded jeans for company—the dress hung on the inside of her closet door, the once small tear in the seam now gaping and taunting her. Every time she opened the closet, that rip reminded her how she’d severed one of the few relationships in her life actually worth keeping.
Which was precisely why she had to give it away in the first place.
Allie grabbed her favorite purple sweater, the one she often wore to work at her antiques store since the air conditioner in the quirky old building refused to shut off year round, and tugged it over her head. She could use all the cozy comfort she could get today at lunch with Hannah. She’d put it off long enough. After ditching her best friend’s brother at the altar, she’d fully expected Hannah to hold a grudge. Hannah’s unconditional love expressed through multiple phone calls and text messages had been almost worse than the cold shoulder—harder to face than a much deserved grudge—which was probably why she’d been avoiding this meeting.
Besides, Hannah looked so much like her brother.
Allie’s arm brushed against the dress as she adjusted her sweater, and the frothy number swayed on its padded hanger. The swish of the fabric only seemed to whisper more condemnation.
With a groan, she shut the closet door harder than necessary. She should just get rid of the thing, but it wouldn’t be worth the wrath of her mother, grandmother, and aunt. Yet even though they all threatened her within an inch of her life if she sold the dress or threw it away, not one of them would store it at her own house. “It belongs to you now, and will until you wear it. Then you pass it down to your daughter.”
Right. A daughter? Not at this rate.
And zero hope of getting over what she did to Marcus. Even if it was for his own good.
A knock sounded on her apartment door, and Allie dashed to get it, checking her watch. She needed to leave in less than ten minutes if she didn’t want to be late, and with a long-time friendship already riding on this lunch, she really shouldn’t push it by appearing like she didn’t care. She pulled the door open.
Hannah, looking at once like her best friend and a total stranger in a pink cashmere sweater and skinny jeans tucked into boots. She looked great—like she hadn’t lost her best friend or spent the past several months comforting a broken-hearted brother at all.
Maybe Allie hadn’t mattered all that much to begin with.
“I was just heading out to meet you.” Allie cautiously opened the door wider to allow her friend inside, bracing herself for . . . something. And not just the chill of the January air that rushed to meet her despite the heated hallway. “Did I mess up the time?”
She took a step backward, and the heel of her boot caught on the striped rug under her feet. Maybe Hannah had changed her mind and decided to tell her off privately instead. Maybe she’d realized a polite lunch in public was way more considerate than Allie deserved.
“I couldn’t wait another minute to tell you.” Hannah shoved her left ring finger in Allie’s face and let out an excited squeal. “I’m engaged!” She jumped up and down, her curly dark hair bouncing against her shoulders.
Engaged.
The word twisted in Allie’s throat and refused to rise to her lips. “That’s . . . that’s . . .”
What was it? Surprising? Not really. Hannah and Zach had been dating for about six months, but she supposed not everyone had to be together for several years before tying the knot. A long courtship hadn’t exactly worked out for her and Marcus . . .
“I know, right?” Hannah pushed past Allie and sank down onto the arm of the overstuffed turquoise chair, exactly as she’d done a million times over the years. As if it were that easy to pick up. Like the past few months hadn’t changed everything.
Maybe they hadn’t.
Hannah held up her hand again, this time keeping it steady enough for Allie to focus on the significant princess-cut carat adorning her finger. “Zach is perfect. Well, no, he’s not. He’s pretty much a slob, and we don’t like any of the same movies.” She snorted a laugh. “But we’re perfect together.”
Allie slowly sank to the edge of the couch near Hannah. “Right. I understand.” Sort of. She’d never felt like anything between Marcus and herself had been perfect. He was perfect, to be sure. As much as any six foot, dark haired, chocolate-eyed, car loving athletic guy could be. The problem had been Allie. She’d been the one to fall short, thanks to her family—and the curse that ran though her blood.
Once upon a time, when gazing into Marcus’s eyes and feeling the heady weight of that diamond on her finger, she’d thought she could break the family scourge. Break the effect of the words her mom had whispered when Stepdad #2 had roared off on his Harley, and when Stepdad #4 had slammed the door on his way to the bus stop, and when unofficial Stepdad #5 had plucked his clothes from the front yard and shoved them into a trash bag before calling a taxi.
“Remember, Allie, this is what Andrews women do. We break hearts before we get ours broken.”
She could still remember the firm set of her mother’s lips, the expressionless twist of her eyebrows, the wall of steel in her eyes. It was the same look Grandma had when anyone mentioned her first or second husband, and the same look Aunt Shelly got when she announced she was meeting another man from her online dating profile.
If a leopard couldn’t change its spots and a zebra couldn’t change its stripes, who was Allie to change her blood?
Since Marcus was way too gentlemanly to break a promise or dodge a bullet, she’d been the one forced to remove him from the line of sight.
A point no one seemed to understand.
Hannah grinned. “Of course you get it. I knew you would, since you’ve been engaged . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she averted her gaze to the carpet. “I didn’t mean to bring that up. Honest.”
Her eyes radiated sincere regret, and Allie relaxed slightly. No firing squads. Just good ol’ Hannah. “I was thinking George.”
Hannah gave her a sharp glance, her brown eyes, as vivid as Marcus’s, sparkling suspiciously beneath her furrowed brow. “What are you talking about?”
“Maybe Bob.”
“I don’t get it.” Her voice hitched. “Are these guys you’ve dated since—”
“Calm down.” Allie winked. “I’m just trying to name that elephant in the corner. He’s been sitting there since you walked in, so I thought we ought to give him a collar and a home.”
Hannah stared at her a minute longer before her lips quivered into a hesitant smile, then morphed into a full-out grin. “Funny. You had me there.” She straightened her shoulders and arranged her features into a deadpan mask. “Clearly, though, he’s a Steve.”
“Steve it is.”
That hadn’t been so hard. Maybe her years of friendship with Hannah demanded loyalty in spite of the sibling relationship.
Not that she would ever ask Hannah to choose—in fact, that was why she had refused all contact with her friend all these months. She didn’t want to put her in an even more awkward position. And Marcus had enough to deal with without her creating family drama for him.
But the fact that Hannah was right here in her living room meant
maybe they could find their way around this. After all, it wasn’t like she’d have to see Marcus if she and Hannah remained friends. Maybe he wouldn’t even have to know.
“Anyway, Steve wasn’t why I came. You’ve made it clear you don’t want to talk about that, and I’ll respect your wishes.” Hannah rose from the chair and began to pace the small living area, pausing every few feet to nervously rearrange a knick-knack on the mantel or straighten the royal purple pillows on the couch Allie had recently recovered. “I came to ask a favor.”
“Anything.” The word leapt from Allie’s grateful lips before she could self-edit. She really would do anything to get her relationship with Hannah back, to grasp something good and familiar during this dismal season in her life. Maybe she’d brought it on herself, but that didn’t make everything any easier to cope with.
Because one fact remained—if she’d run down the aisle instead of to her car that day, she’d have been married for four months right now. She and Marcus would probably be getting ready to go to a celebration dinner, where he’d have sneaked a card under her dinner plate or arranged for the chef to make a heart with cherry tomatoes in her salad. That was Marcus. Considerate. Romantic. Always thinking.
No question, she had done him a favor. They might have made it a few months, but they wouldn’t have made it a few years. No one in her family had ever made it past three—and good grief, they’d all given it multiple tries.
“I’m glad you said that.” Hannah’s voice, and the squeak of a glass vase against the coffee table as her friend absently redesigned the floral arrangement, jerked Allie away from her thoughts. She wondered if Hannah realized that the vase had taken the place of the giant framed engagement photo of her and Marcus snuggled under an oak tree. “Because my favor is sort of big.”
Couldn’t be as big as Steve.
“You know how I’ve always wanted a Valentine’s Day wedding.”
Hannah’s eyes gleamed, and Allie could almost see cartoonish, pulsing pink hearts shooting out of her gaze.
A March Bride (A Year of Weddings Novella) Page 10
