“He’s a stickler for timing. If anyone is five minutes late, he complains about dinner being ruined.”
“You and your staff eat together?”
“Are you shocked?”
“A little,” she admitted. “I didn’t think a prince would associate with hired help. Protocol and all that.”
“There are a few lines I don’t cross, but dinner isn’t one of them. You see, I hate to eat alone.”
Gina did, too. Which was why she often stayed at the hospital and ate her evening meal at the cafeteria. Even if she sat by herself, hearing bits and pieces of conversations at other tables was better than having the television for company.
Maybe she should get a dog, although it wouldn’t be fair for the poor creature to be alone all day.
“Perhaps you’ll agree to join our group some time,” he added.
“Perhaps,” she answered, unwilling to commit herself although the idea intrigued her.
While Henri’s grilled salmon, herb-roasted potatoes and glazed baby carrots gave her taste buds a real treat, Ruark entertained her with humorous stories from his previous jobs. Halfway through the meal, she became so focused on her companion and so caught up in their conversation, that she forgot the purpose behind her visit and began enjoying herself. Reality, however, set in after Ruark offered to serve coffee and dessert in his study. She hadn’t made a purely social call.
“I’d like to thank you for coming tonight so we can discuss the problem before us,” he said as he guided her into a room filled with a large oak desk, several Queen Anne chairs and a sofa covered in matching maroon and gold brocade, and built-in bookcases filled with tomes of all shapes and sizes.
She sank into a chair, noting he’d taken the one opposite. “I’m not convinced this is my problem.”
“Poor choice of words. The situation before us.”
“Why don’t you cut to the bottom line and save us both some time?” she suggested.
“I’d rather start at the beginning. Just to be sure you understand what happened and why it affects current events.”
“Suit yourself, but I’m not promising anything,” she warned.
“Understood.” He took a deep breath. “As you may know, in Avelogne, as in Marestonia, the government approves the marriages of the royal family as a formality. Unfortunately, when your father requested permission to marry your mother, Parliament denied his petition.”
“Which was why he relinquished his claim to the throne and came to America,” she finished. “Yes, I’ve heard the story of how a group of small-minded men in power didn’t feel my mother had the right…” she drew imaginary quotation marks in the air “…‘connections’. I never understood what the right connections would have been, other than she was a commoner instead of a royal.”
“Our governments are more progressive in their beliefs than to get hung up on the royalty-versus-commoner issue,” he pointed out somewhat defensively. “However, their decision was based on what appeared to be irrefutable evidence indicating that the royal family could be placed in a compromising position if Prince Arthur and Lizbet VanHorn married.”
Her father had never mentioned any so-called evidence. “And this information was…?”
He hesitated, and Gina pressed on. “There can’t be any secrets, Ruark. I have to know everything, good or bad.”
Ruark cleared his throat. “Lizbet’s father worked for a man who dealt in illegal activities, so there were suspicions of his involvement.”
Illegal activities? Her dear, sweet grandpapa Jorge had been a criminal? He’d died when she’d been six—about five years before her mother’s accident—but she couldn’t believe the man who’d smelt of peppermints and tobacco and taken her to the park with a bag of day-old bread to feed the pigeons had been a part of the criminal element. Had her whole life, her family’s seemingly normal life, all been a lie?
“Those activities were?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Drugs, prostitution, and anything else you can think of. Because of that association, your parents conducted their romance in secret. Your mother taught music at the primary level, lived a quiet, sedate life and was well liked, so Arthur believed his petition to marry her would be granted. After all, she couldn’t be blamed or held accountable for her father’s or his employer’s actions.
“Unfortunately, as I’ve already told you, my aunt Margret had developed feelings for Arthur and was crushed when he didn’t return her affections. Consequently, she, shall we say, embellished certain facts and arranged for the committee to receive information that called Lizbet’s character into question.”
“Embellished? Let’s not sugar-coat this, Ruark. In other words, she lied.”
He sighed. “Whatever term you wish to use, there was enough truth in the story to make the evidence appear irrefutable. That, coupled with a doubt here, a question there, and the members of the committee subsequently hesitated to give their approval.”
“So that’s why they denied his request.” For the first time in her life she’d heard specific details, and her heart ached for her parents.
“Prince Arthur refused to let the government dictate his personal life so, against the Queen’s wishes, he relinquished any future claims to the throne. His decision rocked the country but, being a second son, he was able to smooth over the issue with reminders that his chances of assuming the position of King were minimal at best. Because he publicly insisted how much he loved his future wife.”
“He did,” she insisted.
“No one is denying that. However, the people of Avelogne were incensed with Marestonia, accusing them of dishonesty and all manner of evil plots. In order to defuse the volatile situation, Arthur played on the people’s romantic sympathies. He worked tirelessly for the two countries to maintain diplomatic ties, citing that this was a private matter and not a political one. Eventually, tempers softened as his appearances with your mother proved his sincerity, so everyone bowed to the inevitable and reluctantly accepted his decision. He married Lizbet and they moved to America, where you were born.”
The story brought tears to Gina’s eyes, but she blinked them away. “Didn’t they try and prove Mother’s innocence, not to mention my grandfather’s?”
“The circumstantial evidence was too strong. And, I’m sorry to say, the royal family wanted the incident to die down as quickly as possible.” He met her gaze. “I don’t believe your grandmother expected Arthur to act as he did, but once he set the wheels in motion, she had to uphold the laws governing succession.”
“And Margret? What happened to her?”
“She never married.”
Gina swallowed the lump in her throat. “How did you learn the truth? If no one had been able to ferret out the facts at the time, how could anyone thirty years later?”
“Your uncle and my father quietly investigated from the beginning, but they kept running into dead ends. Witnesses disappeared, documents vanished, memories failed, until finally Arthur insisted they accept what they couldn’t change. A few years ago Margret was diagnosed with a virulent form of brain cancer. In her diary, which we found shortly after her death, she admitted to her role in the scandal.”
“Was she honest?”
“As honest as anyone would be when faced with their own mortality,” Ruark replied. “We didn’t have reason to doubt her account as she supplied all the information we needed. Names, dates, places.”
“I see.”
“It seemed pointless to act. Arthur and Lizbet had both died by then, too. Dredging up the old memories seemed counterproductive, although the few members of the committee who still sat in Parliament quietly resigned their positions.”
“Bully for them.”
“For the record,” he continued, “your grandmother, the Queen Mother, regrets the events leading to your father’s decision to leave Avelogne. She’d always hoped for a reconciliation, and his death upset her greatly. They would be grateful if you would agree to visit them some day soo
n.”
“You can thank them for the invitation, but it isn’t likely,” she said politely. “It’s too difficult to get away from the hospital.”
Her excuse was flimsy, especially as the man who could arrange it in a heartbeat sat a few feet away, but he didn’t argue.
“Regardless of the role Prince Arthur’s family played in these events,” he continued, “the bulk of the blame falls on the house of Marestonia.”
Gina tried to tie the ends together, but couldn’t. “Assigning blame isn’t necessary,” she mused aloud. “I appreciate finally knowing the truth, but it doesn’t change what happened. Honestly? I don’t see why this should be causing a problem now if the appropriate people knew the truth several years ago.”
“Margret’s diary recently fell into the wrong hands,” he admitted, “and the information went public. The hostilities resurfaced because to the people of Avelogne this was one more in a long line of what they considered as poor decisions made by the ruling class.”
“None of this makes sense,” she protested. “If you’re unhappy with your officials, you don’t cause problems for other countries.”
“You do if you feel the government has given those other countries, Marestonia in particular, favored status. You see, in trying to increase imports and exports, they granted special tax dispensations to Marestonian citizens who opened businesses or conducted trade in Avelogne. Now, with this news coming out, it’s the proverbial last straw and they want their pound of flesh.”
“Which is why they’re pressuring Parliament to vote on severing economic ties to Marestonia,” she finished, finally understanding the dynamics.
“Yes. I’ve already explained the repercussions to both countries should that happen.”
“Then offer an official apology. Take away the tax exemptions.”
“Both Avelogne and Marestonia have prided themselves on their openness and honesty with each other. Many feel an apology isn’t enough. As for the tax, I believe your Parliament plans to address the issue.”
“Your family could build a new hospital or a school in my father’s honor. That should make everyone happy.”
“Excuse me, Your Highness.” Hugh stepped into the room. “You must see this latest news report.”
While Ruark opened the oak cabinet which hid the large-screen TV, Hugh immediately retrieved the remote and clicked on the set.
A picture flashed to a street where hundreds of people lined the sidewalks in front of a large building that Gina recognized as Avelogne’s Parliament. Some carried signs, others chanted or waved angry fists at police who stood nearby in full riot gear.
A female reporter’s voice explained the scene.
“As you can see,” the nameless woman began, “people have come to the seat of government in response to a grass-roots effort to force Parliament into correcting what is perceived as a careless decision some thirty years ago involving Prince Arthur and his bride-to-be, Lizbet VanHorn. The mood is tense as most people here demand the authorities sever diplomatic ties with Marestonia. A number of people have already been arrested for inciting the crowd and it’s obvious neither the government nor the royal family has a ready solution to this growing discontent.
“Businesses owned by Marestonians are being boycotted and many of them report they cannot keep their doors open or will be forced to lay off their employees if this continues. A number have reported increased amounts of vandalism ranging from broken windows to obscene graffiti.”
The camera panned to one area where fisticuffs had broken out between several young men and police, then switched to show several others breaking car windows with rocks and tire irons. One view zoomed in on a child crying in his mother’s arms after the family had been evicted from their apartment.
“As you can see,” the announcer continued, “we have a volatile situation and if it escalates, Parliament has already threatened to set curfews and deploy national troops to maintain order.”
Gina hardly noticed when Ruark clicked off the television. The screen had gone dark, but she was still taking in what she had seen and heard. “I thought you were exaggerating,” she admitted, reeling from what she’d seen. “But you weren’t, were you?”
He shook his head, then sat down. “No.”
She faced him. “According to the reporter, no one in authority has a solution. What do you think I can do?”
“Diplomacy doesn’t seem to be having an effect. The experts believe a more ‘personal’ solution between our families is required.”
“We’re already working with each other,” she reminded him.
The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “It’s a start, but they’re hoping to tie the two royal houses together.”
“How would you tie two royal houses…?” Her voice died as she realized exactly the sort of “personal” relationship he wanted. “You can’t possibly be thinking of…”
He finished her sentence. “Marriage.”
Marriage.
The word echoed in her head.
Marriage.
To a man she’d only met earlier in the day.
After years of working in the ER, she’d always considered herself unshockable, but that one word definitely shifted the ground underneath her. “We’re supposed to get married?” she managed to croak.
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Yes.”
Her heart pounded and an urge to escape swept over her. “This is a joke, right?”
“Not at all.”
Her mind raced with possibilities. “You mean to tell me the diplomats of two countries can’t dream up a better solution than to ask two strangers to marry?”
“We considered other options, but lawsuits, financial settlements, and economic sanctions are cold comfort to a person’s pride. Those solutions would also cause undue hardship on both countries. I’ve seen too many hungry children in my relief work. I don’t have a desire to see the same sad faces and malnourished bodies at home.”
“Of course I don’t want anyone to lose his job or go hungry,” she snapped. “What kind of person do you think I am?”
“The sort who will do the right thing.”
The enormity of the situation struck her and she rubbed the back of her neck. “This day cannot be happening,” she muttered. “It can’t. First Bill, and now this. It’s all a dream.”
“I assure you it isn’t,” Ruark said.
She met his gaze. “The idea of using marriage as a diplomatic measure is so medieval!”
“Medieval or not, the practice isn’t unheard of. Wars have been started over the very issue standing between Avelogne and Marestonia.”
“Not in this day and age.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really? Tell that to all the countries who believe another has slighted them for whatever reason.”
“Oh, great. You’re going to hold me responsible for starting a war?”
“Matters won’t go to that extreme, but strained relations won’t do either country any good.”
She shook her head. “No, but I can’t believe a sane person actually proposed this as a solution or that two entire families gave it merit.”
“I can assure you the Queen Mother of Avelogne is perfectly sane. As for the idea having merit, desperate times call for desperate measures.”
Desperate times, desperate measures. She understood the concept.
“Look,” she began, “I’m flattered you think I can help. I’m flattered that you, as a prince, would seriously consider marrying me sight unseen, but no one will believe we’re sincere. Things are moving much too fast to be believable, unless you’re thinking of a platonic marriage which we’ll annul in a year or so.” She raised an eyebrow.
“No annulment. No platonic marriage. This is for real.”
So much for that idea. “Marriage is a big step to a couple who know each other, much less between two people who don’t. The fact we’re complete strangers may be a small, insignificant detail to you, but
it isn’t to me and I doubt if it is to everyone else. The people of both countries will see it as a ploy to manipulate them and they’ll be right.”
“Not if we convince everyone otherwise.”
“I’m a physician, not an actress,” she reminded him.
“Exactly.” He sounded pleased. “No one will question a romantic relationship between two people who share the same career and work in the same facility.”
The pieces fell into place—delivering the letter from her grandmother had only been a small part of the overall scheme. “You’d planned this all along, didn’t you?”
His gaze locked on hers. “Of course. A marriage with the two of us on opposite sides of the country would draw suspicion.”
“No one can pack up and move overnight. Job openings don’t appear because you want them either.”
“They don’t,” he agreed. “I began making inquiries several months ago.”
Several months ago? “Don’t tell me you had Bill Nevins fired so you could take his place.” She didn’t want to think of the sort of power Ruark might hold if he’d accomplished that feat.
“According to what I was told, Bill’s management style had concerned Administration for some time. They’d been biding their time and quietly looking for a replacement so when I approached them about a position here, they were ready to act. It was the perfect opportunity for all of us. Except Nevins, of course.”
Now she understood how a game piece token felt as the player moved it along according to the roll of the dice. Arranging the events that had brought the two of them to this point must have been as precisely orchestrated as a military campaign.
“Aren’t you going out on a limb?” she asked, certain she’d found an ace up her sleeve. “What if I walk out that door and don’t come back? You’ll be stuck here, I’ll be gone, and your grand scheme will fall apart.”
“You won’t leave.”
She snorted at his confidence. “Don’t be too sure.”
“Oh, I’m sure, Gina.” His dark gaze grew more intent and she sensed he would be a formidable opponent. “You see, you need this job because you’re as proud as your father. As a matter of principle, he didn’t use the funds the royal family provided when he left Avelogne and you haven’t either, even though it would have made it completely unnecessary to borrow money to finance medical school. In fact, you and your father have already planned to leave the money to charity should anything happen to you. Half to an orphanage in Avelogne and the other half to—”
The Royal Doctor’s Bride Page 6
