by Anne Fraser
“I’m surprised you found a place to live so quickly.”
“Dr Lansing and his wife made the arrangements,” he said. “I told them what I needed and they did the legwork.”
The large foyer with its winding oak staircase and crystal chandelier definitely did not grace the houses in her moderately price neighborhood.
“It’s huge. You must entertain a lot,” she remarked.
“Hardly ever,” he answered with a smile. “That’s not to say I don’t invite a few friends over, but nothing on a grand scale.”
“No diplomatic events?”
“On occasion, but I don’t host them at my private residence. As for the size of the house, my staff live here as well.” He grinned. “Tripping over each other isn’t a good idea. We all need our privacy.”
As a handsome prince, much less an eligible doctor, he probably needed more privacy than most, she thought irritably.
Before she could ask what staff requirements the modern working-man prince needed, he changed the subject. “Which would you prefer first, dinner or drinks?”
“Dinner, please,” she said promptly. “Lunch was a long time ago.”
He grinned. “A woman after my own heart. I hope you enjoy salmon.”
“I do.”
“Henri will be pleased. He’s been fussing over the menu all afternoon.” He seated her in the formal dining room where two places had been set at one end of a table capable of serving twelve. “I’ll tell him to begin serving.”
Gina studied the beautiful china before her. The crystal sparkled under the chandelier’s lighting and she saw her reflection in the polished silver. Not quite the same as her chipped stoneware and stainless-steel utensils, she thought. At the same time, she realized exactly what her father had given up when he’d defied Parliament’s decision—everything from having staff to see to his every need to the day-today tableware. Had he ever regretted his decision? She liked to think he hadn’t.
Yet something he’d always told her popped into her mind.
People matter, Gina, not things.
Ruark returned a minute later and sat at the head of the table. “Did you have a comfortable ride across town?”
She’d been expecting a limo and had been pleasantly surprised her escort had arrived in a more modest vehicle instead. “Yes, although I can tell you don’t need to worry about your staff spilling any secrets. I could barely drag his name out of him.”
Nervous about her upcoming evening, she’d tried to draw Hugh into a normal conversation about Marestonia and, of course, Ruark, but the security guard had limited his answers to one- or two-word replies.
He smiled. “Hugh’s somewhat shy, but he makes up for it in other ways. His powers of observation are phenomenal. Nothing gets by his eagle eyes.”
Great, she thought irritably. He’d probably seen her flexing her Italian charm bracelet and recognized it as the nervous mannerism it was. Realizing she was toying with it now, she let go of the metal with a decided snap and dug her fingers into the napkin on her lap.
A door leading from the kitchen swung open and a portly, middle-aged balding fellow appeared with two plates in hand.
“Gina, this is Henri. Henri, Dr Sutton.”
“Pleased to meet you, mademoiselle.” Henri set a plate of spinach salad before her. “The prince has spoken of you often.”
She raised an eyebrow at Ruark before turning to smile at his chef. “Good things, I hope,” she answered lightly.
“Oh, my, yes. All good things. Enjoy your meal.” After placing Ruark’s salad in front of him, he bowed, then disappeared.
“Henri’s been with me for several years,” Ruark offered. “He’s quite temperamental when it comes to food.”
“Oh?” She took a bite and nearly groaned with delight. The dressing had definitely not come out of a bottle.
“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 bookcasesfilled 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, se
date 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 stillsat 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 soon.”
“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 admitte
d, 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.”
