by Rachel Hauck
“I don’t know.” She jerked up her bag and lugged it toward one of the bedrooms. “I’m not going to worry about it. I’m here with you, and I’m going to have fun.”
“You’ll see him, I mean, you have to see him, right?”
Susanna listened as Avery chatted while they unpacked—where did she get the energy?—ate cakes and cookies from the guest basket, turned on the telly, and flipped through the channels.
Susanna tried to lie down, but a maid brought up tea and cakes, which Avery announced by jumping on Susanna’s bed.
So she showered, saying her prayers as the warm water refreshed her tired bones, believing in the Divine for the purpose of her trip.
She toured the suite again, brushing her fingers over the gold-embossed, leather-bound books in the cherry-stained shelves, then stepped onto the library balcony.
Leaning against the rail, she surveyed the landscape to the farthest point of the horizon. It was barren but white. Beautiful in the late-morning light. The sky was a low, hovering blue.
There was a lengthy red stable. Or what did the driver call it? The royal mews. A couple of men pulled up in a truck with a bale of hay and backed to the sliding side doors.
Beyond the mews were several walking paths to the forest’s edge. Susanna spied a walled garden, nearer to the house, between the western and northern wings. A single wintery tree reached bare and silent above its stone enclosure. A lone but diligent sentry.
Susanna’s heart yearned. She must see behind that wall. Was it a true garden or a pathway from the kitchen to the garbage? Was it a king’s garden?
She loved the garden with a single tree. She understood such a garden, such a tree.
“Suz.” Avery stuck her head through the glass doors. “There’s a lady to see you.” She made a face. “She’s got something bad stuck in her craw.”
“To see me?” Susanna came inside, shivering, unaware of how cold she’d become. “Who is it?” She locked the balcony doors behind her.
“I don’t know but … blech.” Avery cut through the library toward the bedrooms, avoiding the blech waiting for Susanna in the living room.
Susanna rounded the library corner to see a pinched-faced woman in a blue-green plaid tweed suit posing prim and proper in the middle of the room with her handbag dangling from her arm. Her dark hair trimmed her tapered face while a heavy fringe shaded her eyes.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m Lady Margaret Wiggins.” She held her back stiff, her chin high. “You are the American?”
She turned American into a foul word. “I don’t know about the American, but I’m from the States, yes.”
“My husband, Lord Stanley, is Queen Campbell’s cousin.”
“Nice to meet you. Listen, my sister and I promise not to be in the family’s way.”
“Too late for that, I’m afraid.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re the one who designed Leo’s garden. In Georgia.” She moved to the window and pulled back the sheer. Was she signaling someone? “His Majesty told me about it.” Lady Margaret daggered a glance toward Susanna. Her heart lurched. “Yet I heard more love in his tone than garden talk. I won’t have you ruining things for him. Or for us.”
“Ruining things?” Susanna raised her arms. “I just got here.” She batted the weariness from her thoughts. What was this woman talking about? And why did she keep looking out the window?
“I know what you’re about.”
“Good, then tell me because I sure don’t.” Forget standing. Susanna collapsed into the nearest chair.
Lady Margaret shoved the sheer wider and angled to see the snowy lawn below. “You’re a ladder climber, a royal chaser, dreaming of some kind of fairy tale.”
“Is that what Nathaniel told you?” Her words settled like hot coals in Susanna’s soul.
“No, but I can read between the proverbial lines. Nathaniel is too kind. But I know what women like you are about.”
“Because you’re one?” She’d said it. Too late to retrieve it.
“How dare you—” Lady Margaret’s gaze steamed.
“You need to leave, ma’am.” Avery moved into the room and the conversation. “We were invited here. But not to be insulted by the likes of you.”
“I don’t know how you got an invitation but let me warn you, if you’ve set your sights on our new king, you will fail.” Her eyes flickered with fiery flames. “We will see to it.”
“We?” Avery was good-ol’-girl personified, hands locked on her hips, elbows wide, looking around the room with exaggeration. “I don’t see no we. Just a snooty lady in an uptight suit.”
“I don’t have to put up with this.” Lady Margaret rotated for the door.
“Neither do we.” Avery ran around the furniture, arriving at the door before the lady, and jerked it open. “Don’t let the doorknob hit you where the good Lord—”
“Avery!” Susanna fired to her feet. But she wanted to cry.
Lady Margaret paused with one last scouring glance. “You have no idea what is at stake if His Highness abdicates the throne.”
“Abdicate? There’s not going to be any abdicating. Not on my account. Believe me.”
“So you don’t love him?”
The question caught Susanna unaware. She tried to speak but no words formed. No, just say no.
“Just as I feared.” Lady Margaret’s expression drew taut. Susanna could bounce a quarter off her cheeks. “Watch yourself, miss. This is way bigger than you.”
“No … no.” Susanna ran after her and tried to open the door, but she trembled so hard she couldn’t grip the knob. “I don’t … love him.”
“Suz.” Avery’s arms wrapped around her shoulders. “Don’t listen to her.”
“I’m not.” But she did. She cradled her head against Avery’s shoulder, weeping. For herself, for love found and love lost. For agreeing to the surrender of nothing.
She was so tired.
“It’s okay if you do, you know.” There was that seventeen-year-old profound wisdom.
“No, it’s not.” Susanna lifted her head and dried her face, glancing around for a tissue.
“Why not, Suz?” Avery curled up on the sofa. “I saw the way he looked at you last summer.”
“He didn’t look at me any way.”
“Yeah, he did. Like he was completely and utterly in love.”
“I’m telling Mama to get your eyes checked when you get home.”
“Susanna, why not? He’s amazing. You’re amazing. Can you imagine being a queen? It could happen to you.”
“He can’t marry a foreigner. It’s against the law.”
“Huh, the people here can’t marry foreigners?”
“No, not the people; just those in line for the throne.”
“Nate.”
“And he’s not just in line, he’s on the throne.”
“Even if he was madly in love with you, he couldn’t marry you?”
Tears had not been a part of her original agenda for this trip. “He can’t. They have a law. People tried in the past to change it but failed.”
“Why? Why the law?”
“To avoid divided loyalties among the royal houses of Europe. Some princess nearly depleted their army trying to help her Uncle Louis in the French Revolution.”
“So Nate can’t marry you in the twenty-first century?”
“I’m going to lie down until the car comes.” But she didn’t move. The confrontation with Lady Margaret had drained her.
“Suz, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” She shrugged. “That I actually met a prince? And who says a girl has to marry the first prince she finds anyway?”
“Every fairy tale I read.” Avery curled into her.
“Then it’s a good thing I stopped reading fairy tales.”
EIGHTEEN
Brilliant-colored festoons swung from every point of the ballroom ceiling. Long ones, short ones, braided and woven ones, with every
conceivable color.
The Parrsons House ballroom seemed to fly with the lauded and exported Brighton traditional festoons invented when Nathaniel’s ancestor, King Mark IV, longed for something to battle his dark moods.
The musicians, affectionately called the Parrots for their fine feathers—detailed, colorful costumes—paraded around the grand, ornate hall in vivid array.
The Lord Chamberlain, Earl Browne, announced the guests at the Colors Coronation Ball as they arrived. Royals and dignitaries from seventy-five nations, decked in dashing black tie and beautiful, brilliant gowns, approached the dais where Nathaniel stood in royal array with Mum and Stephen.
Nathaniel welcomed each guest. Over six hundred for the coronation ball. This was his life from now on—standing and greeting, receptions and dinners. Diplomacy.
He was grateful to welcome old friends like Prince William and Kate, Prince Harry, and Prince Carl Phillip, where he dismissed formality and gave them exuberant hugs.
He was the first of his peers to become king. Tomorrow morning, seven thousand guests would file into Watchman Abbey for his coronation.
The Lord Chamberlain and the King’s Office arranged for a live broadcast beyond Brighton Kingdom to the UK, the Americas, Africa, Asia, Australia, and the Middle East.
It would be King Nathaniel’s first introduction to much of the world. Albert, in the King’s Office, reported a viewership well into the billions.
But Nathaniel only wondered about one. Susanna Truitt. Would she wake up before dawn and turn on her telly?
The floor in front of the dais cleared as he finished greeting the guests. Lord Browne permitted the guests to enter twenty at a time, giving Nathaniel a breather before each cluster.
“Everyone okay?” Nathaniel peered at Mum, an old hand at receiving lines.
“Doing fine.” Mum exchanged a glance with Stephen.
Nathaniel regarded each of them for a moment. Neither would look him square in the eye. They’d been acting strangely all day. “What’s going on, you two?”
“Nothing.”
“Nate, pay attention. Lord Browne is sending in the next group.”
Lady Genevieve waited at the door in a rich, clinging red gown, which accented all her physical charms. Skilled and practiced at presenting herself, she posed in the soft light that floated down between the festoons. When the Lord Chamberlain announced her—“Lady Genevieve Hawthorne”—she commanded every eye in the room.
She moved with such poise she appeared to float. A small “oooh” ballooned across the ballroom.
Could she be his wife? The groundswell for him to marry her mounted with each passing day. Along with more news of Brighton and Hessenberg’s struggling economies.
New odds were being set for him to propose by week’s end. Never mind he’d not been seen with her in months. Not since the October state dinner. It had only fueled the press’s romantic fires.
At the dais, she paused and offered her hand. A scholar, businesswoman, beauty queen, and skilled athlete, he could do worse. Much worse.
“Lady Genevieve.” He bowed, knowing she expected him to step off the dais to greet her as was the tradition for the woman in the king’s life.
But if he received her in such a manner, cameras would flash, speculation would rise, and the rumors would go viral. Odds would escalate. If he stepped off the dais for her, it meant she had the first and last dances of the evening. Tradition dictated it for unmarried princes and kings.
But Nathaniel didn’t feel much like tradition tonight. So he shook Genevieve’s hand after his bow, remained on the dais, and said, “Welcome to the Colors Coronation Ball.”
Ginny barely refreshed her wilting smile before a photographer snapped her picture. As she passed the dais, she cast Nathaniel a hard, quizzical glance.
Why didn’t you receive me?
“You’re not dancing with Ginny first?” Mum asked.
Nathaniel glanced at her. “I thought I’d dance with you.”
“Nonsense. There are too many beautiful women here for you to waste a tradition on me.” Mum cast a coy side-glance to where Ginny waited in the shadow of the dais. “What was wrong with choosing Ginny?”
“Nothing.” In theory. Nathaniel returned to greeting his guests.
Ginny captured his masculine eye—she was a vision no doubt—but she failed to capture his heart. Even if pieces of Susanna Truitt did not reside there, he cared not to make room for Ginny. Seeing Ginny in the entryway, dressed in red, nearly gave him a cold sweat. There was something amiss about her. Something … disturbing. Could he marry her for Brighton, Hessenberg, and the entail’s sake? He might convince himself. But the twist in his gut, the brake on his heart, warned him to wait.
The pipers played a rousing tune, passing by the dais. Nathaniel joined the clapping and tapping.
The Lord Chamberlain announced the prime minister, “His Lordship, Henry Montgomery, Prime Minister of Brighton Kingdom.” He paraded past the dais alone.
“‘Tis a grand night, Your Royal Highness.”
“I believe so, Henry. Music, dancing, fair maidens, and gallant men.”
“Or fair queens,” the prime minister said with a glance at Mum.
Ah, what have we here? But Mum paid the prime minister no special attention.
When Henry passed on, Lady Genevieve intercepted him. A dark dread iced Nathaniel. She was up to something besides marrying him. He just couldn’t figure out what.
The court parade continued until eight o’clock. Then the lights flickered and the orchestra finished their final tuning.
Nathaniel was ready to move, to dance, to sit, anything but stand. Stephen hopped off the dais to troll for his first dance. A cluster of eligible women eagerly gathered ‘round. Even if he’d not been born a prince, his charm would make him a favorite of the ladies.
The lights flickered again, and Nathaniel glanced toward the Lord Chamberlain to see if he’d shut the expansive double doors to indicate the beginning of the evening. He had not closed them yet, so Nathaniel scanned the guests, considering his options for the first dance.
He caught the eye of Lady Hana, but she appeared to be clinging to a strapping footballer. Truth was, few of the women wanted to dance with him. And fewer wanted to tether their lives to a husband who lived and died to serve the people. His life was not his own. His life did not belong to the one he loved. It was a daunting task to be wife of the king. So what made strong, independent Lady Genevieve so eager? Especially when she didn’t love him? He watched her talk with members of Parliament.
What are you up to, Ginny?
He could ask her to dance, pry into her thoughts, see if she’d slip up and hint at her intentions. But no, he couldn’t rouse himself to do it.
Mum? He turned to offer his hand, but she was knit together with Henry in what appeared to be a somber dialog.
The orchestra finished tuning, and the breath of the room held, waiting for the king to choose his dance partner.
Nathaniel checked with Lord Browne, his heart somewhat panicked at not having found a suitable partner. How fitting …
Lord Browne held the doors as he talked with late arrivals.
Let them in, man.
Nathaniel craned to see who tried to gain entrance. A woman in a pure white gown with long golden tresses and a second in a dark gown with burnished hair.
A whiff of familiarity pushed through his heart and lured him off the dais. Who was beyond the doors?
“Nathaniel? Where are you going?” Mum called, low and controlled.
“Pardon me,” he muttered, squeezing through the guests gathered along the wall.
The crowd parted. “Your Majesty …”
As he arrived at the door, the Lord Chamberlain turned around. “Oh, Your Majesty. Begging your pardon. We’ve two more to announce. Then we shall begin.”
Susanna.
Everything stopped. The voices, the orchestra hum … his heart. Beautiful, gracious Susanna. Along with lovely
Avery.
“Susanna …” He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and whirl her around. Instead he curled his fingers into a fist and recognized her with a nod. What was she doing here?
She bounced down in her adorable, awkward curtsy, teetering to one side, and he smiled, remembering that day on the porch. “Your Majesty.”
Avery gave a deep, practiced curtsy, and Nathaniel nearly burst with joy. Now he wanted to dance. To celebrate. But first …
“Do your duty, Lord Chamberlain.” Nathaniel winked at Susanna before turning for the dais, cutting through the swath of black tuxedos and colorful ball gowns.
What a grand night this had turned out to be. How did she come to be here?
When he arrived at his post and faced the door, the Lord Chamberlain announced the last but most special guests.
“The Misses Susanna Truitt and Avery Truitt from St. Simons Island, Georgia, the United States of America.”
Come on, Suz. Enter with your head high.
Susanna glided into the room, wearing a beautiful gown that fitted her in all the right places. Avery struck an elegant pose in her shimmery, beaded black gown, strutting proudly beside her sister.
Walking to the edge of the ballroom floor, Susanna stopped, not moving past the edge of the crowd.
