by Rachel Hauck
The Lord Chamberlain whispered in her ear and ushered her forward. A glowing blush spread across her face and turned her blue eyes into summer pools as she moved toward the dais.
Come on, show them who you are. Bold.
“Who is that?” Mum stood beside Nathaniel.
“Susanna, my friend from America. I don’t know how she came to be here, but I’m most glad.”
“Ah, I see.”
Every warm body froze with all eyes on the Truitt sisters. The orchestra hovered on the same single note, ready to explode into the opening waltz once Nathaniel greeted his final guests and chose a dance partner.
He cared not to hide his smile one minute more. He let it spring to life as he greeted his Susanna and Avery.
The ballroom doors closed, and Nathaniel stepped off the dais, took Susanna’s hand, and peered into her eyes.
“May I have this dance?” He rose up to a hush of wonderment as he led her to the open, waiting floor. “The strings on those violins will pop if we don’t let them play a song soon.”
“I’d be honored.” She gave him her hand. The music released the moment he swept her into his arms and swept her about the floor, feeling lighter than air and freer than a bird on the wing.
She wore the only white gown in a sea of color. She tried not to notice she’d missed the dress code as she turned about the floor—on gold Louboutin tip toe—in Nathaniel’s arms. And everyone watched. Gawked.
Then there was Avery, dressed in a black sheath, watching and smiling with her nose in the air. A small cluster of young men had noticed her and started their approach.
Susanna’s plan was to sneak into the ball well after the svelte Lady Genevieve had been introduced. After she’d captured every man’s eye and sparked every woman’s envy. After the first waltz had been danced.
But the movie-usher-looking dude at the door, the gentleman with the formal voice, saw them, and when she told him their names, he beckoned them inside, killing her plan to sneak inside.
“I can’t believe you are here.” Nathaniel finally spoke, guiding her through the dance.
“Am I not supposed to be wearing white?” She stayed on the toes of her Louboutins and waltzed with the king to the melody of the music. “Because it feels like I should be wearing a vivid, colorful gown?”
“Susanna, how did you get here?”
“I received an invitation.” His expression confirmed her suspicion. He didn’t know. “You didn’t send it, did you?”
“No, but I’ll reward the person who did.” His smile rivaled the stardust floating about the ballroom. “I wanted to call—”
“You don’t owe me anything, Nate.”
“I’m sorry for the way I left you on the beach.”
“Your father had died, Nate, please, no apology. If you hadn’t run off, I’d be worried about your soul.”
He spun her with the music. “I apologize for the way I spoke about the marriage act.” He drew her close, bending his cheek to her hair. “As if it were your problem, not mine.”
“I’m glad you told me. Better than waiting twelve years …” She laughed, and he snatched her tighter, his own laugh rising as he spun her around.
The couples nearest them “oohed” and gave a wide berth.
“I look ridiculous, don’t I? Spoiling the whole décor of the ball. How did I not think a colors ball required a colorful gown? Did I miss the asterisk in the blue book?”
“I don’t know about any asterisk, but you look amazing.” He’d not stopped making her feel treasured since they first said hello. “Color is not a requirement, just tradition. The Colors Coronation Ball started in the 1850s when everyone wore bright colors to King Mark IV’s ball. I’m sure white is fine, though.” He fixed his gaze on her. “It looks good in this room.”
“Then I’m not sorry.” Susanna couldn’t resist him a moment longer. She closed her eyes and leaned against him. Just be in the moment. No expected outcomes.
The waltz ended and Nate gripped her hand, curling it to his chest. “Follow me.”
He covered the dance floor in long strides, the marble pattern that of the Brighton flag. He ducked in and around the guests, leading her toward a dim exit.
They curved around a wall and into a lean crevice, which ended abruptly at a paneled wall.
Rapping on the top right corner, a wooden lever released. When Nate engaged the handle, a panel opened.
“A secret door? Ooh, a mystery.”
“Watch your head.” Nate patted the low doorway as he ducked inside.
“This isn’t the tower, is it? Off with my head for wearing a white gown to the Colors Ball. Avery’s going to be so jealous.”
“It’s not the tower.” Nate pulled her into him. “I’ve missed you.”
In the secret room, he held her in a way that made her feel a part of him.
“Me too.”
“Susanna.” He touched her chin to raise her face to his, but she broke out of his arms.
A kiss? He’d steal her heart for sure, and she feared she’d never get it back.
“So, what is this room?” They were in some kind of turret with arched windowpanes, bookshelves, and an eclectic arrangement of couches and chairs, floor lamps and tables. The amber lights from the grounds outside bounced against the glass and gave the round, dark room a romantic aura.
“Library. The architect designed it as a playroom for the king’s children, but over time it became a library.” Nathaniel hit a switch, and a fire ignited in the stone fireplace. A second switch engaged the fixtures moored in the ceiling recesses and spilled light down the walls.
“Oh, Nate.” Susanna moved through the leather club chairs to the center of the room, her gold crystal Louboutins sinking into the plush carpet. “It’s incredible.”
Hanging on the wall between the bookcases was a portrait of a young man dressed in ornate robes, his hand on his sash, his right foot jutted forward. Waves of his dark hair drifted into his high, ruffled collar. Amusement adorned his expression.
“Who is this?”
“King Stephen I. At about twenty-five.”
Susanna pressed her hand to her heart. His eyes seemed real, awake, as if they watched the room. Watched her. “Your ancestor,” she whispered, stretching to brush her fingers over the tip of the sovereign’s shoe. “You look like him.”
“You think?” Nathaniel rattled the balcony doors. “Blooming thing sticks in winter. One would expect it to be easier to open when it’s cold, but no, not in this old manse.” A click sounded, and Nathaniel cheered himself as the doors swung open. “You can’t beat me, you ol’ door.”
A fresh cold ushered the stale air from the room. The flames in the fireplace bent, fighting to stand.
Nathaniel stood behind her now, along with the lovely gust of cold, crystal air. She was happy. At peace. No matter how this trip ended, she already knew she was glad she came.
“So I look like him? I’d rather be like him,” Nathaniel said. “The people of Brighton had just made him king after he freed them from British rule. Stephen I snuck into Brighton’s north port with his merry band of twenty-five and captured three anchored ships. He sent a letter to Henry VIII demanding Brighton’s freedom or he’d never see his men or ships again. Being as one of the captured admirals was in his court, Henry agreed. Brighton became a free nation. No more serfdom. A few years later, he assisted Hessenberg in gaining her freedom from Prussia.”
“His blood runs in your veins.”
“I fear it’s been diluted through the ages.” He laughed low, then encircled her in his arms, cradling her against his chest.
Just be, Susanna.
“Where are you staying?” he whispered in her ear, melting her.
“The Parrsons House.” She arched back to see his face. “You really didn’t know, did you?”
“Not a clue. They must have hid your name from me. I never saw you on the guest list.” He released her, walking around her to face King Stephen I, hands i
n his pockets. “Tomorrow I’ll be crowned because of this man’s courage. Because he thought the Brightonians deserved freedom. To keep their own crops, their own wages.”
“Are you nervous?” She was destined to love men who were duty bound, wasn’t she?
“A bit. We’ve rehearsed plenty enough. If royals do anything well, it’s rehearse ceremony.” But when he turned to her, his thoughts about becoming king were not what she saw in his eyes. “Susanna—”
She moved away from him, her heart fluttering, and toward the portrait. “Your country values freedom, independence. All the way back to this man. He risked his own life to free people who were all but enslaved to King Henry VIII’s feudal system.”
“Yes, he did. Serving the people for their prosperity is part of the royal signature and pledge.”
His voice, his presence whispered around her, wooing her. If she released her stiff posture, she’d fall into him.
“Susanna.” His fingers grazed her neck, setting her on fire, as he brushed aside her hair.
“I’d better find Avery.” She whirled around for the escape hatch, because if she didn’t get out of here, no telling what crazy confession she’d make. I love you. Marry me. I’ll bear your children. “What if she’s looking for me? Poor Aves, all alone out there.”
“Trust me, she’s being tended to by any number of blokes.”
“Still, I’d better go check.”
Just before she reached for the door, he said, “I’m in love with you,” and followed his words across the room.
“W–what?” She’d seen it in his eyes, but now she’d heard it. She reached for the nearest chair.
“I love you.”
“Couldn’t you leave well enough alone? Just dance with me, flirt with me, then send me on my way? No, you have to tell me you love me. To what end?” Vim and vigor took hold of her trembling limbs. “What am I supposed to do with that? Cart it home, tell it to my grandkids someday? ‘Your grammy had the love of a prince?’”
“I’m sorry, Susanna, but it’s true. I can’t fight it anymore. What I feel for you is more real than his blood”—he pointed to King Stephen I—“flowing in my veins. I’m tired of holding it all together. You’re on my mind constantly. Since the day I met you at the lover’s tree.”
“Lover’s Oak.” She dug her fingers into the upholstery.
“When you walked in tonight, I felt as if we’d never been apart. It almost seemed as if some part of me expected you to come.”
“What about Lady Genevieve?”
“Lady Genev—ah, you’ve been reading the LibP online.”
“They say you have to marry her … your economy depends on it.” She walked over to the first king’s portrait. “He slipped into a bay and captured ships to free Brighton. Surely you have that same kind of courage.”
Why was she arguing against her own heart? The romantic glow of the room faded, and though the fire flickered, darkness edged the corners and a bit of Susanna’s heart.
“You want me to marry her? I don’t love her. I love you. Besides, Lady Genevieve barely qualifies as a relative of Prince Francis. I daresay you have more of King Stephen’s blood in you than Ginny has of Prince Francis.”
“But if you marry her, she becomes a royal and meets the requirement of the entail.”
“I can’t believe you want me to marry her when I just told you I love you.” He sighed and sat on the arm of the courtier chair.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to make it sound like I wanted you to marry Ginny.” Susanna sat in the chair and rested her head against his back, feeling a bit of his burden. “I don’t know what I’m talking about, Nate. I’m sorry.”
He took her hand and drew her around to face him. The wind rattled the windows, peeking in to see if anyone was home. His gaze, his warmth, his touch …
She trembled right down to the tips of her Louboutins.
“It’s cold.” Susanna rubbed her arms. The heat of the fireplace stayed on the far side of the turret.
“Take my jacket.” He shrugged out of his tuxedo then walked over to close the balcony doors. He remained there, gazing out. “I miss Dad. I’ll be going about my day and remember something I meant to ask him but never got ’round to it.”
“My granny used to say, ‘You can’t live life looking through the rearview mirror, shug.’”
His laugh bounced off the cold, amber-washed pane. “Wise woman.”
“Do you feel you should marry her?”
“Your granny?” He glanced back when she laughed.
“Ginny.”
“I lie awake at night wondering if I want it to be in the history books that on my watch I had it in my power to give a small duchy her freedom and my own country financial liberty but I refused because the solution involved marrying a woman I didn’t love.” He glanced down as he stamped the floor. “I can hear my ancestors rolling around in their graves.”
“They would marry for political expediency?”
“Absolutely.”
“But isn’t that what the marriage act was all about? To stop the politics of royal marriages? Wouldn’t marrying Ginny align Brighton with another country?”
He stared at her for a moment. “Yes, but remember the two adrift sisters? Hessens are not seen as foreigners.”
Susanna motioned to King Stephen I. “Would he marry for freedom’s sake?”
“I think King Stephen I would’ve preferred battle than marrying against his will,” Nathaniel said, turning to the windowed doors again.
Susanna stood beside him, tugging on his sleeve. “Do what you have to do, Nate. Be courageous.”
He gazed down at her, slipping his hand into hers. “When I look at you, I feel courageous. When I look at you, I see St. Simons Island in the summer.” He reached up with his free hand and stroked her hair. “I see a beautiful woman that I was trying to forget until she showed up for my coronation.”
“Should I have stayed home?” She stepped aside, freeing her hand from his.
“No, no …” His peering, blue eyes glistened. “I just wish it were July and I was driving by Lover’s Oak.”
“Would you stop again?” She smoothed her hand over her skirt, finding comfort in the silky sheen. “Knowing what you know now?”
“Certainly, only I’d not wait three days to see you again.”
“We have two oceans and five hundred years of history separating us, Nate. My guess is if God meant me to be with you, I would’ve been born here. Even if Ginny and this Hessenberg mess weren’t part of the problem, you legally couldn’t marry me, right? Has that changed?” He shook his head. She steadied her voice. “And probably never will. I’d better go find Avery.”
He didn’t stop her this time as she ducked through the panel opening and moved down the narrow hall. The gold glitter of her shoes lit her through the deep shadows. Her jaw and neck hurt from holding back her tears.
When she heard the allegro tempo of the violins and rounded the secret passage into the grand ballroom, she fashioned a smile.
The sight was breathtaking. The trimmings, the music, the elegance of colorful dancers. She glanced down the hall one last time. No Nate.
It was for the best. She could not come between a man and his country. If it were even possible. Then she spotted Avery, laughing and dancing with an astute, regal-looking young man.
That image alone was worth the trip. Avery lost in a fairy tale.
Susanna paused on the edge of the dance floor, suddenly aware of sharp, scornful glances. She scanned the shadows along the back wall, looking for a place to hide and figure out her heart.
She loved Nate. Of that she was certain. Yet his confession about Brighton, Hessenberg, and Lady Genevieve gave her a glimpse into his world. And it didn’t revolve around her.
A familiar hand took hold of hers. Nate stepped in front of her. “Maybe we can’t have everything we want in this relationship, Susanna.” He bent his lips to her ears and whispered, “But we have this ball and tonight,
you are my queen.”
The firebrand of chills burned up any possible refusal. She let him lead her to the dance floor and take her into his arms, swirling again through the stardust to the music of their own hearts.
NINETEEN
A little before one in the morning, Nathaniel knocked on his mum’s door. She answered in her royal blue evening gown, every strand of her sculptured dark hair in place under her diamond-studded tiara.
“I thought you might come.” She turned toward the room, expecting him to follow. “I made some tea.”
Nathaniel settled his jacket on the coat rack by the door and tugged at his tie. “Who invited her?”
“The American?” Mum passed him a gold-trimmed cup. “Or Lady Margaret? You heard of her altercation with Lady Keri in the powder room?” Mum took up her own tea, shaking her head, clinking her spoon against the thin porcelain. “She and Stan do come from the underbelly of the family. She can be brusque. Though you danced with her twice tonight.”
“Mum, seriously, Lady Margaret? You think I’d knock on your door at this hour to talk about that old mare? Susanna, Mum—who invited her?”
Mum twisted her lip. She was caught. “If you must know”—stiff, defensive—“Stephen and I did.” She sat with a silent huff in her posture and avoided eye contact.
