The Royal Wedding Collection

by Rachel Hauck

  “Your Majesty, good morning.” He bowed slightly. He was not much taller than Reggie but he carried himself with confidence and stature. “Serena was just about to see if you cared for breakfast.”

  “I’m starved. But I’d rather eat in the kitchen. With everyone else.”

  “In the kitchen? With everyone else?” He locked his hands behind his back and rocked up on his heels. “If you wish, miss. But it might make the staff feel a bit uncomfortable.”

  “Really?” She leaned to see around him. The chef and a maid were chatting over a plate of what looked like scones. “I’m just like them. A regular gal.”

  “Perhaps in some ways, yes. But in many ways, you are not. If I may be so bold, you must remember your station, Your Majesty. And while cordial terms with the staff are welcomed and encouraged, the moment you become ‘one of us,’ you compromise your authority. And your station. You are the heir to the Hessenberg throne. We are not. I’m sure similar standards are employed by American households with service staff.”

  “Right. Okay. I see your point. I’ve been to the Governor’s Mansion and the gov doesn’t eat in the kitchen with the help.”

  “Precisely. You’ll get used to the routine. Now, how about breakfast in the parlor? You can see the sunrise over the forest.”

  “Sounds perfect.” Reggie followed Jarvis down the back corridor, through the back-of-house foyer—yes, there was one, and it was quite elegant—to a cozy room with a fireplace and bank of windows overlooking the grounds and the forest.

  “Will this do?”

  “Very much.” She tipped her head to him. “Thank you, Jarvis.”

  “Miss, I hope you realize what an honor it is for me and the staff to be in your service. Don’t be shy about asking for our assistance.”

  “O–okay . . . and, Jarvis, thank you for sharing with me . . . about . . . you know. The rules of engagement.”

  “Not at all, miss.” He started for the door. “What shall you have for breakfast?”

  “Diet Coke and a couple of those scones. Heated. With butter.”

  He smiled. “I’ve no Diet Coke, but I’ll arrange for some to be delivered. Will tea do this morning?”

  “As long as it’s cold and sweet.”

  “Very well.” He started for the door. “Will there be anything else?”

  “As a matter of fact . . . What do you know about the old constitution? And the authority canon?”

  “Nothing specific. Just that they were the laws of the land before the entail hitched our wagon to Brighton’s. Why do you ask?”

  “I’d like to read them. Catch up with the history. Do you know how I could get my hands on some old law books or the actual documents themselves?” Seamus had access to them, so she hoped the constitution and authority canon were accessible to her as well.

  “I’m quite sure Mr. Burkhardt would be happy to provide you with the information.”

  “I’d like to do this on my own. Surely there’s a university library laden with dusty old law books.”

  “Quite right.” He laughed with a skip in his step and turned for the exit. “Let me see what I can arrange. Shall I keep this between us?”

  “Ah, I can see we’re going to get along great. Thank you, Jarvis.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Oh!” She snapped her fingers. “I need a coat. Is it possible to do some shopping?”

  “Miss, this you must discuss with Mr. Burkhardt. The media is keen about you now and how you dress, and Mr. Burkhardt can advise you.”

  “Right.” She’d not fully considered the ramifications of yesterday’s frenzy. “Am I in the morning paper?”

  “You are.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “There are three papers, miss. The Informant, the Liberty Press, and the Sun Tattler.”

  “Three, huh? I’m in all of them?”

  “I’m afraid so.” He made a slight face.

  “That bad?” Was this venture to make her a princess really going to work? For any of them? “What’d they say?”

  “I didn’t read the articles, but one referred to you as ‘Our Redneck Royal.’ ”

  “Redneck royal?” She made a face and anchored her hands on her hips. “It could’ve been worse.”

  Jarvis popped a wide smile. “Well done, miss. The attitude of a princess.”

  When he finally clicked the door closed behind him, Reggie collapsed into the nearest chair and turned it toward the window. Redneck royal . . .

  Clutching Gram’s fairy tale to her chest, she watched the last trails of the sunrise over the trees.

  A princess is defined not by her title alone but by how she lives her life.

  EIGHTEEN

  Tanner paused on the second-floor landing of Wettin Manor, the morning papers tucked under his arm, and peered down the hall that led to the governor’s suite of offices.

  The press surpassed themselves with the morning’s stories. The papers ran front-page, full-page photos of Regina shoving a photographer. Even the paper of record, the Liberty Press, went tabloid with the headline, Hessenberg Braces for American Invasion.

  The Informant went cheeky: Meet Our Redneck Royal.

  But the Sun Tattler was Tanner’s favorite. They ran a full-page photo of his derrière as he dove into the car with his legs flailing, before Regina could leave without him.

  The cutline read, Minister of Culture Displays His Better Side.

  What bothered him more was the media leak in the first place. He had half a mind to walk straight up to Seamus and demand an explanation.

  But was it his place to do so? Seamus answered to the prime minister and the king, not to the Minister of Culture. In their ten years of friendship—mentor and mentee—Tanner had never resisted the formidable man in any way. He’d listened and learned. Followed his counsel. Until yesterday, Tanner never had reason to doubt the old boy’s integrity. At the core of it, he owed Seamus, and shy of violating the Ten Commandments, he’d do just about anything for the man.

  Tanner squared his shoulders, cleared his throat, and started for the governor’s quarters.

  Seamus, I say, what’s this business all about? Arrest? Enemy of the state? And did you alert the media?

  Tanner’s heart thudded with determination to the same rhythm of his click-clacking heels, but as he rounded the corner, he stopped. Seamus knew things about him only a few others knew. Was it wise to risk making this press leak personal? Which was exactly how Seamus would see Tanner’s confrontation.

  He turned round. Keep your nose where it belongs, chap. In the business of Hessenberg’s culture. Leave the media business to Henry and His Majesty, King Nathaniel II.

  For a soft moment, he felt a coward. But truly, this was not his fight. If it became his, then he’d like to think he’d boldly enter the fray.

  Louis met him at his office, falling in step, reading from his tablet. “The king is on his way with the prime minister. The archbishop will be along momentarily and Dickenson is driving in with Regina.”

  “Splendid. We need a plan for moving forward.” Tanner shifted his thinking, his emotions, compartmentalizing, putting his disappointment in Seamus in one corner of his mind, his feelings for Regina in another, and the reality that he had a decision to make about Sunday’s party in another. “Do we know of anyone who might take my place as Regina’s mentor? Preferably a woman. We can give her name to the king.”

  Tanner needed to get back to normal. His life before Regina. Before the party invitation. Before this business with the press.

  “What of Sibella Glenn, one of the museum curators? She’s keen on culture and often appears on the talk programs discussing the Brighton and British royals.”

  “You’re a genius, Louis.” Tanner dropped the papers to his desk and headed for the tea cart. “She’s perfect.” A cup of hot, bitter tea ought to help sort out the things swirling in his heart.

  “So you saw the papers?” When Tanner glanced up, Louis was leaning over his desk
, reading the Sun Tattler. “Do I want to know how you got yourself in this pickle? Hanging out of the car, your legs flailing?”

  “She wouldn’t open the door.” Tanner sipped his tea. Perfection. “When she rolled down the window, I plunged. She was about to leave without me.”

  Louis perched against the side of the desk, arms folded. “What do you make of her? The princess? Does she have the stuff?”

  “Yes, I believe she does.” Tanner took another hearty drink of his bitter tea as a light knock sounded on the door.

  King Nathaniel and Henry arrived with the archbishop, Tanner’s dad, in tow.

  Louis went down to meet Dickenson and Regina. When she arrived in Tanner’s office, they gathered round and King Nathaniel went straightaway to business.

  “First, our apologies about the press frenzy yesterday, Regina.”

  She shrugged. “No worry.”

  “You are most gracious. But I’d like to organize a plan to care for you the next few days while the barristers sort out this authority canon business along with Seamus’s petition to the EU court. Tanner, I must return to Brighton this morning. Mum is introducing Susanna to several charities, and I’m told in no uncertain terms that I am to be there.”

  “Welcome to married life, Your Majesty,” Henry said with a discreet chuckle.

  “Your Majesty, can the governor really have her arrested?” Dad asked with a kind glance at Regina. The men remained standing as they talked and none had poured tea except for Tanner. Regina stood among them, withdrawn and shy.

  “He can charge her, certainly. Then the police and the courts go to work. Seamus will have to build a case. But . . .”—Nathaniel looked them all in the eye—“he has the political persuasion and clout with the people to do it.”

  “But he can’t build a solid case,” Tanner said with confidence. “So he’s waging his war in the press. I’m almost certain he’s our leak.”

  “My guess as well, Tanner. None of us predicted this assault from the governor,” Nathaniel said.

  “Shall we go forward and organize a presser for Regina?” Tanner glanced around the circle, waiting for advice.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Tanner.” Regina spoke for the first time. “I’m not prepared.”

  He regarded her, and for a flash moment he felt the warm wetness of her tears on his skin. And he changed his mind about Sibella Glenn. He’d be her mentor, and protector, as long as the king saw fit.

  “We’re going about this all wrong.” The king moved around the room, lost in his own thoughts. “No presser. Regina is right. She’s not ready for the questions they’ll ask. Nor their fervor. But the key here is not the press, our actions as leaders, nor what Seamus does. The key is Regina.”

  “Me? What can I do? I’m so new . . . so unsure . . . of everything.”

  “Quite right,” Nathaniel said. “Nevertheless, you are the princess minus the official formalities. Tanner,”—the king’s countenance changed as he formed an idea—“let’s slow things down just a bit. The EU court has not yet agreed to hear the case. We might be fretting for nothing, but we have the princess here, so let’s get her out and about in the city.” The king turned to Regina. “You shall see the sights. Listen to the people. Forget the petition and Seamus’s threats. Take the weekend to tour around. Have fun! Embrace the beauty of Hessenberg.”

  “Quite right,” Henry added. “Let her meet the people one on one.”

  “The press will be all over us, sir.” Tanner held up his hands in quiet objection. “We’re organizing security this morning, but if we go out in the streets . . . and people get word . . . it will be a madhouse.”

  “I see your point.” Nathaniel pressed his fingers to his chin, thinking. “Susanna and I went out in disguise recently. You could always—”

  “Let’s do it.” Regina moved to the middle of the convocation. “Let’s get out in the city, among the people.” She looked toward Tanner. “I came here to see what Hessenberg was all about, so let’s do this. Embrace the good, the bad, and the ugly.” She raised her chin, squared her shoulders. But Tanner could see her trembling beneath the surface.

  “Take her to Wisteria Park,” Dad said. “There’s always something going on there.”

  “But first”—she jabbed the air with her finger—“I need a coat.”

  “A splendid idea,” Nathaniel said. “Take her to the shops. Melinda House will be more than eager to clothe the princess, the future Grand Duchess of Hessenberg.”

  “How about the pubs, like the Fence & Anchor?” Henry offered.

  “The Fence & Anchor . . . stellar idea, Henry.” The king patted his prime minister on the back.

  “Treat her like the princess she is, Tanner. Woo her, and she’ll woo the people.”

  Woo her? Shops and pubs? The park? She was his sovereign. His royal charge. Not his girlfriend. Or even his friend.

  Did the king and prime minister, his dad, see they were fashioning for them a first-rate date?

  Tanner peeked at Regina. Her cheeks were a bit rosier than they had been a second ago. And he knew one thing. He wanted to spend time with her more than he’d wanted anything in a long, long time.

  “Tanner, I’m confident you can handle this well. Regina, I have full faith in you.” Nathaniel glanced at his watch. “I hate to lay a plan and be off, but I must.” He shook Tanner’s hand. “Let’s reconvene on Monday. Miles”—he turned to the archbishop—“perhaps we can begin preparing the oath ceremony. Regina, if you’re willing, we’ll proceed with the official ceremony next week.”

  “Wow. O–okay. I guess we’ll see.”

  “You’ve got the weekend. Think it over. Pray.” Nathaniel lightly gripped her arms. “Prayer makes all the difference in my life and decision making.”

  “I’m familiar with the power of prayer.”

  “Good. Then use it.” He started for the door. “Miles, you’ll gather the ceremony script and sacraments.”

  “Will do, Your Majesty.”

  With the king and prime minister gone, Tanner retreated to his desk, waiting for his dad to leave. But he lingered by the office door. “Is there anything else, sir?”

  “Your mother was curious to know if you’d received an invitation from Trude for the twins’ birthday.” Dad took a few steps farther into the office.

  “I did, yes.” Tanner folded the newspapers in half and stuffed them in the rubbish bin. He did not want to discuss this in front of Regina.

  “Your mother talks of nothing else.” Dad laughed softly, scratching his head. At fifty-eight, his hair was still thick and blond. “She’s been shopping at least three times, buying presents. And of course, nothing in her closet is good enough to wear. She must have four new dresses. I warn her they probably won’t remember her, but I’m not sure she really cares. She wants to see them.”

  Dad locked his hands behind his back as if waiting for Tanner to join in the conversation. This private, personal exchange in front of Regina was highly inappropriate. Besides, when had his father ever approached something so personal so . . . openly?

  Tanner cut a glance at Regina who was at the window, surveying the city. It was her. She had this odd effect on people that made them want to open their hearts.

  “Dad, is there anything else?” Tanner reached around for his chair, his gaze averted. “I need to get this day organized with Regina.”

  “No, no, nothing else. I’ll be off then.” At the door he paused and started to say something, but then simply bid good-bye to Regina.

  “Tanner?” Dad cleared his throat. “We’re here if you need us, son.”

  “Have a good day, sir.” Tanner fussed with the items on his desk, surprised and unnerved by a soft blur of tears leaking from his eyes to the dry, hollow wells of his soul.

  In all her days, Reggie never imagined she’d hear the words “I’d like to introduce you to your security detail, Clarence and Todd.”

  “How do you do?” Reggie curled her arms against her torso, guarding aga
inst the cold, making her way down the manor’s steps. The sun sat high in the sky, but its warmth had not yet reached the shadows lurking between Wettin Manor’s stone columns.

  “Regina,”—Tanner followed her, offering her a large navy-blue cardigan with a big KU crest on the breast pocket—“wear this until we purchase your coat.”

  She took the sweater, and the very action of Tanner giving it to her wrapped her with warmth. “Do we really need two security guards?”

  “Do you not remember yesterday? The media mess?”

  “I remember you riding around town with your face planted in the passenger seat and your feet flailing in the air.” She slipped her arms through the fine-wool sleeves. “Whose is this?” When she lowered her arms, the sleeves slinked past her hands and dangled near her knees.

  “Mine. From university. I keep it in my office.”

  “So . . . are we . . . like . . . going steady now?” She grinned, rolling up the sleeves, liking the feel of the words on her heart. She’d never gone steady and, well, it was on her bucket list.

  “Har-har. You’re quite chipper today.” He started down the rest of the steps toward the black SUV and the two serious, Navy Seal–looking dudes waiting by an open passenger side door. “Did you see the papers?”

  “I did, and the one with the shot of you in all your glory got me laughing—”

  “If you’d have opened the door like I asked . . .”

  “You didn’t say please.” Reggie walked toward the waiting SUV, the click of her boot heels resounding.

  Something about this morning—sitting in the parlor . . . staring out over the lawn toward the forest . . . talking with Jarvis . . . looking at Gram’s portrait . . . reading the fairy tale with a whole new view of things . . . talking to Jesus . . . talking to the king and his men—gave her peace. Gave her a bit of confidence.

  She’d heard about faith and trust in God her whole life. But not once had she lifted her wings and tried to catch a current knowing nothing was beneath her but the invisible hand of God.

  College? Safe because Daddy and Sadie were across town.