Princess Ever After (Royal Wedding Series) (20 page)

Four. Three and a half. Three.

He was developing feelings for her. Such foolishness. Thank goodness His Majesty would assign her an aide or tutor this morning and Miss Regina Beswick would be out of his life.

Tanner mimed removing an invisible hook from his heart. Be gone. Then he gulped his tea.

Ah, that’s the ticket.
Hot and bitter, the way he liked it.

He was about to slip on his suit coat and check his tie in the loo when he noticed the linen envelope sticking out from under the base of the desk phone. The invitation. Louis must have put it there for him to see when he returned.
Note to self: Remind Louis to leave personal matters where I store them.

Tanner jerked the envelope free and read the invitation again.

Bella and Britta are turning 10!

You’re invited!

He
was invited? No, this had to be some mistake, the work of a bumbling party planner. If he arrived at Estes Estates, Trude
would laugh at him, remind him of his pledge, and ask him to leave.

Louis popped in around the door. “Jonathan and His Majesty are here with the prime minister. The archbishop is on his way.”

“What of the governor?” Despite Seamus’s shenanigans, he was required for this meeting.

“Haven’t heard, but I’ll ring his office again.”

“And Regina?”

“Dickenson is ready at the palace, waiting.”

Tanner held the invitation over the rubbish bin, but then opened the middle desk drawer and tossed the envelope inside. “And the media blackout holds?”

“As far as I know. Haven’t seen one photographer or had one press inquiry.”

“Excellent. Everything is going to plan.”

September 30, 1914

Meadowbluff Palace

There was a grand argument in the great hall just now. Shouting and swearing. Lord Fitzsimmons arrived shortly after dinner, flustered and bothered, demanding Uncle do something about the Germans. Chancellor Bismarck seized Hessenberg’s accounts in German banks! Will they stop at nothing to draw Uncle into the war to fight for their side?

Uncle insists Hessenberg will remain neutral in this war and I cheer him on. Stay your course, Uncle. What is a man, a prince, if he has no convictions?

Mamá fears Lord Fitzsimmons will gather a majority among the other lords and depose Uncle, putting him to disgrace, putting all of us to disgrace. She wants Uncle to banish Lord Fitzsimmons from the
Court, but Uncle refuses, claiming Lord Fitzsimmons is a servant and lord of the people, and a voice of wisdom.

They are all a bunch of Reins in my book, and we’ve no need of them. Lord Fitzsimmons called Uncle a coward. Well, it’s a coward who wants to join a war simply to free his bank account.

My heart is sick over the war, over Uncle. He’s so thin and so troubled. I’m not sure how much of this he can bear. He is a kind, loving man, but Father in heaven, it is my opinion you did not build him for war but for peace
.

Alice

Someone call a doctor because she must have been crazy when she decided to hop on that plane with Tanner and explore the world of a royal princess.

Last night, she slept in a palace suite the size of her house back home. It consisted of large, windowed rooms—a bedroom, a bath and a half, a sitting room, a media room with the widest flat screen she’d ever seen, a library, and a kitchen.

Reggie stepped out of bed onto a two-inch pile carpet that felt like silk against the soles of her feet. She’d curled her toes into the blue-and-white patterned weave and considered crawling back into bed and getting out once more just to experience the
carpet
.

But the light of day burned through her windows, showcasing the luxury and beauty of her living quarters.

And the portrait of Gram above her bed was breathtaking. The image carried Reggie to another time and another place.
Oh
,
Gram, so young and very beautiful.
At least through the eyes of the artist . . .

Reggie stepped closer to read the artist’s signature.
Renoir.
Renoir?

She angled back, exhaling, shaking out her hands as she
scoped the height and breadth of the painting. Mercy a-mighty, Gram sat for Renoir.

Truly, every second of this adventure felt like a fairy tale. Like Reggie would wake up any moment, find herself at home, rousing from the most vivid dream of her life.

Reaching up, she barely touched the hard dried oils that gelled together and created the image of Gram. The ridges and grooves of the artist’s brush beneath her fingertip were all very, very real.

Reggie closed her eyes, trying to imagine the gram she knew—stooped and slow with a raspy voice and white hair—as the same woman peering out of the yellow, orange, green, and blue of the painting, so happy and full of hope, with the wind twisting her hair and snapping at the blue scarf around her shoulders.

Gram, I’m here. I’m here.

After a moment of waiting, praying, Reggie lowered to the bed, gathering her knees to her chest, tipping back her head and offering her fears and pain to the One who loved her.

He’d been there for her when Mama died. She had to believe he’d not abandon her now.

Another heartbeat or two and she slid off the bed, heading for the shower, remembering she had something with Tanner this morning, every step, every movement stiff and difficult, as if she was somehow peeling away the old, dried, dead skin of winter.

She dressed in her favorite boot-cut jeans, white blouse, and boots—the cockroach kickers with the pointed toes and ornate stitching—and headed down the broad front staircase.

Jarvis met her in the foyer, bowed, and said, “Breakfast is this way, Your Majesty.”

“Please, call me Reggie.”

He seated her alone in a formal dining room half the size of a football field with a highly polished table that seated seventy-five. Reggie knew because she counted. Seventy-five chairs. And she bet if they added a leaf or two, they could easily seat one hundred.

She ate her eggs and toast with the best sweet blackberry jam, alone. Quiet.

Serena, her lady’s maid, came in, curtseyed, and asked, “Do you need anything, Your Majesty?”

“For you to call me Reggie.”

“Yes, miss.” But she didn’t sound convinced.

At twenty till ten, Dickenson came to drive her to Wettin Manor. “Mr. Burkhardt will meet us there, Your Majesty.”

“Reggie, call me Reggie.”

“Yes, miss.” But he didn’t sound convinced.

Yeah, this is going to take some time.

Reggie insisted on riding up front, in the passenger seat, which made Dickenson all kinds of nervous.

“Wouldn’t you prefer the back, Your Majesty?”

“How will I keep you from speeding if I’m sitting back there?” She laughed. He did not. “And it’s Reggie, okay?”

“Yes, miss.”

The car was not the limo from last night but a brand-new Mercedes. If one could not have a classic car, then a new Mercedes would do. Reggie loved the new car smell. It was second only to the fragrance of humanity lingering in the leather and vinyl of a well-used classic car.

Down the hillside, a cluster of trees sporting brilliant orange-red foliage captured her attention. “Those leaves are gorgeous. I’ve never seen that color before.”

A breeze whisked through the treetops, shifting the leaves, exposing their orange underbellies, then their radiant red tops. A gauzy white hue hovered around the hillside with a light trimmed from the cloud-muted sun.

“They are Princess Alice Oaks, Your Majesty. Named for your great-grandmother by her uncle, the Grand Duke.”

“Gram had trees named after her?”

“The story goes that the duke ordered the royal gardener to
plant a tree with fall leaves the color of Princess Alice’s hair in honor of her sixteenth birthday.” Dickenson slowed the car to take a hairpin turn. “I see you have the same color tresses.”

“She was completely white when I knew her . . . The gardener planted all of these trees?”

Reggie brushed aside her bangs. They were too long, but she’d actually fired up the old straight iron and did something with her hair this morning. She’d had no time for a salon appointment when a nation called.

“Only one tree was planted, over a hundred years ago,” Dickenson said.

As they moved toward the bottom of the hill, Reggie peered back over her right shoulder to find the entire hillside engulfed in the flames of Princess Alice trees. Chills scooted down her arms, sinking beneath the skin into her muscles, her sinews, her very core.

Gram, even the trees remember you.

Tears surprised her eyes and watered her soul. So many glorious secrets about Gram. It made Reggie yearn to speak to her. So many questions. So many whys.

The Mercedes hit the bottom of the hill and, within the span of a city block, left the countryside behind and pressed full-on into a busy, bustling Strauberg.

Reggie tipped her head to see the height of cut-stone buildings, polished to a gleaming gray surface. Pedestrians flooded the streets, moving from corner to corner, hurrying about their day. Men in white shirts and ties clustered around one of the iron streetlamps with a Victorian-style lamp. When they laughed, Reggie smiled.

“This is the financial district, ma’am.” Dickenson slowed for a red light. “Two streets over is Market Avenue with the shops.”

She glanced at him. He’d yet to do the same to her. “Are you married, Dickenson?”

His round cheeks flushed. “No, miss. My wife died some years back. And we didn’t have children, so I found myself in the employ of His Majesty, King Leopold, King Nathaniel II’s father.”

“I’m sorry about your wife, Dickenson.”

“She was a lovely, generous soul.”

“And you miss her.”

“Every day, miss.”

“And how did you come to drive for me?”

“The King’s Office selected me because I am Hessenberg born and raised. I’ve lived in Brighton nearly ten years but I was happy to return home, miss.” He spoke looking straight ahead, harnessing his words as if he didn’t want to say too much. “To drive for you. To be with my old mates again. I can visit me brothers more often now.”

“Well, I’m happy to know you. Glad you’re working . . . for me . . .” The words felt awkward. But they shouldn’t. Rafe worked for her. And Wally. Why did this feel different?

“Happy to serve you, miss.” Finally, the man gave her a wide, genuine smile.

Serve. Ah, that’s why it felt different. “Dickenson, do you think Hessenberg people want a princess again?”

“I reckon they do. Better than the alternative, becoming Brightonians for the rest of our lives and our children’s.” Dickenson stopped for a red light, clearing his throat. He still refused to look at her.

“It’s okay to look at me.”

“I’d rather keep my eyes ahead, on me job, miss.” But he cut her a quick glance. “You should really be sitting in the back.”

“Because?”

“Because you are the princess. Just speak to Mr. Burkhardt. He’ll explain.” Dickenson white-knuckled the steering wheel and pressed his lips taut, gentling down on the gas when the light turned green.

Reggie let the subject drop. Dickenson wasn’t the only one who’d kept his gaze downcast this morning. Jarvis and Serena both avoided direct eye contact, though Jarvis addressed her more directly than the others.

She’d ask Tanner about this
straightaway
, as he would say. Speaking of the man with the long golden hair and ice blue eyes . . .

She kind of missed that rascal when she woke up this morning. He’d been nothing but a pain in her backside since they met, but somewhere along the way, she’d grown attached to him.

Dickenson steered the Mercedes through a roundabout, past a center-city park, and down a wide avenue lined with thick-trunked trees dropping colorful leaves onto the avenue.

Maybe she felt this tug toward Tanner because he was her only friend in Hessenberg and it was easy to anchor her emotions with him. In the meantime, she needed to get ahold of her heart, her thoughts, and figure out this strange mission.

Was it a permanent call? Temporary? Did she even belong in this tiny sea duchy? With these people? What was expected of her and, good grief, what in the world would those people on the street, waiting at corners to cross or leaning against lampposts, think of her? Demand of her?