Princess Ever After (Royal Wedding Series) (15 page)

“We will do our best to protect and defend Hessenberg.” Seamus decided another shot of whiskey was indeed in order. “And let it be known, Tanner Burkhardt is not one of the innocent.”

Courtland nodded when Seamus raised the whiskey bottle toward him. “Your protégé is on your naughty list?”

“We’d not be in this mess were it not for him and his affection for Yardley Pritchard. I daresay Pritchard was an old coot when I was in the law review.”

“Give the boy the benefit of doubt, Seamus. Tanner was merely looking for a way to help Hessenberg.”

“Without a glance toward me, I’ll say. After all I’ve done for him. He owes me, that lad.”

“Owes you? For what?”

Seamus passed Courtland his glass. “Let’s just say I gave him an opportunity when he most needed it. Saved him and his father humiliation.”

“His father? The archbishop?” Courtland raised his brow, tipping his head toward Seamus. “Care to tell me more?”

Seamus hammered back his shot and thirsted for more. “Have you dinner plans, Courtland? I’ve a standing Monday evening reservation at the club.”

“I could ring Penelope. Make sure she’s not far in her dinner.”
He reached for his phone. “Are you going to tell the king of your plans to file a new petition with the EU court?”

Seamus shook his head. “And alert him of my plans so he can make his own? No. He’ll find out with the rest of the lot when he reads his morning papers.”

“Careful not to burn your bridges. I believe the king respects you.”

“Only because of his father.”

“Still, there is a third option in all of this, Seamus. The princess refuses to come. The court denies our petition and at midnight on 22 October, we become a permanent province of Brighton Kingdom. One which will
still
need a governor.”

Seamus shook his head. He’d considered and weighed all options. “Nathaniel will replace me with someone else. All sons replace their father’s appointments.”

“Eventually, perhaps. But not right away.”

“I’m fifty-nine years old, Courtland. If I ever wanted to make my mark on the world, this is my hour.”

Tanner sat straight up from a dead sleep, shoving his hair from his face. Wh–what time was it? Where was he? Had he overslept? Blimey, he’d overslept.

Scrambling from bed, Tanner found his bearings by focusing on the slivers of fresh, warm light haloing the edges of the drawn curtains.

Tallahassee. The princess. Hotel Duval. Right, right . . . His heartbeat slowed as he dropped to the edge of the bed. He was fine. Not late for work at all.

Besides, his flat back home didn’t have curtains. The windows had shades. And he rarely drew them because the downtown Strauberg lights didn’t disturb him.

Flopping back to the bed, Tanner closed his eyes, breathing deep, gathering his thoughts, letting his heart and mind wake up and surface.

After Regina left Friday night, he worked all Saturday, e-mailing back and forth with Louis about his schedule, working through details for a Music Festival request and a proposal by university film students to develop a multimedia documentary about the duchy.

So much history and information had been lost in the last one hundred years. And Tanner was eager to get back to their roots.

While he liked the film students’ idea, he knew in his heart of hearts Hessenberg’s history began with the redheaded princess-in-waiting he’d not heard from all weekend.

If she didn’t return to Hessenberg with him, Tanner wasn’t sure how to engage the heart of a people trying to find their way home again.

On Sunday morning, he roamed the Capital campus and explored the quiet downtown streets. Something about the old southern city reminded him of Strauberg. Minus the heat and humidity. Mercy and the saints, it was hot in the South. Especially for fall.

In the afternoon he did something he’d not done in twenty-eight years. Napped.

But when he awoke, the sun was banking west, turning the day toward night, and anxiety snapped in his chest.

What was
she
doing? What was she thinking?

He spent a restless Sunday evening watching a Tom Cruise movie, eating in, hoping she’d call, willing himself to be patient, to wait to hear from her.

Either way, he’d resolved not to let another day go by without seeing her. Somewhere in the last moments of the weekend, he became restless, eager to see Regina, wanting to know her more than as his future sovereign but as a fascinating, lovely woman.

A desire he could share with no one.

Now it was Monday and he must forge ahead.

Tanner’s phone pinged from the desk and he bolted out of bed to answer it.

“Burkhardt.”

“Tanner, it’s Nathaniel.”

“Your Majesty.” Tanner squared his shoulders, glancing about the room for a shirt or something. Four thousand miles away and the king’s voice demanded all due respect. “What can I do for you this morning?”

“Morning? It’s afternoon, mate.” The subtle merriment in his tone did not soothe Tanner’s wakening, driving senses.

“Yes, afternoon.” In Brighton surely, not Tallahassee. Tanner scanned the room for his watch. There, on the dresser. He glanced at the white-faced dial. Drat it all. One o’clock? He’d slept until one o’clock Tallahassee time? He felt a burn of embarrassment. He’d been a runny-nosed chap the last time he slept so late.

He cleared his throat, trying to sound more awake.

“How’s it going with Miss Beswick? Any news since your last update?”

“No, sir. She asked for a few days, so I stayed clear the weekend. Am on my way to see her now.” Tanner walked into the living area, jerked a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, and dumped it over his head, shivering as the first drops splashed on his warm, sleepy skin.
Wake up, chap.

“I hate to do this to you, but we need you to bring her home now.”

“Now? As in today? What’s happened?” Tanner drank the last ounce of water, soaking his parched throat.

“Seamus Fitzsimmons happened. Jolly ole Fitzsimmons.”

Tanner made his way to the bathroom for a towel. “The one who could play St. Nicholas for the department stores every Christmas?”

“He filed a petition with the European Court today for
Hessenberg to be a sovereign state outside of the conditions of the 1914 entail!”

“Blimey. Haven’t we all been through this? Several times?” Tanner snapped the towel over his shoulder. “The EU court has upheld the entail.”

“Seamus found a way round, or through, however you choose to call it. He filed on behalf of the Hessenberg
people
. Not the government.”

Tanner returned to the living area and sat in one of the club chairs. “What? That was tried in 1992 by Lord Kilroy. The court threw it out.” Tanner could still see the details in his mind, the reasoning and writing in his law book. Top of page 581, right-hand side.

“Yes, because Lord Kilroy wasn’t actually an official of the people. Just a titled nobleman. But Seamus is an official representative of the people. I believe the court may see the merit of his case.”

“That’s brilliant.” Tanner slightly chided himself, rising to pace. How did he not predict this? “He may have found the one and only way to break the entail.”

“It was a masterful move. Seamus seems to have all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed on this one. That’s why I called you.”

“Yes, sir. What do you need me to do?”

“Well, first of all, Tanner, I must ask. Are you my man? Do I need to replace you? I’ve heard Seamus has meant a lot to you over the years. He was somewhat of a mentor. So, are you with me or Seamus?”

“You don’t need to even ask, Your Majesty. I’m in America on a mission for the King of Brighton and Hessenberg.” Tanner shoved open the curtains so the sunlight flooded his suite, flooded his soul. “I am your loyal servant.”

“And should Seamus call you? Demanding loyalty to him? I’m sorry to grill you on this but I do need to know who are my allies. This could get politically ugly.”

“I understand, sir. If Seamus should call, I’ll inform him that I serve a higher authority, with all due respect, and must complete the king’s task.” Tanner exhaled, dropping down to the nearest chair, wondering if he should confess his past sins and secrets to Nathaniel. Just in case Darth Vader—Seamus Fitzsimmons—decided to use his force against him.

“There’s more,” Nathaniel said.

“More?”

“Seamus filed suit against Germany asking for compensation and restitution for the Hessenberg bank accounts seized by the Kaiser at the beginning of World War 1.”

The man had gone mad. But Tanner understood Seamus’s bold move. “It’s a red herring, Your Majesty,” he said. “Germany will squawk. Seamus and his lawyers will barter. Drop the claim on Germany if they back Hessenberg’s petition for independent, sovereign state status.”

Why else would he poke the giant bear known as Germany? But wanting everyone to know it? Tanner believed he’d overplayed his hand.

“We’ve concluded the same thing, Tanner. But if Germany pressures the court to review and rule on the case before we get the princess back and set in—”

“Hessenberg will be thrown into political turmoil, anarchy, and civil unrest. Innocent people will be hurt.” He didn’t mean to interrupt the king but his thoughts raced miles ahead.

Seamus, fool man . . .

“Precisely. Tanner, you need to return to Hessenberg immediately. With the princess. We have to prepare her to take the Oath of the Throne and establish the royal house as soon as possible. Our guess here is we have a week. Or less. We’ve enlisted the aid of Britain to help influence the court to uphold the entail, as it has in the past, but even in the past ten years the political landscape of the court, of our countries, has changed. Seamus
may find favor this time and, I fear, set up Hessenberg for chaos and disorder.”

“And Regina will be a princess without a country.”

“Yes, and make no mistake, Seamus is masterfully working the press as well as the youth. Some university students held an anti-royal rally this very morning.”

Tanner exhaled, burdened with the new pressure and severity of his task. “I’ll see her right away, sir.”

“Tanner, don’t just see her. Collect her. Be on the plane. Tonight.”

TEN

R
eggie loved Mondays. They were like mini New Years four times a month. A chance for a fresh start, a do-over from last week’s failures. Or even success. Monday was the day to renew personal pledges, reset goals, and charge at them wholeheartedly.

So this Monday, after a fitful weekend wrestling with the arrival of Tanner Burkhardt and his disturbing news, she arrived at the shop early, ready to “get ’er done.”

By afternoon, she’d finished payroll and paid the bills with only pennies to spare, started researching materials for the ’53 Vet, and contacted her parts suppliers.

She’d already alerted Urban that finding the pearl white paint was going to be difficult. And when she found it, expensive. But if she located the base color and the blend recipe, Rafe could take it from there. Mixing and creating extraordinary paint was his super power.

Around one o’clock, Al came whistling into the office from running errands with a fresh box of donuts and a gallon of chocolate milk.

“Reg, strap in, ’cause I got some news.”

She swiveled her chair around to see him. “Good news? You
bought more donuts. It
has
to be good news.” Donuts and chocolate milk were Al’s morning routine and on occasion, his good news celebration treat.

“Oh, yeah, well, partial good news, on its way to being great news.” Al poured a tall glass of chocolate milk and took a donut from the box. “First, you doing all right? I didn’t get to talk to you this morning, but you looked a bit preoccupied.”

“I’m good.” She smiled.
See?
“It’s Monday. I love it. Hey, I went shopping this weekend.”

“You? Now I’m really worried. What’s up, Reg?”

“Ha. Very funny. I went furniture shopping. Found a living room set, and I think I’m going to actually order it.”

“Furniture? Well now, good for you. I’ve been waiting for you to really move into that big ole house. Either move in or move out.” With his gaze still on her, Al took a long drink of his milk.