Princess Ever After (Royal Wedding Series) (41 page)

He listened while the girls talked with Trude, interjecting where he could, but he loved the sound of their chatter. The old flat had suffered with his silence too long.

The girls were in the middle of discussing the Pinterest printouts when Tanner’s phone pinged. He retrieved it from his pocket. A message from King Nathaniel.

EU Court agreed to hear the petition. Arguments begin in the morning.

Tanner excused himself for a moment. Thank goodness Regina was returning. Hessenberg needed her.

As he left the room, intending to call Louis, he caught his reflection in the dark windowpane and paused, touching the top of his hair, the chatter of the girls floating around him.

His life was changing. He was changing. And the need for his long, stubborn locks was finally over.

On a mid-October Friday evening, dusk settled over Strauberg as Reggie rode with Tanner toward the Fence & Anchor.

Slowing for a red light, he leaned toward her. “Regina, love, look this way. You’ve something in your eye.”

“I do?” Reggie swatted at her bangs, blowing a breath up, fluttering the ends. Tomorrow morning she had an appointment at a stylist Melinda recommended. Thank goodness.

“Yes, see, right here . . .” Tanner brushed her bangs aside and kissed her right eye, then her left, moving to the tip of her nose. At last—oh, at last—her tingling lips.

She slipped her hand around his neck, returning his affection. She’d been home four days and had yet to fill her kisses quotient. It seemed every time they were alone, for just a moment, someone came along. Louis. Jarvis. Serena. An aide. A photographer.

So they kissed at red lights like a couple of teens.

When he greeted her at the airport, she didn’t recognize him with his styled, short hair, but oh, now she saw every angle and contour of his fine face, the face of the man she wanted next to her in this life.

A green hue fell against the windshield, and a car horn blasted.

Tanner’s kisses softened into a laugh. “Some blokes have no romance.”

“The shame of it all.”

Tanner wove his fingers with Reggie’s and headed past the light. “Are you sure you want to go to the Fence & Anchor? We can go to a nicer place.”

“The Fence & Anchor, please, sir. The patrons are my kind of people. The ones who work hard all week, then get with friends on the weekend for fellowship, blow off a bit of steam.” She pulled her hand from his, sitting forward, peering out the front window, watching the storm clouds gather, screening the last tendrils of
twilight. “I didn’t have one bite of my stew the last time, and I’ve been getting memory whiffs ever since.”

“The F & A will be thrilled to have you.”

“So, Tanner, the girls . . . ,” Reggie said. “Moving in the day after Christmas. Are you excited?”

“I’m terrified.” He laughed, a low melody that played well on his lips and sparked a glint in his blue eyes. “But they’re going to start coming on the weekends.”

“I’ll be there for you. I will.” She squeezed her hand over his. “As you need me. I don’t want to interfere.”

“Are you joking, Regina? They love you.”

“They are fascinated with Princess Regina, whom they’ve met yesterday for a few minutes. Wait until they run into Tallahassee Reggie Beswick. They’ll beg you to get rid of me.”

“This I must see.”

“Come on, it won’t be pretty.” She made a face, and he laughed.

Her favorite thing, besides kissing him, was laughing with him. She loved how joy morphed him into a gentle, easy, confident soul instead of the somber, rigid, closed-off man she’d met in Tally.

Tanner took the next left and maneuvered a narrow lane to park on the side of the Fence & Anchor. Nigel and Jace, the second-team security, parked next to them.

Stepping out, Reggie inhaled the fragrance of the city and saline-dew drifting up from the bay. Already the scent was becoming familiar. In the distance, a steamer horn blasted. And for a split moment, Reggie was in another era, another life altogether.

Tanner came up behind her, lightly touching her shoulder, giving her a wink.

“You think they saw us?” she whispered, tipping her head toward the dark-suited, broad-chested security men.

“Why do you think I skirted away from them and cut in front of that truck?”

She bumped him with her hip. “Clever chap.”

Across the street, a couple of women slowed, pointing, then raised their phones in their direction. Reggie stepped to the curb, smiled, and waved. They bumped into each other, giggled, and aimed for more snapshots.

But Nigel came around and ended the spontaneous photo shoot, directing Reggie inside the pub. “Safer in here,” he said.

The atmosphere of the crowded, noisy Fence & Anchor embraced her as Gemma hurried through the chairs and tables to greet them. “Your Majesty, welcome, welcome. We’ve got a booth in the back all reserved.”

She started down the length of the booths, but Tanner held her arm. “Gemma, we won’t find a bank of photographers outside when we leave, will we?”

Her expression darkened. “No, sir.” She jerked her arm free. “What sort of girl do you take me for?”

“Exactly as I thought,” Tanner said. “One we can depend upon.”

She harrumphed, tugged on her skirt, and led them to the booth, chin raised.

Reggie loved the atmosphere and pressed into the hubbub, the voices, the blaring announcer on the TV . . .

“Gemma,” Reggie said, “can’t we sit out here with everyone?”

“I have the booth in the back . . . like last time.” Gemma shot Tanner a nervous glance.

“Regina,”—he leaned into her—“there’s more security in the back.”

“Tanner, I’m not going to live afraid. If we’re going to do this, let’s do it. Nigel and Jace are here. What can happen?”

“I’ve got two tables right here,” Gemma said. “Stan, Pip, shoo, shoo.” She shoved on the shoulder of a young working man.

“Gemma, no, please don’t kick them out of their table. Those tables over there will do.” Reggie moved around Stan and Pip to a set of tables by the bar, drawing them together herself.

By now, the pub was buzzing. The atmosphere changing.

“The princess . . .”

“Where?”

“There . . . .”

“Pretty . . . looks like one of us . . .”

Maybe that was her advantage. She was one of them.

“Are you her?” A young woman with purple hair and a lip ring stepped forward. “The princess?”

“I am, yes.”

“Please, we just came in for dinner.” Tanner tried to block the woman. “Go back to your table.”

“Wait, Tanner. It’s all right.” Reggie offered the woman her hand. “What’s your name?”

“Jayel Carmichael. I work around the corner at Gilden’s.”

Other patrons started to gather around. Nigel’s low “Keep clear . . . don’t press in too close” went completely ignored.

Reggie drew a mental path to the door if need be, but she saw or felt no threat here.

“What do you think of Hessenberg having a princess, Jayel?”

“Why not, I say. A royal family can do a country a lot of good. Especially a small duchy like us.”

“The governor thinks differently,” came a strong voice behind Reggie.

“Yeah, that blooming governor can get over hisself. He wants to be the one in charge.”

Voices in the pub rose, rumbled, and blended.

“That’s what I say.”

“Well, what of it?” This from a female patron. “He’s a fine man who’s served and loved his country—”

“Was Princess Alice really your grandmother?” Another soft voice interrupted the woman.

“—and knows our culture and laws. I trust the governor.”

“Yes, my great-grandmother was Princess Alice.” Reggie rose up on her toes. “And I do agree with the woman saying the
governor has served this country. He does know the laws and culture.”

“So what are you doing here, getting in the blooming way?”

“See there now,”—Jayel stood on a chair, patting down the noise with her hands—“she saved us from being a province to Brighton for the rest of our lives. That’s what she’s doing here.”

“Did you know your great-grammy?” another asked.

“I did.” Reggie turned, trying to line up voices with faces. “She died when I was twelve.”

“She’s real, just like us,” Jayel said with a campaign trail tone. “Got family and hurts, I suspect.”

“Here now, what’s all of this?” A booming voice parted the crowd. “I come for some grub and here’s the princess clogging up the works.”

Keeton Lombard III. “Hello, Mr. Lombard.” Reggie smiled at the older man.

“Your Majesty.” He removed his cap as he bowed. “At your service.” The lines around his eyes appeared deeper than when she met him, but there was a light and vigor in his eyes. “Move aside, chaps, let the princess have a seat.” He reached for a chair behind a man at another table. “You don’t mind, Pembrook, do you?”

“Please, Keeton. Let Mr. Pembrook eat his dinner.”

“Listen to her. Let me have my tea in peace, Lombard.” Mr. Pembrook glared up at her. “I for one agree with the governor. The time for royals has passed.”

Rumblings from the crowd rolled forward.

“Royals are a bother. Drain on state finances—”

“Drain? They
provide
finances. Tourism and—”

“Tourism?” The man laughed, swearing. “The people have to pay rent to the crown on the very grounds the tourists walk. Tourism? Malarkey!”

“We can make reforms.” Tanner finally joined the conversation. “In the land holdings, how the crown’s property is managed.”

“How about giving it back to the earls who lost their land with the blasted entail?”

“Agreed. We don’t need aristocracy. We’re all equal here, and we have a chance for a fresh start with a fresh government.”

The crowd stirred. Voices of dissension fired between the pub patrons.

“I think having a princess is fabulous.” Jayel pumped her arms as if it might help her emotionally charged argument. “She’s good for us. She comes straight from Prince Francis, the Grand Duke. That should mean something.”

“Here’s what I want to know.” An older man, dressed in a fine-weave suit and a neatly tied tie, appeared between the shoulders of two women. “How are you, an American, going to help us find our identity again? Help us rediscover who we are?”

“Tobias,” Keeton addressed him. “Give the girl some room. She just found out she is a long-lost princess herself.”

“I–I don’t know,” Reggie said. “We can learn together.”

Laughter rippled around the group. She winced. She did sound a bit
Sesame Street
.

“We’re doing all we can to bring out archives, Mr. . . .” Tanner offered his hand but the man didn’t take it.

“Horowitz. Tobias Horowitz. Archives don’t answer my question. Can the princess help us find our
identity
,”—he patted his hand over his heart—“who we are in here? Or will Seamus Fitzsimmons be the better one?”

“What do you mean, find our identity?” Tanner released the button on his jacket and loosened his tie. His blue eyes sparked and a red hue covered the high contours of his cheeks. Reggie loved it when his passion tinged his face. The creeping hue was a sure sign he was engaged in the moment. She noticed it when he met her at the airport when she came home, kissing her before he even said hello.

“How is this young bird—” Tobias glanced at Reggie. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“—going to resurrect what it means to be a Hessen? Remind us of our days of old? Of our pride. Of our history. Of how our parents and grandparents
felt
.”

“Identity?” Pembrook said. “Horowitz, have you lost your blooming mind? What about our economy?”

And so the room debated—her side, his side, their side, all sides. Even the waitstaff and the barkeepers leaned in to have a say. A tightness in Reggie’s chest twisted around her heart, her lungs, and for a moment she had to work to breathe. See, this was why she hated politics. Everyone had a side and valid reasons for what they believed and why.

Then the first note of a song fluttered across her heart. She tipped her head to one side, trying to listen. Two more notes fluttered past. An old song, from deep in her mind. Three notes played across her mind.

Where had she heard it before? Her first day here? On the radio?

She felt a soft, invisible drop on her head. The same oily sensation she felt in the chapel when she took the Oath of the Throne.

It was as if the Lord was saying, “I’m here. Ask me.”

Okay, what do I do? What do I say?

The melody began to flow, faster until she heard the entire song. Gram’s song. Of course. She used to sing it to her when she was a girl, afraid of the night. Closing her eyes, she pictured herself on Gram’s lap, leaning against her breast, weaving her little fingers through Gram’s soft, weathered ones.

Da-da-da-dum . . .
Reggie searched for the lyrics that went with the melody.

She waved at the barkeeper. “Can we turn down the TV?”

“Ian, cut it!” Gemma called across the bar, making a slicing motion at her throat. “Miss, are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m trying to remember something.” She could almost
see the words as the melody drifted in and about her heart, her mind.