The Princess Affair (29 page)

Sasha squeezed his fingers. “You’ve always been so brilliant at playing the public figure. You make it look so effortless. Ashleigh, too. But what if that’s not what I want? Or worse, what if it’s getting in the way of the very thing I want most of all?” Gently, she laid his hand back on his chest. “I feel torn up inside—like polo turf after a match. Maybe that’s what happens when a person doesn’t allow themselves to be authentic.”

As she looked past Arthur’s motionless body to the generic paintings on the wall, the heart of her problem leapt into focus. “The fact of the matter is that I’ve been living two lives for a while now. I thought it would be easier than choosing just one. Perhaps I was wrong, but how am I supposed to choose between my duty and my deepest self? What would you do?”

It was a question for which she truly had no answer. As heir to the throne, Arthur’s duty had always been crystal clear: when their father died, he would rule. That fact was as much a part of him as his hazel eyes and sandy hair. Part of the reason why Ashleigh was so perfect for him was that she understood his dedication to the Commonwealth. Who he was dovetailed with what he was, and she enabled and supported both aspects of his identity.

But Sasha had never been able to reconcile her royal imperatives with her personal dreams. They were in direct conflict, now more than ever. Her father would say that she was under an obligation to subjugate her own desires for the sake of her countrymen and family. But was that truly the honorable path? Shouldn’t a modern monarchy have a different set of priorities? And wasn’t there a sense in which she would be creating a terrible example for her subjects if her reign as queen was inflected by a deep and endemic hypocrisy?

At a sound near the door, she turned so quickly that dizziness threatened. Ashleigh stood just inside, regarding Sasha with an expression at once compassionate and pensive.

“How long have you been there?”

“A few minutes.”

Ashleigh pulled up a chair and sat close enough for their knees to touch. At first, she said nothing—only stroked the back of Arthur’s hand. Sasha was too exhausted to be angry that Ashleigh had eavesdropped. At this point, what did it even matter? She returned her gaze to Arthur’s face, silently willing him to wake.

“Kerry sounds special.”

“She is. I think I’ve known that for a while.” Sasha smiled ruefully. “Though I fought my instincts hard.”

Ashleigh rested her free hand on Sasha’s knee. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I should have. I know you would have listened.” She thought of Miranda’s suggestions, which had been entirely focused on what the outside world would think and not at all on what might actually be best for Sasha. By taking that mentality to heart, she had only succeeded in further distancing herself from Kerry. “You would have given me good advice.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I wouldn’t have given you any advice at all.” Ashleigh squeezed her knee gently. “The questions you’re asking right now can’t be decided by anyone but you.”

As they sat together in silence, Sasha felt the beginnings of a radical idea tugging at her weary brain. It was a decision that never would have occurred to Arthur, but with a little bit of research, a great deal of personal fortitude, and some luck, it might work for her. And if it did, she realized, she would not only make herself happy, but also silence her critics.

“You should have some time alone with him,” she said, leaning in to kiss Ashleigh on the cheek. “Thank you for the chat. And for all your support over the years.”

Ashleigh rested one hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “We’ll get through this, Sash. All of us.”

When Sasha pulled back to nod in agreement, she made sure a smile was plastered to her face. But as soon as she turned around, she let it fall. Ashleigh was being brave, but they both knew there were no guarantees that Arthur would ever reawaken. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t control his fate. She could only control her own.

Ian rejoined her as she returned to the hallway. “How shall I instruct the driver, ma’am? Will you remain here, or return to Clarence House?”

“Neither.” Striding toward the elevator, she prepared to make the opening salvo in what, if she played it properly, would be the last of her power struggles with her father. “I need to consult with someone in Oxford. In person. Immediately.”

Three hours later, she had gained entry into Magdalen College using the alias and fake identification card she had employed so often as a student of the university. With her wig and hoodie firmly in place, she felt reasonably confident that she would resist detection. Obtaining Harrison Whistler’s contact information had been a simple matter for Ian, and she had phoned ahead to ensure he would be home when she called. His confusion during their brief conversation had been palpable, but she had refused to say anything more until they could speak in person. Now, as she followed the directions he had given to his room, she hoped her instincts about him were correct. If not, her plan would be derailed before it could gain any momentum.

When she rapped lightly on the door, it opened within seconds. Dressed in a gray sweater and jeans, Harris towered over her, frowning. “Excuse me? Can I help—” Suddenly, his eyes widened. “Oh. I beg your pardon, Your Royal Highness. I didn’t recognize you.”

“That’s entirely the point. May I come in?”

“Of course.” Harris held the door while they ducked inside. Ian had insisted on following her into the room, arguing that the other students might be tipped off to her visit if he waited in the hall. Reluctantly, she had agreed that he was right. Her only fear was that he, too, would take exception to her plan.

“Would you like some coffee, ma’am? And please, sit.”

“Let’s dispense with the formalities. It’s Sasha. And coffee sounds wonderful. Just a hint of milk, please.”

Harris fetched two cups from a cabinet above his desk as she took one of the chairs flanking a small table near the sole window that looked out onto the college’s quadrangle. His room was small but tidy, and Sasha felt a sudden pang that she had never made an effort to see Kerry’s living space.

“Have you heard from Kerry?”

“A few times,” he said cautiously. It was disconcerting, though not altogether surprising, that he clearly felt the need to protect her. Sasha would be the first to admit that she had let her own complex situation stand in the way of treating Kerry properly. Perhaps now, that could change.

“How is she?”

“The media attention has been intrusive, but her family has reacted better than expected. And she’s praised the law enforcement in her town for doing the best they can. Apparently, they’ve rallied around her.” After carefully handing a steaming cup to Sasha, Harris sat down, clutching his own. “She’s living with her brother Declan at the moment, to keep the reporters away from her parents.”

Sasha’s heart ached at the thought of Kerry under siege. Her escape from the turmoil in Britain had only landed her in a nearly identical situation at home. “When will she return?”

Harris looked startled. “You don’t know?”

“Know?”

“She isn’t coming back. Not this year, anyway. Your father instructed the Secretary of the Rhodes Trust to suspend her from the program.”

“Excuse me?” Sasha felt her blood pressure skyrocket. The edges of her vision were tinged with crimson. Her father had banished Kerry, jeopardizing her entire future in the process, just because of a few photographs? She had known he could be ruthless, but this…this was beyond all sense of justice or proportion.

“I heard this from an aide to the secretary. It’s the truth.”

“I believe you.” Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to get her riotous brain to focus. “Will Kerry…what will she do now?”

“She said she would try to find a job. She has the option of reapplying for the Rhodes next year, but last I heard, she didn’t know if she would.”

Sasha gripped the arm of her chair tightly and stared down at the swirling liquid in her cup. Everything had spiraled out of her control. This latest revelation only strengthened her resolve to find a way to finally gain independence from the monarchy’s dispassionate machine. Feeling Harris’s gaze on her, she sipped gingerly at the coffee, willing the haze to clear from her mind.

“I wish I could say that I can’t believe my father would do such a thing. I feel awful. Kerry must be devastated.”

“What do you intend to do about it?”

The bluntness of his question was refreshing. “Can I trust that this conversation will be held in the strictest secrecy? Even from her?”

“Yes.” His answer was firm and immediate. It inspired a confidence she hoped was not misplaced.

“When we first met, you mentioned that you’re studying history. I came here today not only because I wanted news about Kerry, but also because I require your expertise.”

“With what, exactly?”

Sasha took a deep breath. “I need you to help me write an Act of Renunciation.”

Harris’s eyes went as round as the saucers they had forgone. Carefully, he set his coffee cup on the table, clearly trying to buy time as he formulated his response. “Your Royal Highness—”

“No. Sasha.”

“Right.” He swallowed audibly. “Are you sure you want to do this? I’ve gotten to know Kerry well over the past few months, and she wouldn’t want you to give everything up.”

“I won’t be giving everything up. I’ll merely be relinquishing my place in the line of succession.”

“Merely?”

“My place in that line, and the expectations accompanying it, are only holding me back.” She leaned forward, willing him to see her sincerity. “I’ve made my decision. I’m not doing this for Kerry. I’m doing it for me. I need to be free, and this is the only way.”

“You do understand that an Act of Renunciation isn’t enough on its own, right? It has to be approved by every country in the Commonwealth.”

Sasha felt a grim smile curve her lips. “Have you been reading the papers recently? Do you really think anyone would oppose cutting me out of the line of succession?”

“I would.”

She touched his arm lightly. “You’re sweet. But I need to do this. And I’ll bungle it if I try to write it on my own.”

Harris stared into his cup for a long moment before finally putting it aside. “All right.” He walked over to his desk and brought back his laptop. “You dictate. I’ll type. Then we’ll compare what we come up with to some historical examples. Okay?”

At his agreement, Sasha exhaled slowly, feeling a piece of her anxiety fall away. “Yes. Thank you.”

“I have one condition,” Harris said, hands poised above the keyboard like a bird of prey. “That you never, ever link my name to this document. As far as the world is concerned, you wrote it yourself.”

Puzzled, Sasha felt herself frown. “Of course. If that’s what you wish.”

“What I wish is that you could find another way.” His expression was serious. “The monarchy needs you.”

“It really doesn’t.” Sasha felt her hand tremble and quickly set down her own mug. “And there is no other way.”

*

Unlike the last time she had visited her father in his Buckingham office, Sasha wasn’t obliged to wait even for a moment. As soon as she entered the anteroom to her father’s office, his secretary, looking visibly exhausted, greeted her with a desultory, “Your Royal Highness,” and waved her through.

“Thank you,” she said, tightening the grip on the leather portfolio beneath her arm. Inside it lay a single sheet of heavy, bone-colored paper bearing her personal seal and letterhead. She had printed it out at Clarence House not half an hour before. This was the moment of truth. She knocked once and then entered at King Andrew’s muffled summons.

“Hello, Alexandra.” He sat stiffly behind his desk, expression wary. Dark bags hung beneath his narrowed eyes. As Sasha approached, she realized with a flash of surprise that for the first time, she didn’t feel nervous in his presence.

“Thank you for taking this meeting,” she said formally. “Over the past two weeks, I’ve done quite a lot of thinking and soul searching. This is the result.” Before she could change her mind, she passed the folder across the desk and took her seat in one of his low, uncomfortable chairs. He flipped the folder open quickly and perused the document inside. Her breaths came shallowly as she traced over the words in her mind.

I, Alexandra Victoria Jane, do hereby declare my irrevocable determination to renounce my place in the royal succession of the House of Carlisle…

The more he read, the more the frown lines across his forehead deepened. “What is this?”

“It’s exactly what it looks like.” For once, Sasha found it easy to speak with her father without getting angry.

He looked up from the paper, his bloodshot eyes dazed. “I don’t understand.”

“I wish to be removed from the line of succession.” Even as she spoke the words, she also heard them—as though she were floating above her own body.

“That’s preposterous.”

“It isn’t.”

He stared at the paper for a long time, whether rereading it or mulling it over, she couldn’t guess. “This is about that American, isn’t it? The woman?”

She had expected this question, and was prepared. “Her name is Kerry Donovan. She’s a Rhodes Scholar studying sustainable architecture. And no. This is not about her. This about me, and who I am. Something you’ve never bothered to find out for yourself.”

“I know exactly who you are, better than anyone else.” Frustration seeped into his voice, making his syllables more clipped than usual. “I was there when you took your first breath, Alexandra. You are my daughter, second in line to the throne.”

Instead of the frustration that would have once made her lash out, Sasha only felt sadness. “That’s true. But I’m so much more. Before Kerry, I didn’t realize how much. But I do now.”

His jaw stiffened. “Why would you want to give up your birthright precisely when your country needs you most?”

“The country doesn’t need me. It needs Arthur.”

“And if he dies?” The words were spoken roughly, but Sasha forced herself not to react.