The Princess

by Jude Deveraux

  Since the war, it seemed that every man he knew was getting married, but J.T. had thought he was too wise to get trapped by a woman. More than once, he had seen a man marry some beautiful dish then two weeks later she would look like Aria looked now. J.T. had been disgusted. He liked his women combed and powdered and perfumed. But right now, looking at Aria, he wouldn’t trade her for a beauty queen.

  “Where did you get that shirt?” he asked over the radio, referring to the oversize, beat-up plaid she wore.

  She gave him a level look over her beer. “From a box in your closet.”

  “The box way in the back? The one that is—was—taped and tied and has ‘private’ written in three-inch-tall letters on all six sides?”

  “That sounds like the one,” she said, watching him.

  J.T. grunted and she smiled at him. He had always heard men complaining about the lack of privacy in marriage and he had always thought that if he had a wife she would never invade his privacy. But now he found it didn’t matter at all. In fact, he rather liked that she had been curious enough to search his belongings. It made it seem as if they really were married.

  He looked back at her. He was going to have to turn her over to another man.

  Right then he made a vow that he would be like a man falling off a horse—he would get right back on. As soon as he gave her to her short, old, effeminate count, he would get himself another wife. He liked having someone to come home to. He liked sitting in the backyard on a Saturday afternoon and eating hamburgers. He even liked the intimacy of rolling a woman’s hair.

  Of course he wondered if he would be able to find another wife as interesting as Aria. He smiled at the memory of last night. Most young officers’ wives were terrified of any man with a star on his shoulder, but Aria hadn’t cared one way or the other. And maybe he had been a little overbearing about his mother’s visit—of course who knew that one’s mother would act as his had?

  He leaned his chair back and turned down the radio. “Yesterday you said you were suffering from morning sickness. Was that true or did you just want to get rid of me?”

  “It wasn’t true,” she answered.

  “What would happen if you were going to have my kid? Would your blueblood count still accept you?”

  “I would still be queen, and as he wants to marry a queen, I don’t believe it would interfere in any way.”

  “And what about the kid?”

  “If he were a boy, as the oldest, he’d someday be king. If the child were a girl and I had no male issue, she would become queen.”

  J.T. took a deep drink of his beer. “I see. No objection from your short husband?”

  Aria coughed to cover a laugh. “I will be queen and the decision about the child would be mine.”

  “Ol’ Julian would be a father to someone else’s kid?”

  “He wouldn’t be involved much in the upbringing even if the child were his. Royal children are reared by governesses and tutors. My father died when I was quite young and until I reached womanhood at fourteen, I only saw my mother from six to six-thirty each evening.”

  “And that’s how your children would be raised?”

  “I know of no other way.”

  “In America we do things differently. If we had a kid right now, he’d be here with us. You’d be feeding him and I’d be tossing him a ball.”

  “Another example of American equality,” she said. “The woman does the work and the man gets to play.”

  J.T. looked like he might get angry but then he laughed. “It beats giving the kid to strangers. If you fell and cut yourself, who hugged you?”

  Aria looked puzzled. “A doctor would be called. But a royal princess is too well guarded to get hurt very often, although I have injured myself falling from a horse.”

  “Guarded? When I was ten I rowed myself out to an island and camped for two nights alone.”

  “Royal children are never alone. Even at night someone sleeps in their room. At fourteen I was given my own room but a maid slept in an adjoining chamber.”

  “I see,” J.T. said, taking a big bite of his hamburger. “And our kid—I mean, if we made one—would be raised like that?”

  “It is tradition.” She was quiet a moment. “But you could visit him whenever you wished.”

  “No,” J.T. said slowly. “I’m not sure I could do that.” He leaned back, turned the radio back up, and fell silent.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ON Monday morning J.T. received a telegram from General Brooks saying that all was arranged and the two of them would be shipped out to Lanconia on Tuesday.

  “The beginning of the end,” he murmured as Bill entered his office.

  “Something bothering you?” Bill asked.

  “The princess and I leave for Lanconia tomorrow.”

  “I’m going to miss her, and Dolly’s not going to be fit to live with. Those two have become as thick as thieves. And the merchants around town are going to cry too.”

  J.T. crumbled the telegram in his hand. “I better call her so she can pack,” he said solemnly.

  “And I’ll call Dolly so she can help.”

  Later that day Dolly called J.T. and said she was inviting everyone to a cookout on the beach. “A farewell party for her,” Dolly said, and there was a catch in her voice.

  You aren’t going to miss her more than I will, J.T. thought.

  It was a subdued Aria who met him at the beach. He took her hand in his. “Cheer up, baby, you’re going home.”

  “I shall miss America,” she said softly. “I shall miss its freedom and its music and its feeling of progression.”

  Not to mention missing me, he thought with some anger. “I guess I’m to catch the lobsters.”

  “Yes,” she said disinterestedly. “Probably.”

  Aria couldn’t cheer up, no matter how hard she tried. And Dolly was as bad as she was. A princess never shows her emotions in public, Aria chanted.

  J.T. brought back lobsters and the men put them on the grill.

  “Oh no,” Dolly said. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  Aria looked up to see a plump Heather Addison on the arm of Mitch. “Good evening, everybody,” Mitch called, then looked at Aria. “You look lovely, as usual. J.T. taking better care of you?”

  “I take great care of her,” J.T. said, holding a barbecue fork as if it were a weapon.

  Heather gave a contemptuous look at Aria then wiggled over to J.T. She took his arm and snuggled her breasts into his side. “J.T., honey, I haven’t seen you since Washington. Remember the night we did the town? The day after you got married?” she added loudly.

  “Just what we need—fireworks,” Gail groaned. “J.T., let’s make this evening pleasant, okay?”

  Mitch went to sit by Aria. “I hear you’re shipping out tomorrow. We’re going to miss you. J.T. going too?”

  J.T. turned around. “She’s going with me, not the other way around. This country of Lanconia needs some shipbuilding advice, and I’m giving it. My wife goes with me.”

  Mitch moved closer to Aria. “I hear Lanconia is very pretty with long, cool nights, nothing but cowbells ringing.”

  “True,” Aria said sadly. “No McGuire Sisters, no garbage trucks at three A.M., no honkytonks, no beach parties.”

  “You’ve been there?”

  “No,” J.T. and Aria said in unison. “We’ve just been reading about it,” J.T. added.

  “J.T., honey, I left my wrap in the car. Would you get it for me?” Heather asked.

  “Somebody watch the grill,” J.T. called, and stepped away from the light of the fire and into the darkness.

  Heather lost no time in following him. “J.T.,” she called, “wait for me.”

  He halted. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “Don’t give me that,” she said. “I know what’s going on. I had to pay three lipsticks and four pair of nylons to get the information about you and that…that princess. If she’s royalty, I’ll eat my bathing suit.”r />
  “You better start chewing.” J.T. turned away.

  Heather hurried after him. “I also know the marriage is temporary and that she’s going to dump you as soon as you two get to her country. I hear she’s going to throw you over for a skinny little duke with blue blood.”

  “Heather, you have a big mouth.” He stopped at Mitch’s car, opened the door, grabbed her beach cover-up, and shoved it at her.

  “You used to like my mouth,” she said, leaning into his chest. “Honey, I’m only concerned about you. What are you gonna do when she ditches you? You aren’t fool enough to end up with a broken heart, are you?”

  The words hit too close to home. “Let’s go back,” he said, but there was no conviction in his voice.

  “I’ll be here, sweetie. When you come back here all alone, I’ll be waiting.”

  He looked at her a moment. “I might take you up on that offer,” he said.

  They walked back to the firelight together.

  “Are you going to stand for that?” Dolly asked, looking up at Heather and J.T. bending over the grill.

  “That’s a nice suit,” Aria said absently. “Do you think she bought it here?”

  Dolly rolled her eyes then got up and pushed herself between J.T. and Heather. “Your date is over there,” she said pointedly to Heather.

  “My date for tonight,” Heather said smugly.

  The evening grew worse. Aria and Dolly were depressed and Heather was angry at J.T. for having married someone other than herself, Mitch kept making hints to Aria about having a night of farewell, and the rest of the group wished they hadn’t come.

  Aria watched J.T. and Heather and saw that J.T. was making no effort to keep Heather’s hands off his body. In fact, he kept looking at Aria as if he expected something from her. But the more Heather oozed over J.T., the straighter Aria’s back became. She felt closer to being a royal princess tonight than she had in weeks.

  By the time the group said good night, Aria’s manners were very formal. “So good of you to have invited me,” she said, and held out her hand to shake—not a hearty American shake but the fingers-only type royalty used to save their hands from hundreds of handshakes in a few hours.

  “I’ll see you off tomorrow,” Dolly said softly, a little intimidated by Aria’s manner.

  “Thank you very much,” she said to J.T. when he opened the car door for her. “A most pleasant party,” she said as he drove away.

  “What, no mimicking of Heather?”

  “She is a lovely young woman,” Aria said. “Such lovely hair.”

  “It’s not a natural color.”

  “Oh? One would never have guessed.” They were both quiet the rest of the way home.

  “You must pardon me,” Aria said when they were home. “I am most tired and think I’ll go to bed. I wish you a pleasant good night.”

  “Damn!” J.T. said when she was upstairs. Did the woman have no feelings? How many times had he made a fool of himself out of jealousy over her? But tonight he had allowed Heather to make the most outrageous remarks and Aria had said nothing. He went into the backyard to smoke a cigarette and drink a strong gin and tonic. Perhaps she was looking forward to getting rid of him. Perhaps she was too cold-blooded to feel such an emotion as jealousy.

  As usual in Key West, it was starting to rain. He crushed his cigarette out and downed his drink as he glanced up and saw the light go out in the window above. It looked like she was sleeping in her single bed tonight. Good, he thought, it was better to start breaking apart now.

  The upstairs was dark and he made no effort to be quiet as he stumbled about and undressed.

  He went to Aria’s end of the room to close the windows. A bolt of lightning showed her to be lying with her face buried in the pillow.

  “Damn,” he said under his breath, and went to stand over her bed. “Look, it’s almost over. You’ll be home soon. You’ll be back in your castle and you’ll never have to wash a dish again and you’ll never have to look at my ugly mug again.”

  “Or see Dolly,” she said into the pillow.

  “Are you okay?” He sat down on the bed. “You and Dolly get into it?”

  She whirled around like a tornado and came up with fists clenched, pummeling at his bare chest and arms. “You humiliated me,” she yelled. “You embarrassed me before people who have become my friends.”

  He grabbed her fists. “Look who’s talking! You with your ‘Chica Chica’ in front of my commanding officers.”

  “But you deserved that! You insinuated that I wasn’t good enough for your mother.”

  “I never did such a thing in my life.” He was aghast.

  “Then what was that ‘Do you know how to act at a formal ball?’ ‘My mother hates chewing gum so don’t blow bubbles in her face.’ ‘You are to be courteous and respectful to my mother. Treat her as if she were a queen so don’t go telling her she does or does not have permission to speak.’ ‘And she can sit wherever she wants’? What was all that?”

  J.T. grinned in the darkness. “Maybe I did go a little overboard.”

  “You deserved ‘Chica Chica.’ I did not deserve Heather. I’ve been very good the last few days.”

  J.T. moved his hands to her back. “You sure have, honey,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her.

  She drew back. “How can you have the audacity to touch me? Get away from me.”

  J.T. stopped abruptly. “Sure. Fine. I’ll leave you alone. You can lie there and dream about the time when you never have to see me again.”

  He went to his own bed but he was too angry to sleep. He kept thinking of the injustice of it all, how he had saved her life and married her and taught her to be an American, and she screamed at him and told him to leave her alone. He flopped about in the bed and the sheets began to stick to him. He punched the pillow but sleep wasn’t anywhere near.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have let Heather act like that. She always was a bit of a pest. She had wanted to get married and he acted as if he had no idea what she had in mind, but all along he had suspected that Heather wanted Warbrooke Shipping more than she wanted him.

  Cursing women, cursing the army for marrying them, cursing his love of seafood that had made him want to go to that island where he had first met her, J.T. got out of bed and went to her end of the room. She still had her face buried in the pillow. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Look, maybe I shouldn’t have behaved like I did. I know Heather can be a little cat and I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”

  She didn’t say a word.

  “You hear me?” He held out his hand to touch her temple. “You’re crying,” he said as if he didn’t believe it. He pulled her into his arms. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I didn’t even know you could cry.”

  “Of course I can cry,” she said angrily, sniffing. “A princess just doesn’t cry in public, that’s all.”

  “I’m not public,” he said, sounding hurt. “I’m your husband.”

  “You didn’t act like it tonight. You acted as if Heather were your wife.”

  “Well, maybe she will be.”

  “What?” Aria gasped.

  “Well, honey, I have to think of the future. You’re going to stay in Lanconia with your scrawny count and I find I’m growing rather fond of marriage.”

  “Oh? How so?” she asked, snuggling against him.

  “I don’t know. It’s sure not the peace and quiet it’s added to my life.”

  “I wonder, Lieutenant Montgomery, maybe you could stay in Lanconia and remain as my husband. My country could benefit from some of your knowledge.”

  “And be king? I’d just as soon be put in a zoo. No thank you. No woman is worth that. Hey, where you going?” he asked.

  “As you say, to the can.”

  “Now what did I do wrong?” he muttered.

  * * *

  Dolly and Bill came to the plane to say good-bye and it felt natural to Aria when Dolly hugged her in public.


  Dolly held out a package. “It’s just a little something to help you remember America.” There were tears in her eyes.

  J.T. shook hands with Bill. “I’ll be back as soon as…as soon as this is done.” He was hovering over Aria as if he thought she might fly away.

  “Good-bye,” they called as Aria and J.T. boarded the airplane.

  It was to be a long flight because they had to go north over Russia instead of risking being shot down over Germany.

  Aria leaned back in the hard leather seat and looked out the window at Dolly and Bill on the ground.

  “Cheer up,” J.T. said. “You’re going home. What did Dolly give you?”

  Aria blinked away tears and opened the package. The box was filled with chewing gum. She laughed.

  “I’ll get her back,” J.T. groaned. “A princess who likes bubble gum.”

  When they were in the air, the copilot brought J.T. a fat package. “It’s our orders,” J.T. said. “By the time we get to Lanconia you’re to have memorized a new background and assumed a new identity. Look at this!” he said, scanning the cover letter. “General Brooks recommended that you come from Warbrooke, Maine, and that you and I have known each other all our lives. That way I can tell you about my hometown. And your name is Kathleen Farnsworth Montgomery. Okay, Kathy, let’s get to work.”

  Aria couldn’t help contrasting this trip to their earlier flight from Washington to Key West. J.T. didn’t doze while she studied; instead, he told her about his hometown and the people who lived there. He told her about his father, who was now single-handedly running what J.T. described as the family’s modest shipping business. He told her about his three older brothers, about the rowing races they used to have.

  “I always won,” he said smugly. “I was the smallest and strong for my size.”

  She looked at the length and breadth of him sprawled in the airplane seat. “You’re not still the smallest, are you?” she asked, and her voice conveyed her fear of a family of giants.

  “Of course not,” he said, eyes twinkling, and leaned over to kiss her, then he shoved the papers off his lap and gave all his attention to kissing her.

  “Not now!” she hissed at him, and he withdrew, grinning at her flushed face.