by Cara Colter
She drew in her breath, suddenly, and her eyes widened. “I should have seen it before.”
“What?”
“The child is yours, isn’t she? She’s the image of you, Owen.”
“Anastasia, I am trusting you not to breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“Oh, I won’t. But for how long? I’m terrible at keeping secrets.”
“I am going to propose to Jordan the night of the ball.”
“That’s so romantic. I’m so excited. And I have a niece! A beautiful niece. You’ll live here, right? With my adorable niece? Not that Mother would ever let her go, now that we’ve found her.”
“Yes. I plan to have her here on Penwyck and not miss one more moment of her growing up. I plan to be her father.”
Chapter Eight
“And I have a niece! A beautiful niece. You’ll live here right? With my adorable niece? Not that Mother would ever let her go, now that we’ve found her.”
“Yes. I plan to have her here on Penwyck and not miss one more moment of her growing up. I plan to be her father.”
Jordan stood frozen in the hallway outside of the open door. How happy she had first felt when she heard the familiar tones of Owen’s voice drifting down that long hallway. Somehow she had become lost in the labyrinth of palace passageways, and though she could have eventually found her way, being lost would have been the most wonderful excuse to see him. To feel his eyes on her, to look at his lips, to maybe casually touch his arm.
It was weak and warped thinking of the worst sort, but a few seconds ago, she hadn’t cared.
Earlier, Meg had called her room in a panic and asked her to find Lady Gwendolyn for her. Since Whitney had already been taken by Trisha to see the pony, Jordan had been at loose ends.
And a few seconds ago it had been fun being lost inside a palace, exploring, asking directions, staring in awe at priceless treasures, giggling under the stern gazes of people in portraits. A few seconds ago, hearing his voice had made her heart beat a quick tattoo of delight. A few seconds ago she had felt like the whole world had been sprinkled with glitter as she had experienced it with her brand new heart. A heart full of hope.
But now! Jordan reeled back from that open door, feeling as if she could not breathe.
Not that Mother would ever let her go, now that we’ve found her.
She stumbled down a corridor, through an unfamiliar chamber, down some steps, getting more and more lost and disoriented. Finally she found a door to the outside, and recognized she was not far from the little walled garden where Owen had invited them for lunch, that first time.
She went through the archway, and it had been stripped of the branches. The table and chairs were there, but the table covering and chair pads had been put away.
It didn’t look like a fairy-tale place at all anymore, but like a very plain garden, getting ready to die before winter.
She sat in one of the cold, hard chairs and gazed at the changes. Owen’s specialty, creating make-believe.
Why had she allowed him to overcome her first impression, that all of it was not real, that he was a master at manipulating impressions?
Why had she allowed him to overcome that distrust that lived in her, breathed in her, was her, since the day he had left her? That attitude had protected her. Kept her and her daughter safe.
She had become victim to his dancing, blue eyes all over again! To that charming grin. To the unconscious flex of sinewy muscle, to that boyish way he had of blowing his hair out of his eyes. She had let that passion that rose in her every time she was in the same room with him cloud her reasoning. She had lost her ability to see clearly what was going on as he had pulled her deeper and deeper into his world.
This morning, when his lips had played tantalizing games with her toes, she had surrendered, finally, totally. She had allowed herself to believe.
That maybe it was true. That maybe a prince could really love a plain, frumpy girl, a kitchen assistant from Wintergreen, Connecticut. Worse, she had allowed herself to believe that she could become whole again, that she could love again.
Now she saw it all clearly. He had never loved her. If he had, he would have come back to her on his own accord way before this. A five year break in his fervor? No, he and his powerful family had found out about the child, about her Whitney.
They wanted her child!
Owen had probably been ordered to win her over, to beat down her resistance. She had seen him perform in the name of duty. Oh, he could be magnificent.
But she did not want to think of Owen at the coal mine—of the warmth and comfort he had given, of the strength and confidence he had radiated. Of course he knew how to do that. It was all part of his princely act. Those were the very moments when she had begun that slow surrender to the pull of him, to the power of him, to the seductive charisma of him.
Jordan now saw, frantically, she had to take her daughter and get away from this place. She had to be somewhere where she could think clearly, and that had to be someplace that he was not. Home.
Wintergreen. In her own bedroom, in her own life where the only one who licked at her toes was Jay-Jay and that did not make her stupidly blind to reality.
Think, she ordered herself. How was she going to get out of here? She and Whitney had to escape. She wiped angrily at a tear that slid down her cheek. She would not be a weakling! She would not.
A young man came into the garden, young and handsome, dressed in overalls, carrying a hoe. He looked surprised to see her there.
“Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” He turned to leave her in privacy and then did a quick second take. “Is everything all right?”
“No,” she said, and let her lip quiver. “Do you have a car?”
“Miss?”
“Could I borrow your car? I need to go to town. Emergency supplies for the banquet. I forgot to get an ingredient for the Moose Ta-Ta. The shiitake mushrooms.” She said the first thing that came to her head. Shiitake mushrooms were not an ingredient in Moose Ta-Ta, but only two people in the world knew that, and she guessed he was not one of them. “I could be fired.”
He looked dubious, which she couldn’t blame him for, so she poured on the waterworks. As she had hoped, he had a manly aversion to tears. His car keys were out of his pocket and in her lap in a nanosecond.
“It’s the red Mini in the staff lot,” he said. “It’s a very humble car, miss.”
“Humble,” she said, beaming at him through tears, “that’s me. Little Miss Humble.” Jordan Ashbury, the girl least suited to be besotted with a prince and least suited to have a prince besotted with her. How could she have trusted Owen again? What kind of fool was she?
Oh, the toe thing this morning had been such a nice touch. But then he knew all her weak spots, didn’t he? He had played her vulnerabilities, the soft spots he knew she had.
Could someone really take pretense that far?
She felt the smallest niggle of doubt, but reminded herself sternly she did not have time for doubts. She could entertain doubts in the safety of Wintergreen. “Your name?” she asked the boy.
She’d have to leave something on that car at the airport so it could be returned to him.
“Ralph Miller,” he said.
Trisha’s lad. Oh, may they be happy together on this cursed island where fantasy and reality blended until she had not a hope of discerning which was which.
“I hope you are taking precautions,” she said, and despite his baffled look, it made her feel good. Her old self—protector of trod-upon women, least likely to be charmed by a handsome face.
She left the garden hurriedly, went to her room. She could take hardly anything without arousing suspicion. She couldn’t take a packed suitcase with her to run into town to pick up mushrooms! In the end, she took only her purse and her and Whitney’s travel documents. Clothing could be replaced. Not so her daughter! She went into Whitney’s room and grabbed Peaknuckle.
And then, her heart in her throat
, hoping she wouldn’t see anyone, she dashed for the stables.
Whitney was riding slow circles on Tubby, thrumming her stocky legs against his sides, trying to persuade a little faster movement out of him.
“Whitney, love, I have to go to town. Why don’t you come with me?”
“No!” Her daughter frowned, and kicked at the pony more feverishly.
“You can ride Tubby again later.” Liar, liar. Would her daughter ever forgive her for this?
“No! He has to twot! Twot, Tubby, twot.”
At any other time she might have found the pony’s complete obliviousness to her daughter’s imperious commands quite funny. But not now! Under the astonished gaze of Trisha and the young groom who was giving Whitney patient instructions, she went and picked her daughter up off the pony.
“We are going to town,” she said, sternly. “Just for a few minutes. I need you to come with me.”
“I don’t want to,” Whitney replied, trying to wriggle out of her grasp. “Put me down!”
She could see her window of opportunity closing. Whitney couldn’t create a scene. “You want to come with me because,” Jordan thought desperately and then said with wild and forced enthusiasm, “I have a surprise for you.”
“A surpwise?” Whitney asked, and stopped wriggling.
And it had better be good, better than a pony.
“An elephant,” Jordan said, in a moment of inspiration. “There’s a real live elephant where we’re going.”
Whitney became very still, and Jordan was able to set her on the ground.
“Weally, Mommy? An elephant?”
Surely she could find an elephant somewhere in Connecticut, at a zoo. Surely, at some later date she could redeem her integrity in her daughter’s eyes, but right now she just had to get them away from here.
Jordan became aware Trisha was listening avidly, staring at her with growing astonishment.
“Why do you have Peaknuckle?” Whitney asked.
Jordan thought fast. It was horrible how quickly a person could become good at fabricating. This is what Owen had done to her. Had her fibbing to her daughter. “I knew Peaknuckle would want to see the elephant, too!”
“An elephant?” Trisha said, disbelieving.
But Whitney beamed at her mother’s sensitivity, and her hand nestled into Jordan’s. It was about the nicest thing she’d ever felt, the battle won, their leaving Penwyck quietly, with no fuss. She tried to smile casually at Trisha. “We’ll just be a little while.”
“Be back before lunch,” Trisha wailed. “I understand you’ve been invited to have lunch with the queen.”
“I have?”
“I’ve been instructed to get Whitney ready. I was sent a dress for her.”
Jordan went cold. So Whitney was scheduled to have lunch with the queen, and she was not. They were all in on it, planning on how to push her out of her daughter’s life, sending her dresses suitable for a princess to replace clothing suitable for a kitchen worker’s daughter.
“We’ll be back in plenty of time for lunch,” she lied.
She found the staff parking lot and the Mini. No car seat. And the steering wheel on the wrong side. And a stick shift!
She belted her daughter into the passenger seat, turned the key, and the little car hummed to life. She put it into gear and stalled. Then stalled again trying to back it up.
She laid her head on the steering wheel and prayed. She glanced up to see Ralph and Trisha standing on the edge of the parking lot, looking worried, consulting with each other. Jordan forced herself to smile, gave them a jaunty wave and started the car again.
Jerkily, she headed down the road, her daughter clutching Peaknuckle on the seat beside her.
“Do you know how to dwive this caw, Mommy?”
“Oh, sure. Nothing to it.”
Her daughter clutched her elephant a little tighter, and looked doubtful.
After a few wrong turns, she finally found the road to the airport. Almost there. Almost safe. Almost home.
Trying not to look as unglued as she felt, she parked the car, grabbed Whitney and raced into the building. She went up to the ticket counter. What to do now? Getting out of Penwyck, out of the reach of these people’s frightening power was the first priority. They’d go wherever the next flight was going and worry about how to get to America from there.
Was the girl behind the counter looking for her luggage? Never mind. There was no rule that said you had to have luggage to get on a plane to Wales. “Two,” Jordan said, casually, as if she was buying tickets to the movie, “for Wales.”
“I don’t see an elephant,” Whitney said crossly.
“That’s because we have to take the airplane to see the elephant.” The girl behind the counter was trying not to look at her as if she was deranged.
“Excuse me, Ms. Ashbury?”
She whirled, and recognized the blond hair and wholesome features of the security man she had spoken to at the mine. She’d been worried it was going to collapse on top of the man who was conniving to take her daughter!
“I’m Peter Webster, palace security. Do you think you could come with me? Please?”
So polite. She wasn’t fooled. “No, I’m not coming with you. I’m getting on this plane.” She turned her back on him. “I need two tickets to—”
She saw the girl behind the counter looking confused, until Mr. Webster flashed a badge at her.
Then the girl, traitor, said quietly, “I’m sorry, miss,” and closed her wicket.
“Where’s the elephant?” Whitney wailed angrily.
Webster looked distressed. “Miss, I’m very sorry, but you can’t leave the island.”
“Says who?” she said, tossing her hair.
“Royal orders, miss.”
“Well, I am not a fief or serf or whatever you call people who belong to the palace.” She drew herself to her full height. “I am a citizen of the United States of America and I cannot be forced to stay here against my will. If you try to make me, I am going to sue you, and Prince Owen, and this whole island, and when I’m done with you—”
His cell phone rang, and he held up one finger, politely, as if he was simply dying to hear the rest of what she had to say.
“Yes, sir. Of course I’m with her. We’re leaving the airport now, and coming back to the palace.”
So much for the rest of what she had to say! Jordan bit her lip and glared angrily at the man. He was irritatingly unintimidated.
“Where’s the elephant?” Whitney cried, stamping her foot.
“Shush, dear.” Jordan took a deep steadying breath. Much as she wanted to make a scene, her first obligation was to keep calm for her daughter. She didn’t want Whitney frightened by all this. “We’ll have to see the elephant another day.”
“Why?” Whitney shrieked.
“Because of this gentleman right here,” Jordan said.
Whitney scowled up at the remote featured Mr. Webster, wound up, and kicked him soundly in the shin.
He winced, but was quite manly about it.
“Can I go back to Tubby?” Whitney asked her mother, her rage vented.
“He’s no replacement for a real, live elephant, but I suppose we have no option,” Jordan said.
Webster gestured for them to precede him out of the airport, and Jordan went, chin up to try and hide the fact she felt like a prisoner. Outside the airport were three secret service cars and half a dozen agents. She tossed one of them the keys to the Mini. “See this gets back to Ralph Miller.”
And then she slid into the back seat of a long gray car, while Webster held open the door. She took her daughter on her lap, and Webster got in the seat beside her looking very stern and ready to grab her should she try and leap from the vehicle.
The prince was waiting in the driveway looking firm and formidable, not at all like the fun-loving boy who had been kissing her toes this morning.
Big surprise that that wasn’t who he really was.
She exited t
he car regally.
“Hewo Pwince Owen. My mommy was going to take me to see an elephant. That awful man stopped us.”
Jordan glanced at the “awful man” and saw he was looking at his shoes. Owen didn’t even try to hide his fury. His eyes were snapping with it, the line of his jaw was leaping.
“I’ll take you to see an elephant another time,” Owen said.
“Over my dead body,” Jordan spat back.
To her disgrace, it was Owen who cast a look at their daughter, who was watching them with worried eyes.
He signaled to Trisha who swooped forward and claimed Whitney.
“Where’s she taking her?” Jordan asked, and saw his brow furrow at the fear in her voice.
“To get her ready to have lunch with my mother, which is where you’re supposed to be, too.”
“I don’t recall being invited,” she said snootily.
“You were so invited. I found my mother’s invitation, unopened, in your room when I went to find you after Ralph sought me out to tell me some remarkable tale about you being fired if you didn’t find mushrooms. I hate mushrooms. I doubt they’d be on the menu for my celebration.”
“Your mother did invite me for lunch? Not just Whitney?”
“Why would she just invite Whitney?”
“Don’t play the innocent with me, Owen. Others might fall for you hook, line and sinker, but I’ve seen your other side.”
“I’m not following you. Even a little bit.”
“I heard you! I heard you telling your sister you wanted Whitney. I heard her saying her mother was never going to let her go now that she knew about her.” Don’t cry, she ordered herself. Don’t you dare cry.
Of course, she started to cry.
“Oh, Jordan,” he said and put his arms around her.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, then traitorously snuggled deeper into his embrace. Why did her heart think it knew things that her head could not accept?
That some men—that this man—was someone she could trust.
Forever.
“You heard part of a very long conversation. I would never take Whitney away from you. Never. Nor would I allow anybody else to.”
“So you’ll keep me here, against my will, just to keep Whitney.”