by Rachel Hauck
“Chatted?” Campbell had also chatted with him after the ball. “About what?”
“Let’s just say we came to an understanding.”
Well then. Campbell sat back, smiling. “How long before I have grandchildren?”
“Two years, tops.”
Campbell arched her brow. “Two years?” If he proposed today, it’d take six months to plan the wedding, another one or two to conceive a child, if Ginny were as good at getting pregnant as she was at everything else. “Don’t you dare get pregnant outside of wedlock.”
“I’d never. It’s my name, my crown, my reputation, as much as his and the House of Stratton’s.” Ginny sipped her tea. “Have you seen the news shows this morning?”
“Only the papers.” Did she want this woman for her son? As a daughter-in-law? She seemed so self-aware. So self-absorbed.
“A group of photographers spotted Nathaniel’s car this morning up at St. Stephen’s. They waited for him to emerge. Which he did. With her. She’s already being labeled his American mistress.”
“Mercy.” Campbell lost her breath. Her hand trembled when she set her teacup on the table beside her. “What in the world?”
“Not to worry, I’ve got it covered.” Ginny’s smile garnered no confidence from the queen. “Morris and the lot turned to me when the pictures started coming in. I assured them Susanna was only his friend, a girl of no import, and no threat to Brighton or Hessenberg. The king and I are on a fine, steady footing.”
“But you’re not on a fine, steady footing. And who authorized you to speak for the king? The King’s Office is to deal with the media.”
“Campbell, the media came to me. Who better to cover for Nathaniel’s romantic foolishness than me?” When Ginny stood, Campbell did also. “The entail depends on me becoming queen. Everyone knows it.”
“The entail depends on a descendant of the grand duke’s royal line.”
“I am the closest thing.” She offered a high, twittery laugh. “The others renounced the throne and scattered across Europe. Marrying me is the perfect solution. You know it’s true, Campbell.”
“It’s a solution though I daresay not perfect. And it’s Your Majesty or ma’am to you, my good woman. Don’t come into my home impertinent and arrogant. I have lived to serve Brighton my whole life, and I am keen on every aspect of her laws, her alliances, and her responsibilities.”
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Then just what did you mean to imply? Next time the newspapers contact you instead of the King’s Office, kindly decline to comment.”
“They know me, Camp—ma’am. I’ve spent years building a relationship with Morris and the like.”
“When you were crawling around in your stinky nappies, I was taking tea with Morris Alderman.” Campbell’s suspicions rose. She’d not noticed this side of the lady before. “What have you done, Ginny? What have you said to the media?”
“What have I done? Ensured your monarchy, that’s what. Your foolish son tramped off with an American commoner. She’ll ruin us all. So I ran interference with the press. I did it for you, for Nathaniel.”
“You mean for you.”
“Yes, for me as well. So what? I’m right for queen. After all, you married to be queen one day, did you not?” Ginny had mastered sly and slithery.
Ire sparked Campbell to her senses. Such an ugly side to the beautiful Lady Genevieve. “Don’t count my marriage to Leo as part of your manipulation strategy. You know nothing of what you’re talking about.”
“This I do know, ma’am.” Ginny set down her tea. “We do not live in a time when royalty is as revered. The respect of the people must be earned. The palace must be a PR firm every bit as much as a monarchy. With Nathaniel’s charm and leadership and my popularity and PR experience we can make the House of Stratton one of the strongest monarchies in Europe. We can rule Brighton and Hessenberg. So what if I did a bit of meddling? You’d do the same. It was for the good of all. Tell me, what will you do when this foreigner comes ’round saying she’s pregnant with Nathaniel’s child and scandalizes the whole country?”
Campbell gasped. Ginny’s brazenness broached permanent offense.
“Don’t be naïve, Your Majesty. Brace yourself, because such a claim will be the first death peal of the Crown.”
“But last I knew one had to have sex to be pregnant.” A voice crossed the room from the doorway. “So claiming his love child will be impossible.”
Campbell aimed her focus on the door as Ginny whirled around. “Excuse me, but this is a private conversation.”
Rollins stood in the doorway with Susanna. “Ma’am, she asked to speak with you. I took the liberty of escorting her to your quarters.”
“Thank you, Rollins. Susanna, do come in.” Campbell stepped around the chairs to greet her new guest. Step aside, Lady Ginny.
“Thank you, but I don’t mean to interrupt. I was …” She looked down. “I’m sorry about all the mess.”
Her humble posture moved Campbell. She looked in need of a shower and fresh clothes. “Please, come sit for tea. You look absolutely chilled.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but no. I need to get … cleaned up. Have you seen my sister, Avery?”
“No, I’ve not.”
“I’ll see if Rollins can call Colin.” Susanna motioned behind her, toward the door. “Ma’am, I want to thank you for inviting us. It’s been a true honor. We’ll never forget it.”
“I imagine you won’t,” Ginny said. “Look at all the trouble you’ve—”
“Lady Genevieve,” Campbell said. “Be quiet.” The woman took too much liberty. Dared to insult a guest of Parrsons House and the queen.
“I never meant any disrespect or harm. Nate and I … I never meant to cause any trouble for the family.” Susanna curtsied and backed toward the door. “I just … just wanted to …”
“Oh my stars.” Ginny thundered toward her. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
Infernal Ginny. She could take a few lessons from this girl on humility.
Susanna looked up. “Are you?” she asked, strong and steady, despite her quivering chin.
“I hardly see it as your business.” Ginny mocked her with a conciliatory glance at Campbell as if they were on the same team.
And suddenly, they were not. Campbell abandoned her passion to see Lady Genevieve as her future queen. The woman had no concern for her son, for the House of Stratton, nor for her country. She cared only for herself.
“Then neither are my feelings your business,” Susanna said.
Campbell chortled. Ginny’s glare iced.
“When shall we hear you are expecting his child?”
“Ginny!” Campbell burned with embarrassment. For herself, for her countrywoman.
“Hey.” Susanna forced herself into Ginny’s space. “If you knew Nate at all, you’d know better than to make such an assumption.” Good show, Susanna, tell her. “You claim to know him, but you don’t. You claim you want to marry him, but—”
“What do you know of my claims?” Ginny flared and fired.
“You blab it all over the press.”
Campbell laughed outright as she took her seat. She’d never seen Lady Genevieve speechless and red faced. This was better than an evening at the royal theater. Go on, Susanna, take this lady to school.
“If you spent half as much energy proving to Nathaniel that you care about him, he just might not have to hold his nose if he decided to propose.” Susanna stepped back, pinching her lips under a sheepish expression.
“What do you know, silly girl?” Ginny crossed to stand in front of Susanna and nearly grabbed a fistful of her coat collar.
But the American didn’t back down. Campbell all but shouted, “Touché.”
Susanna inched toward Ginny. “I know he’s a man of honor, and he’ll do what’s right. But what about you?”
Ginny eased, smiling, crossing her arms. “I won’t be drawn into this debate.”
C
ampbell angled forward in her chair, teacup gripped in her fingers, waiting for Susanna’s parlay.
But she said no more, merely turned to Campbell and curtsied. “Ma’am, I won’t apologize for saying yes to the invitation, but I am sorry for the trouble my presence has caused. I didn’t mean to stand when everyone else was kneeling. And that hat thing?”
“Dear Susanna,” Campbell said, “you were refreshing.”
“Refreshing?” Ginny screeched.
“I’m not here to trap Nathaniel or to embarrass the royal family.”
“No, no, of course not.” Campbell rose to her feet, setting her tea aside.
“Yet you trolley off with him last evening, stealing him from his peers,” Ginny said. “From his people.”
Susanna glanced at Ginny over her shoulder. “Excuse me, but I’m talking to Her Majesty the queen.”
Campbell tapped her fingertips to her lips, suppressing her smile. So this is why Nathaniel loved her.
“Like I said, it was just an honor to be invited.” Susanna looked Campbell straight on. “You should be proud of him, ma’am.”
“Yes, I believe I am.”
As Susanna exited, closing the door softly behind her, a flicker of recognition pinged through Campbell’s mind. She reminded her of a woman she knew long ago. More than thirty years ago. A woman lost to her until now.
Herself.
“You may go, Ginny.”
“You can’t seriously side with that woman.”
“You may go.” Campbell picked up her tea and wandered to the window. She might just have to do some gardening today. Not among the frozen palace walls, but among the old, ivy-covered walls of her very own heart.
TWENTY-TWO
Let’s just have it on the table. Henry? Seamus?” Nathaniel stood in the center of the Parliament’s debate box, an anterior room to the Parliament chambers where fighting factions adjourned to hash out their issues with leaders of the senate and commons.
“I say, Your Majesty, one night with the American undid hours of diplomatic meetings.” Hessenberg’s governor, Seamus Fitzsimmons, chewed on the tip of his highly polished pipe.
“She’s a friend.” For the hundredth time. Nathaniel paced the masculine room, dark with paneled walls, leather seating, a billiard table, and liquor cabinets. “That’s all.”
He should be celebrating his coronation today. Instead, he was in the hotbox with his prime minister and the Hessenberg governor, defending his name.
“Did you see Morris Alderman’s piece on the Marriage Act?” Sir George, leader of the House of Senators, held up the LibP. “Asserting it’s a fine law, served us well for two hundred years. He gives a good argument for the importance of the monarchs marrying only Brightonians. Also makes a case if you marry your longtime love—his words not mine, Nathaniel—Lady Genevieve, Hessenberg has their required royal to execute the end of the entail.”
“I read it.” Nathaniel rubbed his hands over his eyes. He’d bet his last quid that Ginny was behind all of this. After he’d read the piece, he had stood in front of the mirror and practiced proposing to her.
Ginny, would you do me the honor?
Lady Genevieve, will you marry me?
Hey, let’s just do this, get it over with?
But he couldn’t do it. His love for Susanna sat too close to the surface. Despite her declaration she’d never marry him, he still loved her. His strategy now was to give himself time to get over her.
It’d been ten hours since he’d walked out of St. Stephen’s Chapel into the camera firing squad, embroiled in gossip, speculation, and political debate. But it felt like weeks.
Nathaniel pressed his hand against his chest where the ache of missing her persisted.
“We’re fortunate the explosion last night and this morning harmed no one,” Henry said, “and the people are carrying on with their celebrations. We’ve doubled your security to walk the streets this evening, Nathaniel.”
“It’s just the free Hessenberg nationals.” Seamus shifted his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other. “Feeling their oats, ol’ boy.”
“What do you propose?”
“Stay away from the American, Nathaniel.” Henry capped the bourbon bottle.
“Seriously? You think avoiding Susanna Truitt will appease the faction that blows up bombs?”
“Rebels, gossips …” Henry came ’round to face him. “Whatever. This is about the future government of both countries. A hundred years of pent-up emotions are rising to the fore. There’s going to be more trouble.” He glanced at Seamus. “Let’s minimize what we can.”
“Hessenberg becoming a part of Brighton is not new. We’ve known for at least sixty years we’d lost track of Prince Francis’s family. And despite the ongoing economic strain to us, they’d in all likelihood become a province.”
“But in the last ten years, a hundred-year-old entail feels old-fashioned, unnecessary.” Henry loved to counterpoint and debate.
“Tell that to the EU court.”
“She’s a rich land, Nathaniel.” Seamus puffed on his pipe so smoke encircled his head. He looked like a tweed St. Nicholas. “If we can just get her back on track.”
“Yes, but she keeps falling into financial trouble, which harms Brighton’s economy.”
“Either way, Your Majesty”—Henry arched his brow—“we must prepare for Hessenberg to become a permanent province. The EU will downgrade our credit rating again if we combine our treasuries.”
“We may not have a choice, Henry.” Nathaniel braced for one of the men to push the conversation toward Ginny. It’s what they all wanted … two nations.
“Well if you’re going to be king, then be a king. Lead. Don’t be wishy-washy.” Henry’s admonition surprised Nathaniel. “No one likes wishy-washy royals.”
“All right. You want decisiveness? Announce Hessenberg will become a province.”
Henry arched his brow. “Let’s not be hasty.”
Ah finally, his true colors. “You want me to marry Ginny, then?”
Seamus frowned and lowered his pipe.
“Something wrong, Seamus?” Nathaniel said. An old-guard Hessen, the man’s years in Brighton-Hessenberg politics had softened him to the province cause. But faced with its reality …
“I never believed you should marry Lady Genevieve to save the entail.” He tapped his pipe on a crystal ashtray. “I always thought someone would come ’round to save us. But now that Henry’s indicated his opinion, I might change my mind.”
In that moment, Nathaniel’s thoughts and feelings cleared and aligned. No more dallying with the idea he might marry Ginny. “I’m sorry. I hinted I was willing to marry Ginny, but alas, I’m not.”
Seamus sighed, his large chest rising then falling.
Nathaniel decided to meet with Jonathan and discuss one last heroic effort to find a niece or nephew of Prince Francis. Somewhere in the world one must exist.
In the meantime …
“What can we do about changing the Marriage Act?” asked Nathaniel.
“What?” The question caught Henry completely unaware.
“We can do nothing.” Seamus returned to puffing his pipe. A human chimney. In a room with no windows.
“Seamus, please, your pipe.” Nathaniel batted away the smoke.
“Sorry, Your Majesty, but I can’t think without it.”
“Nathaniel, you go after the Marriage Act and the press will serve you for tea,” Henry said.
“Talk about old laws that make no sense. We’re all for abolishing an ironclad hundred-year-old entail, but squeamish on examining a two-hundred-year-old marriage act. The world has changed more since 1792 than 1914.”
“The press will call it treason, my good lad,” Seamus said.
Henry added, “Or worse. Call for the end of the monarchy.”
“Henry, who’s going to call for the end of the monarchy because we change a law that only impacts me and mine? Let the royal heirs marry who they will as long as the
re is no formidable objection.”
“Some saying marrying a foreigner is objection enough,” Seamus said.
“Then let them speak up when and if it happens.”
“When and if?” Henry arched his brow and sat in the nearest leather chair. The worn material creaked and moaned. “Whom you marry impacts Brighton, Nathaniel. It’s why the law came into being in the first place. You cannot marry someone who might cause potential harm to our sovereignty.”
“And I’m quite sure Hessenberg will see it as an end-run, Nathaniel,” Seamus said. “It will only fuel the dissidents. Brighton changes laws to suit themselves but not Hessenberg.”
“It will appear to be an abuse of power,” Henry said. “The rest of us poor common folks must obey the law, seek out representatives to plead our case, but not the royals.”
“Are you sure you cannot see your way to marry Lady Genevieve?” Seamus cleared his throat and again moved his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other.
“Open your eyes. She’s scheming, plotting. She’s behind most of the rubbish in the press.”
“She’d make a fine queen,” Seamus said, unmasking his support for Ginny.
“Really? A schemer and plotter?”
“You’d not be the first Stratton to marry for the kingdom.” Henry poured another shot in his glass.
“Oh? What does that mean?”
Henry glanced at Seamus, then to Sir George, who had been listening in quiet contemplation. “It means love for the kingdom overcomes love of the heart.”
Nathaniel eyed Henry as he took a shot of the liquor in his glass. The prime minster was brilliant, layered and nuanced.
“I cannot do it.”
“Nathaniel, despite these small protests, your coronation has stirred a lot of goodwill,” Sir George said. “I support your notion to adjust the marriage act, but let’s wait awhile before the king marches down to parliament with his own Order of Council.”
“Wait for what?”
“End of the entail.”
“End of the entail? That’s a year off, Sir George.” Plenty of time for Ginny to do her worst. Nathaniel paced to the end of the long, rectangular room. Why were there no blasted windows?