by Rachel Hauck
“You and Stephen?” Nathaniel sat, her confession disarming him. Jonathan, maybe. Or Albert from the King’s Office, but Mum and his brother? “How could you invite her without telling me?”
“‘Twas for your own good.” Mum took refuge behind her teacup just as the door slammed and Stephen entered, his polka-dot tie hanging loose, his jet-black hair electrified.
“Great ball, Nate. Lots of pretty women.” He tumbled over the back of the couch and stretched out on the cushions.
“He wants to know why we invited Susanna.” Mum poured Stephen a cup of tea without asking and passed it to him. He cast Nathaniel a sly glance, said nothing, sat forward, and doctored Mum’s brew with whatever concoction he had in his pocket flask.
“Because she was under your skin,” he said. “You didn’t know if you loved her or not. So we brought her here for you to find out.”
“Stephen noticed that Ginny gave more attention to your friends and family, to your prime minister, than to you, so we thought Susanna’s presence might give her a good jolt. Make her realize she must capture your heart before ours.”
“You assume I’ve captured Ginny’s, Mum.”
“Susanna doesn’t belong here, Nate.” Stephen aimed the remote at the telly and powered it on. “She’s lovely and sweet, we grant you. But an American as queen of Brighton? Chap, it can’t happen. Think of Brighton, the monarchy. Think of me and the sort of lifestyle I have.” Stephen gulped his tea this time. “I can’t be a king, nor risk a revolt should you abdicate.”
“Abdication? Your lifestyle?” Nathaniel stood, tea in his hand. But he didn’t have the stomach for cordial tea so he set it on the tea cart. “That’s your big care, Stephen? At the moment Susanna believes in me more than my own family. Did you think how she might feel when she learns of your trick? Or me? Bringing her over here to use her? To what end? We have real, live, beating hearts in our chests. We’re not pawns in your worried little royal games.”
“Son, we didn’t mean—”
“Of course not, Mum, but you did.” Nathaniel paced around the back of the couch, his emotions twisting in his chest.
Stephen muted the television and turned to Nathaniel. “You said yourself you didn’t know if you loved her.”
“So you concoct a scheme and drag Mum into it?” Tired, frustrated, and aware that he had an early morning motor coming to take him to Watchman Abbey, Nathaniel wanted to wring his brother’s neck. “You can’t just tamper with my private feelings, Steve. If I love Susanna, that’s my issue. Not yours. Nor Mum’s. My whole life is going to be onstage beginning tomorrow. Except for what’s in here.” He motioned to the triangle of space between him, Mum, and Stephen. “Your plan backfired, by the way.”
At that, Stephen shut off the telly. Mum’s cup clattered against the saucer.
“Before I wasn’t sure I loved her. Now I know I do. And …” Should he confess? “I–I told her.”
Mum moaned. “You didn’t.”
“Good for you, Nate,” Stephen said with a cockeyed smile, revealing he’d had entirely too much doctored tea this evening. “Really, good for you. Way to go and bravo.”
“You’re drunk.” Nathaniel snatched the cup and saucer from Stephen’s hand and set it on the cart. “You best be bright-eyed and spot-on in the morning.”
“Nathaniel.” Stephen worked to command his words. “Our plan was to wake you up. Stop dragging your feet with Genevieve, nursing some schoolboy crush over this American girl. It’s Lady Adel all over.”
“Ah, there it is.” Nathaniel dropped to the couch. Mum listened humbly from her chair.
“You’ve not fallen in love since,” Stephen said.
“Adel was ten years ago. I was an idiot university man. Susanna is nothing like Adel. Nor is our relationship. If you must know, I’ve not spoken to her since I left Georgia in July. Until tonight … thanks to you. I came home focused on my business here and getting over her.”
“We believed if you met Susanna on your terms, in your home, you’d see your vast differences. That she’s not right for you. Nathaniel, you’re more than a king, you’re a beacon for all Brighton’s tomorrows. The hope of the monarchy.” Mum set down her tea. “If you marry for the monarchy, for Brighton and her future, then you will do well. Time will prove you right. You will be following in the footsteps of many who’ve gone before you. Love is a choice. Choose to love what is right for Brighton.”
“Gone before? Like who? You, Mum?” Nathaniel spilt his words without considering the consequences. His frustration and the late hour made this conversation unwise.
“What are you saying, Nate?” Stephen asked. “Mum, did you marry Dad for Brighton?”
“We are not talking about me.” She made her way to the tea cart without her cup and saucer. “Get this American out of your system, Nathaniel, and propose to Ginny. Let’s solve your queen, heir, and political situation in one joyous celebration. Find a way to love her. Woo her. Make her love you. In a few hours you will be anointed as king. It won’t be a week before the papers, the bookmakers, the gossips, our friends and foes will be begging for a royal wedding. Will we have an heir? Will the House of Stratton live on?” Mum’s steely, stubborn side surfaced. “Our foes would like nothing more than for our reign to at least crumble. Though our friends, who are many, cheer us on.”
“I’m only thirty-two. There’s time to marry.”
“Do you intend to abdicate? I want to know.”
“Mum, I’ve been working for five months, preparing for the coronation. Why would I abdicate?”
“You know if you leave things to Stephen he’ll have the throne room converted into a bowling alley before his coronation confetti has been swept from the streets.”
Stephen cut Mum a wry smile. “Sweet, Mum, you remembered.”
Mum sighed. “Nathaniel, we’re sorry.” She walked over to him and took hold of him. “But it’s untrue that we don’t believe in you. We do. You are our king.”
When Nathaniel returned to his quarters, Ginny waited for him.
“I hope it’s not too late.” She stood as he entered, still in her ball gown. “Malcolm let me in.”
“What do you want, Ginny?” Nathaniel tossed his keys to the lamp table, still steaming from his confrontation with Mum and Stephen.
She regarded him with tired green eyes. Ringlets of her black hair had fallen loose from her hairdo and curled about her neck.
“Why did you humiliate me like that tonight? The first dance? With her? My stars, Nathaniel, she disrespected the guests, the Crown, the ball, and all of Brighton when she dragged you off, away from your guests.”
“She did no such thing. I took her off.” He sighed as he slipped his tie from around his neck. “This is what you want to talk about at nearly two in the morning? The first dance?” He motioned to the clock. “I have to be up in six hours, fresh and alert for my coronation. If you don’t mind …” He pointed to the door.
“Yes, I do mind.” She crossed her arms, standing firm. “Let’s just get this out. How do you feel about me?”
Pretty Ginny. Gutsy Ginny.
“Why don’t you tell me how you feel?” He was really too weary for this, but she was here now, might as well go ‘round.
“You know how I feel.” She fixed her pearly smile on him and shifted her pose. Ginny used her assets well. “Nathaniel, you’re tying yourself up in knots over this when the solution is so simple. I know this girl was your friend in America. I understand she’s different, exciting, fresh. But I’m your kind. I’m Brightonian. I’m the solution to the entail.”
“Excuse me, but I thought we were talking about love. Not a business deal.” Nathaniel looked for a place to sit that didn’t have him crossing Ginny’s path. But she stood between him and his favorite chair.
Had he confessed to Susanna just hours before that he loved her? The whole exchange in the turret library was beginning to feel like a dream.
She laughed. “Darling, remember the year I stu
died abroad and fell in love with the French ambassador? I was so sure he was my destiny, but you and Jon knew better. You flew all the way to Paris to snatch me out of his clutches.”
“He was a schemer and a lothario.” Nathaniel pulled a nearby King Mark chair forward and sat. “He’d have taken every shilling of your father’s money.”
“But you showed me the light. Now it’s my turn. We’re a good team, Nathaniel. We cover all the bases. You’re a military officer and businessman, an ambassador, a bright star in Brighton, handsome, smart, athletic. I’m a businesswoman, a scholar, an athlete, a beauty queen. We have a common history. I am Brightonian with Hessen roots. Our partnership will put us in the halls of great European monarchies. We can’t lose.”
“You don’t know that, Ginny. You as grand duchess only gets Hessenberg back to being a sovereign nation. Are you prepared to help guide them through their floundering economy?”
“I’ve read for my business master’s, Nathaniel. I run a successful company—”
“And we’ve not even discussed the implications of the grand duchess being married to the king of Brighton. What kind of turmoil might that create?”
“Details, love. Details we can manage along with our governments. But the goal of a sovereign Hessenberg will be achieved.”
“With you as their monarch?”
“Yes, with me as their duchess.” Ginny stood in front of him, arms out to her sides. “Nathaniel, I’m offering myself as wife, lover, partner.”
When he was weary, his senses, his reasoning broke down. Ginny’s offer wasn’t really about tomorrow, but about tonight. Right now. His bed more than his heart. The weight of revelation and responsibility caused his soul to ache.
“Nathaniel?”
A thread of pain crept up the back of his neck, around his ears, and up to his temple. “I don’t know, Ginny.”
“What don’t you know?” She knelt beside him, placed her hand on his knee. He shifted his leg away. “Know what I think? The people of Brighton and Hessenberg will embrace us.” She rose up, leaning into him and smoothing her hands over his shoulders. “It will be a win for all, love.” He felt like he was drowning. Suffocating. He unlocked Ginny’s arms from around his neck.
“You’re willing to marry a man you don’t love? Who doesn’t love you? A man who loves someone else?”
“What is love, really?” Ginny slipped her hands from his shoulders down to his chest. “It’s friendship, commitment, a decision. I can love you, Nathaniel.”
The exact words a man likes to hear from the woman he might marry. I can love you.
He gazed toward the window, where snow drifted through the outside lights. Perhaps he’d change clothes and take a walk, be one with the snowy silence.
“You won’t be happy, Ginny. Not unless you’re married to a man who loves you with an intense passion.” He looked at her. “‘Twill be a long life, waking up every day with your heart empty of things I just cannot give you.”
“My dear Nathaniel, do you not know me at all?” She flashed a tiger grin and it frightened him a bit. “I’m so confident in our match that we will be lovers by day’s end. Make no mistake.” She slinked against him as if to give him a taste of her hidden talents.
He shoved her away. Space. He needed space. “Are you the one behind the LibP articles?”
“What? I can’t believe you’d ask me such a thing.” She rose up, turning away with a pout. “Morris fancies me, but he’s just running those stories to sell papers.”
“Just to sell papers?” He leaned toward her. “What did you promise him if I actually married you?”
“You’re tired. I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”
“Stop evading, Ginny.” Nathaniel grabbed her hand as she started away. “What deal did you strike with him?”
“Nathaniel, listen to you. You’re suspicious and testy. But if you must know, I bring the power of the press and media with me. You want the monarchy to survive the twenty-first century? Then you need me. You want me with you.” Ah, the she-devil surfaces. “But you abdicate to marry this woman or force the law to change or linger too long in bachelorhood, the press will turn on you. Hessenberg won’t be independent, and she will turn on you. The Crown will be all but lost. The legacy of Brighton’s great kings will end in disgrace with you standing watch.”
“I see you have it all worked out. What’s in it for you?”
Her laugh rang wicked in his ears. “Royalty, Nathaniel. Royalty. It’s the closest thing to immortality.”
“But if I don’t marry you the press will hunt me down? Murder my reign in a slow agonizing newsprint and cyber-space death?”
Ginny bent over him, hemming him in with her hands on the arms of his chair. “You’ve a year.” She lurched back, grabbed her bag and coat and headed for the door. “One year.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Certainly not. How unproductive to threaten the king. I’m merely informing you, Your Majesty. The press will give you a honeymoon for your glorious inaugural year. Just in time for the entail to end.” She slammed the door as she left.
A cold breeze cut through the room. Numb, Nathaniel collapsed forward, face in his hands.
Lord, give me wisdom.
Malcolm made his presence known.
“Your quarters are ready, sir.”
“Thank you.” Nathaniel unbuttoned his shirt, making his way to his room, his thoughts entangled, catching in his own heartstrings.
He loved Susanna.
He loved Brighton.
He disdained Ginny.
More than ever, he needed the presence and grace of the Almighty.
An usher escorted Susanna and Avery down the nave toward the altar of the breathtaking, ancient Watchman Abbey.
“This place is amazing, Suz,” Avery said, aiming her smartphone.
“Amazing in its purest definition.” Susanna examined the ribbed vaulting and flying buttresses cut from polished stone, the high-gloss wood accents, and the arched windows that were stained with religious scenes and Brighton’s history. From the resurrection of Christ to King Stephen I’s coronation to the Battle of Shores in World War II.
More and more she realized the sacredness of the day. Nathaniel was a king on the earth. Largeness pinged in her spirit. The extraordinary God was in attendance. The Divine was tangibly touching earth.
Susanna fluttered away her tears as prune-like Lady Margaret, along with her peckish husband, Lord Stanley, joined them in the row and scowled at her.
Susanna grabbed a pinch of Avery’s arm. “Let’s move to the back.”
“Nothing doing. These are great seats.”
“We’re not at the movies.”
“Even more reason to sit here. When are we going to be this close to a coronation again?”
Susanna made a face. She batted away tears. She thought more about her own sense of largeness while Aves took her seat like she sat front row at a Michael Bublé concert. Thrilling, sure, but not quite the same.
The coronation combined all that was good about life, church, weddings, babies, first kisses, and yes, front row at Bublé.
“Aves.” Susanna pinched her again with a viral whisper.
“Stop doing that.” Avery jerked her arm across her torso.
“Do you recognize these people? They’re the nobles and royals, dignitaries from the ball. Good grief.” Susanna pointed discreetly to the left corner pew. “That’s our president.”
“OMG, where?” Avery rose up, then sat down, grinning, and wedged herself against the polished pew. “We’re sitting among princes and presidents. You’re going to have to blast me out of this seat.”
“Lady Margaret is sitting just to the right of me.” Susanna tipped her head slightly, cupping her hand to the side of her face. “How’s that for dynamite?”
Avery had groused again last night on their way up to their suite after the ball about how the lady introduced herself to Susanna with such a rude conf
rontation.
But Susanna only heard every hundredth word or so. She was reliving her evening with Nathaniel.
Avery angled a sharp look at Lady M., as she liked to call her. “I’m still not leaving. We danced all night among these people. They love us.”
“You’re too much like your mama.” Susanna cut a glance at Lady M. She stared straight ahead. Fine, they could sit together in silence.
“Thank you. She’ll be proud to hear it.”
Susanna sighed. Aves was right. They had blended beautifully with these people last night. She opened the embossed coronation program, but scenes from last evening paraded across the scripted pages.
Nathaniel kept to his confession and treated her like a queen, his queen, all night. Susanna felt treasured and special. He left her a few times to dance with others, but when he did, he secured Susanna a dance with a prince, duke, or lord. But when they danced, he held her as if she were meant to be in his arms. They shared private laughs and tingling whispers.
He introduced her to his mates with his arm around her. She curtsied her wobbly curtsy before Prince William and Kate but, by gum, held her own during the conversation. She’d even made the duchess laugh, touch her arm, and declare, “I’m with Susanna.”
Surreal. Magical. Out of this world. And over. Done.
Last night they could pretend they had a forever, but the light of morning brought truth and reality. She was the American. A commoner’s commoner. Unworthy of a royal prince.