by Rachel Hauck
Despite a small inner voice of caution—You’re not supposed to be here—Susanna’s wonderment moved her further inside the garden, and she crossed a swath of the moon’s glow into the night’s shadows. Other than the snow and white drifts against the wall, the garden appeared empty and unattended.
A stone bench rested under the tree as if waiting for a companion, and Susanna recognized the Spirit whirling about her. The same one she experienced at Christ Church. Serene. Holy.
She sat on the bench and ran her bare hand over the tree’s winter bark. Was it like Lover’s Oak, ancient and fabled? Was it anxious for spring? For love to bloom under its leaves again?
With a sigh, she reclined against the trunk and warmed her hands in her coat pockets while the breeze stung her face and tugged the ends of her loose hair. She loved a locked garden. She understood the meaning of this walled place. Secret and intended for only one.
The tree.
This was how it should be with the Lord. Walled. Locked. Intended for only One. The Tree. But she’d let other things, foreign things, come and plant in her garden. The cares of life. Trying to make her entire world secure and safe, planned, when in fact there were no real guarantees.
Except one.
“I’m sorry, Lord. I’ve made it all about me and what I want—”
“Excuse me, what are you doing here?”
Susanna jolted forward, her resting heart startled. The queen stood at the opening of the narrow, low garden door.
“Ma’am.” She curtsied then retraced her snowy path toward the door. “I’m sorry, I was waiting for Nate … Nathaniel … the king.” She fumbled, stuttered, and found no comfort in tucking her hands in her pockets. “The door … was ajar. I’d never have seen it otherwise. I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”
“This is a private garden.”
“I didn’t mean to intrude.” She wanted to escape but couldn’t. She was walled in and the queen blocked the only way out.
“I invited you. To the coronation.” The queen moved forward, her footsteps kicking up a small tuft of snow. She wore jeans and a heavy knit turtleneck along with a pair of knee boots with fur trim rolling over the tops. She appeared relaxed and casual. “I wanted Nathaniel to see you are not right for Brighton, for him.”
“I never said I was, ma’am.”
“Why did you come then? I had my reasons for inviting you. You must have had your reasons for coming.”
“Believe it or not, the same as yours. Prove to myself Brighton wasn’t for me. Not that I thought a lot about it, but I wanted to put Nate, er, I mean—”
“Nathaniel.”
“Yes, Nathaniel, behind me. I didn’t think I was in love with him …” Shut up. But it was too late. The queen’s expression hardened. Susanna had said too much. “And … my little sister …” Did the garden get a sudden blast of warm air? Heat blazed under her coat, across her torso and up her neck. “Avery begged to come … she’d have never forgiven me … if I passed this up.”
“You didn’t think you were in love with him?”
“No, yes, right …” Could she be dismissed? Susanna guessed that a mad dash for the door, which would require her to slam the queen of Brighton against a stone wall, might be frowned upon. “I’m not. Right.”
“You’re not?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Definitely … not.” She was lying to the queen. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I just lied to you. I do love him.” The truth straightened her rounded shoulders. “I do.”
“I see. And does he know?”
Susanna shook her head. “I didn’t see the point.”
“Wise woman. You know, even if the law allowed Nathaniel to marry a foreigner, I’d not approve of you. Nor would the prime minister.”
Susanna regarded the woman a moment, ascertaining her tone, her intent. She welcomed the cold air again, snapping against her legs. “If the law allowed it, I think it’d be up to Nathaniel to choose who to love.”
The queen smiled and brushed the chill off her arms. Or perhaps she brushed away Susanna’s tart reply. “You know my son, don’t you. He’s very decisive, yes. He’ll choose his own bride. And he has a perfect choice right here in Brighton.”
“Lady Genevieve.”
“Ah, so you know of her then. I’m sure he’ll propose to her within a fortnight now that the coronation is over.”
“When I met Nathaniel, I didn’t even know he was a prince. He was just an amazing, kind man who kept showing up whenever I needed someone. When he volunteered to help out at our restaurant, I still didn’t know he was a crown prince. Then I saw his face on a coin.”
“He’s a chameleon, that one.” The queen’s smile dallied with the moonlight. “Loves to roll up his sleeves and work with the people. That’s what will make him a great king.”
“That and his character,” Susanna said. “I saw it today, ma’am, at the coronation. He was born for this. It’s his destiny.”
The queen’s stance relaxed a bit. “Then you know what’s at stake here. If he—”
“Hello?” Nathaniel’s handsome face appeared through the opening and Susanna rooted her heels into the cold ground to keep from running to him. He looked sporty and sexy, dressed in a field jacket, boots, and jeans. “Do I even want to know what you two are doing out here?” He glanced at his mother, then at Susanna.
“Why aren’t you at the symphony?”
“I left. Took my escape during intermission.” Nathaniel peered at Susanna, and her heart blazed. “We’ve three more days of celebration. No need to weary myself. Besides, I wanted to visit with my friend from America.” He stepped around his mum to greet Susanna, lightly kissing her cheek. “I see you found Dad’s garden.”
“It’s incredible. Doesn’t it remind you of the Christ Church grounds?”
“So it does.” He scanned the perimeter. “Dad’s old garden. The first King’s Garden.”
“What do you mean the first King’s Garden?” the queen asked.
“Susanna named the garden on St. Simons ‘A King’s Garden’—before she knew anything of my royal business.” Nathaniel took Susanna’s hand. “Mum, have a good evening.”
“Where are you two going? Nathaniel, where’s Liam?” The queen’s inquiry trailed them down the corridor and into the bright, warm main hall.
“Taking a much needed night off.” Nathaniel led Susanna out of the house to an idling compact sports convertible with the top down.
“You have other protection officers. Nathaniel, you shan’t go out alone.”
“Don’t worry, Mum.” Nathaniel opened Susanna’s door. “I can see to myself.” Then he leaned and whispered in Susanna’s ear, “I haven’t stopped thinking of you all day.”
She smiled all over as he clapped her door closed. She was definitely heading in the wrong direction. But for now, she just couldn’t make herself care. Being alone with Nathaniel was all that mattered.
Susanna snuggled down in the two-seater, wrapped in a coach blanket, riding in wistful silence next to Nathaniel.
He reached for her hand. “You cold? This was the closest thing I had to a open carriage ride without disturbing the mews. I wanted you to see the countryside in the light of the stars.”
“I’m good.” She snuggled deeper under the blanket, her eyes heavy with peace. The night air skimmed her hair, twisting the ends in an arctic rush.
“Don’t fall asleep on me now.”
“Peaceful.” Susanna peeked at him through low eye slits.
His heart rumbled. Love. He was falling deeper by the minute.
Squeezing her hand, Nathaniel released her and gripped the steering wheel, surging the motor forward, hugging the pebbled berm of the country bend. The sports car sailed about the curve, over the rise and fall of the road.
He loved racing free over Brighton’s countryside, directed only by the truth in his heart. No King’s Office. No prime minister. No entailment. No paparazzi. No TV cameras. No political entanglemen
ts. No coronation parties or dissonant symphonies. Just the wind whistling through the stars and the woman he loved by his side. He cut a glance at Susanna. The greenish-gold glow from the dash accented her facial contours. She reclined as if she’d ridden next to him a hundred times.
Not once did she ask, “Where are we going?” She trusted him. Until now he never calculated how much trust mattered to him. Trust of the woman he loved. Trust in the woman he loved.
From the cubby above the gearshift box, his phone rang, lighting the small space between the dashboard and seats. He peeked at the screen. Mum. Probably calling to pick up her cause. The phone went silent and dark. Then immediately rang again. Susanna reached forward and offered it to Nathaniel.
“Answer it,” she said, soft, low. “You’re the king, Nathaniel. Act like it.”
He took the phone, and she ducked her hand back under the blanket. “Busting my chops, I see.” Honest. He needed a woman who was honest.
Nathaniel tapped the screen with his thumb. “Hello.” It was the prime minister taking up Mum’s protection-officer cause and bringing political news.
“There was a small riot in Strauberg. Rejecting the king and calling for the independence of Hessenberg regardless of the entail.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“People no, some property, yes.”
“Is my presence required?”
“No, but—”
“Can we discuss this in the morning?”
“All right.”
“Thank you, Henry.”
The phone went dark and silent. For all of ten seconds. Then Jonathan rang.
“Where are you?”
“Taking personal time.”
“With Susanna? Nathaniel, if this gets out—”
“It won’t.” Nathaniel ended the call and tossed his phone to the dashboard. He felt like he just denied her, and it didn’t sit well with him. “There are days technology is a complete bother.”
“But if you want to dance, you got to pay the piper.”
He looked at her then laughed. “How profound. You have a way of cutting through the mess, don’t you?”
“Of others, yes. Not my own so much.”
“‘Tis always the case. It’s easy to see the speck in our brother’s eye while missing the beam in our own.” Nathaniel downshifted as the village light bloomed over the dark horizon.
Susanna sat forward, inhaling deep, drawing the blanket to her chin. “Hmm, that smells wonderful. What is it?”
“Puffs. Something like an American pastry but very light.” Nathaniel rolled slowly down the quiet, deserted street. “I’m sorry the shops are all closed, though the bakers are hard at work.”
“I’m coming here tomorrow for a puff.”
The town lights faded in the rearview, and Nathaniel continued north, shifting through the gears, riding the asphalt wave, cutting through snowy white meadows. His heart hummed in harmony with the motor when Susanna’s hand covered his.
“I saw it today, Nate. You are the right man for the job of king. God has called you, not man.”
Nathaniel raised her hand to his lips. “This is why I need you with me.”
“You don’t need me. The Lord has given you everything you need to succeed.”
“But you remind me like no one else.”
“Then you have me. Right here. Right now.”
A shadow of reality darkened Nathaniel’s joy in the evening. Right here, right now, but not for long. That’s what she was whispering to his soul. In a few days’ time, she’d be gone and he’d be king without her.
His heart refused the idea. He must figure out a remedy. But what if he did and she refused to come to Brighton? Moving would require enormous change and uprooting.
When a rustic building with a high, narrow steeple came into view, he slowed, took the bend left, and aimed the sports car for the gravel driveway. The tires crunched over the rocks. Susanna tossed off the blanket and fingered the tangles from her hair.
“Where are we?”
“St. Stephen’s Chapel. Named for the saint, not the king. But it was built by Stephen I in 1550.” Nathaniel parked beside the thick trunk of a high-reaching tree with snow balancing on the limbs.
“I feel like I’ve been in a state of wonder ever since I got here.” Susanna started to step out of the car.
“Wait, wait …” Nathaniel scurried around the back of the car, his feet sliding on the snow-covered ice. He loped sideways, banging his side against the car’s boot.
“Are you okay?” Susanna angled around to see him.
“Other than my pride, yes.” He took a careful step forward. Then another. His foot slid but he balanced by putting his hand down above the taillight. “Slippery mess tonight.”
“Kind of prophetic, don’t you think?”
He glared at her. “Yes, and now I’m depressed.” He laughed low, reaching for the door handle. “Milady.”
She took his hand and curtsied. “Milord.”
He snatched up the blanket she’d been using and led her to the chapel.
In the small foyer, Nathaniel hunted for the candles. “They used to be right … here … in the cabinet under the usher’s bench.” His fingers curved around the thick tapers. “Ah, here they are.”
“There’s no electricity?” she asked.
“Not for the last four hundred and fifty years.” Nathaniel passed three candles to Susanna then took three for himself. He struck a match and touched the flame to each used wick.
The flickering flames devoured the darkness, and he could see Susanna’s eyes. He loved her eyes. They spoke to him more than words. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, but he’d promised himself he’d keep the evening very chaste.
Though the scent of her skin perfuming the entryway did his thudding heart no good. If he closed the millimeter distance between them, he could bend to taste her lips and blame his surrender on their tight quarters, the candlelight, perhaps the cold or the moonbeams streaming through the stained glass.
She smiled.
Oh, Susanna. His hungry heart rumbled.
He cleared his throat. “Shall we?” He led her with her three flickering flames through the door, no wider than the frame of a large man, into the sanctuary.
He momentarily regretted his decision to bring her here alone. Letting her face and form awaken a love that a mere friendship could not slake.
Susanna raised her candles and turned a small circle to see the simple, rustic structure with rough-hewn pews and dry, wide floorboards.
“Beautiful, beautiful.”
Nathaniel surveyed the chapel through her eyes. Time had worn down the exterior stone and timber, but the fragrance of incense offered to the King of all kings lingered in the rafter beams and preserved the sanctuary.
“King Stephen I was married here,” he said, spreading out the blanket at the altar, his breath billowing against the candlelight. “Dedicated his children here.” He patted the flat, unadorned horizontal beam that crossed the kneeler. “With his noble men and women in attendance.”
“I feel like just sitting and listening, see if the room will whisper its secrets.” Susanna stepped up the altar to the short platform and faced forward. Raising her candles higher, she examined the beams and the windows, the seats for the bishops and king, the loft for the choir. “It’s like their songs and prayers still hover here.”
“Perhaps that’s why I love this place so much.” Nathaniel anchored his candles in the wooden and wax-stained stands closest to Susanna. “Come ’round here.” He sat on the blanket, adjusting the altar cushion to brace their backs.
She plopped down next to him with a contented sigh.
“Are you glad you came?”
“Yes.” She gave him a blue glance. “But I have to go too.”
“Don’t remind me. I’m having fun.” Daylight, candlelight, ballroom light, she captivated him. “You were beautiful today in the abbey, standing while everyone bowed, so confident of yourself. You we
re a beacon to me.” He shrugged. “When I saw you, I knew what it was about. Not just echoing hollow words kings recited before me, but accepting what I was born to do, for God, for the people.”
“It’s about time, Nate.”
“You helped me see the truth.”
“You knew it. You just didn’t want to accept it. I didn’t mean to stand today. I was just so caught up in the moment.”
“I nearly smiled.”
“I know.” She smacked her hand against the hardwood floor. “I’m glad you didn’t. I might have cracked up. There was such joy in that place to be so somber.”
He said nothing but pressed his hand over hers.
“You looked great up there, you know,” she said, “all regal and stately. Exactly where you were supposed to be.”
He resituated to face her. “So if I’m to be Brighton’s king—I know it, you know it—then why am I so madly in love with you?”
“You’re crazy—” She laughed but her voice quivered and faltered.
“I’m serious, Susanna.”
“Oh, by the way, Daddy, Mama, and everyone back home send their love.” She deftly changed the subject, rose to her feet, and paced away. “I think Mama’s going to hang a plaque, ‘King Nathaniel II of Brighton Cleaned Toilets Here.’”