The Royal Wedding Collection

by Rachel Hauck

  She mashed the horn, giving it a good long blast, then shifted into gear and was about to take off when Tanner knocked on the passenger door window.

  “Regina, let me in.”

  “Stand back, Tanner.” She inched the car forward, motioning for the photographer aiming his camera through the windshield to mooove!

  “Open the door.” He banged his fist against the glass, then raised up to peek over the hood. “Dickenson, how could you—”

  His voice faded, lost in the rest of the crowd noise.

  Reggie powered down the passenger window. “Hey, don’t yell at Dickenson. I demanded the keys. And by the way, did you set me up? Did you know he could charge me with all of that? Did you know he was the one who filed the petition?”

  “Open the door.” Tanner bent over the door, looking for the lock button.

  Reggie inched the car forward. She’d waited too long to get out of here. “Tanner, back up, because I’m going.”

  “Open the door, you insane girl.”

  “Insane girl! Is that how you speak to your princess?” She powered forward, scattering the last lingering, daredevil photographers.

  “Yes, when she acts like she’s lost her last marble.” Panic infused his words. “Open the door, Regina.”

  “I need to think.” She gunned the car forward, laying on the horn again. A photographer with a death wish had stepped in front of her. “Maybe I have lost my last marble.”

  “I’m coming with you. We can search for the lost marble together.” Tanner skipped along the side of the car as Reggie rolled out from under the covered portico. “Regina, oh, you are a stubborn one.”

  With that, she hit a clear path and pressed the pedal to the metal. Tanner lunged through the window as she whipped the car around toward the entrance, fishtailing the back end, planting his face in the passenger seat, his legs flailing, his feet kicking at the wind.

  “Tanner, I suggest you buckle up.”

  He moaned and contorted, twisting around, catching himself as Reggie fired out of the manor driveway, hitting the street ahead in front of a wall of oncoming cars.

  “Do you aim to kill us?” Finally upright, Tanner dropped down in the seat and fastened his seat belt.

  “Sorry, but I need to drive.”

  “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “No.” In every sense of the word.

  “Turn left at the next avenue.” Tanner gripped the dash as she sped around the corner before the light flashed red. “He can’t do it, Regina.”

  “Arrest me? He sure seems to think he can.” She checked the side mirror and threaded in and out of traffic. “Didn’t anyone else in your government figure this out?”

  “A lorrie, Regina. Truck, truck—” Tanner planted his hand on the dash and leaned right as she skirted around a truck exiting a narrow side street. “Next left . . .” He pointed.

  Reggie barely slowed, cutting the Mercedes hard and making the corner. “He’s right, Tanner. I’m not fit to lead. Who am I?”

  “You think just because he’s got years of experience and the title governor he’s fit to lead? What kind of leader pulls a stunt like this?”

  “One who thinks he’s doing it for the good of the people.”

  “For the good of himself.” Tanner seemed to relax, just a bit, but she was still booking it through midmorning traffic. “At the light, take another left.”

  At last she was leaving the city behind and finding good, open road. She slipped the Mercedes between a small, two-seater car and another truck and aimed for the hills. The feel of the wheel beneath her hands, the song of the engine, the power of speed soothed her anxiety. The sense of being overwhelmed subsided as she steered up the hillside.

  Coming here may well have been the worst decision of her life. Even more than the seven precious years she lost to Backlund & Backlund. Did she really think she’d waltz in and be a princess without opposition?

  “Remember what my father said, Reggie.” She glanced at him. He stared ahead, his right hand gripping the door handle. “Do you fear God or man?”

  “At the moment, I fear being arrested. In a foreign country.”

  “You won’t be arrested.” He sounded not confident at all.

  “Exactly. I’ll go home first. Forget this mess.”

  Reggie let the Mercedes hug the side of the narrow lanes, feeling the tires grip as the road dipped and turned.

  “Regina, we’ll get this sorted out.”

  “Sorted out? Tanner, this is not who is coming to dinner on Sunday. Shoot fire, how did y’all not see this coming?”

  “Regina, curve . . . around this hill . . . it’s a tight—”

  She braked and cut the Mercedes right, urging the vehicle to cling to the inside of the road, skidding around tail end toward the barrier rail and a sharp hillside drop.

  “Sweet heaven . . .” Tanner flattened one hand against his door and another on the dash. The car fishtailed out of the turn and Reggie drove on, straightening the car’s path with a bit of speed.

  “Wahoooo . . . Ha-ha!” She powered down her window and stuck her arm into the air, palming the stiff breeze, waving to the blazing Princess Alice trees. “Now we’re talking.”

  Tanner swore beneath his breath. “You’re a madwoman. I should think the threat of arrest is preferable to death. And remember, I’m in this car and I choose life. No matter my pitiful existence.”

  “What? Pitiful?” She cut him a quick look just as the straightaway bent into another hairpin curve. Reggie fixed her eyes on the road and gripped the wheel.

  “Eyes ahead . . .”

  Out of the turn, the road shot out of the mountains into a straight stretch, fields on either side. She’d told Tanner she wanted to think but what she really wanted was to feel. To get her heart around this whole mess. And driving did that for her. Then she could think. Sort things out, as it were.

  Ahead, Meadowbluff Palace rose, majestic and graceful on the horizon. A fortress. A safe harbor. Her adrenaline ebbed, leaving her legs and arms trembling. And she just wanted to go home.

  “Meadowbluff is a beautiful place.” She turned down the palace drive, stopping just shy of the heavy wrought iron gate. “What’s the security code?”

  “One, nine, six, zero.” Each number came with an exasperated exhale. “I do believe I had a mini heart attack back there.”

  “Dang, Tanner, could you be any more dramatic?” Reggie gentled the car forward as the gate opened and slowly made her way to the palace steps. “What was with the pitiful life remark?”

  “Must have been the heart attack talking.” The car eased to a stop in front of the palace and Tanner popped open his door. “And you’re one to talk of dramatics. You didn’t even give us a chance to deal with Seamus before you ran off. Now we’ll have to gather again.” He slammed his door shut and walked around to Reggie’s side of the car. “Nathaniel is a kind man, but he’s also a busy one.”

  Tanner opened her door as Reggie slouched forward, dropping her forehead against the steering wheel. Now that she was still, the tension, the anxiety, the questions came rushing to the surface, demanding audience with her emotions and her thoughts.

  “Regina?” Tanner crouched down next to her. “Please, we can manage Seamus. But I understand it’s a bit much, all at once.”

  Tears, slow and warm, slipped down her cheeks. “I’m not sure you do.”

  “Come on.” He hooked his arm through hers. “Gentle off your worries. Let’s go inside for a spot of tea. Jarvis tells me the chef makes extraordinary cakes. We’ll sort this out, Regina. We will.”

  Maybe it wasn’t proper or the princess thing to do, but Reggie leaned into Tanner, wrapped her arms about his waist, and wept against his chest.

  After tea, when her nerves had settled, Reggie dialed Daddy. She needed to hear his voice. Needed his counsel about what she faced.

  But she had to admit, the peace she felt in the midst of her mental turmoil was beyond her human capacity. />
  “Daddy, hey, it’s me. Thought I’d give you a call but you’re probably out . . . hmm . . . I just wanted to hear your voice. Feels like forever since I left Tally. Doing good, I guess. Found out I have an enemy. The governor said I was an enemy of the state! Said I’m inept to lead, and I gotta give him props on that one. Tanner says it’s just a bunch of hooey but . . . I . . . feel . . . really overwhelmed. Call me, okay?”

  Al, any news on the Duesy?

  Mark, har-har, yes in Hessenberg. Call Daddy 4 the latest. Thx agn 4 the warehouse.

  Carrie, sup? U & Rafe in luv? Miss U big!

  SEVENTEEN

  Tanner let himself into his flat shortly after eight o’clock, tossed his keys to the table by the door, reached for the remote, and powered up the telly.

  In the kitchen, he flicked on a light and sorted through his mail. Rubbish, all of it. Why did the cable company keep soliciting his business when he already subscribed? He held up the shiny, fancy advertisement. Bet this cost a pretty tuppence. If they’d stop sending these things out, they could reduce their monthly cable fee. What was it now? A hundred quid? And all he watched was sports.

  The rubbish bin needed to be carried out, but he didn’t feel like it. What an exhausting wild day.

  The media. Seamus’s stunt. The media again. The wild car drive.

  Regina’s tears. Tanner brushed his hand over his chest where her tears had soaked through his shirt. Soaked through his pores and seeped all the way to his dry, thirsty heart.

  Facing the stark, barren kitchen, he ran his hands through his hair, corralling his feelings for Regina, mildly considering cutting his long locks. He secretly kept his hair long as a way to annoy the archbishop. But that didn’t sound very mature for a thirty-two-year-old Minister of Culture, now, did it?

  But his restless thoughts wandered back toward Regina and the feel of her body leaning against him, his arms wrapped about her.

  Must. Think. Of. Something. Else. Tanner marched into the living room, snatched up the remote, and raised the telly’s volume.

  He’d compartmentalize. Keep his feelings a secret with the best of the world’s wounded, pitiful blokes.

  On the telly, the presenters ran down last week’s rugby scores and predicted the winners of the upcoming matches. Tanner collapsed in the reclining chair, the only furniture in the room besides a table and the television.

  Here he had a lovely downtown Strauberg flat with windows overlooking the city and part of the south bay, but all he could manage was a lazy chair, a telly, and a table he rescued from a church rummage sale.

  What was it Regina said about existing and not living?

  Tanner shifted forward in his chair, uncomfortable, trying to migrate away from the fragmented images, thoughts, and emotions of the day.

  —Regina in those jeans with her hair sweeping over her eyes. A young, redheaded Marilyn Monroe.

  —Her nervous humility while meeting the king, Henry, and Dad. What was the idea behind Dad’s cloaked answer when Regina asked if he and Tanner shared a last name for a reason?

  “Some believe there are no coincidences.”

  —Seamus barging in with his arrogant plan to oust Regina.

  Tanner had studied the entail law at university and explored the consequences of reverting back to 1914 law. The scholars believed the old law to be sound and able to hold the nation steady, if need be, in time of transition. But no one really knew how the people would respond to even one day with no legal government. Would the old laws tarry? Would anarchy ensue?

  If Regina wasn’t the princess, and the court mysteriously decided Hessenberg could ignore the law of the entail, it would be open season for every political faction.

  But the real truth? No one thought an heir would be found. All believed the Grand Duchy would become a province of Brighton.

  Then there was the press firestorm. And Regina driving off with him face-first in the seat.

  Tanner laughed aloud. What a sight he must have been. No doubt he’d be in the papers tomorrow, bottoms up.

  Poor Dickenson, left behind in the city to spend the evening swapping stories with his mates at the Fence & Anchor until Tanner returned with the Mercedes.

  And oh, he must organize security straightaway. Tanner wasn’t sure if it was his duty or not, but now that the press had caught wind, Regina would not find a moment’s peace unless she hid inside Meadowbluff.

  Patting his pockets for his phone, Tanner composed a mental e-mail to Louis about security, ignoring that back-of-the-mind tug to explore his earlier thought.

  Existing but not living.

  Pulling his phone from his right front pocket, he found he’d missed a call.

  Trude Cadwallader.

  Tanner stared at her name. Why was she calling him? He listened to her voice message, walking to the window and peering out over the twinkling nighttime city.

  “Surprise, love, it’s me. Did you get the invitation? Please say you’ll come. It would be grand. The girls . . . well . . . they’re . . . Oh listen, we’ll talk Sunday, when I see you. I will see you, right? Grand. Ta-ta.”

  He regarded the screen before deleting the message. A week ago he was a happy, single, solitary chap trying his wings at a new minister position, forging a new career path. Then suddenly the king appears, sending him on a journey designed to change one person’s life, yet oddly enough, it was Tanner who found his life, his heart, changing.

  Returning to his chair, he typed his message to Louis, then sat back, closing his eyes. Could it be he wanted to go to the party? He wanted what he’d given up, what he’d been resisting for so long? At every level? Love.

  He moaned and sat up. Time for bed, chap.

  Maybe someday he could muster the courage for romance. With someone. Not Regina. She was beyond his league in more ways than one.

  But driving up to Estes Estate on a Sunday afternoon? No. That part of his life was over. Opening up that locked and guarded door of his heart would require more courage than he could gather in a lifetime.

  October 19, 1914

  Meadowbluff Palace

  While Hessenberg has not joined the war, the war has come to us. Several missiles have been launched at our shores. Uncle is sure it’s the Kaiser and Chancellor Bismarck behind the attacks, but all of his inquiries met a dead end.

  Wettin Manor was struck just before dawn the day before, and Uncle’s quarters were burned. He swears it was done on purpose, not a random firing, and it makes him so despondent, which makes us all despondent.

  Uncle has ordered a blackout on the palace, so we sit in darkness after the sun goes down, which is quite early these fall days.

  There’s no music. No laughter. I almost feel anything would be better than this.

  Uncle says we must hold together. But he’s near his own breaking, I fear.

  I’ve seen none of my friends. Many more of the lads have joined the war by fighting for Brighton and Britain. This makes Uncle even more despondent. He says he’s failed the youth of Hessenberg. For the sake of his past, he’s ruined their future.

  Mercy, I wish I could write about more pleasant things. Oh, I stored the two halves of the pendant and picture in my box. Mamá would be so disappointed to know I let Rein cut my cipher pendant in two. I, however, am all too glad to have it back in my possession! What might he have done with my cipher had he thought to keep it and use it for his own gain!

  Mamá still prays faithfully by the small fire allowed in the parlor, rocking, her Bible open in her hands, her lips moving in prayer. It is the one constant that brings me peace and hope.

  God alone can save our spirits. But only he knows how or when.

  Alice

  She woke early, before dawn drifted past her window, with a sense of resolve. As Sadie would say, “It is what it is. No use fussing over it.”

  Maybe she needed to stop bemoaning how her life got bulldozed and start digging around in the rubble to find the gems. Pending arrest or not, she was here, the prin
cess, and she might as well discover the truths and realities lurking beneath the surface.

  Digging in and facing the truth was how Daddy got her through Mama’s death. How she got through college and how she rose up the ranks at Backlund & Backlund, on her way to becoming their youngest partner. How she found the courage to face Backlund, Daddy, and her friends when she decided to go into business with Al.

  And how, have mercy, she got on the plane with Tanner Monday night and flew to Hessenberg.

  Reaching to switch on the bedside lamp, Reggie crawled out from under the covers and stood in the middle of the bed and greeted young Gram, Princess Alice.

  “Hey, Gram, I’m still here, in your watercolor fairy tale. Any words of advice for me today?”

  But Gram’s innocent, hopeful expression remained unchanged.

  Was that a message in and of itself? Closing her eyes, Reggie inhaled the essence of the image and exhaled her trepidation.

  Wasn’t that faith? Believing what the heart knew to be true even if the head raged with doubts?

  Opening her eyes, she whispered a prayer for guidance and wisdom, tried to invoke the hope of the portrait, and jumped off the bed.

  A princess is defined not by her title alone but by how she lives her life.

  The words came with a whisper and swirled around her heart, settling deeper and deeper, and Reggie decided those words were a good place to start her day.

  Showered and dressed in jeans, she smoothed up her bed covers, organized her suitcase, then unzipped her backpack to retrieve Gram’s fairy tale. Maybe by studying this book—Gram’s message to her, as Tanner declared—along with a bit more talking to God, she might understand this journey she was on.

  Jogging down the wide front staircase with gilded banisters and a royal red carpet, Reggie cut through the foyer, passed by the big formal dining room, and headed for the kitchen. As she came around the corner, Jarvis met her in the back hall in his uniform of a dark suit and dark tie.