by Rachel Hauck
Next to her, Stephen stared off toward the surrounding woods, his right leg gently swaying side to side, his left stretched long, resting his ankle. In what remained of the light, Corina found his hand and slipped hers beneath his warm palm. He flinched at first, then relaxed and entwined his fingers with hers.
They sat there for a long time saying nothing. Saying everything.
TWENTY-FOUR
Back at the Manor Friday morning, Corina sat at the small curved desk tucked under the dormer walls and pulled out the annulment papers.
Unfolding the pages, she skimmed the small print, a sick feeling forming in the pit of her stomach when she read the definition of what she and Stephen were about to do.
“An annulment means no valid marriage ever existed.”
But that was a lie. They had a valid marriage. At least in her heart.
A few lines down, Stephen had checked the “Mistake” box.
Was that how he truly saw things? She smoothed her hand over the pages, pressing them flat against the hard desk. Could she add her own box? Check “Coward”?
She pushed back and went to the window. She’d never forgive him for this, calling the marriage a mistake, ending it on his assumptions, abandoning the relationship when they needed each other most.
However, Stephen had delivered his part of the bargain. He told her what happened to Carlos. And Corina felt obligated to sign.
A fresh cascade of tears spilled down her cheeks. She was tired of crying. After her evening on the memorial bench with Stephen, they returned to the house at Parrsons and Corina hid in her suite and spent a good part of Thursday there, weeping, remembering, praying.
This morning early, Stephen drove her back to the city with little conversation and dropped her off at the Manor. “The annulment?”
“I’ll sign it.”
But how could she? Corina sat on the window seat and gazed out over the city, her love for Cathedral City summer mornings nothing but a faint memory.
She glanced back at the annulment documents. Just sign and be done with it.
When her phone rang, she snatched it up, hoping for Stephen’s number on her screen. But no.
“Miss Del Rey?”
“Yes?”
“This is Clem from the Children’s Literacy Foundation. On your auction form you listed your local address as the Manor, but we can’t find such a place anywhere in the city listings or on the map. Where would you like us to deliver your purchase?”
“Right, the Pissarro.” She’d dueled for the piece with a stodgy couple who seemed to have no monetary boundaries. Well, neither did she. She’d not touched her trust from Grandmother Del Rey and the power of compound interest daily kept the one account very healthy. She could buy the Pissarro three times over.
She finally won the bid at ten million. The place exploded with applause. The Children’s Literacy Foundation would have a grand year.
“Where shall we deliver it?”
“To Prince Stephen in care of the King’s Office.”
“Pardon?”
“The King’s Office. Prince Stephen.” She picked up the annulment papers again. She’d purchased the painting for Stephen, because, well, she thought he would enjoy it. Call it a “We’re annulled!” gift.
“I’ll need a special form to deliver to the King’s Office.”
“Fine. Do you need me for that form?”
“I just have to call the King’s Office.”
“Then call them.”
“If there’s a delay, I will ring you. Otherwise the painting will be delivered tomorrow.”
Perfect. She flew home on Sunday. “With the note I wrote? Please include the note.”
“I’ll see to it.”
Hanging up, Corina returned to the window. The streets below were quiet for a Friday. The wind had room to move and expand, dragging its train through the trees along the avenue.
Street vendors worked the sidewalk, preparing for the lunch crowd. Taxicabs lined the curb, the drivers huddled together, talking, flicking ashes from their cigarettes.
Love well.
Corina picked up the annulment papers. Was signing them loving well?
A light knock had her calling, “Come in.”
Adelaide came around the door carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. “Top of the morning. How was your time away?”
“Enlightening.” Corina tossed the documents back to the desk. By tonight she’d decide. If she flew home without signing, she’d have to be willing to face the consequences.
“You sound troubled.”
“I bargained for something, got what I wanted, and am not sure I can keep up my end.”
“Then you’ve a dilemma.” Adelaide poured Corina a cup of tea and placed a thin, wafer-like cookie on the saucer as she passed it over.
“My head versus my heart.” Corina pulled the desk chair around, a small fire flickering in her belly from her private confrontation with the annulment.
“Tea time will make you feel better.” Filling the cups with steaming, rich brown liquid, Adelaide handed one to Corina, then took one for herself. “This porcelain tea service is quite special.” Adelaide sat primly on the chaise, holding up the cup and saucer.
“Really?” Corina inspected her cup. “This one has a small chip.” She tapped the slight nick on the bottom.
“It’s been well used. King Stephen I heard of the great porcelain cups made in China. He sent for a set, and it took nearly ten years then to arrive. One of the first sets ever to arrive in the West.”
Corina lowered her cup and saucer. The air in the room changed again as Adelaide spoke and Corina felt bound by the electricity. “You’re serving me tea in a four-hundred-and-fifty-year-old cup?”
“Kings and queens, the sick and poor, women and men, children have drunk from these cups.”
“Where did you get them?” Again, why are they not with the royal estate?
“It lives with the Manor. Along with the tiara.”
“Adelaide, you’ve quite the mission. Hidden tiaras, special tea sets.”
The woman reclined against the cushy back of the chaise. “You’ve asked what Brill and I are about. Well, we’re here to help you see what you are about.” She raised her cup to Corina. “To wear the tiara, one must drink from the cup.”
Corina considered her cup. “You mean to be a true royal one must drink from the cup of love and service.”
“There, now, that wasn’t so hard was it? Ruling by serving. It’s how the Great Kingdom is structured. It’s the love that moves heaven and earth.”
The tracing of chills over Corina’s arms multiplied.
“And that’s how King Stephen I and Queen Magdalena loved?” She was catching on to Adelaide’s wisdom.
“Yes. You and your prince have been given the same call.”
“But he wants out, Adelaide. An annulment.”
“That is your journey, love. All I can give you is heaven’s vision.” Adelaide turned over her saucer. “King Stephen I had his artisans design a cipher for their royal house. Do you see?”
Corina checked her saucer. On the bottom she found a crown crossed with a sword that matched Adelaide’s. Underneath were the letters H of S. “House of Stratton.”
“He used to serve his guests, rich or poor, noblemen or common men, with a whole set. Only these two remain.”
“And I’m to do the same?”
“If you want to wear the tiara, then you must be willing to drink from the cup.”
“If I want to wear the tiara, then how can I sign the papers?” Corina said, setting down her tea and snatching up the annulment.
“That I cannot tell you. What’s in your heart?”
“That I love him. I came over here thinking I could win him back, you know? Love well. But maybe too much time has passed. We’re not the same people we were six years ago.”
“Just because he’s not changed his mind doesn’t mean you’ve not loved well. You’ve not failed.” Adelaide
finished her tea with an “ahh,” and set it on the tray. “Now I must be off.”
Adelaide collected the tea set and left Corina alone in her room with so many questions. Crossing to the desk, Corina fished her pen from her purse and hovered over the papers.
Love well. If she had her way, she’d tear up the papers, but she’d made a deal with Stephen. What if the first step of loving well was letting go? Of wearing the tiara of faith and drinking from the cup of esteeming another higher than herself?
“Lord, what do I do?”
Closing her eyes, breathing in, she peered at the documents. And signed. She’d messenger them to the King’s Office this afternoon.
By the time she returned to the Beaumont Post, her journey would be complete. She would be a single woman, having loved well, in word and deed, and through every shifting shadow.
TWENTY-FIVE
This just arrived for you.” Robert crossed the room with an envelope on a silver tray.
“Is this all?” Stephen tossed the envelope to his desk, sure it was the annulment papers. After he dropped her off at the Manor Friday morning, what more could be said or done than to formalize the end?
She’d promised to sign the annulment if he told her the truth. So he did. Ignoring the code of silence that went with classified.
The last two nights he woke in the darkest hours of night with the twinge of regret. Once she signed the annulment, she’d be out of his life forever.
What a very sad thing. No man should ever lose a woman like Corina Del Rey.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” Robert said. “Are you ready for luncheon?”
“Not yet, thank you.” Stephen had gone straight to physio after he dropped Corina at the Manor. But feeling no strength in his ankle, he cut the session short. At the moment, the pain level nearly matched the hours right after surgery.
His vision of returning to the pitch for the Premiership blurred and faded.
Stephen sat, shoving away from the desk, taking a long, narrow view of the envelope. Come on, chap, you flew all the way to America for this. Don’t lose your courage now.
A childhood catechism slipped across his mind. Love is patient, love is kind . . .
Stephen lunged forward, snatched up the envelope, and emptied the contents. However, instead of finding the thick annulment agreement, he found a single slip of paper with an address.
Agnes Rothery,
10 Mulchbury Lane,
Dunwudy Glenn, Brighton Kingdom 12R49-H
Bird’s girlfriend. He’d be jiggered. The King’s Office had located her. At his request after the Madeline & Hyacinth Live! show last week. Bravo, King’s Office.
Stephen tapped the address into his iPhone. Dunwudy Glenn was a lovely, quaint village north of the city, two hours’ drive. The map routed him straight to Agnes Rothery’s home.
He considered his next move. Agnes knew nothing of how her man died. Just that he died a hero. She asked no more questions. Letting Bird and the past rest in peace.
But, by George, Stephen was tired of hiding from life because one rogue insurgent came gunning for him. While he’d not divulge national secrets to Agnes, he would at last keep his promise to Bird.
“If anything happens to me, see to Agnes, will you?”
“You have my word.”
To carry on anew, he must deal with all the Torkham fallout. Mend his broken promises. Then perhaps, maybe, he’d feel somewhat worthy of the air he breathed.
Gathering the paper and his phone, Stephen went to his room, showered, and pulled on jeans and a button-down. He found Robert in the dining hall.
“Ring Thomas, please. Tell him he has the rest of the day off.”
“Yes, sir.” Robert frowned, the light in his eyes dimmed. “Might I ask where you are going? You know the King’s Office doesn’t like for you to—”
“Here’s the address.” He passed over the single sheet of paper. “I’ll drive myself. But I’m going to pick up Miss Del Rey.”
“Sir?”
“Taking her with me if she’ll go.”
“You’ll have your mobile?” Robert knew little to nothing of the events in Afghanistan, only that he was to keep vigilant regarding the prince’s safety.
“I have my mobile.” Stephen offered up his phone as he headed down the long corridor to the garage. “I’ll return late.” Stephen paused before turning the corner. “Take the rest of the day for yourself, Robert. Go to the park. Enjoy the festivals and the city in the sunshine.”
As Stephen zipped through traffic, the tension in his chest eased, the weight on his shoulders lifted. The wind cutting through his open window tousled his hair as warm sunbeams tanned his arm, resting on the door.
He beat the caution light at Market Avenue, taking a wide turn onto Crescent, then taking a cut through to the northbound lane to park by the Manor.
Was this ridiculous to call on her unannounced to ask her to ride along? He didn’t care. Thirty minutes ago he anticipated her signed annulment. Now he was at her door, inviting her on a journey.
Besides, it would be good for her to meet Agnes. They shared something no one else shared. The men they loved dying in a terrorist blast intended for the Prince of Brighton. Perhaps they would form a fast friendship and heal together.
He also considered how much he might need Corina’s courage and strength as he told Agnes he was five and a half years overdue on his promise.
About to enter the Manor, he saw Corina round the corner with a box of puffs under her arm.
“Hey.” She slowed her step. “W–what are you doing here?” Her dark hair framed her face, flowing over her shoulders, and her amber-colored eyes were wide and clear.
“I’ve come for a favor.” He bowed toward her. “You’re free to answer no.”
“What’s the favor?”
In short order, he explained Agnes and Bird, how he promised Bird he’d see to her if anything happened to him and how he had failed on his promise. Time to make amends.
“I don’t want to go alone, you see. Can’t face all my demons alone. I thought perhaps you might enjoy meeting her. Bird and Carlos were the real heroes that day in Torkham.”
“Are you going to tell her everything you told me?”
“No. But I want to see to her. Make sure she’s all right.”
“It’s been five and a half years. Agnes has probably moved on, Stephen.”
“But I must see. If she has, then so be it. That doesn’t negate my promise to Bird. She loved him and I’d like her to know he died with honor.” Something tender flickered across her expression. Something he’d not seen before he deployed. A piece of her heart. “Only if you want.”
She glanced toward his Audi. “Where’s Thomas?”
“This trip is just you and me, love.”
“Stephen, I don’t understand. I thought we were over. You told me the dark secret of it all, so why are we taking a journey together? Why do you need me to help you face your demons?”
He sighed. “Then I’ll be getting on by myself.”
“Oh for crying out loud.” Corina shoved the box of puffs at him. “They’re fresh from a Franklin Bakery vending cart. Give me a minute to get my phone.”
“Is this a pity response?” He followed her inside the Manor.
“Yes,” Corina said, running upstairs while he waited in the small, quaint lobby, the thick, raw beams only inches above his head.
A small woman with a big smile approached. “Lovely to see you, Your Highness.”
“Thank you. You’ve a nice place here.”
The woman offered him tea, but he declined, unnerved by the intensity of her gaze and the sensation of heat it created in him.
But he felt drawn to her. Almost changed in her presence.
“Corina speaks highly of you,” he said. “Seems you came to her rescue when she arrived in town with no reservation at The Wellington.”
The woman’s eyes sparked. “Indeed. No reservation at The Wellington. Wel
l, we think highly of her. And you.”
Stephen exhaled when Corina bound into the lobby, wearing a pair of jeans and a top, her hair back in a thick, sleek ponytail. Beautiful. Perfect for him. Princess on Monday night, soldier’s wife on Friday afternoon.
Too late. Too late.
They were quiet in the initial moments as Stephen made his way out of town toward His Majesty’s Bridge and the northern highway toward Dunwudy Glenn.
He had the radio on low for a soft serenade of music.
When he hit the open road and settled back, Corina opened the conversation. “How did you play rugby? Wouldn’t you be a danger to the players and the fans?”
“Keeping everything classified helped. But I almost left the team the first week of training, realizing the risk I placed on everyone, my teammates, the players, and fans worldwide. It was too much to bear. Though I was half crazy with desire to play. Rugby became my therapy. My way to forget. I needed to run, compete, make a try. For them. The six who died.”
“I get that, I do. I stayed home. Wasted five years thinking I could bring Daddy and Mama, especially Mama, out of her grief.”
He pressed his hand on her arm, ruing any implications of a tender touch. Telling her the truth bonded them. As friends anyway.
“Dad saw my dilemma, stepped in and organized meetings, spurring a great deal of discussion behind closed doors with Rugby Union, Brighton Eagles, and the defense minister. With a promise from the Rugby Union to heighten their own security, as well as ours, it was agreed I could and should play. When Brighton Special Forces knocked out the cell Asif had been a part of, we felt more confident my life was safe, and thus the rugby world.”
A bit more music in the silence, but he didn’t mind. It was peaceful.
“Hey, remember the dress I wore to the Military Ball and to our wedding?” She held no reserve about speaking of their past. Stephen peered over at her. She was different. Changed from just yesterday.
“The white one with the feathery skirt? Designed by some recluse designer?”
“But he took so long I never got to wear it for its intended purpose.”