“No, the ring belongs to the royal family, Regina. It belongs to you.”
“But I’m not a royal, Tanner.” Her protests about her true heritage were weakening. “Besides, what would I do with that here?”
“Mark your seal on . . .”—he shrugged, grinning—“a new paint job for one of your autos.”
She laughed, and he loved hearing the melody of her heart. She reached for the ring as he passed it back. “What’s this thing worth anyway? Or do I want to know?”
“A quarter of a million pounds. Roughly. See the princess—”
“A quarter of a mill—shoot, Tanner, that’s like . . .” She held up the ring, calculating. “Three hundred and fifty thousand in dollars. Roughly.”
“The old Grand Duke spared no expense. The sapphire is over two karats and cut with the rare jeweler’s cut. Same with the diamonds, all flawless with the jeweler’s cut,” Tanner said.
Regina leaned toward the lamp behind her, offering the ring to the triangle of light falling from under the shade. “What’s so rare about the cut?”
“No one knows how to fashion it anymore. It was developed by a Jewish family in Germany. All very skilled and talented artisans. All killed, every one of them, in Dachau and Auschwitz.”
The words Dachau and Auschwitz raised the blinders on history’s dark past and the sins of men.
“Then the ring is priceless,” Regina said, low and tender. Thoughtful. “So much talent and knowledge was lost in the war. You can’t kill six million people—”
“Murder.”
“Murder six million people and preserve knowledge or hold on to culture.”
Tanner regarded her. Did she hear herself? Such an observation. And spoken like a true princess. “You’re making an argument for why we need you, Regina. To regain our heritage, our culture.”
“But I know nothing of your heritage or culture.”
“You carry the blood of your gram, your uncle, within you.”
Regina regarded the ring, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but I am not anyone’s hope of restoration.” She held the ring at arm’s length, one eye closed. “The filigree is so detailed. Like it’s trying to say something.”
“It is. It’s your gram’s cipher.” Tanner moved behind her and leaned over her shoulder. Soft wisps of her fiery hair burned his cheeks. “The shank was restyled for her when she became the Hereditary Duchess. See here? The P for Princess. Half of an A for Alice. And half of a crown. On the other side of the ring is the rest of the A and crown.”
“That’s extraordinary. And amazingly clever. I should come up with some kind of cipher for the cars we restore.” She laughed. “A brand. Sear it on the undercarriage.”
“Yes, it’s quite clever. It’s the ingenuity of Earnest Wilhelm, passed on from Grand Duchess to Grand Duchess. It was a secret. Only the royal jeweler knew the cipher was embedded in the ring. When the Duchess sealed a letter or marked an official document with her seal, she added the cipher, usually in private, so no aides or staff discovered the secret.”
“So, the royal life is fraught with secrets and intrigue.”
“More than you know.” He could lean over her shoulder all night and never tire. His lips were inches from hers and his heart was alerting his whole body to her beauty.
“Really, you should take it home with you.” Regina returned the ring to its jewel case, shoving it to Tanner’s side of the coffee table. “What do you know about this?” She reached inside the box, bringing out a rather tattered, torn photograph. “Do you know him? He doesn’t seem connected to anything we’ve talked about so far.”
Tanner pinched the end of the photo between his thumb and finger. So this was the other half of the photo he found in his box.
“Your gram loved boxes, Regina,” Tanner said, walking into the bedroom and from his suitcase dug out the box he’d found at the palace, in one of the suites. The one he had carried to the office the other day, wondering how he’d discover the mystery of the box’s unusual contents.
He set it on the table next to Regina’s box, opened the lid, and retrieved the other half of the picture.
“Oh my gosh, she tore it in half. Put them in two different boxes.” Regina sighed, but with a smile. “Gram, were you a little upset at this boy?”
“Maybe she meant to give one half to the young man,” Tanner offered, tapping his half of the photo. “And keep one for herself.”
“Maybe. Or she was brokenhearted. Otherwise, why keep it all those years? When she had two husbands?” Regina reached for the two halves, piecing them together, studying them, her questions defining her fine features.
“Perhaps it was love unrequited,” Tanner said. “There, turn over the photos. What does the writing tell us?”
“Let’s see.” When Regina bent to the light again to read the back of the photograph, her thick, sun-kissed bangs streamed over her eyes. At once she was both worldly and innocent, a tomboy with a feminine flair. Tanner breathed in and breathed out. Steady, ole boy. “Rein Friedrich . . .” She looked to Tanner. “Ring any bells? This was the spring of 1914.”
Tanner studied the man’s face while his private thoughts urged his heart to shut up about love and desire. Focus on the task at hand. “There was a Rein Friedrich who fought for the Kaiser in the first war. Jumped sides, he did, which was what the Grand Duke, Prince Francis, feared all along with Hessenberg’s young men.”
“Didn’t he fear the Germans? The Kaiser? Seems I remember something about that in a history class.”
“He did, but moreover, he feared the men of fighting age would join ranks with his cousin, the Kaiser, his rival. Francis wanted to fight with his Anglo cousins in England and Brighton. But Hessenberg’s strong Germanic influence divided the country in 1914.”
“So he abandoned ship.”
“Something like that, yes. But he wasn’t ready to lead in wartime anyway. Rein Friedrich, if this is the same chap, joined the German army, rose through the ranks until he eventually found himself in Hitler’s inner circle.”
“Gram saved a picture of a Nazi?” She moved the photo pieces apart, making a face, disgust sharpening her tone.
“He wasn’t a Nazi when this was taken,” Tanner said. “He was most likely a jolly university chap with the world at his beckoning.”
“Cocky and full of himself.”
“Aren’t all young men? Rein’s life ended with him swinging from a rope. He was sentenced to death at the Nuremberg trials.”
Regina dropped the photo into the box. “What about this pendant?” She rested the piece in his palm.
“Looks like it’s been cut in half. And”—Tanner dug in his box—“like the picture, I have the other half here.” Tanner matched his half of the pendant to Regina’s. “It’s engraved with her initials. It’s a cipher pendant.”
“Do you think she wanted him to have the other half?” She held up her palm and Tanner settled his half of the pendant against her skin.
“Very well could,” Tanner said. “The picture was taken in 1914 before the war. She might have fallen for Rein. Maybe she tore the picture before the family fled, leaving it behind for him.”
“Do you think that’s what the fairy tale is about? Gram leaving things behind for him?”
“I don’t think Rein would never be the ‘salvation’ of Hessenberg. Besides, he obviously didn’t go off with the box, the picture, or the pendant. I found the box in the princess suite of the palace.”
She sighed, packing up the box. “More questions. Fewer answers.” Regina stood, collecting her box. “Gram, grrr, why didn’t you say something?”
“Regina, she did.”
“If you say to me the fairy tale is her ‘saying something’ . . .” She pointed her finger at him, her chin lowered, her eyes narrowed. “I might have to punch you.”
He laughed. “Have I rattled you that much?”
“Yes . . . no . . . It’s not you . . . I don’t know, Tanner. I don’t know. I can’t think.”
“You’re tired. Go home. Sleep.”
But she didn’t move past the chairs. “What . . . what would I have to do again? And for how long?”
Tanner started down this road tenderly. Slowly. “Go to Hessenberg, of course. Meet with the king and other leaders, the prime minister and governor, go through the formalities—”
“Become the actual princess.”
“Yes, by reinstating the House of Augustine-Saxon. You’ll be the heir and princess, Hereditary Duchess—”
“Grand Pooh-bah and Chief Potentate?”
“If you’d like.” He wanted to laugh, wrap her against him, kiss the worry lines from her forehead, and promise her all would be well. She moved his heart in a way no woman ever had. Not even Trude.
He’d chide himself later about the inappropriateness of his affection, but he was tired, still famished, and on the cusp of winning her over. So he gave his heart permission to feel.
“Then what? You said something about an oath.”
“Oath of the Throne. To be the proper heir, the proper princess. You’ll pledge to protect and defend Hessenberg. I don’t think you’ll find any of it objectionable.”
“Tanner, I’m an American.”
“Yes, well—”
“I have to give up my citizenship?”
“You will be a sovereign of Hessenberg, Miss Beswick . . . Regina.” Could she hear what he whispered to her?
“Oh no, no—”
“Not even for your gram? For her people?”
“But she left Hessenberg. She left Europe. Came to America and lived like an American.”
“And you’ll return, to do what your gram couldn’t do. Return to her royal house and her people. Establish the Augustine-Saxon throne once again.”
Regina made tracks for the door. “Be sure to text me when you leave, okay?”
“You’re not coming with me?” He must not let her make her decision so quickly. “Regina, give it another day.”
She turned back and grasped the front of his shirt with lightning speed.
“Look me in the eye.”
“Steady on.”
“This is real? All of it? For real?” Determination flared in her eyes, poured forth in her words.
“You’re the one with the box, Regina. With the ring, with your gram’s fairy tale message. I’ll ring His Royal Highness, King Nathaniel II, if you’d like—”
“No.” She released him, stepping back. “I believe you.”
“Th–then you’ll come?” He adjusted his shirt, moving around to see her face. Her eyes. He was already becoming familiar with her visual messages.
“Maybe.” She went to the door and jerked it open. “I would need a couple of days to get ready.”
“Regina?”
“What?” she said, one foot in the hall, her back to the room.
“Thank you. All of Hessenberg thanks you.”
“I said maybe, Tanner. Maybe.”
And she was gone.
August 10, 1914
Meadowbluff Palace
From the Grand Ballroom and through the open windows, I can hear the orchestra tuning. The music is so lovely. And the breeze is rising up from the bay, cooling off the August heat and bringing the scent of the sea mixed with honeysuckle.
It’s nearly eight in the evening and the sun is setting, leaving a beautiful but curious white glow over Uncle’s stable. Almost like a beacon. Oh for my Brownie camera! How could I have left it behind at Wettin Manor? Must ask Mamá if Lark can take me into the city tomorrow to retrieve it.
If I cannot have a paintbrush in my hand, I should like to have my camera. There is so much beauty and wonder to capture in life.
I taught Esmé to use the camera. For a picture of Rein Friedrich and me when he came to call. But that was before . . . Oh, he’s so rude and mean toward Uncle.
Mr. Elliott brought the picture development round last evening and I had half a mind to tear up the photograph of Rein and me. Right in half, I tell you.
Though I must say, having a ball when the talk of war escalates and burdens us all does seem untimely.
But Mamá is so looking forward to tonight’s festivities. It’s been a year since Papá’s death and she longs to wear a colorful gown.
Uncle and Mamá want to present me as the official Hereditary Grand Duchess of Hessenberg during the ball as well. Though I’m a bit young yet, only sixteen.
I’ve mixed feelings about it all. About so many things.
War.
Love.
Men.
Rein.
He insists he and the other lads are restless, wanting to go to war. They are congregating in the afternoons and evenings in Wisteria Park, in the avenues, and on the university campus demanding Uncle and Prime Minister Fortier enter the fight. They ask why the grand isle of Hessenberg should sit by while our brethren in Brighton and Britain—yes, even Germany—spill their blood on the battlefields.
Uncle’s advisors, Lord Raeburn and Lord Strathem, have already joined the Brighton navy, serving as officers for His Majesty, King Nathaniel I.
I do believe Uncle’s pride is wounded, but even more he is afraid. He will not enter the war because he cannot lead Hessenberg through. He has said so to Mamá and me many times over. He claims he has no mind for military strategy..
Let the Kaiser and Tsar fight their own battles. What has it to do with Hessenberg?
But I can tell Uncle regards this as his worst failure. He fears, as do I, our English and German heritage will divide rather than unite us. We are literally cousins to them all.
So Uncle continues the summer social season as if Germany, Russia, Austria, Serbia, the United Kingdom, and Brighton have not chosen up sides and are preparing, perhaps this very hour, to fire upon one another.
It seems impossible to think our young men may fight against one another. Some decry, “Fight for the Kaiser.” While others are fighting for the king of Brighton and sporting about in their brown-and-navy uniforms.
Last week when Rein came to call, he criticized Uncle for not joining in with Kaiser Wilhelm. When I defended Uncle, Rein insisted, to my face, that Uncle was arrogant and selfish, caring only for his royal ways with no care toward the bourgeois.
Uncle has every care toward the bourgeois. He’s built three schools for the mine workers, the “ringers,” and for the poor. He charges nothing for their children to attend. He’s even begun a special program for children who cannot read well. Something about the letters flipping about on the page, or dancing around. He’s never said aloud but I do believe he suffers from such a malady. ’Tis why he employs Otto to do his reading and writing.
I suppose he does appear self-righteous regarding war, but his fears and inability to read leave him no choice.
The sun is moving farther west and elongated shadows fall on the lawn, taking my heart with it. I am remembering my friends and our days at the summer shore. Was it only a month ago we walked along the beach, kicking at the waves, holding hands, us all, singing the evening song, reminiscing of our school days? Laughing and laughing and laughing.
“La-da-da. Moonlight, sunshine, waves upon the shore—”
I think it’s my favorite evening song.
Rein asked permission to call on me tonight. I told him yes, but he must face the duke first.
“I shall make the arrangements,” he said.
Now I wonder. He was so hard on Uncle, on all of us. We shall see tonight.
Alice
NINE
He prayed it wasn’t too late. In the inner sanctum of his office in Wettin Manor, Seamus Fitzsimmons poured himself a shot of whiskey from the decanter he kept hidden away behind a panel in the wall. He wasn’t sure what possessed the ancients to build palaces and manses with hidden corridors and secret panels, but he appreciated them all at the moment.
After tossing down the shot, letting the liquid burn down his throat, Seamus set his glass down. How had he not acted sooner? He’d let familiari
ty and gentle politics dull his senses.
He’d become too enamored with his position and ease of life. And because he’d been mates with King Nathaniel’s father, King Leopold, at Bryn Academy and Knoxton University.
When King Leo appointed Seamus to the governorship of Hessenberg, Seamus pledged his loyalty and devotion to the king and kingdom.
Now the security of his political future rested solely in his willingness to lead Hessenberg toward her future. If this so-called heir to Hessenberg’s throne proved solid, then what chance did he have to survive this new wave of government? He must assert himself. Take the bull by the horns, as it were.
Who in blazes ever imagined a long-lost princess being found? Five months ago, not a soul in Brighton Kingdom or Hessenberg. Now Seamus felt he’d tarried too long in taking action.
He couldn’t delay to see if this heir, Regina Beswick, embraced her inheritance and assumed the Hessenberg throne.
He must seize his opportunity now. Besides, kowtowing to King Leo was one thing. Seamus could even tolerate it for his son, King Nathaniel II. But bowing and scraping to an uncouth American? He’d not do it. It was beneath him. Even his wife said as much at dinner last night. With, mind you, their guests agreeing quite heartily.
Do something, Seamus. Don’t sit idly by.
He reached for the decanter and poured another shot of whiskey.
Then an idea came to him after the guests departed. A clever way around the need for a royal heir.
Seamus downed his drink as his vice governor, Courtland Hamish, entered.
“It took all morning to go through the entail, comparing it with old laws, new laws, and court rulings. But you were right. Hessenberg never filed a petition with the European court to be a sovereign state on behalf of the people. The petition always came from Brighton on behalf of the government, but not the people themselves. Very clever twist, Seamus. Anyway, the court always upheld the entail as ironclad based on the state-to-state law.”
“Precisely. But we’ve found a way round,” Seamus said. “What about the other issue?”
Courtland exhaled, shuffling the papers in his hand. “We can do it, though I’m not as confident with this move, Seamus. There is legal precedent, but let me warn you on behalf of the duchy’s legal counsel, this could wreak havoc.”
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