Once Upon a Prince (15 page)

“Ha-ha, well played, old boy.” Stephen pointed at him, smiling.

“You could finally convert the throne room to the bowling alley you always wanted.”

Stephen laughed. “Dad would rise up out of his grave.”

“With all the kings and queens of Brighton.”

“Nate, would you? Abdicate over an American lass you knew for a fortnight?” Stephen sat on the coffee table in front of Nathaniel.

“Tempting, but no. I can’t do it to Brighton. To Mum or the family. Besides, it would throw us into unbelievable turmoil.”

“What of your own turmoil?”

“I’ll shove it aside. Isn’t that what kings do? Set aside their personal life for the good of all?”

“Certainly Dad did.” Stephen jumped up when the mantel clock chimed again. “Need to run.” He slung his rucksack over his shoulder. “Nate, would she be a good queen? The American?”

“I don’t know. But I think, little brother, she would be good for the king.”

Stephen stared away for a moment. “Odd how you seem to be a man who has it all, except you can’t marry the woman you love.”

“I can’t even date her to see if I really do love her. It wouldn’t be fair.” Nathaniel sipped his tea and set it aside. It had grown cold.

“I have a few minutes, Nate.” Stephen tossed his bag back to the couch. “Loan me some warmer clothes, and we can go out in the snow.” He jumped to the window. “It’s not too late. The children are still playing.”

“I think I’ve lost my joy in the idea.” Nathaniel peered out the window. A fresh snow had begun to fall, filling the sledding ruts of the south lawn with big flakes. The older kids had joined the younger ones, sledding, tossing snowballs.

“For Dad, Nate. For old times’ sake.”

Nathaniel glanced back at his brother. He was smiling, egging Nathaniel on with his expression. “All right, you’re on.” He craved the cold, a burst of icy wind to dismantle his warm feelings for Susanna.

Before the clock struck the half hour, Nathaniel and Stephen burst through the south entrance of the palace to the surprised glances of the staff and children.

With a shout, the smaller children left their sleds and ran to him. “It’s Prince Nathaniel.”

“King, silly, he’s the king.” One of the older girls ran after her brother and sister, stopping them just shy of Nathaniel to curtsy. “Begging your pardon, sir.”

He bent down to her. “Not to worry.”

Stephen chose that moment to interrupt with a wild-man yell and smacked Nathaniel in the side of the head with a snowball. “Snow wars!”

Oh, it was on. Nathaniel gathered a crew of two older boys, two little ones, and the youngest girls.

Stephen had the other kids—two older girls, a boy who was the size of two, and the remainder of the young ones.

White bombs flew through the air. Nathaniel aimed for Stephen, ducking his snowballs and taunting him.

At the doors and windows, the staff collected to watch. Cheering them on.

Nathaniel released his last snowball just as Stephen yelled, “Charge!” Ducking his head, Stephen hit him in the chest with his shoulder, knocking him to the ground.

Snow filled his ears and slipped down the collar of his coat. Oh, so cold. But so good. He laughed when Stephen let him up and the children charged them both this time. Nathaniel picked up little Ansley and spun her around.

The laughter, the cold and snow, the shouts of the children healed Nathaniel’s sorrow over losing his dad. Over his lost boyhood, over memories of Stephen and his parents, over his life that changed forever the day Dad died. But most of all, he laughed for the future of Brighton and her children.

T
he clock in the hall chimed midnight when Campbell entered her palace quarters, weary from the long but happy evening. If a woman had to turn fifty-seven, she must do it with her family and friends by her side, attending a Christmas symphony.

“Did you have a good evening, ma’am?” Megan, her lady’s maid, met her at the door.

“I had a splendid time. You’ve not enjoyed a happy birthday song until a full orchestra has played it for you.”

“I suppose not, ma’am.” Megan took Campbell’s coat, hat, and gloves. “Shall I draw you a bath?”

“No, thank you. I think I’ll stay up awhile. I’m not quite sleepy. You may go.”

The woman curtsied and backed out of the room.

A fire crackled in the fireplace. Christmas lights glowed from the tree and each windowsill.

Campbell eased around the living room,
feeling
this space she’d shared with Leo. When Nathaniel married, the apartment would become his. She would move to a smaller palace apartment.

She paused at the first window, missing Leo. Her friend and
companion. The one she leaned on to lead and guide the boys. To lead Brighton. To lead her.

Drawing aside the sheers, Campbell watched the midnight snowfall drift through the palace lights. Silent, peaceful, magical. Changing the world without a sound.

Could she do the same for her son? Guide him toward his future with a peaceful silence? With dutiful presence and love? Or would she need to be loud like Leo? Forceful and strong?

Nathaniel had not been the same since he returned from St. Simons. She saw it. Henry, Stephen, and the King’s Office staff took notice as well. Even Jacque, his personal chef, inquired of the king’s poor appetite and weight loss.

He was lovesick. She didn’t need snow or prime ministers or chefs to figure that out. She’d been in love once, back when the very thought of a certain young man stole her breath.

But being crazy in love was not enough for her father. No, he felt Prince Leopold was a worthy husband, and he’d have his way, not even considering Campbell’s love for another man.

There were many nights she soaked her pillow with tears, demanding her heart to surrender and please her father. But in the end, her true love made the decision for both of them. He withdrew his affection, and a year later, Campbell became Leo’s bride.

It was Nathaniel’s first birthday celebration when she realized she’d fallen in love with her husband. She watched Leo walk Nathaniel around the palace lawn on his first pony, and her heart felt one with him. She thanked God every day for his mercy.

With a sigh she left the window and reached for the TV remote and found a channel that played Christmas music. She slid off her heels and stretched out on the couch.

She drifted. Like the snow. Down, down, down, peaceful …

“Mum? You still awake?”

“I am.” Campbell sat up, jerked from her slumber by her
youngest son’s baritone. “Did you enjoy this evening?” She offered her cheek to Stephen’s kiss.

“‘Twas the symphony with my favorite gal. What’s not to enjoy?” He plopped into Leo’s leather easy chair and tugged at his tie. “You’re the prettiest queen in Brighton.”

Ruddy and regal in his tuxedo, there always seemed a bit of comedy about her youngest son with the way his hair stood tall and waved about of its own accord. But he looked and moved so much like her dignified, noble father.

“But I’m the only queen in Brighton,” she said. “However, you might say I’m the prettiest
mum
in all of Brighton.” Campbell picked up the remote to raise the volume of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” It was one of her favorite Christmas hymns.

“You
are
the prettiest mum in all of Brighton. But I’m one of only two chaps whose mum is also the prettiest queen.”

“Then did you do as your queen asked? Did you give the ring to Nathaniel?”

“I did, but he’s not going for it.”

“He’s stubborn like his father. He refused me too. What did he say?” Fully awake now, she gave her attention to Stephen. “Oh, Nathaniel …”

“He doesn’t love her. But you know him, Mum. Mr. Perfection. It’s my guess he chooses not to deal with love until this whole coronation business is over. Perhaps even to the end of the entail.”

“End of the entail? It’ll be too late. Lady Genevieve could be the answer. Brighton cannot bear any more of the financial burden.”

“Or she could be more of the problem. Mum, she’d be queen of Brighton and grand duchess of Hessenberg.” He fashioned a dubious face. “Quite sticky.”

“But we will all be independent. I do believe I relish the notion.”

“Nathaniel being the king married to the duchess of Hessenberg might mean we are more entangled than ever.”

“Well, are we not in a fine mess.”

“Mum, it’s late and it’s your birthday. Are you sure you want to talk politics?”

“Then tell me what you know about the American lass?”

Stephen shrugged out of his jacket and folded it over the arm of the adjacent chair. “He may or may not be in love with her.”

“What a fine lot. What does that mean? He may or may not?”

“He loves her but knows he can’t marry her. That’s my conclusion. Never mind that she lives four thousand miles away.”

Campbell stood, too restless now to sit. “Do you suppose four thousand miles make him love her all the more?”

“Who knows?” He lifted the crystal lid of the candy bowl on the table next to him, choosing a few chocolates. “I have a thought, Mum. What if we bring her here?”

“Here? To what end?” Campbell regarded him, hands clasped at her waist. “I like having an ocean between her heart and Nathaniel’s.”

“To what end? To burst his bubble. Let him discover he’s not in love with her. He’s in love with an idea, Mum. A fantasy. Let’s bring her here and prove to him, show him, what it would really be like to an American folding into our customs and way of life. Not to mention Nathaniel’s way of life. In his kingly day-to-day. He’s not Nate Kenneth on holiday in Georgia, signing on to wash dishes or cart rubbish. He’s the king of Brighton, and he’ll see she’s not right for him or us. He told me he wasn’t sure he loved her, so let’s help him be sure.”

“What if he decides he loves her?”

“He won’t, Mum, trust me. He’s devoted to his duties first. He’s too uptight and by-the-book to make waves. He’ll come ’round to the proper way. Say what, let’s bring the girl to the coronation festivities.” Stephen gave Campbell a cocky grin and popped
another chocolate in his mouth. His confidence was a mixture of his father’s and hers.

“You want to amuse yourself at your brother’s expense?”

“Never. But how else can we get him to see the truth? Once she arrives, Nathaniel will witness firsthand how awkward it is to have her here, how Brighton is more European than most of Europe. An American like Susanna will find our ways and customs awkward. Foreign. He’ll see her next to Lady Genevieve and realize it’s not love he feels for her, but how she reminded him of his freedoms. He won’t have enough motivation to challenge the marriage act. At the same time, having Susanna around will kick Ginny in the boot. I daresay she spends too much of her affection winning over everyone but Nathaniel. She might just have to put her charms to good use on the king rather than the King’s Office.”

“She’s being coy, Stephen. Waiting for him to show her a wee bit of affection. Spend some of
his
charm wooing her. She can’t be seen chasing the king around.” Campbell focused a moment on the music. A lovely quartet played “O Holy Night.” Her faith had grown over the years of Leo’s illness, but she felt so lacking when addressing the King of all kings.

“One snap of his fingers and she’d come running. But if she’s jealous of another woman, she might use her Olympian efforts to convince Nathaniel she is the one he loves and needs.”

“Does he love her?”

“He says he doesn’t. He claims she doesn’t love him either.” Stephen approached the wet bar, which contained only diet fizzies and water. He twisted the cap from a water and took a long drink.

“Then we must believe him.”

“Do you want grandchildren before you’re too old to change their nappies?” Stephen came around the bar.

“Now you’re being ruthless,” Campbell said, retiring to her chair next to Leo’s. “Besides, I believe I have
two
sons who could
give me grandchildren. Even better, assure a Stratton heir to the throne.”

Stephen spewed the gulp of water he’d been gurgling down. “Mum, please, if you’ve transferred your expectations to me, then you are in dire straits. All the more reason to bring Susanna over and shake things up. Besides, I’ve no use for romance.”

Campbell gave Stephen the truth-eye she used when he was a boy to check his sincerity. “It would be a cruel trick if he fell in love with her all the more.”

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take, but keeping her four thousand miles away, letting him pine, is not working either. Have you seen him? He’s lost another stone.”

The queen regarded her son. He made a sound argument but … would it backfire? Produce the opposite of what they desired? “All right, you win. Tell Jonathan to add her to the list. Allow her to bring a guest. Shall you tell Nathaniel, or shall I?”

“Neither, Mum. If he knows, he’ll go all steely on us. He might tell Jon to remove her name from the list. We’ll never get a true answer. Nor will he. Surprise is key.”

Deception bothered her. But Stephen presented another good case. “If he asks me outright, I won’t lie.”

“Fine, Mum. Don’t lie.” Stephen reached for his jacket and wiggled his feet back into his shoes. “Where shall she stay? Parrsons House?”

“Absolutely not. She’ll stay in a hotel. Parrsons is for family.” The Stratton country home sat on the edge of Cathedral City, seventy kilometers north of the palace. “Besides, it’s the place of the coronation ball.”

Campbell had plans to stay there herself during the coronation week.

“Mum, we want him to resolve his feelings for her, not alert the tabs and paparazzi. The press will be mad over him coronation week. The world will be watching. The security risk will be
too great if she’s in the city. How will he see her in such a public place? Put her at Parrsons.” Stephen exuded way too much energy for the late hour. Campbell tired merely listening to him.

“Then we must invite her to the ball. If she’s at Parrsons, we can hardly hold a large dance under her nose and not invite her.”

The Parrsons House ballroom was the largest of the royal ballrooms, added in 1890 by King Stephen VI in anticipation of his son’s future coronation.

Stephen VI preferred living in the country and assumed his children and grandchildren would feel the same. But at the dawn of the twentieth century, the slow pace of country life seemed droll and backward compared to the excitement of an industrial city where motorcars and picture shows engaged the youth.

“Brilliant, Mum. Exactly. The Colors Coronation Ball will be a perfect place to reveal her to Nathaniel.” Stephen came around the couch, giving her his best impish grin. “Let’s blow this up King Leo style, what say? Put her on all the blue-book lists.”

“Have her mingling among our friends, family, and royal guests?”

“If we want to prove she’s not queen material, then yes, showcase her against our cultural elite, Mother.”

Mother? He only called her Mother when he was dead serious. “All right, then, you must promise to pick up the debris.”

“Done.” He crossed his heart and kissed her good night. “I’ll speak with Jon tomorrow and make arrangements for Susanna’s travel and motor.”

“You think this plan will work?”

“One way or the other.”

Exactly what she feared. One way or the other. Nathaniel was not one to be trifled with. He cared deeply for truth and justice. It’s what made him a good king. But a horrible one to manipulate. This plan could go against them as easily as for them.

The clock struck one. Campbell turned off the music, the gas
lighting the fireplace, and the Christmas lights, and headed to bed, weary with the process of devising a plan to expose her son’s heart.

“Mama, I’m going on break.” Susanna tugged off her apron and wadded it up for the laundry hamper. Mama hated when she wore more than one apron per shift, but Catfish had tripped and sloshed barbecue sauce all over this one.

Heading out to the deck, Susanna snatched the newspaper from her locker. Aunt Rue was getting restless. Some of the gilt was coming off her Southern, overly sweet bloom.

How’s that house hunting going, Susanna?

Aunt Rue had a bit of Aunt Shrew in her, leaving the classifieds on Susanna’s pillow at night. This morning she
insisted
she
must
have her whole house to herself
as soon as possible
so she could have it painted, recarpeted, and Susanna’s room fumigated by Christmas.

Okay, she didn’t say fumigated, but she might as well have by the way she wrinkled her nose.

The way Susanna saw it, she had three choices.

Go for a cheap rental. One that a barbecue back-of-house manager could afford.

Move home.
Shudder
.

Buy a tent and pitch it next to Aurora’s.

So far, she leaned toward the tent. Might be kind of freeing.

Choosing a table in the corner by the stage, Susanna popped open the paper but stared toward the beach instead of reading.

Sometimes when she had a free morning or evening, she would ride her bike to Christ Church, where she would park in the grass and stretch herself out over the blades to pray. She tried not to pick the same spot where she’d talked and prayed with Nate, but she did. Every time. Because God spoke to her there.

Apart from me, you can do nothing
.

So there she was back to the “I got nothing” and “you can have all of me” prayer. What little remained of herself, her plans, her life. Maybe that was the point.

Out on the deck, she pulled her Sharpie from her hip pocket and scribbled “John 15” on the edge of the newspaper. She’d been reading the chapter before bed the last few nights. Much better reading than the For Rent classifieds. Sorry, Aunt Rue.