Authors: Beth Pattillo
“Quiet, then. Quiet.” Crispin was desperately trying to impose some sort of order on the chattering fray. Lucy watched as he and Nick exchanged a meaningful masculine look. With a laugh, she plunged into the midst of the group. In the middle of the chaos, she found Henny holding a fat blond pug.
“Wellington!” The other woman handed the dog into Lucy’s arms, and he wheezed and licked her cheek. Lucy cuddled him close. “I never thought to see you again.”
“Lord Wellstone brought ‘im,” Henny said, patting the pug’s head. “Thought he might as well go along. His mistress, Lady Belmont, won’t be back in London for ages.”
Lucy smiled, tucked Wellington into the crook of one arm, and hugged Henny with the other. “My thanks to you as well.”
“Thanks?” Henny looked genuinely surprised. “‘Twas a mean-spirited trick I played that day, scaring you and forcing you to listen to Mr. Whippet.”
Lucy laughed. “If nothing else, you saved me from a husband who crawled on all fours.”
Henny smiled and glanced at Nick. “You have brought this one to his knees, my lady, but no farther.”
“No, no farther.” They shared a conspiratorial smile. “Good luck, Henny.”
In another moment, they were filing out the door, one by one. Each girl had instructions to proceed to a different posting inn and from there to a seaport to book foreign passage. With a backward glance at Nick, Lucy followed the last girl out the door.
It felt good to be free, and Lucy enjoyed the walk to the nearest stage stop. Even being forced into the crowded confines of the mail coach did not dampen her good spirits. At the second stop, she alighted from the coach. Across the yard sat an impressive carriage, complete with the royal crest of the King of Santadorra. The door to the carriage swung open, and Lucy moved forward nervously to greet her new father-in-law.
THE ROYAL Guards escorted them to Portsmouth, where the king blustered at the customs officials until they were too intimidated to ask to see official traveling papers for the sovereign’s new daughter-in-law. A short time later, the Crown Prince and his companion, accompanied by King Leopold and Lord Wellstone, boarded the royal yacht. The captain quickly weighed anchor.
Lucy did not breathe a sigh of relief until the coast of England grew quite small in the distance. Nick stood beside her at the rail, his arm draped around her shoulders. Her stomach pitched in rhythm with the deck beneath her feet, and she clutched her husband for support. Excitement at what lay ahead combined with a strong sense of loss. Her life would never be the same.
“Steady.” Nick pulled her closer. “Are you feeling ill?”
“No.” She hesitated, unsure whether to share her thoughts. Despite their mutual declaration of love, their relationship still seemed somehow unsettled. “No, I am not ill.”
“Then you are regretting your decision.” His face was impassive, but Lucy heard the worry in his voice.
“Yes, I am regretting it.”
He stiffened and began to pull away, but she wrapped her arms around his waist and refused to let him go. “Yes and no. It is difficult to leave England, especially under these circumstances. To say good-bye to the only life I have known.”
They watched the disappearing coastline in silence for several long moments, until Lucy could put her feelings into words. “You were right when you said that one day I would have to choose whether to live in the world of my birth or the world of my cause. But I have lived so long in that in-between place that making the choice frightens me. It was much easier to be one reformer among many than it will to be the Crown Princess of Santadorra.”
Nick grinned at her. “I have no fears on that score. You will leave your own distinctive mark on the monarchy.”
Lucy bristled. “I will not relinquish my passion for reform.”
Nick laughed and brushed her cheek with his fingers. “I would never expect you to change, princess. In fact, I fully expect that you will plague me about the business for the rest of our lives.”
Lucy’s heart caught in her throat. “I fully expect that I will, too.”
“Good.” Nick pressed a kiss against her lips. “A man always likes to know that there’s something in this world on which he can depend.”
Lucy gave herself to another kiss, and it was several long, breathless moments before they came up for air.
Nick set her back from him. “Just promise me one thing, princess.”
“What?” Lucy eyed him warily.
“Promise me you’ll stay away from garden doors.”
“Oh!” Lucy reached out to swat him, but he caught her hand and scooped her up in his arms. She was still pummeling his chest and shoulders when they disappeared below decks.
CRISPIN LEANED against the railing of the yacht and watched as they sliced through the waters of the Channel. King Leopold stood a few feet away, his gaze locked on the horizon.
“The people of Santadorra are in for a great shock when they meet their new princess,” the king said, and Crispin could only smile.
“Will we see them above decks the entire voyage?” he asked.
“Somewhere about Portugal, I should think.” The king laughed and clapped Crispin on the shoulder.
Crispin suppressed a twinge of disappointment. “That’s several weeks at least.”
“If my memory serves me correctly, several weeks should be adequate.”
“Adequate? For what?”
The king barked with laughter. “No wonder you are not yet wed, Lord Wellstone. When we reach Santadorra, we shall have to look about for a bride for you.”
Crispin felt his stomach shift, and it wasn’t due to the waves. “My talent is not wedding them, Your Majesty, only matching them.”
“And a fine talent it is, sir. I never thought to see my son return.” King Leopold turned toward him. “I owe you my thanks, as do the people of Santadorra.”
“Yes, well, it is one talent I hope never to need again,” Crispin replied and vowed to himself that his days as a matchmaker were finished. As the sun descended, the royal yacht rode the crests of the Channel, carrying the small party into the future.
And as for the happily ever after
. . .
Santadorra, 1844
TWENTY-FOUR-YEAR-OLD Crown Prince Leopold, the heir to King Nicholas and the Ivory Throne, stood with his family on the balcony of the palace overlooking the crowds gathered below. Bright sunshine and clear blue sky marked a historic day for the tiny kingdom. The official ceremony being enacted was a momentous one, so Leo strove to look properly dignified—despite the fact that his parents, the ruling monarchs, were paying more attention to each other than to the reading of the historic proclamation. After the fierce battles over the last ten years within the young parliament on such a hotly debated issue, one would think his mother and father could stop gazing at each other with such intensity and attend to the moment.
Ten trumpets rang out, and Thomas Selkirk, the captain of the Royal Guard, stepped to the balcony railing and unrolled a large scroll. “Be it known throughout the land,” he cried, “that on this day, the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and forty-four, King Nicholas and the duly elected parliament of Santadorra do extend suffrage, and all the rights associated with the same, to the women of this realm.”
Feminine cheers rose from the crowd, and Leo heard the groans of more than a few men. How would the day’s events shape his country in the years to come? Rumor had it that a number of women of independent means and progressive thinking from as far away as England and Germany planned to descend upon the kingdom en masse and establish residence where they could enjoy the right to vote.
A kingdom full of women. The very thought made sweat bead on Leo’s brow. Without a doubt, his parents would welcome them all. Leo would have to as well. He glanced over at his sister, Sophie, and shuddered. If he didn’t prove properly hospitable to such forward-thinking women, his sister would cut up his peace to no end.
Leo groaned. Sometimes it was hard to be a man, especially when one had a weakness for lost causes. For the last several years, he’d noticed a growing tendency within himself to try to rescue every waif and damsel who crossed his path. Leo shifted with discomfort as he thought of the pledge he’d made the day before. Coal for the orphanage had seemed harmless enough; he’d never dreamed it would come to almost half the total of his quarterly allowance. Perhaps he should seek advice from his father regarding the management of this alarming tendency to heroism.
Leo glanced behind him to where John Davidson, his manservant, stood with as much dignity as any of the royal personages. Two years Leo’s elder, John had been rescued from a rioting mob as an infant by King Nicholas. John and his mother had traveled to Santadorra with the Selkirks, and Leo had gained not only an exemplary manservant but a friend and confidant as well. His father’s heroism seemed to have reaped its own rewards. Perhaps Leo’s would as well, although his purse still felt considerably empty.
Leo turned toward his parents as the cheers of the crowd faded. A low sound caught his ear, and Leo frowned. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said the muffled clank of metal came from where his mother and father stood, smiling into each other’s eyes, their hands obviously joined behind the cover of their ceremonial robes.
How odd. Leo sighed. Sometimes parents were the very devil to understand.
(Please continue reading for more about Beth Pattillo)
Beth Pattillo’s first foray into romance fiction came in the ninth grade, when she discreetly concealed a Harlequin Presents behind her French textbook. She never learned to conjugate French verbs, but she didn’t care, as long as the hero and heroine learned to live happily ever after. A RITA-winning author and a dedicated anglophile, she enjoys spinning fairy tales with a twist. Married and the mother of two, she makes her home in Tennessee. You can find her at www.bethpattillo.com or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/BethPattilloAuthor. Follow her on Twitter at @bethpattillo.