The Christmas Princess (17 page)

Maybe she was too busy to protest. There were nearly sixty trees — one from each state, plus territories, and the District of Columbia — and she was studying them one by one.

“Oh, look at that.” “Which state is that?” “I love the simplicity.”

She repeatedly let families step in front of them so the kids could see, which slowed the process even more.

As they waited for the latest to clear out so she could view a tree, she hummed along with the music being broadcast. “I’m glad we’re doing this. We used to bring the little kids most years, and it always put me in the Christmas spirit.”

“We?”

“Leslie, Grady and me. Sometimes with Tris and Michael and their kids. A couple years Paul and Bette brought their family, too. It was so much fun seeing the magic through the kids’ eyes. At least it was once I got old enough to appreciate it myself.” With the way clear now, she dropped her voice. “Okay, that one is downright weird.”

He surprised himself by chuckling.

She looked around at him, her face so close, the way it had been the other night, the two of them, alone, outside the embassy…

A sound behind him reminded him they were decidedly not alone now. Using the grip on her arm he steered her on. “I think you’re going to like Virginia’s.”

With his height advantage, he’d spotted it through a break in the crowd. “Really? Let’s—”

“Oh, no.” He kept her from breaking out of line. “You said in order. No cheating.”

She looked up again, her head practically on his shoulder from the press of other people. Something flickered in her eyes. He felt a response of heat, a growing heaviness.

She blinked, and even before she spoke, he knew she was going to pass it off. “Who knew you’d turn out to be such a Christmas stickler.”

“Just following orders, Ma’am.” He was relieved. Had to be relieved.

“You’re happier giving than following orders.”

That sounded like Sharon. He nodded toward the next tree. “Here’s the one from Virginia.”

“Oh. It’s lovely.” She smiled.

Then he saw tears in her eyes. Over a Christmas tree for heaven’s sakes.

Leslie picked up the phone before the first ring ended.

“Hello.”

“It’s me. Tris. What’s wrong?” Of course Tris knew something was wrong from her
Hello
.

“She’s not there. April. At the Warringtons. I called at five, and that butler of theirs said April wasn’t there. Not Reese or Lois, either. I asked to have them call me back. Nothing. I tried again at eight. They still weren’t in — at least that’s what that butler said. I waited almost three more hours, and this time I asked where they were, and he said I would have to ask them—”

“Leslie.”

“—as if I could when they aren’t
there
, for pity’s sake. I know it’s his job to project his employers’ privacy but—”

“I know where April is.”

“What?”

“At least I know where she was earlier this evening. Are you watching the news?”

“No. Why? Oh,
God
—”

“No, she’s fine. Fine. Looks great as a matter of fact. And happy. I’m sending you the clip right now. It should put your mind at ease.”

Leslie Craig Roberts replayed the clip Tris had sent to her, repeating the sequence she’d gone through several times last night.

In fact, she’d stopped last night’s repetitions only because Grady was coming to bed and would want to know what she was watching. With her immediate concerns relieved, she didn’t want Grady thinking she was overreacting … or, worse, to have him overreact. Because Grady with a full head of steam in protection of one of those he loved was not an easy freight train to stop, slow, or steer.

It certainly was April in the news clip. She’d known that on the first play last night, when April’s smiling face had relieved fears she could only acknowledge now that they were dismissed. Even then, a particular unfamiliar figure had caught her attention.

But she took things in order. So, the next viewing last night had been to see if she’d missed Reese somehow. No.

This third time she’d focused on the interaction between April and — inexplicably — the aging monarch of a little-known but strategically vital country, according to Tris’ note this morning. That background information came from Tris’ husband, Michael Dickinson, the chief of staff for Illinois’ senior senator.

As if the thought produced her, the phone rang now, identifying Tris on the other end.

“What do you think?” her friend asked without preliminaries. “I mean, beyond that she’s obviously safe, looks terrific, and seems to be having fun. You agree with all that, right?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Good. Bette thinks so, too.” Bette Monroe was the wife of Tris’ cousin, Paul, who was close friends with Grady and Michael. “So, so you think it’s a replay of Littrell?”

“I never thought there was anything—”

“I know you didn’t. I tend to agree with you. But Reese Warrington? There must be some father-figure seeking in that. And this guy’s a king for heaven’s sake.”

“Father-figure seeking?” Slowly Leslie said, “I don’t think that’s it.”

“It would be natural with her dad dying when she was so young, but you’re thinking because she has Grady? Okay.” Still, there was doubt in the word. “Putting aside the father-figure question, though, raises the other issue.”

“No. I’m as sure as I was with Littrell. Absolutely no on her part, and almost the same on his. Hard to be certain without knowing this man, but I see great fondness. And ... sadness.”

“Problem is, even though
we
know there’s nothing going on, it could be like with Littrell. Other people thought so and that scared off eligibles.”

“Do not speak to me of eligible.” Her native Virginia accent deepened on the words.

Tris chuckled. “Whatever we think of Reese Warrington, he
is
socially eligible. What do you think about his not being there?”

“I don’t know what to think.” She hit replay once more. Watching a different player this time. “But what with her adopting a dog ...”

“Les, something I wanted to tell you — Roberta’s definitely back in town. But she’s gone very quiet, which makes me uneasy.”

Leslie tucked her inner lip between her teeth. Between his mother and his ex, Reese had no backbone. Trying to help him grow one was the Herculean task April had taken on. If Roberta decided to take him back…?

April would be out. Leslie couldn’t mourn that, but she did worry. “She hasn’t called or been in touch since Thanksgiving, and that call was so strange. If the engagement’s over, why hasn’t she told us? And if she’s not at the Warringtons’ where is she?”

“According to what I’ve heard, possibly at the Bariavakian embassy.”

Leslie had half expected that answer. “If so, how’d she go from the Warringtons’ to there? And why? Why hasn’t she told us anything? There’s something else, too.”

“You mean
someone
else?” Tris said. “The guy in the background. The one with the face that looks like it came off Mount Rushmore? The one who looks at April like he’s trying his damnedest not to look at her, because he’s doing his damnedest not to feel what he feels when he looks at her? That someone else?”

Despite her concerns, Leslie chuckled. “Yes, that one.”

“Think he’s the colleague she mentioned at Thanksgiving?”

“I have no idea. Though I’ve met most of the people she works with, and believe me, I would have remembered him. Plus, I called the Vegetable Consortium without identifying myself, and all I got was that April Gareaux was not available. But the third time I tried, the person who answered was clearly a fill-in and she said April was on leave until after the first of the year.”

“
Leave
? To hang out with the King of Bariavak? And what’s Mr. Mount Rushmore have to do with it? Any idea who he is?”

“Looks like security of some sort. But whose? And why?”

“And what does he mean to our April?”

“Yes. That’s the question.”

Leslie also talked with Bette Monroe that morning. Bette’s questions were less direct than Tris’, her concern about April just as genuine.

The other woman kept the call brief, ending it by saying, “If there’s anything I can do or Paul can do, or if you want to change the plans to come here for Christmas… Dad Monroe’s leg might let him travel by then.”

“Not comfortably, the poor man. Thank you, Bette, but I don’t see us changing the plans. Seeing that clip, April looks so wonderful, I can’t imagine there’s anything seriously wrong. I do wish she’d talk to me about whatever’s happening. But if she
does
need help, I know you’ll both be there for her. So does she.”

She felt reassured by the call. Bette had that effect on people.

The next call had a different effect.

“What is April Craig Gareaux doing with a monarch of some country I have never heard of?” demanded her grandmother, in full Grande Dame mode.

Leslie stifled an urge to chuckle at Beatrice Craig making it sound as if Bariavak had committed a crime by not previously having come to her attention. Chuckling was not advisable when Beatrice was on a high horse that would make a Clydesdale look puny

“I don’t know. You should ask April that question directly.”

There was a pause. “She has not yet returned my call.”

“Nor mine.”

“Hmph.” Beatrice’s high horse shrank to pony size. “What is that girl
thinking
?”

“I don’t know that, either,” she said evenly.

“And no opportunity to ask her, since she’s not coming tomorrow for the Craig Christmas. All because of that upstart Warrington woman and her son. As if coming here would be lowering themselves. Yet they send April off cozying up to a mere king.
Upstarts
.”

Leslie was almost certain her grandmother’s last phrase was aimed at the Warringtons, not Bariavak’s royal family. But rather than risk asking for clarification, she merely assured her grandmother that her branch of the Craig clan would be in Charlottesville for the festivities the next day.

April watched Hunter return to the reception room Saturday night.

This is where she had met King Jozef’s guests for what he’d described as a small, informal dinner.

Clearly, he’d never had dinner with Leslie, Grady, and the rest if he thought this was informal. Even accustomed to the crowds at their family gatherings, she wouldn’t call twenty-two people sitting down for dinner at a table that easily accommodated them
small
. Especially not with the dinner catered and served under Madame’s iron supervision. Now they had returned here for coffee, liqueurs, and conversation.

Even with the confidence of wearing one of Maurice’s dresses, at times April had felt like she was in a riptide, about to go under.

Each time, she’d held on to her calm, calling on her experience as Beatrice Craig’s great-granddaughter, Grady Roberts’ de facto daughter, part of their circle of family and friends, and, yes, her lessons from Hunter.

As he entered, he scanned the room. There was minimal movement of his head, but his eyes took in everything.

Their looks held for an instant then Hunter Pierce slowly winked at her.

“You did very well, my dear,” King Jozef said to April. “Did she not, Madame Sabdoka?”

He added the last as Madame returned to the room after escorting out the last guest.

Madame inclined her head, a gesture that managed both to acknowledge the king’s words and to dismiss April’s achievement.

“Ah, Hunter agrees with me, do you not?” the king said, prompting both women to turn toward him.

“Yes,” he said. Because she had. She had been herself without bumping against any of the sharp edges of protocol.

But he’d seen the toll on her.

Back in this room for the after-dinner drinks, he’d seen that she was flagging. He didn’t know where the wink had come from, but he’d seen her surprise. And that the surprise had given her new energy.

“Come, sit with us for a moment, Madame,” the king said. “Let us coze a bit about our friends and enemies who were here tonight.”

“I have a great deal to oversee in the kitchen. The wait staff and caterers that were hired—”

“Did a magnificent job. You chose well.”

“Thank you.” She bowed her head. “However, they require supervision now, as they have throughout the day.”

She stood, waiting for him to dismiss her, yet with something in her almost of defiance.

The king looked back at her. “Very well. Return to your work as you wish. For now.”

For another instant their look held.

Maybe there
was
something in April’s theory that there was something between King Jozef and Madame. The earlier debate about a live tree and his possible allergies had indicated a mutual history. And this look…

Hunter met April’s gaze for an instant and saw a flicker of
Told You So
there. He stifled a grin.

April placed the cards, stamps, address book, and pen on the library’s large table.

It gave her a great view of the Christmas tree, which she looked at now with pleasure and a little sadness.

The pleasure came because not only did the tree look good, but it had been the magnet that had the king, Hunter, and her eating meals in this room now. She hoped they’d spend the evening here tonight, too. A relaxed, quiet antidote to last night’s
small
dinner party.

The sadness came because it reminded her that she was missing the Craig Christmas today for the first time since she was thirteen.

Reese had said it was about time she separated from her family. God, how had she swallowed that? He’d never separated from his mother, not the least little bit.

She propped her chin on her hands and faced the truth.

She wasn’t going to shed any tears over Reese Warrington. Not now, not ever.

Reese was weak, but he wasn’t a totally bad guy. He’d been kind to her in his way, especially before she moved in. She’d liked the idea of his strong roots, of his family home. Heck, she’d even looked forward to moving in. Two generations sharing a home had appealed to her … until she got to know Mrs. Warrington.