Princess Ever After (Royal Wedding Series) Read online

  THIRTEEN

  September 16, 1914

  Meadowbluff Palace

  I write tonight with a heavy heart, pouring out words to understand what is happening in our world.

  Everything is changing. The world is at war. Brothers have taken up arms against brothers. I find I am at a loss on how to pray. On what to believe.

  The worst is Rein. Word is he has abandoned Hessenberg and Uncle’s declaration of neutrality and enlisted in the Kaiser’s army.

  Uncle and Cousin Wilhelm are quite at odds with one another, and I see Rein’s choice, if it’s true, as a betrayal of Hessenberg, of Uncle, and of me.

  He messaged me this afternoon, asking me to meet him at the stand of trees on the edge of the meadow, eight o’clock sharp. I should have asked Mamá’s permission, but I felt sure she would deny me. And rightfully so.

  Yet I have to see him. My heart must know Rein did not join sides with Germany. If by chance Uncle does enter the war, it most certainly will not be with the Axis. Others may fight against their country, their brothers, but how can Rein?

  It’s unthinkable that he’d raise arms against Uncle’s army, or Brighton’s, and spill his countrymen’s blood.

  So tonight I slipped out of the palace unnoticed and arrived at our meeting place, searching the shadows and the open meadow for him. I love him so much. And I am quite certain he loves me. I held hope that all would be well. Everything would sort out.

  “Rein, I’m here.” Uncle’s ragtime melodies drifted across the lawn, playing through the open music parlor windows.

  “Rein,” I called again, a bit louder. If he stood me up, I thought, he’d rue the next time we were together. I was just about to leave when strong, powerful arms snatched me from behind. “Miss me?”

  My heart leapt to my throat. I pounded his chest with my fist. “You frightened me, you silly boy. And yes, I missed you.”

  “Sorry, darling. I was trying to surprise you.” He kissed my cheek and I felt utterly warm all over, as if I might swoon.

  “Well, be more tender about it in the future.” That’s when I noticed his attire.

  “Rein, you’re wearing a German uniform.” My legs quivered. I felt positively ill.

  “Alice,” he said, stepping fully into the moonlight so I could see his lean, handsome face, his eyes intense like a hawk’s. ““I’ve joined with the German hussars.”

  “Rein, how can you enlist against Hessenberg? Against Uncle?”

  “Your uncle is a coward. He’ll not fight. Mark my words, before it’s all said and done, Hessenberg will be in this war. The Kaiser will see to it.”

  “But he doesn’t want to fight. Especially with the Kaiser. Why did you not join Brighton’s army, or England’s?”

  “Ha. Brighton? Those traitors. Right in there with your cowardly uncle. No, I’d not fight for the likes of them. I followed my German heritage. Of my father and grandfather.” He gripped my arms and fear quelled my feelings of love.

  “Rein, you are on royal Hessenberg soil. Uncle could arrest you for treason against the crown if you’re found out.”

  “Treason? No, Alice, he is the treasonous one, betraying all of Hessenberg. Betraying you. He’s throwing away your very way of life.”

  “Are you mad? Uncle would never betray me! His own heir? You’re full of propaganda, Rein!” How I despised arguing with him, but I could not let his words go unchallenged.

  “Am I? Then why won’t he fight?” His laugh chilled the last warm sentiments I ever felt for him. “He’s no leader, Alice.” Rein snatched my arm again, his fingers digging into it. “Come with me. You won’t be safe in Hessenberg.”

  “I most certainly will be safe. This is my home.”

  Marry me, Alice. After the war, we can return to Hessenberg.”

  “Marry you? Uncle would never allow it.”

  He released me at last, and I stumbled back, catching myself against a tree. How could I have been so blind and deceived?

  “The world is changing, Alice. There won’t be kings and princes, grand dukes or ruling royal families when we finish the fight. All men will be equal. The revolution is happening.”

  “You’re a fool, Rein Friedrich. The House of Augustine-Saxon has stood for four hundred and fifty years. We were not toppled by other revolutions and wars. We will not be toppled by this one.”

  “This is the war to end all wars, Alice. No more kings sending troops into battle to save their precious throne.”

  Everything became clear. So very clear. “You say you love me, but yet you mock my very existence.”

  “Mock? No. I’m offering you a place in the new order.” He looked down at me, speaking in a secretive tone, giving me gooseflesh. “New leaders will emerge. Come with me, Alice. You’ll be the wife of a military officer for the most powerful nation on earth. A noblewoman among the superior race.”

  “A noblewoman? When I am already the rank of a royal princess?”

  “You won’t be a royal princess when this is all over, Alice. The royal houses will fall.”

  “My dear Rein.” I dusted him from my hands, from my heart, displaying more courage than I really had. “No war can erase my birth nor my title. I am now and always will be Her Royal Highness, Princess Alice of Hessenberg. A princess is defined not by her title alone but how she lives her life. Never, ever speak to me again with such disrespect. I am not your bar wench or lower-wharf whore whom you can beg to run off with you in the night. You want my hand? Discard this horrid uniform, stand before my uncle like a man and ask. Not that I would say yes, mind you.”

  “I’ll ask him for nothing but his royal scepter.”

  “Get out!” I shoved him into the shadows. “Get out of my meadow.”

  “You’ll regret this, Alice.” He snatched at my arm and shoved his half of my cipher pendant into my hand. My gift to him. Cut in half to show we shared our hearts.

  “I most assuredly do.” I clutched the pendant to my chest and willed myself not to weep. My love, my Rein, is a traitor.

  ’Tis where we ended our short love affair. With angry words and broken dreams. But oh, my heart.

  I didn’t cry until I returned to my suite where I tore our picture, our one and only picture, and threw it to the ground. Then I had immediate determination to save the photo as a reminder of this day, of love’s foolishness. To never let my heart be deceived again.

  My cipher pendant will serve as the same.

  Yet as I slipped into bed, Rein’s words about Uncle and some entail with Brighton lingered in my thoughts. I felt grieved, as if something happened that neither Uncle nor I will never be able to undo.

  Alice

  FOURTEEN

  Well, what did you find in those law books?”

  Seamus’s wife, Beth Ann, joined him for breakfast looking smart and fashionable in a pale blue suit. He could always count on her to showcase his governorship with style. “I daresay you were up all night.”

  “I slept in the library.” Seamus kissed her cheek as he stood, reaching to hold out her chair. “But I found something, yes, thanks to your wisdom and keen memory, my dear.”

  “Next time you grouse about the little trivia tidbits I like to share”—the maid came around with tea and muffins—“thank you, Vivian . . . I’ll remind you of this moment.”

  “Please do, but know that I’m far more interested in recalling Hessenberg’s Vox Vocis Canonicus than I am about some old lord’s fascination with the color blue.” Seamus chuckled, returning to the business section of the Liberty Press.

  Beth Ann tapped the top of her three-minute egg with her fork, breaking the shell. “Lord Traybourne wore nothing but blue. You don’t find that intriguing? Everything, down to his underdrawers, was cut from blue cotton.”

  “Shall I be worried you are gob smacked over the color of an old lord’s underwear?”

  “Seamus, please.” She chortled. “Eat your toast.”

  The Vox Vocis Canonicus. The authority canon. Pure brilliance o
n Beth Ann’s part. Why he’d not thought of it tempted Seamus to doubt his political and legal prowess.

  He’d spent half the night reviewing The Grand Duchy of Hessenberg Law & Constitution and the Vox Vocis Canonicus accord of 1715.

  The authority canon sealed his race to rule Hessenberg. He could challenge the authority and rights of this new princess based on her lack of experience and leadership, never mind she was not born Hessen. She was an American. In summary, she was not fit to be their royal. To be their de facto Head of State.

  Seamus need not wait on the European court to back his claims. Old Hessenberg law already did.

  “Governor.” The butler stood in the dining room archway. “Your aide has arrived. Shall I usher him in?”

  “No, Carson, I’m finished here.” He kissed Beth Ann once more and reached for his coat draped over a chair. “Have a good day, my dear.”

  “You as well, Seamus. Good luck and all that.”

  Outside, Seamus met Brogan by the car. “Well?” he said in a low tone, pausing on the steps, out of hearing of the house and the car. He never allowed for unforeseen witnesses. Unless the witnesses were the ones he’d planted.

  “Germany has agreed to back our petition to be a self-governing state without a monarchy. We, in turn, drop this business of restitution for seized bank accounts.”

  “Splendid.” Seamus patted him on the shoulder. “Most splendid.”

  “I must say,”—Brogan drew up his coat collar when the wind cut sharp around the side of the governor’s manse—“I thought Germany would laugh in our faces when we approached them with a law suit or to be our ally. What do they need with a small island duchy in the North Sea?”

  “There’s nothing small about an ally, Brogan. Especially one with the earning potential of Hessenberg. Once we free ourselves from Brighton’s noose and taxes, we’ll have an economic boom. Think of all the money we spend supporting their country, their government, their monarchy.”

  “My hat is off to you, sir.”

  “On to our next phase.” Seamus grinned and moved toward the car. “Alert the proper media.”

  “About?”

  “The princess. She’s here.”

  “But the Minister of Culture ordered a complete media blackout. At the king’s request.”

  “And since when did we take our orders from the wet-nosed Minister of Culture? And the king is on his way out, one way or another. Brogan, it’s a new day in Hessenberg. Now, the Governor of Hessenberg is ordering you to alert the media that the new Princess of Hessenberg will arrive at Wettin Manor for a meeting, ten o’clock sharp.”

  Tanner rose early and went to the office. By nine o’clock, he’d nearly polished off a whole pot of tea while clearing his desk, finalizing Regina’s schedule for the day, and reviewing the short film festival proposal from Knoxton University film students.

  Clever chaps, using their own medium, film, to present their case. The budget they suggested would have to be trimmed, but Tanner embraced the idea at its core. In fact, he had in mind a team that could submit a short film on the princess. Should she agree.

  She. He woke up this morning thinking about her. At first, wondering how her night went, curious if she slept in peace or trepidation.

  How might he have responded should a foreigner arrive at his home announcing he was someone completely other than who he thought? “You’re not Archbishop Burkhardt’s son, the one with the dark stain of moral failure, but you’re . . . a prince!”

  Tanner took up his empty teacup and filled it with the last of the brew. He would have responded like Regina—only more so—and not believed a word of the stranger’s message.

  As a lad in Sunday school, he struggled with the idea of God becoming a man, dying on a cruel cross for his sins, and lovingly inviting him to receive the gift of redemption. It wracked his brain and rattled his heart. Took him years to embrace the truth. Then only a few months to let it go.

  But he had no time for spiritual musings. Regina would be here shortly. And that was another thing. Rising at six, he found himself counting the hours until he’d see her.

  Four. Three and a half. Three.

  He was developing feelings for her. Such foolishness. Thank goodness His Majesty would assign her an aide or tutor this morning and Miss Regina Beswick would be out of his life.

  Tanner mimed removing an invisible hook from his heart. Be gone. Then he gulped his tea.

  Ah, that’s the ticket. Hot and bitter, the way he liked it.

  He was about to slip on his suit coat and check his tie in the loo when he noticed the linen envelope sticking out from under the base of the desk phone. The invitation. Louis must have put it there for him to see when he returned. Note to self: Remind Louis to leave personal matters where I store them.

  Tanner jerked the envelope free and read the invitation again.

  Bella and Britta are turning 10!

  You’re invited!

  He was invited? No, this had to be some mistake, the work of a bumbling party planner. If he arrived at Estes Estates, Trude would laugh at him, remind him of his pledge, and ask him to leave.

  Louis popped in around the door. “Jonathan and His Majesty are here with the prime minister. The archbishop is on his way.”

  “What of the governor?” Despite Seamus’s shenanigans, he was required for this meeting.

  “Haven’t heard, but I’ll ring his office again.”

  “And Regina?”

  “Dickenson is ready at the palace, waiting.”

  Tanner held the invitation over the rubbish bin, but then opened the middle desk drawer and tossed the envelope inside. “And the media blackout holds?”

  “As far as I know. Haven’t seen one photographer or had one press inquiry.”

  “Excellent. Everything is going to plan.”

  September 30, 1914

  Meadowbluff Palace

  There was a grand argument in the great hall just now. Shouting and swearing. Lord Fitzsimmons arrived shortly after dinner, flustered and bothered, demanding Uncle do something about the Germans. Chancellor Bismarck seized Hessenberg’s accounts in German banks! Will they stop at nothing to draw Uncle into the war to fight for their side?

  Uncle insists Hessenberg will remain neutral in this war and I cheer him on. Stay your course, Uncle. What is a man, a prince, if he has no convictions?

  Mamá fears Lord Fitzsimmons will gather a majority among the other lords and depose Uncle, putting him to disgrace, putting all of us to disgrace. She wants Uncle to banish Lord Fitzsimmons from the Court, but Uncle refuses, claiming Lord Fitzsimmons is a servant and lord of the people, and a voice of wisdom.

  They are all a bunch of Reins in my book, and we’ve no need of them. Lord Fitzsimmons called Uncle a coward. Well, it’s a coward who wants to join a war simply to free his bank account.

  My heart is sick over the war, over Uncle. He’s so thin and so troubled. I’m not sure how much of this he can bear. He is a kind, loving man, but Father in heaven, it is my opinion you did not build him for war but for peace.

  Alice

  Someone call a doctor because she must have been crazy when she decided to hop on that plane with Tanner and explore the world of a royal princess.

  Last night, she slept in a palace suite the size of her house back home. It consisted of large, windowed rooms—a bedroom, a bath and a half, a sitting room, a media room with the widest flat screen she’d ever seen, a library, and a kitchen.

  Reggie stepped out of bed onto a two-inch pile carpet that felt like silk against the soles of her feet. She’d curled her toes into the blue-and-white patterned weave and considered crawling back into bed and getting out once more just to experience the carpet.

  But the light of day burned through her windows, showcasing the luxury and beauty of her living quarters.

  And the portrait of Gram above her bed was breathtaking. The image carried Reggie to another time and another place. Oh, Gram, so young and very beautiful. At least
through the eyes of the artist . . .

  Reggie stepped closer to read the artist’s signature. Renoir. Renoir?

  She angled back, exhaling, shaking out her hands as she scoped the height and breadth of the painting. Mercy a-mighty, Gram sat for Renoir.

  Truly, every second of this adventure felt like a fairy tale. Like Reggie would wake up any moment, find herself at home, rousing from the most vivid dream of her life.

  Reaching up, she barely touched the hard dried oils that gelled together and created the image of Gram. The ridges and grooves of the artist’s brush beneath her fingertip were all very, very real.

  Reggie closed her eyes, trying to imagine the gram she knew—stooped and slow with a raspy voice and white hair—as the same woman peering out of the yellow, orange, green, and blue of the painting, so happy and full of hope, with the wind twisting her hair and snapping at the blue scarf around her shoulders.

  Gram, I’m here. I’m here.

  After a moment of waiting, praying, Reggie lowered to the bed, gathering her knees to her chest, tipping back her head and offering her fears and pain to the One who loved her.

  He’d been there for her when Mama died. She had to believe he’d not abandon her now.

  Another heartbeat or two and she slid off the bed, heading for the shower, remembering she had something with Tanner this morning, every step, every movement stiff and difficult, as if she was somehow peeling away the old, dried, dead skin of winter.

  She dressed in her favorite boot-cut jeans, white blouse, and boots—the cockroach kickers with the pointed toes and ornate stitching—and headed down the broad front staircase.

  Jarvis met her in the foyer, bowed, and said, “Breakfast is this way, Your Majesty.”

  “Please, call me Reggie.”

  He seated her alone in a formal dining room half the size of a football field with a highly polished table that seated seventy-five. Reggie knew because she counted. Seventy-five chairs. And she bet if they added a leaf or two, they could easily seat one hundred.