Once Upon a Prince (22 page)

“You free? I thought I might tour you ’round Brighton. If your sister doesn’t mind.”

“She doesn’t.” Avery whirled to Susanna, her heart fluttering in her eyes. “Do you?”

“No, no, of course not.” The company of a handsome young man trumped the plans of a sister every time. At least this time. Colin watched Avery like a very thirsty man. “Take care of her, please. She’s my daddy’s baby.” Susanna tried to give him the parental eye.

“Yes, ma’am. On my honor.” He blushed a bit, then jerked a crossing motion over his heart. And off they went, planning, first driving Avery to Parrsons to change her clothes, then to meet Colin’s mates for tea.

Perhaps it was Avery who came to Brighton to be with a prince. Not Susanna. Watching her sister go, her auburn tresses catching the sun, Susanna wanted the world for her. A prince if God willed it. But she still wanted Nathaniel for herself.

Avery paused at the bottom of the steps and looked back. She smiled and waved, but a subtle concern marked her expression.
You okay?

I’m fine
. Susanna shooed her on with a flick of her hands.

The abbey steps were empty now of all but a few stragglers. With an exhale, Susanna realized she was starving.

Perhaps she could raid Parrsons’ kitchen. The staff had the morning off to enjoy the coronation, but she’d heard finger food was being prepared. She relished the idea of being alone at Parrsons to think and catalog her memories. Maybe she’d go exploring, try to find what existed behind the garden wall besides the solo tree.

“Miss Truitt?” A young man appeared off her right shoulder with a bow, offering her a sealed envelope. “From His Majesty.”

“His Majesty? Nathaniel?”

“Yes, ma’am, His Majesty King Nathaniel.”

The envelope burned in her hand and Susanna ached to open it, but she waited until her car arrived and was maneuvered through pockets of celebration before gently tearing away the flap. If she was going to cry or be disappointed further, she wanted to be hidden behind smoke-tinted windows.

Her fingers trembled as she read a brief handwritten note.

She smiled, slid against the leather seats, and pressed Nate’s note to her heart.

P
arrsons House sat still and quiet under a clear, very cold full moon. A fresh snow fell while she shopped then napped in the afternoon, the wind turning delicate snow hills into soft powder mountains.

Peeking out of her room, Susanna worked the buttons on her new red wool coat and scanned the hallway. The coast was clear. No Lady Margaret. She’d returned from lunch with Lord Stan-the-man, grousing how they’d not been invited to the luncheon, parliamentary reception, or symphony.

If she caught Susanna sneaking out, Lady M. might demand to know where she was going, and Susanna failed lying in kindergarten. It wasn’t even close to one of her superpowers.

She’d crack. Confess. Spill all.
Meeting Nate
.

Susanna half suspected the woman would find a way to blame her for being excluded from whatever royal events took place this afternoon. That’s what bitter people did. Pointed the finger and blamed others. Obfuscation was a way of hiding from their own shortcomings and wounds.

Closing the suite door behind her with one last scout for Lady M., Susanna tiptoed down the hall under the regal gold light of the wall sconces.

Avery had called earlier, waking Susanna from her nap. Thank goodness. She’d not set her phone alarm and slept into her getting-ready time. Nate would be here in a few minutes.

Anyway, because of the snow, Colin had taken Avery to his family’s home for dinner. He put his mum, Princess Louisa, on the phone to assure Susanna that her little sister was in safe hands. There was music and laughter behind her voice.

Susanna imagined that God himself took time to make this a special week for Avery. God was like that, wasn’t he? Dreaming big dreams for those he loved.

But what did he dream for Susanna? And did it have anything to do with why she was sneaking down the stairs to meet Nate?

Susanna gripped the banister still entwined with Christmas trimmings—fragrant pine garlands and red bows. She figured she would wait for Nate in the foyer or parlor, watching out the window.

When she descended the last step, she spotted a note on the mahogany table.

Oh, okay. Well, then … She glanced around, tucking the note in her coat pocket, hoping Lady M. hadn’t already spotted this gem.

Digging her hands into the silky pockets of her coat, Susanna roamed from the foyer to the dining room, catching the fragrance of steeping tea and cinnamon swirling from the kitchen.

Her stomach rumbled. She followed the sound of voices and clattering of pots.

“Evening, miss.” Rollins slipped from the stool where he sat, removing the napkin from his shirt collar. “Would you care for dinner?”

The cook and maids paused in their work, eyes on her, waiting for her answer. Rumbling stomach aside, she couldn’t eat with people watching her, waiting on her. She
was
the waitress, the architect serving a client.

“No, no, please … I’m fine. I heard voices?”

Rollins exhaled, returning to his stool. The others went back to their work. “We’re just back from a celebration in the village. Agatha was telling us about the latest reality show on the telly. Are you sure you won’t have a bit to eat, ma’am?”

“The muffins
do
smell good.”

The cook came alive, snatching up the muffin tin, cutting through the ancient redbrick kitchen toward Susanna, passing what appeared to be the original wood-burning oven that now housed high-end stainless steel.

“Here you go, miss.” She curtsied, offering the tin along with a plate. “Rollins speaks well of you.”

“Rollins has been very kind to my sister and me.” She smiled at the blushing butler, wrapping up a muffin in a napkin. “These smell delicious.”

“I’m Agatha.”

“Agatha, nice to meet you.” She motioned to the door. “I wanted to explore. Would it be all right?”

“Certainly, ma’am.” Rollins opened the door for her, smiling, his expression tender.

Down the hall, Susanna bit into the warm, sweet, cinnamon-laced muffin and peeked into the laundry room, then the library.

Parrsons House was a maze of nooks and pinwheel passageways. She found a small corridor, entered it, and came out on the other side, facing the king’s cipher on the doorpost: L V R.

Rollins expressly warned her this area was private. But what was down the hall? Susanna suspected the way to the walled garden.

Turn around. Respect the rules
. But just as she turned, a cold
breeze tunneled through and she noticed a beam of light where a door stood ajar.

She shoved the last of the muffin in her mouth and crept along the stone passage. She fastened her coat’s top button and toed open the door, shushing the hinges when they creaked.

The garden. The secret garden.

Ducking through the door, Susanna inhaled the view. Hauntingly beautiful under the round white moon, the snow-covered, barren landscape possessed her heart. Like all of Brighton, she felt as if she’d been here before. An icy blast dropped over the wall and moaned through the snow-laden tree limbs, shaking snow to the ground.

Despite a small inner voice of caution—
You’re not supposed to be here
—Susanna’s wonderment moved her further inside the garden, and she crossed a swath of the moon’s glow into the night’s shadows. Other than the snow and white drifts against the wall, the garden appeared empty and unattended.

A stone bench rested under the tree as if waiting for a companion, and Susanna recognized the Spirit whirling about her. The same one she experienced at Christ Church. Serene. Holy.

She sat on the bench and ran her bare hand over the tree’s winter bark. Was it like Lover’s Oak, ancient and fabled? Was it anxious for spring? For love to bloom under its leaves again?

With a sigh, she reclined against the trunk and warmed her hands in her coat pockets while the breeze stung her face and tugged the ends of her loose hair. She loved a locked garden. She understood the meaning of this walled place. Secret and intended for only one.

The tree.

This was how it should be with the Lord. Walled. Locked. Intended for only One. The Tree. But she’d let other things, foreign things, come and plant in her garden. The cares of life.
Trying to make her entire world secure and safe, planned, when in fact there were no real guarantees.

Except one.

“I’m sorry, Lord. I’ve made it all about me and what I want—”

“Excuse me, what are you doing here?”

Susanna jolted forward, her resting heart startled. The queen stood at the opening of the narrow, low garden door.

“Ma’am.” She curtsied then retraced her snowy path toward the door. “I’m sorry, I was waiting for Nate … Nathaniel … the king.” She fumbled, stuttered, and found no comfort in tucking her hands in her pockets. “The door … was ajar. I’d never have seen it otherwise. I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

“This is a private garden.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude.” She wanted to escape but couldn’t. She was walled in and the queen blocked the only way out.

“I invited you. To the coronation.” The queen moved forward, her footsteps kicking up a small tuft of snow. She wore jeans and a heavy knit turtleneck along with a pair of knee boots with fur trim rolling over the tops. She appeared relaxed and casual. “I wanted Nathaniel to see you are not right for Brighton, for him.”

“I never said I was, ma’am.”

“Why did you come then? I had my reasons for inviting you. You must have had your reasons for coming.”

“Believe it or not, the same as yours. Prove to myself Brighton wasn’t for me. Not that I thought a lot about it, but I wanted to put Nate, er, I mean—”

“Nathaniel.”

“Yes, Nathaniel, behind me. I didn’t think I was in love with him …”
Shut up
. But it was too late. The queen’s expression hardened. Susanna had said too much. “And … my little sister …” Did the garden get a sudden blast of warm air? Heat blazed under her coat, across her torso and up her neck. “Avery begged to come … she’d have never forgiven me … if I passed this up.”

“You didn’t think you were in love with him?”

“No, yes, right …” Could she be dismissed? Susanna guessed that a mad dash for the door, which would require her to slam the queen of Brighton against a stone wall, might be frowned upon. “I’m not. Right.”

“You’re not?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Definitely …
not
.” She was lying to the queen. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I just lied to you. I do love him.” The truth straightened her rounded shoulders. “I do.”

“I see. And does he know?”

Susanna shook her head. “I didn’t see the point.”

“Wise woman. You know, even if the law allowed Nathaniel to marry a foreigner, I’d not approve of you. Nor would the prime minister.”

Susanna regarded the woman a moment, ascertaining her tone, her intent. She welcomed the cold air again, snapping against her legs. “If the law allowed it, I think it’d be up to Nathaniel to choose who to love.”

The queen smiled and brushed the chill off her arms. Or perhaps she brushed away Susanna’s tart reply. “You know my son, don’t you. He’s very decisive, yes. He’ll choose his own bride. And he has a perfect choice right here in Brighton.”

“Lady Genevieve.”

“Ah, so you know of her then. I’m sure he’ll propose to her within a fortnight now that the coronation is over.”

“When I met Nathaniel, I didn’t even know he was a prince. He was just an amazing, kind man who kept showing up whenever I needed someone. When he volunteered to help out at our restaurant, I still didn’t know he was a crown prince. Then I saw his face on a coin.”

“He’s a chameleon, that one.” The queen’s smile dallied with the moonlight. “Loves to roll up his sleeves and work with the people. That’s what will make him a great king.”

“That and his character,” Susanna said. “I saw it today, ma’am, at the coronation. He was born for this. It’s his destiny.”

The queen’s stance relaxed a bit. “Then you know what’s at stake here. If he—”

“Hello?” Nathaniel’s handsome face appeared through the opening and Susanna rooted her heels into the cold ground to keep from running to him. He looked sporty and sexy, dressed in a field jacket, boots, and jeans. “Do I even want to know what you two are doing out here?” He glanced at his mother, then at Susanna.

“Why aren’t you at the symphony?”

“I left. Took my escape during intermission.” Nathaniel peered at Susanna, and her heart blazed. “We’ve three more days of celebration. No need to weary myself. Besides, I wanted to visit with my friend from America.” He stepped around his mum to greet Susanna, lightly kissing her cheek. “I see you found Dad’s garden.”

“It’s incredible. Doesn’t it remind you of the Christ Church grounds?”

“So it does.” He scanned the perimeter. “Dad’s old garden. The first King’s Garden.”

“What do you mean the
first
King’s Garden?” the queen asked.

“Susanna named the garden on St. Simons ‘A King’s Garden’—before she knew anything of my royal business.” Nathaniel took Susanna’s hand. “Mum, have a good evening.”

“Where are you two going? Nathaniel, where’s Liam?” The queen’s inquiry trailed them down the corridor and into the bright, warm main hall.

“Taking a much needed night off.” Nathaniel led Susanna out of the house to an idling compact sports convertible with the top down.

“You have other protection officers. Nathaniel, you shan’t go out alone.”

“Don’t worry, Mum.” Nathaniel opened Susanna’s door. “I can see to myself.” Then he leaned and whispered in Susanna’s ear, “I haven’t stopped thinking of you all day.”

She smiled all over as he clapped her door closed. She was definitely heading in the wrong direction. But for now, she just couldn’t make herself care. Being alone with Nathaniel was all that mattered.

Susanna snuggled down in the two-seater, wrapped in a coach blanket, riding in wistful silence next to Nathaniel.

He reached for her hand. “You cold? This was the closest thing I had to a open carriage ride without disturbing the mews. I wanted you to see the countryside in the light of the stars.”

“I’m good.” She snuggled deeper under the blanket, her eyes heavy with peace. The night air skimmed her hair, twisting the ends in an arctic rush.

“Don’t fall asleep on me now.”

“Peaceful.” Susanna peeked at him through low eye slits.

His heart rumbled. Love. He was falling deeper by the minute.

Squeezing her hand, Nathaniel released her and gripped the steering wheel, surging the motor forward, hugging the pebbled berm of the country bend. The sports car sailed about the curve, over the rise and fall of the road.

He loved racing free over Brighton’s countryside, directed only by the truth in his heart. No King’s Office. No prime minister. No entailment. No paparazzi. No TV cameras. No political entanglements. No coronation parties or dissonant symphonies. Just the wind whistling through the stars and the woman he loved by his side. He cut a glance at Susanna. The greenish-gold glow from the dash accented her facial contours. She reclined as if she’d ridden next to him a hundred times.

Not once did she ask, “Where are we going?” She trusted him. Until now he never calculated how much trust mattered to him. Trust
of
the woman he loved. Trust
in
the woman he loved.

From the cubby above the gearshift box, his phone rang, lighting the small space between the dashboard and seats. He peeked at the screen. Mum. Probably calling to pick up her cause. The phone went silent and dark. Then immediately rang again. Susanna reached forward and offered it to Nathaniel.

“Answer it,” she said, soft, low. “You’re the king, Nathaniel. Act like it.”

He took the phone, and she ducked her hand back under the blanket. “Busting my chops, I see.” Honest. He needed a woman who was honest.

Nathaniel tapped the screen with his thumb. “Hello.” It was the prime minister taking up Mum’s protection-officer cause and bringing political news.

“There was a small riot in Strauberg. Rejecting the king and calling for the independence of Hessenberg regardless of the entail.”