Princess Ever After (Royal Wedding Series) (25 page)

“Ah, I can see we’re going to get along great. Thank you, Jarvis.”

“My pleasure.”

“Oh!” She snapped her fingers. “I need a coat. Is it possible to do some shopping?”

“Miss, this you must discuss with Mr. Burkhardt. The media is keen about you now and how you dress, and Mr. Burkhardt can advise you.”

“Right.” She’d not fully considered the ramifications of yesterday’s frenzy. “Am I in the morning paper?”

“You are.”

“Can I see it?”

“There are three papers, miss. The
Informant
, the
Liberty Press
, and the
Sun Tattler
.”

“Three, huh? I’m in all of them?”

“I’m afraid so.” He made a slight face.

“That bad?” Was this venture to make her a princess really going to work? For any of them? “What’d they say?”

“I didn’t read the articles, but one referred to you as ‘Our Redneck Royal.’ ”

“Redneck royal?” She made a face and anchored her hands on her hips. “It could’ve been worse.”

Jarvis popped a wide smile. “Well done, miss. The attitude of a princess.”

When he finally clicked the door closed behind him, Reggie collapsed into the nearest chair and turned it toward the window.
Redneck royal . . .

Clutching Gram’s fairy tale to her chest, she watched the last trails of the sunrise over the trees.

A princess is defined not by her title alone but by how she lives her life.

EIGHTEEN

T
anner paused on the second-floor landing of Wettin Manor, the morning papers tucked under his arm, and peered down the hall that led to the governor’s suite of offices.

The press surpassed themselves with the morning’s stories. The papers ran front-page, full-page photos of Regina shoving a photographer. Even the paper of record, the
Liberty Press
, went tabloid with the headline,
Hessenberg Braces for American Invasion.

The
Informant
went cheeky:
Meet Our Redneck Royal.

But the
Sun Tattler
was Tanner’s favorite. They ran a full-page photo of his derrière as he dove into the car with his legs flailing, before Regina could leave without him.

The cutline read,
Minister of Culture Displays His Better Side.

What bothered him more was the media leak in the first place. He had half a mind to walk straight up to Seamus and demand an explanation.

But was it his place to do so? Seamus answered to the prime minister and the king, not to the Minister of Culture. In their ten years of friendship—mentor and mentee—Tanner had never resisted the formidable man in any way. He’d listened and learned. Followed his counsel. Until yesterday, Tanner never had reason to doubt the old boy’s integrity.
At the core of it, he owed Seamus, and shy of violating the Ten Commandments, he’d do just about anything for the man.

Tanner squared his shoulders, cleared his throat, and started for the governor’s quarters.

Seamus, I say, what’s this business all about? Arrest? Enemy of the state? And did you alert the media?

Tanner’s heart thudded with determination to the same rhythm of his click-clacking heels, but as he rounded the corner, he stopped. Seamus knew things about him only a few others knew. Was it wise to risk making this press leak personal? Which was exactly how Seamus would see Tanner’s confrontation.

He turned round.
Keep your nose where it belongs, chap.
In the business of Hessenberg’s culture. Leave the media business to Henry and His Majesty, King Nathaniel II.

For a soft moment, he felt a coward. But truly,
this
was not his fight. If it became his, then he’d like to think he’d boldly enter the fray.

Louis met him at his office, falling in step, reading from his tablet. “The king is on his way with the prime minister. The archbishop will be along momentarily and Dickenson is driving in with Regina.”

“Splendid. We need a plan for moving forward.” Tanner shifted his thinking, his emotions, compartmentalizing, putting his disappointment in Seamus in one corner of his mind, his feelings for Regina in another, and the reality that he had a decision to make about Sunday’s party in another. “Do we know of anyone who might take my place as Regina’s mentor? Preferably a woman. We can give her name to the king.”

Tanner needed to get back to normal. His life before Regina. Before the party invitation. Before this business with the press.

“What of Sibella Glenn, one of the museum curators? She’s keen on culture and often appears on the talk programs discussing the Brighton and British royals.”

“You’re a genius, Louis.” Tanner dropped the papers to his desk and headed for the tea cart. “She’s perfect.” A cup of hot, bitter tea ought to help sort out the things swirling in his heart.

“So you saw the papers?” When Tanner glanced up, Louis was leaning over his desk, reading the
Sun Tattler
. “Do I want to know how you got yourself in this pickle? Hanging out of the car, your legs flailing?”

“She wouldn’t open the door.” Tanner sipped his tea. Perfection. “When she rolled down the window, I plunged. She was about to leave without me.”

Louis perched against the side of the desk, arms folded. “What do you make of her? The princess? Does she have the stuff?”

“Yes, I believe she does.” Tanner took another hearty drink of his bitter tea as a light knock sounded on the door.

King Nathaniel and Henry arrived with the archbishop, Tanner’s dad, in tow.

Louis went down to meet Dickenson and Regina. When she arrived in Tanner’s office, they gathered round and King Nathaniel went straightaway to business.

“First, our apologies about the press frenzy yesterday, Regina.”

She shrugged. “No worry.”

“You are most gracious. But I’d like to organize a plan to care for you the next few days while the barristers sort out this authority canon business along with Seamus’s petition to the EU court. Tanner, I must return to Brighton this morning. Mum is introducing Susanna to several charities, and I’m told in no uncertain terms that I am to be there.”

“Welcome to married life, Your Majesty,” Henry said with a discreet chuckle.

“Your Majesty, can the governor really have her arrested?” Dad asked with a kind glance at Regina. The men remained standing as they talked and none had poured tea except for Tanner. Regina stood among them, withdrawn and shy.

“He can charge her, certainly. Then the police and the courts go to work. Seamus will have to build a case. But . . .”—Nathaniel looked them all in the eye—“he has the political persuasion and clout with the people to do it.”

“But he can’t build a solid case,” Tanner said with confidence. “So he’s waging his war in the press. I’m almost certain he’s our leak.”

“My guess as well, Tanner. None of us predicted this assault from the governor,” Nathaniel said.

“Shall we go forward and organize a presser for Regina?” Tanner glanced around the circle, waiting for advice.

“Oh, I don’t know, Tanner.” Regina spoke for the first time. “I’m not prepared.”

He regarded her, and for a flash moment he felt the warm wetness of her tears on his skin. And he changed his mind about Sibella Glenn. He’d be her mentor, and protector, as long as the king saw fit.

“We’re going about this all wrong.” The king moved around the room, lost in his own thoughts. “No presser. Regina is right. She’s not ready for the questions they’ll ask. Nor their fervor. But the key here is not the press, our actions as leaders, nor what Seamus does. The key is Regina.”

“Me? What can I do? I’m so new . . . so unsure . . . of everything.”

“Quite right,” Nathaniel said. “Nevertheless, you are the princess minus the official formalities. Tanner,”—the king’s countenance changed as he formed an idea—“let’s slow things down just a bit. The EU court has not yet agreed to hear the case. We might be fretting for nothing, but we have the princess here, so let’s get her out and about in the city.” The king turned to Regina. “You shall see the sights. Listen to the people. Forget the petition and Seamus’s threats. Take the weekend to tour around. Have fun! Embrace the beauty of Hessenberg.”

“Quite right,” Henry added. “Let her meet the people one on one.”

“The press will be all over us, sir.” Tanner held up his hands in quiet objection. “We’re organizing security this morning, but if we go out in the streets . . . and people get word . . . it will be a madhouse.”

“I see your point.” Nathaniel pressed his fingers to his chin, thinking. “Susanna and I went out in disguise recently. You could always—”

“Let’s do it.” Regina moved to the middle of the convocation. “Let’s get out in the city, among the people.” She looked toward Tanner. “I came here to see what Hessenberg was all about, so let’s do this. Embrace the good, the bad, and the ugly.” She raised her chin, squared her shoulders. But Tanner could see her trembling beneath the surface.

“Take her to Wisteria Park,” Dad said. “There’s always something going on there.”

“But first”—she jabbed the air with her finger—“I need a coat.”

“A splendid idea,” Nathaniel said. “Take her to the shops. Melinda House will be more than eager to clothe the princess, the future Grand Duchess of Hessenberg.”

“How about the pubs, like the Fence & Anchor?” Henry offered.

“The Fence & Anchor . . . stellar idea, Henry.” The king patted his prime minister on the back.

“Treat her like the princess she is, Tanner. Woo her, and she’ll woo the people.”

Woo her? Shops and pubs? The park? She was his sovereign. His royal charge. Not his girlfriend. Or even his friend.

Did the king and prime minister, his dad, see they were fashioning for them a first-rate
date
?

Tanner peeked at Regina. Her cheeks were a bit rosier than they had been a second ago. And he knew one thing. He wanted to spend time with her more than he’d wanted anything in a long, long time.

“Tanner, I’m confident you can handle this well. Regina, I have full faith in you.” Nathaniel glanced at his watch. “I hate to lay a plan and be off, but I must.” He shook Tanner’s hand. “Let’s reconvene on Monday. Miles”—he turned to the archbishop—“perhaps we can begin preparing the oath ceremony. Regina, if you’re willing, we’ll proceed with the official ceremony next week.”

“Wow. O–okay. I guess we’ll see.”

“You’ve got the weekend. Think it over. Pray.” Nathaniel lightly gripped her arms. “Prayer makes all the difference in my life and decision making.”

“I’m familiar with the power of prayer.”

“Good. Then use it.” He started for the door. “Miles, you’ll gather the ceremony script and sacraments.”

“Will do, Your Majesty.”

With the king and prime minister gone, Tanner retreated to his desk, waiting for his dad to leave. But he lingered by the office door. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“Your mother was curious to know if you’d received an invitation from Trude for the twins’ birthday.” Dad took a few steps farther into the office.

“I did, yes.” Tanner folded the newspapers in half and stuffed them in the rubbish bin. He did not want to discuss this in front of Regina.

“Your mother talks of nothing else.” Dad laughed softly, scratching his head. At fifty-eight, his hair was still thick and blond. “She’s been shopping at least three times, buying presents. And of course, nothing in her closet is good enough to wear. She must have four new dresses. I warn her they probably won’t remember her, but I’m not sure she really cares. She wants to see them.”

Dad locked his hands behind his back as if waiting for Tanner to join in the conversation. This private, personal exchange in
front of Regina was highly inappropriate. Besides, when had his father ever approached something so personal so . . . openly?

Tanner cut a glance at Regina who was at the window, surveying the city. It was her. She had this odd effect on people that made them want to open their hearts.

“Dad, is there anything else?” Tanner reached around for his chair, his gaze averted. “I need to get this day organized with Regina.”

“No, no, nothing else. I’ll be off then.” At the door he paused and started to say something, but then simply bid good-bye to Regina.

“Tanner?” Dad cleared his throat. “We’re here if you need us, son.”

“Have a good day, sir.” Tanner fussed with the items on his desk, surprised and unnerved by a soft blur of tears leaking from his eyes to the dry, hollow wells of his soul.