Princess In Denim (16 page)

Angela beamed. "You look like...model."

As Chloe approached the doorway to the balcony that Emma had selected, the crowd's chanting grew louder and more distinct. It sounded as if hundreds of people were partying out in the bailey. Celebrating.

As she stepped out onto the balcony, a collective roar went up. The force of it nearly shoved her backward into the castle.

"Smile." How she heard Emma's advice, she had no idea.

"I didn't know there were so many people out here." Not hundreds, but thousands.

"You're doing fine. Now wave."

Simple instructions, but difficult to follow at first. Chloe had never stood in front of thousands of people or anything, much less a crowd that cheered her every movement, the least little smile, the raising of her hand above the stone railing.

Surprisingly, she was not unaware of what William was up to—maybe because, since she knew so few people in Ennsway, he represented an anchor in her life. Just before she stepped outside, he'd grabbed the nearest man-at-arms, barked at him and scowled at others, and now he had several stationed around nearby windows and doors.

She watched the Ennswayans below; the men-at-arms scrutinized them. All she saw were happy, smiling, laughing people who were pleased to have a new ruler. Pleased that it was she.

When Emma said, "That's better," Chloe took stock and discovered that her smile had grown and her wave was genuine. She was truly enjoying herself. Who wouldn't want to be loved by thousands?

William stood behind her. Oh, he was out of sight of the crowd. He hovered just inside the doorway, several feet back, but she could feel him anyway. She knew he watched her every movement, protectively because he believed she was in danger. After that kiss they'd shared,
she
suspected he might seize the first opportunity to pounce on her and gleefully claim he was coming to her defense.

She remained unconvinced that she was in danger These people obviously meant her no harm, and she would not take to hiding inside stone walls just to pacify William.

If he didn't like her going out among the people alone, let him come with her. There was work to be done in Ennsway, and, for these wonderful people who welcomed her with open arms, she was fixin' to give her best.

* * *

Chloe sat in the huge leather chair behind King Albert's centuries-old desk. She'd never studied antique furniture; it wasn't something that had interested her. Now she regretted it. Such history! Perhaps wars had been declared across its surface. Perhaps treaties had been penned on it by candlelight.

King Albert's secretary interrupted Chloe's musings. "Your Majesty."

Perhaps she should get her mind back on the business at hand.

The desktop was covered with telegrams, cards, notes, and letters. Some were in English, some were not. Some spoke of sympathy, others requested that they not be forgotten by the new sovereign.

"Here are the reports on the farms, the forests, the marina." He dropped several heavy journals on the desk with a thunk. "And the gamekeeper's report, the dairy report, the family's personal financial report."

Chloe thought her head would burst. Nothing she had ever done had prepared her to run a country. What had Emma and Moira been thinking when they talked her into this? Chloe liked college science courses, field trips, hours spent in a lab. She'd declined every business class ever offered. She hadn't taken speed-reading, which was what she'd need if she was to finish all these thick reports by her hundredth birthday.

"Before you do all
this,
Your Majesty," Emma interjected, "there are some decisions for you to make on your father's funeral."

"Decisions?" King Albert's secretary asked in horror. "What decisions? There are no decisions!"

"We'll leave that up to Her Majesty, now won't we?" Emma said firmly.

"No, we will not!"

"There is the matter of a death tax," Emma stated to Chloe. "You remember, upon the king's death, all subjects are taxed."

Chloe compared the opulence of the spacious office large enough to hold a ball in, to the people who wore patches on their clothes, had no school system to speak of, whose roads were in disrepair, and whose hospital was a place to go to die. "And what is the tax use for?"

"To pay for everything from the burial robe, the casket, the flowers, the procession—"

Chloe picked up the financial report. She'd never had accounting, either, but her own checkbook ledger didn't have enough columns to allow such large numbers. Nobody's did. "The family will pay for my father's funeral."

"But, Your Majesty, I must object!"

"Very good," Emma said at the same time.

Chloe looked at her father's secretary. "Leave us."
When she noticed Emma patting her hair, Chloe knew she was in safe territory. "I'll send for you if I need you."

"Yes, Your Majesty, though I do so with the greatest reservation—"

"Uh-huh." Chloe waited for the door to close be hind him. "What else, Emma?"

"There are people who want an audience with you, Your Majesty."

"Such as?"

"The head of nearly every family, for starters. Then there are phone calls to return to Queen Elizabeth, and President—"

"You've got to be kidding."

"I never kid, Your Majesty. You should also look through your mail and draft a few replies which will guide me in how I am to answer the rest of your correspondence. You know, use a dash of your American colloquialism. It's so charming."

"Boy, have you changed your tune."

Emma acknowledged Chloe's point with a graceful smile.

Chloe took a deep breath, scooted her chair closer to the desk and asked, "Where should I start?"

"How about seeing a few of your visitors?"

"You'll be here, too, right? Patting your hair and playing with your necklace and all that?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Besides her signals, Emma had to translate. After the first visitor, Chloe wrote down a few words in the Ennswayan language and kept them on her desk, so that she could at least say "Welcome" and "Thank you for coming."

When Emma announced a lunch break hours later, Chloe slumped in the huge chair, slithered out toward the edge of the seat and onto the floor like a limp noodle.

"What are you doing?" Emma asked with some concern.

"As soon as I recover, I'm going to stretch out these kinks."

"There is no time for that."

"There has to be."

The morning's duties had been nearly as stressful as dealing with a broken washing machine, changing the oil in her jeep and standing in the wrong checkout line anywhere. But she could yell at the landlord, she could sometimes con a nice young man into thinking it a privilege to work on an antique jeep,
and
the longest she'd ever stood in line was twenty minutes.

Beneath the desk, Chloe saw a man approach, wearing dark pants and black shoes.

"Get rid of him," she ordered Emma. She didn't want to see anyone else for a month. "Tell him to come back this afternoon."

"What the devil?" William demanded.

Chloe's first impulse was to dash to her feet, but her aching back and stiff neck objected enough that she remembered she had every right to be lying on her back on the floor behind her father's desk.

No... behind
her
desk.

William dashed around the corner and crouched beside her. He touched her arm with the same concern he'd had after her fall from the horse. "What has happened?"

"I've inherited a small country, that's what's happened." With her free hand, she rubbed one temple in small circles. There was no way she was going to raise her other arm and deprive it of William's touch.

"Is that all?"

"There are a million decisions to make, a ton of reports to read—"

"Hundreds of people waiting outside to speak to you. Yes, I know, Moira."

"Say that again."

"There are hundreds of people—"

"No, my name."

"You want me to say your name?"

"Yes."

"I thought I was to style you as 'Your Majesty.'"

"Ah, but you slipped, didn't you?"

"I shall be more careful."

"Please don't."

"Does this mean you will marry me soon?"

"It means, simply, that I'm exhausted, and I like the way you say 'Moira.'"

"You do?"

"Say it"

"I will say it if you will call me William again."

"Okay."

"And never that other name, that duck part."

She giggled, grateful for his light mood. "Thank you, William."

"It is my pleasure, Moira. Now, we should go."

"Where?"

"Wherever you like. Food, fresh air, change of scenery—you name it"

"But there are hundreds of people outside that door."

"There are private passages, Moira. Surely you have not forgotten their existence."

"Oh. No, of course not. Lead the way."

He rose in one smooth motion and held his hand down for her. She slipped hers into his firm grasp and let him help her to her feet Suddenly her back didn't ache so much, her neck was limber again, and she was hungry, but not tired.

He led her through a door that looked exactly like every other panel in the wall, except that it had a doorknob. In the brick passage, he turned immediately right, then chose the downstairs route.

"You certainly know your way around my castle," Chloe said.

"I know my way around being a monarch, too, Moira. I will be your friend and help you acclimate to the job, if you like."

Taking his hand was as natural as breathing, and Chloe let it serve as her answer as he led her out onto the wall walk, where she was required to do no more than nod at a person below from time to time. And a good thing, too, because her mind wandered more along the lines of what it would be like to marry William, to walk by his side in daylight, and sleep by his side at night.

"What are you thinking?" he asked after a while.

She couldn't tell him the truth about
that.
"They don't look sad until they see me," she said instead.

"They may not have liked Albert, but they know he was your father. Now, if you have had enough fresh air, it would do you good to eat."

She nodded, and he took her hand from his and tucked it into the crook of his elbow as they made their way back inside the castle. There, when the occasional person made as if to approach and speak to her, he quickly took note of William's protective glare, bowed his head respectfully to Chloe and changed direction.

Amused, she said, "You don't have to do that you know."

"What?"

"Scare everyone away."

"I do not know what you mean."

She could tell by his tone that he did. "Thanks, William."

* * *

Chloe hid out in her sitting room as long as she dared the next morning. She'd made enough decisions in the past couple days to last a lifetime. She needed some time to herself where no one would ask anything of her. Everyone thought she was burying her father today, when, in fact, she'd met the man only a handful of times. They weren't really related, and she'd hardly known him, though she would've liked to have had more time and gotten to know him better.

In truth, she wasn't burying her father, but her past. She was in charge now, and it was time for her to take control of her future as queen of Ennsway, and only Ennsway. Not Baesland. She would have to tell William.

Emma opened the door soundlessly and glided in.
"She's
here, Your Majesty."

The emphasis on
she
told Chloe exactly who Emma meant. "I knew she'd show."

"You sound as if you're proud of her."

"I am. Scared to death, but proud. She's never traveled on her own before. Heck, she's never done anything on her own before. Well—" Chloe grinned "—except for that time or two when we, uh, you know."

"You want to see her, then?"

"Emma, she's been my best friend for ten years."

Emma glanced at her wristwatch. "The funeral procession—"

"Bring her to me."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

While Emma went for Moira, Chloe got ten minutes to
wonder what was running through Moira's mind. Was Ennsway as she remembered it? Was she at her wit's end, traveling on her own? She was here in time for the funeral. Would she hate the lack of tradition, the downplaying of the brouhaha that Chloe had ordered?

Now that there was a marriage contract, would Moira want William when she saw him? The thought gave Chloe a shiver as she suddenly, briefly, saw a future without William in it.

The door to the suite opened. One look at her friend, and Chloe and Moira were in each other's arms for a tight hug.

"God, I missed you!" Moira said, then sniffed.

"I never thought this would be so hard," they said in unison, then laughed about it.

"I'm sorry about your father," Chloe said. "Did you know he was ill?"

Moira shook her head. "Emma and I were grossly underinformed of everything. So, how's it feel to be queen?"

Chloe stepped back. "How's it feel
not
to be queen?"

"Terrific!"

Chloe didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until she heard Moira's answer. "You know about the marriage contract?"

"Yes, Emma's told me everything."

Chloe whispered, just in case someone could hear, "Do you regret giving this up?"

"And having to marry King William? No way." She studied Chloe for all of one second and laughed. "Careful, your eyes are going to pop right out of your head."

"I can't believe you said that about marrying William."

"Oh?" Moira teased as she slowly circled around Chloe. "It's 'William,' is it?"

"Well..."

"You like him, huh?"

Like?
"Oh, yeah."

"Have you seen his castle yet?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"That's some damned fortress, isn't it?"

Chloe was surprised how much Moira's opinion of William's home differed from her own, but, at the same time, it relieved her mind about Moira wanting to take her country back. And William. "I liked it."