Once Upon a Prince

TWENTY



Parrsons 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.

Susanna, His Highness is delayed thirty minutes. He sends his apologies.

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.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“People no, some property, yes.”

“Is my presence required?”

“No, but—”

“Can we discuss this in the morning?”

“All right.”

“Thank you, Henry.”

The phone went dark and silent. For all of ten seconds. Then Jonathan rang.

“Where are you?”

“Taking personal time.”

“With Susanna? Nathaniel, if this gets out—”

“It won’t.” Nathaniel ended the call and tossed his phone to the dashboard. He felt like he just denied her, and it didn’t sit well with him. “There are days technology is a complete bother.”

“But if you want to dance, you got to pay the piper.”

He looked at her then laughed. “How profound. You have a way of cutting through the mess, don’t you?”

“Of others, yes. Not my own so much.”

“‘Tis always the case. It’s easy to see the speck in our brother’s eye while missing the beam in our own.” Nathaniel downshifted as the village light bloomed over the dark horizon.

Susanna sat forward, inhaling deep, drawing the blanket to her chin. “Hmm, that smells wonderful. What is it?”

“Puffs. Something like an American pastry but very light.” Nathaniel rolled slowly down the quiet, deserted street. “I’m sorry the shops are all closed, though the bakers are hard at work.”

“I’m coming here tomorrow for a puff.”

The town lights faded in the rearview, and Nathaniel continued north, shifting through the gears, riding the asphalt wave, cutting through snowy white meadows. His heart hummed in harmony with the motor when Susanna’s hand covered his.

“I saw it today, Nate. You are the right man for the job of king. God has called you, not man.”

Nathaniel raised her hand to his lips. “This is why I need you with me.”

“You don’t need me. The Lord has given you everything you need to succeed.”

“But you remind me like no one else.”

“Then you have me. Right here. Right now.”

A shadow of reality darkened Nathaniel’s joy in the evening. Right here, right now, but not for long. That’s what she was whispering to his soul. In a few days’ time, she’d be gone and he’d be king without her.

His heart refused the idea. He must figure out a remedy. But what if he did and she refused to come to Brighton? Moving would require enormous change and uprooting.

When a rustic building with a high, narrow steeple came into view, he slowed, took the bend left, and aimed the sports car for the gravel driveway. The tires crunched over the rocks. Susanna tossed off the blanket and fingered the tangles from her hair.

“Where are we?”

“St. Stephen’s Chapel. Named for the saint, not the king. But it was built by Stephen I in 1550.” Nathaniel parked beside the thick trunk of a high-reaching tree with snow balancing on the limbs.

“I feel like I’ve been in a state of wonder ever since I got here.” Susanna started to step out of the car.

“Wait, wait …” Nathaniel scurried around the back of the car, his feet sliding on the snow-covered ice. He loped sideways, banging his side against the car’s boot.

“Are you okay?” Susanna angled around to see him.

“Other than my pride, yes.” He took a careful step forward. Then another. His foot slid but he balanced by putting his hand down above the taillight. “Slippery mess tonight.”

“Kind of prophetic, don’t you think?”

He glared at her. “Yes, and now I’m depressed.” He laughed low, reaching for the door handle. “Milady.”

She took his hand and curtsied. “Milord.”

He snatched up the blanket she’d been using and led her to the chapel.

In the small foyer, Nathaniel hunted for the candles. “They used to be right … here … in the cabinet under the usher’s bench.” His fingers curved around the thick tapers. “Ah, here they are.”

“There’s no electricity?” she asked.

“Not for the last four hundred and fifty years.” Nathaniel passed three candles to Susanna then took three for himself. He struck a match and touched the flame to each used wick.

The flickering flames devoured the darkness, and he could see Susanna’s eyes. He loved her eyes. They spoke to him more than words. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, but he’d promised himself he’d keep the evening very chaste.

Though the scent of her skin perfuming the entryway did his thudding heart no good. If he closed the millimeter distance between them, he could bend to taste her lips and blame his surrender on their tight quarters, the candlelight, perhaps the cold or the moonbeams streaming through the stained glass.

She smiled.

Oh, Susanna. His hungry heart rumbled.

He cleared his throat. “Shall we?” He led her with her three flickering flames through the door, no wider than the frame of a large man, into the sanctuary.

He momentarily regretted his decision to bring her here alone. Letting her face and form awaken a love that a mere friendship could not slake.

Susanna raised her candles and turned a small circle to see the simple, rustic structure with rough-hewn pews and dry, wide floorboards.

“Beautiful, beautiful.”

Nathaniel surveyed the chapel through her eyes. Time had worn down the exterior stone and timber, but the fragrance of incense offered to the King of all kings lingered in the rafter beams and preserved the sanctuary.

“King Stephen I was married here,” he said, spreading out the blanket at the altar, his breath billowing against the candlelight. “Dedicated his children here.” He patted the flat, unadorned horizontal beam that crossed the kneeler. “With his noble men and women in attendance.”

“I feel like just sitting and listening, see if the room will whisper its secrets.” Susanna stepped up the altar to the short platform and faced forward. Raising her candles higher, she examined the beams and the windows, the seats for the bishops and king, the loft for the choir. “It’s like their songs and prayers still hover here.”

“Perhaps that’s why I love this place so much.” Nathaniel anchored his candles in the wooden and wax-stained stands closest to Susanna. “Come ’round here.” He sat on the blanket, adjusting the altar cushion to brace their backs.

She plopped down next to him with a contented sigh.

“Are you glad you came?”

“Yes.” She gave him a blue glance. “But I have to go too.”

“Don’t remind me. I’m having fun.” Daylight, candlelight, ballroom light, she captivated him. “You were beautiful today in the abbey, standing while everyone bowed, so confident of yourself. You were a beacon to me.” He shrugged. “When I saw you, I knew what it was about. Not just echoing hollow words kings recited before me, but accepting what I was born to do, for God, for the people.”

“It’s about time, Nate.”

“You helped me see the truth.”

“You knew it. You just didn’t want to accept it. I didn’t mean to stand today. I was just so caught up in the moment.”

“I nearly smiled.”

“I know.” She smacked her hand against the hardwood floor. “I’m glad you didn’t. I might have cracked up. There was such joy in that place to be so somber.”

He said nothing but pressed his hand over hers.

“You looked great up there, you know,” she said, “all regal and stately. Exactly where you were supposed to be.”

He resituated to face her. “So if I’m to be Brighton’s king—I know it, you know it—then why am I so madly in love with you?”

“You’re crazy—” She laughed but her voice quivered and faltered.

“I’m serious, Susanna.”

“Oh, by the way, Daddy, Mama, and everyone back home send their love.” She deftly changed the subject, rose to her feet, and paced away. “I think Mama’s going to hang a plaque, ‘King Nathaniel II of Brighton Cleaned Toilets Here.’”

He laughed. “I’m honored. How grand. I miss them. How is your father healing?”

“Back at work. But Catfish took over a lot of his duties. All Mama lets him do is make sauce and rolls.”

“Very worthy endeavors. I still want his sweet-sauce recipe. And Gracie? What’s going on with her sailor?” Talk of her home settled him. He thought it settled her too.

“She’s in love. Can you believe it?” She perched on the edge of a front-row pew.

“I only saw the sailor a few times but he seemed determined to win her heart.”

“She was just as determined not to let him.”

“But she failed?”

Susanna smiled, nodding. “Best kind of failure. Not to want to fall in love, but then …” The light in her eyes dimmed. “We’re talking about love again.”

“Are you going to be like Gracie? Refuse to fall in love?”

“There’s nothing to refuse, Nate. We had a few moments in Georgia, two people in the midst of big change. One stepping back, one moving forward. Did it ever occur to you that you have feelings for me simply because you can’t have me?”

“I know that feeling. It’s obsessive. Consuming. Blinding. That’s not how I feel about you.” He joined her on the pew. “For five months, I forced myself not to contact you. Tried not to think about you. I wanted to move on. But no matter what I do, the truth demands to be recognized. I love you.”

“Nate, that is both blinding and consuming.” Susanna walked toward one of the moon-haloed windows. “Adam said he and I liked the idea of each other more than each other. He was right. I’m not sure the same isn’t happening here.”

“Not to be rude, but don’t try Adam’s advice on me. And by the way, you think rather highly of yourself if you think I love you just because I can’t have you.”

“Highly of myself?” She crossed back over to him, her heels hard against the plank floor. “Who’s the one who announced to a girl he’d known for two weeks he couldn’t marry her?”

“I did. I don’t deny it. I felt you should know.”

“Talk about thinking highly of oneself.”

“Jon urged me. He thought you might get the wrong impression.”

“Because I’m a dishrag who falls for any handsome man who gives her a bit of a flirt?”

This wasn’t going at all like he’d pictured.

“He knew I fancied you.”

Her breath misted the sanctuary’s chilled air. “Want a newsflash, Nate? I’m not interested in marrying you. You’re pretty cool, and I like hanging out with you, but marriage? Living in Brighton? It’s freezing here. And all this snow? I’d miss the heat and the beach.”

“I’m glad we had this little talk. This exchange will help me get my heart in line.” The candles flickered, breaking up the shadows moving about them.

“Good.” She backed away from him, returning to the blanket. “You’re kind of self-focused, you know.”

“As are you. The wounded woman thing doesn’t play well with you. You’re hiding your strength. I suppose you owe that to Adam.”

“Hey, leave him out of this.”

“Simply making an observation.” Nathaniel joined her on the blanket, his heart awake and burning in his chest.

“Back at you, bub. This whole ‘Ooh, I don’t think I can be king’ crock has got to go. I saw you up there this morning, and you looked like you’d been king for years. Completely comfortable. Like you were born to do this.”

“Why are you still in St. Simons trying to start a business? Why don’t you get out of there? Go back to Atlanta or Birmingham or New York? You’re a talented architect. What about your dream to work in one of the world’s great gardens?”

“Too late.”

“Only if you give up.”

She folded her arms across her torso and closed herself off. “I’ll think about it.” Then she peered at him. “You should think about marrying Lady Genevieve. Might be the best for everyone.”

“Leave her out of this.”

“Just saying.”

“Fine, Susanna, I get it. You’re mad because I told you I love you.” But he didn’t wish back his words. He’d say them again right now if he didn’t know without a doubt she’d belt him.

“I’m mad because you told me, fully aware you can’t do anything about it.”

“And if I could? You made your stand clear. You’d not marry me anyway.”

“Glad we cleared that up.” She brushed a bit of nothing from her jeans, then tugged the edge of the blanket over her.

In the silence, the tension between them ebbed. Nathaniel rested his head against the altar rail. Should he take her back to Parrsons? Forget spending time with her?

“Is it pretty awesome to be a royal?” When he looked over at her, she was peering at him with the faint candlelight flickering in her eyes.

“Awesome?” He’d not fielded such a question in a while. “I don’t know … yeah, I guess. I’ve never know anything else. But I see the privilege and wealth. It affords me good things. I also live under weighty expectations and centuries of history. It’s both comforting and unsettling to know where I come from and where I’m going. Where my children and their children will go.”

“Will you still be Nate Kenneth?”

“When I travel, I’m sure. Yes.”

“Will you introduce yourself to potential dates as Nate or King Nathaniel?”

Did she really want to talk about this? “Depends. If she’s under an oak tree with a flat tire?”

“Don’t … I’m serious here.”

“Marrying a king is not an easy life. Constantly in the public eye. Every move watched and scrutinized. Did you know companies build royal purchase power into their annual budgets?”

“Oh, I couldn’t handle it.” She faced him, sitting cross-legged, her attitude firing.

“Of course you could.” He smiled, grateful the conversation had changed, relieving the tension between them. “One year I fancied a certain brand of sweaters and the company went worldwide. The wife of the king will wield the same power. Not to mention the pressure and expectation to produce an heir.”

“Now that’s pressure.” Susanna tugged the edge of the blanket about her shoulders.

“But most of all, the people want their king happy and in love. It encourages marriage and family, love and commitment, in the fabric of society.”

“I’ll pray for you. I will.”

“We’re in St. Stephen’s Chapel. Can you pray now?” Her prayers for them on the Christ Church grounds still resonated with him. “Next week I’m in a series of meetings about Hessenberg and the entail. And the pressure to marry will intensify.”

“S–sure.” Susanna touched her hand to his knee. Nathaniel closed his eyes and focused heavenward though every part of him wanted to hold her.

Susanna began a slow, clear, whispering song.

Yes, he loves us,

oh, how he loves us.

Nathaniel blended his voice with hers, singing to the true King of Brighton, the One who is Lord of Heaven and Earth.