Once Upon a Prince

TWENTY-SIX



St. Simons Island

The chiffon rays of the March sun stretched down from an azure sky, dropping gold on the Spanish moss dangling from the knotted oak shading Granddaddy’s old garage, a detached building with a sliding door and oil stains from his old Plymouth.

The afternoon light and all its warmth barely reached the edge of the concrete floor. In the shadow, Susanna worked at her computer to the hum of a creaking ceiling fan.

Daddy had strung an internet cable from her grandparents’ house, out the back porch, through the grass like a skinny blue snake, across the end of the driveway, through the seeped-in oil stains on the garage concrete, and into the back of her iMac.

“Craig Hobbs, please,” Susanna said into the phone, propping her elbows on the desk, studying the pegboard walls.

She’d played in here as a kid, climbing behind the big steering wheel of Granddaddy’s car, pretending to drive down Ocean Boulevard with the wind in her hair, making motor sounds in her throat. She’d felt safe in the old garage, away from the fighting and screaming at home. Behind the big wheel, she was free, commanding her own destiny.

“Yes, Mr. Hobbs.” She sat up straight when the president of Drapper Clothing answered. “My name’s Susanna Truitt. I’m a landscape architect on St. Simons Island, Georgia.”

“If you’re calling about the landscape project, the bidding closed two days ago.”

“Yes sir, I realize that, but I’d heard Remington had withdrawn, so I thought—”

“Do you know how many bids we received? One less will expedite our decision.”

Susanna jumped to her feet, pushing her chair into the rusty, old deep cooler circa 1960. “I’ll do it pro bono.”

“Pro bono?” He laughed. But not the kind that warmed a desperate girl’s heart. “Have you seen the plans? We’re building a multimillion-dollar factory and offices.”

“Yes sir.” Her friend from the Atlanta-based Remington & Co. had called last night with a tip on the job with the words “multimillion-dollar project.” No more. No less. “The design work I’ll do pro bono. I’ll bring a top-notch crew up to Atlanta and get the project done in half the time of most firms. You pay labor for the crew and materials.”

Silence. Then a long sigh. “Why would we hire you, Miss—”

“Truitt. Susanna Truitt.”

“—when we can afford the best?”

“I’m the best, sir, if you don’t mind me saying. You just don’t know it yet.” Oh, wow, hello bold and brash, pull up a chair and join the conversation. Desperation made a confident business partner.

“I’m not sure I know how to respond, Miss Truitt.” No laughter this time. No amusement.

“Mr. Hobbs, listen, I can do this. I don’t mind working for free to prove myself to you. I know you have plans for another factory.” Thank you, Forbes. “With plans for a few brick-and-mortar stores. I want to be your landscape architect.”

“Miss Truitt, I admire your spirit, but we have a formal process in place to choose our vendors. I think I’ll stick with the plan for now.”

“Mr. Hobbs, I totally understand.” Susanna walked to the edge of the garage and stuck her flip-flopped foot into the edge of the sun. “I’m a by-the-plan girl myself. But I’ve recently learned life is rather dull if we don’t leap, take a chance once in a while. Trust our gut.”

“How’d that work for you, Miss Truitt?”

“If you must know, stinky. I got my heart broken twice in five months, but if I had to do it again, I would. And that’s a monumental confession for me. Join me, Mr. Hobbs, let go, change the plan”—she lowered the receiver below her chin and steadied her voice—“discovering what else is out there, even if it’s just a new piece of you, is worth it.”

He didn’t answer, but sighed. Susanna leaned against the faded, barn-red wall of the garage, hooking her fingers into her jeans pockets. Come on, Mr. Hobbs. Take a chance.

She pictured the founder and CEO at his desk, angled back in his chair, decked out in a pullover and khakis, his fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose, asking himself why his assistant passed along a call from a crazy lady. “Like I said, Miss Truitt. I admire your spirit. But—”

The most humiliating word in the human language. But.

“Our processes and plans work fine for us. We’re a growing company. I can’t start leaping without looking now.”

“But isn’t that how you got to where you are now? Leaping? Taking chances?”

“Yes, but there’s a time and place. Hiring an overeager landscape architect right now is not one of them.” He added a few kind words about hanging in there, how a girl with her gumption was sure to go far. When he said good-bye, Susanna returned to her desk with the wind chasing her, flitting her papers and twisting her hair.

She pressed her fingers against her eyes and shoved the bubbles of tears back into their bottle.

“Can I buy you a Diet Coke?”

Susanna raised her eyes to see Gage walking through the wide garage door, a cold soda bottle swinging from his hand.

“Didn’t your mama teach you not to sneak up on people?” She took the offered Coke and twisted off the cap.

“Sneak? The garage door is wide open. Didn’t you hear my truck?” Gage pointed to his vehicle parked in a glob of light as he walked behind her desk to perch on the old cooler.

“I was busy. Working.” Susanna stooped to pick up the papers the wind rustled off her desk.

“I can see.” Gage motioned to her screen. “Solitaire is time consuming.”

“Did you come here to torment me? Isn’t there a kitten to harass somewhere?”

“How long have you been in these luxury quarters?”

“Two months.”

He whistled. “Any business?”

“Noneya.”

“Noneya?” His laugh drew her smile to the surface. “What are we, in third grade?” He swigged his co-cola with casual swagger. “None ya business?”

“Mrs. Caller. Okay … I took a job with Mrs. Caller.”

Gage guffawed, slapped his thigh with his free hand, then covered his laugh with his fist. “I didn’t realize you were that destitute.”

“Destitute? She’s a fine, good paying—” Oh who was she kidding? Susanna laughed, then moaned, cradling her head in her hands. “I’ve changed her spring garden plans ten times. Ten times. In two weeks. I’ve already lost money and we’ve not even started.”

“Ten times? Girl, I’m impressed. There was a time when even one change sent you up the wall. And now look at you … set up in this fancy office … your own internet cable …” He angled back to tap the blue cable hooked to her computer.

She smacked his hand. “Leave it alone. I just got it all working.” Then she rocked back in her chair with another moan. “I’m trying here, Gage.”

“What happened to the prince?”

“He became a king.”

Once Avery posted her entire coronation adventure on Facebook, all of the island knew the truth about Nate Kenneth. The paper ran a story quoting the indomitable Mrs. Butler, “Unlike the Truitt girls, I was trying to be discreet. Let my dear cousin visit the island in peace.”

Dear cousin, my eye … She wanted him all to herself.

She peered into Gage’s mahogany eyes. So very different from Nathaniel’s light blue irises that matched the hue of the winter mountaintops.

“And?” he said.

“There’s no and, Gage. He became king, went on with his life. I’m going on with mine.”

He bent to see her face, his gaze narrowed at her. “With Mrs. Caller?”

“Yes, with Mrs. Caller.” Susanna’s stomach rumbled, and she had a sudden urge for chocolate. “She’s going to give me an extra hundred dollars for all my troubles.”

Gage laughed way too easily, way too loud. “Susanna, end this misery and come back to work for me.”

“You have that fancy landscape architect, remember. Miss La-di-da.”

“I fired her.”

“You’re kidding.” It was her turn to down her co-cola with a casual swagger. “We’re a mess, you and me.”

“Yep, you and me.” A pink hue tinted his high, lean cheeks. “I was thinking we could be a mess together. At work.” He walked to the cooler, pretending to be interested in the rusty old thing. “Outside of work.” He rapped on the cooler lid. “This thing work?”

“It’s full of Diet Coke and barbecue sauce.” Outside of work? She regarded him from under her tipped brow. “I–I d–don’t know. I–I mean, Daddy went to all the trouble to string the internet cable across the lawn. I got a fan.” She pointed overhead. “And the fridge.”

He stared at the daylight framed by the garage door. “You’ll start at your old salary plus ten percent. I’ll give you a bonus on all jobs you do. You can have fifty percent of any clients you bring in as long as you make a profit.” He finally looked back at her.

“If I could bring in clients, I wouldn’t need to work for you, Gage.”

“I have the reputation. Well, building one. You just need to get some jobs going, Suz. Build some momentum. You’ll be in high demand.” He picked at the wrapping on his soda bottle. “As for the other thing, we can take it slow, you know, see how it goes. Adam’s moved on, the prince is a king, and suddenly I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have the prettiest girl I’ve ever known sitting in front of me. Available.” He held her gaze for only a moment. “She makes me think of a field after a spring rain.”

“Gage.” That was the nicest thing he’d ever said to her. And by far the most poetic. She didn’t know he had it in him. And she sympathized with him in that moment, putting himself out there, laying his heart on the line. She admired him for it. But she was powerless to do anything about it. “I can’t work for you and date you.”

“Then you’re fired.”

“I’m not even hired yet.” She walked over, gave his arm a friendly tug. “I think I’d best just stay here in my old garage.” Hear what I’m saying, friend.

“I’ll treat you right.”

“I remember in eleventh grade you brought flowers to Willa Lund every day until she said yes to your homecoming invitation. You were persistent.” Susanna patted his shoulder. “Every girl wanted to be your girlfriend.”

“But I wanted you. Before Adam even knew you existed.”

She peered up at him. “You never said a word.”

He shrugged. “Too chicken to talk to you, let alone ask you out. What would I do if you said no?” Gage snatched her hand. “Come work for me. We’ll be Stone & Truitt, powerhouse Southern firm. All business, above board, strictly professional. If, over time, something more happens, then”—he skipped his booted foot over the cracked concrete floor—“we’ll see where that leads. You’re a great landscape architect. But no one is going to find that out as long as you’re working in an old garage.”

This wasn’t the plan. Broken heart. Detached garage office. Faltered career. Ex-boyfriend. Prince. King. Gage Stone. “Let me think about it, okay? I’ll call you.”

He gave her a somber nod, then smiled. “Don’t let Mrs. Caller make too many changes. She’s just lonely, Susanna. Rich, but lonely.”

“I know.” She liked Mrs. Caller. Susanna had a lot in common with the old Georgia belle.

She walked Gage to the edge of the garage, then waved as he fired up his truck and backed down the drive. “Don’t drive over my cable.”

Back at her desk, Susanna finished her Diet Coke and fielded his invitation, rather invitations plural, tossing them around in her heart.

Could she date Gage? It had been two months since the coronation, and she’d not heard boo from Nate. But she thought of him every day.

She was waiting for a ripple of news that he’d proposed to Lady Genevieve or some Brighton lady. Or news that a resolution to the entail had been discovered.

Reaching to her track pad, she surfed the web for the Brighton papers. Last time she looked, Lady Genevieve was wooing Hessenberg schoolchildren. Predictions of a royal wedding flourished.

Gage’s offer of love reminded her how much she missed Nathaniel. How she loved him. Heaven help her, she loved a man who lived four thousand miles away.

She played their few private moments together over and over in her mind like humming a favorite song. But the images had begun to wear thin, lose their impact on her heart. Her memory of his fine, pristine voice was starting to fade and on occasion sound a lot like Daddy’s Southern twang.

When the Liberty Press unfolded on her screen, Susanna braced herself as she forayed into Brighton’s world.

She half closed her eyes and clenched her stomach, expecting to see a big ol’ honking headline:

ENGAGED!

Then, then, she could truly let go and convince her heart it was time to move on. He wasn’t coming for her. They were the wrong people at the wrong time. Or maybe the right people at the wrong time. But wrong definitely factored into the whole equation.

But there was no ENGAGED! headline. She exhaled, then heated with frustration. Come on, Nate, get it over with. Propose already.

But why was she thinking of Nate? A man, a nice man, a handsome man, a successful man wanted her. She didn’t love Gage, but she could learn to love him, right? After all, love was a choice, wasn’t it?

Susanna shoved away from her desk and pressed the heel of her hands to her forehead. Eight months after she’d prayed with Nathaniel on Christ Church grounds, she still had nothing.

“Lord, is this what you have for me? Gage? Do I move? Stay on the island? Can you please get Nathaniel out of my heart?”

She mimed pulling him out of her chest. Mimed tossing away the largeness sensation she carried with her every day.

She thought of the green lawn of Christ Church. God had something for her. She just knew it. So how was she to stumble upon it? How did she live day-to-day trusting him to be in charge of the outcome?

Grabbing her purse, she started for her car. She stopped and gasped when she saw the gold Louboutins she’d tossed to the back of her closet when she returned from Brighton sitting on the edge of the garage floor, glittering in the sunlight.

“Aurora!” Susanna picked up the shoes and ran onto the lawn. “Where are you? Aurora. Come back here. You’ve got to stop this. How did you get into my closet?” Mama! She probably let her in.

The homeless woman streaked across the lawn from the back porch toward the woods behind the house, waving her hands in the air. “The prince is coming.”

“Aurora, please, stop bringing me …”—Susanna offered the Louboutins to the breeze—“shoes. No more talk of princes.”

“The prince is coming.” She paused on the edge of the woods, her bleached hair glinting like spun silk.

“Come back here. I know you’re not crazy. Tell me what you’re talking about.”

“He’s coming. Chase no other loves. Chase no other loves.”

“Oh my gosh, you make no sense. Aurora, he’s not coming. He’s not. It’s been too long. He doesn’t love me.” The words rang out, hard, cold, frozen in the warm island air and for a fast instant, her heart’s eye could see the words. Feel the reality.

Maybe now she could move on with her life.


May


He was nervous. More than any time he could remember in the past. More than on his January coronation day when a surreal calm steadied him the entire time.

But this? If he crashed and burned, he’d not get another chance.

Most days, his confidence rode high. After all, he walked in his destiny, one he’d accepted as ordained by God. Not men.

But today, he presented the Senate House and Commons House his own Order of Council. The first brought by a sitting royal in a hundred and two years.

Waiting for Henry in the briefing quarters, he tapped his jacket pocket. The small box bounced against his hip. Queen Anne-Marie’s ring.

Dashing out this morning, he remembered he’d tucked it away on his fireplace mantel and snatched it up, slipping it into his pocket. Lord Thomas Winthrop, who had designed the ring, was known for his devotion to Queen Anne-Marie. Nathaniel wanted to carry that heritage with him into the chamber. Then, perchance, on his way to the car, he remembered the queen’s formal name.

HRH Queen Anne-Marie Victoria Karoline Susanna.

He was smiling when Henry entered. “Well, you look confident.”

“Actually, I’m a bit nervous. I was smiling at something I remembered … a bit of serendipity. Otherwise, I’m turning with nerves.” He flicked his gaze toward the sounds beyond the ornate paneled room. With no windows, he’d lost track of the minutes passing.

“You’ll do fine. They’re coming in now for the joint session.” Henry paused at the bourbon cabinet. “Care for a nip?” He raised a glass.

“When have you ever seen me take a nip?”

Henry chuckled. “Well said, Your Majesty.” He glanced at his hands. “No notes?”

“I memorized it. I didn’t want to come off stuffy.” He shook off his nervous tension through his fingertips. “I want to be sincere.”

Nathaniel’s presentation today would not only impact him but the generations to come. Generations over which he would have no control. Just as his forefathers had no control over him but trusted their king, yes, theirs, to make correct decisions during his hour in Brighton history.

“You are always sincere, Nathaniel. You’ll do fine. You’ve made dozens of speeches in your short career.”

“None so important as this one.” Now he wished he had printed out his speech for today’s session. This one meant so much. What if he fumbled his points? He turned to Henry. “Do you have the official Order of Council prepared?”

“I do.” Henry finished his shot of bourbon and set his glass on a service tray. “Nathaniel, the members understand the Crown does not take this privilege lightly.”

“I’d feel better if this were not solely for my own gain. If I were bringing some kind of passion before them on behalf of the people. Instead I want something that only regards me and mine.”

“Then give it your all.” Henry patted him on the shoulder. “Your ancestors and the Parliament didn’t seem bothered by restricting you and yours two hundred years ago when they imposed the Marriage Act.”

“You’ve never said if you agree.”

“I’m quite sure I don’t.” So, his prime minster did not agree with him. “It could leave the monarchy vulnerable.”

“Which is why we’ve written in conditions and stipulations,” Nathaniel said.

“Then let the order go to the vote,” Henry said. “Are you ready to accept whatever comes?”

“I am. I’ve not spoken to Susanna since she left. I’ve no guarantee that if the law is changed she’d even speak to me, let alone marry me. She told me straight to my face she didn’t want to marry me. I’m not an easy guy for a girl to commit to. I come with a kingdom on my shoulders.”

“If she loves you—”

“She never said she loved me either.”

“And you’re still going through with this?”

“Yes.” It’d become his conviction to do so.

“Love is not for the weary or faint of heart, is it?”

“Henry, do you love my mother?” Nathaniel asked, quick, without much thought.

“Excuse me, Your Majesty?” He reached for his bourbon glass on the service tray, then thought better of it and set it down.

“Do you love my mother? Simple question.”

“Rather personal and straightforward as well.” Henry stared at Nathaniel then away, glancing about the debate box, walking around the chairs, trying to choose on which to sit.

“Do you?”

“Yes. For a long time now.”

“You were her first love? Before my father?” Nathaniel relaxed a bit, dipped his hands into his pockets, and leaned against the mahogany wall.

“She told you, then?”

“Not directly. I put the pieces together.”

“We met after university. Your mum, quite a rebel in her day. Shunning the social season to work at a rug factory, refusing to debut. I admired her, followed her to one of her poetry readings. We read a lot of poetry in the seventies. I fell in love. It took her a few months, but she … well, we planned to marry. But her parents had other plans. A prince, not a blue-collar lad with solicitor aspirations.”

“You have my blessing, as her son and as your king, to pursue her.”

The prime minister of Brighton blushed. “Perhaps, when my term is up.”

“Why wait?” Nathaniel asked. “If you still love her after all these years, why must you wait? It’s a gift. Take it.”

“I do believe you’re preaching to yourself a good deal more than me, Nathaniel,” Henry said.

He laughed, his nerves rising again, and reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, patting the perspiration from his forehead. “How do you think Hessenberg will respond to the order?”

“Their representatives will hear your argument and the order, then vote accordingly. No need to try to predict their response.”

Nathaniel glanced at his phone. “Best get to the robe room.”

Henry nodded. “See you in the chamber.”

Down the hall, Nathaniel peeked into the murmur of the chamber over the mezzanine banister. The members were arriving, taking their seats.

But where was Jon? He’d promised to be here at half past. He was late. The information he bore would uphold the first half of Nathaniel’s speech. Information Nathaniel had not even told Henry about.

Jon’s team of investigators had discovered a woman in Florida who appeared to be a true descendant of Prince Francis. His great-great-niece.

Though it seemed odd. A Hessen royal living in America unawares? But she was the great-granddaughter of Alice Edmunds.

In the robe room, Nathaniel found Jon waiting for him. He jumped to his feet when Nathaniel entered. “Regina Beswick. Or shall I say Princess Regina Beswick.” He passed Nathaniel the brown dossier, much thicker now with two months of reports and information.

“Beswick? Her name is Beswick?” He skimmed the last page of the dossier before handing it back to Jonathan. The robe-room steward seemed rather miffed over Jon’s interfering with his duties.

“Still investigating the details, but I’m pretty sure we have the princess.”

Nathaniel punched the air with his fist. “I knew an heir was out there.” He listened to Jon’s briefing as the steward aided Nathaniel into his robes and crown.

A bit of courage, a lot of prayers, and the heir to Hessenberg had been found. It was a good moment to be king. And a fine day to fight for the right to marry the woman he loved.

The spotlight over the podium beamed down on Nathaniel. His hands steadied as he surveyed the long, narrow room of posh leather, cherry wood, and Brighton-quarried stone.

“You all look as terrified as I feel,” he began, and the chamber filled with a tempered laugh. A feathery touch brushed over Nathaniel’s head. A sensation he’d experienced since childhood. One he believed to be the tip of God’s wing.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the chamber, members of the Senators House and the Commons House, thank you for this audience today.

“The Marriage Act of 1792 came about when royals ruled Europe. When our forefathers and mothers were united in marriage for the sake of power and possession.

“Your predecessors, along with mine, took matters in hand and instituted the Marriage Act when Princess Paulette of Lorraine nearly destroyed our military by helping her Uncle Louis fight Napoleon. Our Parliament, along with the Crown, decreed no royal could marry outside Brighton as long as the ruling royal, the archbishop, prime minister, and privy council did not object.

“So our way has been for over two hundred years.”

The chamber gave a united, quick “hurrah” as was their tradition when they agreed with a speaker.

“As it should be.” A lone but powerful voice pierced the “hurrah.”

Beading sweat popped out on Nathaniel’s brow. “Yet history has changed.” His voice held steady as he scanned the chamber for a visual barometer. “Europe’s royal houses have fallen. Republics and democracies have taken their place.

“But we hold to our constitutional-monarchical government as a way of checks and balances on the law of the land and our way of life.

“We work hand-in-hand, you and I, the Crown and the Parliament. We are partners. Servants of the people.

“But you, ladies and gentlemen, are free to choose your own life. Especially when it comes to love.

“I won’t stand here and tell you what a sad life I lead because I am king.”

Laughter rippled toward him.

“But perhaps I might gain your sympathies over the notion I am not free to marry whom I love. I’ve pledged my life and heart to Brighton Kingdom. I’ll serve her as she wills. But my good friends, I’m here today to ask for the Marriage Act to be amended.”

Several “boos” haunted the room.

Nathaniel gripped the side of the podium. Did he not expect opposition? “I’m asking for myself and for those who follow me. I submit to you Order of Council HRC 143 that the crown prince or princess may marry whom they love, domestic or foreign.

“Your monarchs will serve better when serving with one they love. I ask you, my countrymen, not to abolish the Marriage Act of 1792, but to amend it. Let’s write a new covenant of love. One where the good of Brighton and the Crown come together.”

Nathaniel raised his chin and regarded again the room. Were they with him? Smiling faces turned stony, and the buoyancy of having the king in the room sank.

To his right, a contingent of representatives shifted. Spoke low to one another.

“On a final note, I received a good word before coming into this hallowed chamber that an heir of Prince Francis has been discovered in the state of Florida.” The room rumbled. “My staff has worked tirelessly for the last few months, following every lead until they discovered the grand duke’s niece. We will contact her and inform her that a deserving nation awaits her destiny.” He paused, smiling. Hessenberg representatives were on their feet, fixed and focused. “I’m sure she’ll need our most ardent prayers.”

He thanked them, bowed, and backed away from the speaker’s podium. His heart thundered as he exited the chamber. In silence.

He’d done what he came to do. And for the first time since he determined to propose this change, Parliament’s response did not matter.

He’d leave the matter to the God he trusted.

Jon fell in step with him as he headed for the robe room. “Well done, sir, well done.”

“We shall see.”

Then he heard it. The rumble, the shaking, the shouts and stomping feet. And an earth shattering, one-chorus, “Hurrah!”

There was a reason she had left the gardening to Leo. He knew what the blazes he was doing. She did not.

Campbell sat back on her heels, shoved her sun hat off of her damp forehead, and considered the mess she’d made with her spade. The spring forget-me-nots she’d planted in Leo’s honor were … well, forgettable.

She’d consulted the royal gardener, Sir Pine, who offered to travel out to Parrsons and care for the walled garden himself, but Campbell insisted she needed to attend to this task herself.

This was Leo’s garden, his private refuge, and she didn’t want to turn it over to a mere custodian. It needed care. Her care.

Besides, she needed a distraction. Especially today. Nathaniel presented his order to the parliament today. The first one in a hundred and two years. She was nervous for him.

Did she agree with his actions? Campbell wasn’t sure. The old law made her feel safe. Protected from foreign influence through marriage. Yet her mother’s heart wanted her son happy. She liked Susanna. Admired her. Given any other circumstances, she’d praise Nathaniel’s choice.

So perhaps she should let go of fear and distrust.

Rising off her knees, Campbell sat on the stone bench under the tree and slipped off her gloves and hat, cooling off in the spring breeze drifting down through the branches.

With the coronation over and the first anniversary of Leo’s death approaching, she felt restless. As if life were calling but she wasn’t sure to where or what.

“Taking a rest, I see?”

Campbell smiled at Henry. He was a welcome sight. “I can’t go on torturing these poor forget-me-nots.”

“Rollins said you were here.” Henry sat next to her on the stone bench and covered her hand with his. “You can be proud of your son. He did splendidly.”

Despite the strangeness of his intimate touch, she did not pull away.

“And?”

“The order passed.”

“Oh, Henry!” She tightened her grip around his hand. Joy! “Is he off then, to see her?”

“He received the news rather calmly. Looked to Jon and said, ‘See you at my office.’ So I have no idea of his plans. He claims she said she’d not marry him. Never said she loved him. But things are changing in Brighton, Campbell. It’s a new era, a new day.”

“It is at that, isn’t it?” Campbell watched a pair of robins bounce from limb to limb, twittering after one another. “She’ll be a grand queen, won’t she? If she accepts Nathaniel.”

“I think we have a fine queen.” Henry squeezed her hand. Did he mean to look at her so intently? She blushed under his stare. “But the American?”

“Susanna.”

“Yes, of course … Susanna will be a grand wife for our king, if as you say, she’ll have him. If he pursues her.”

“I’m not the queen anymore, Henry.”

“Yes, I know.” Henry’s eyes remained so intently on her. “We didn’t get our day when we were young, Campbell.”

“Henry …” She withdrew her hand, stood, and paced out of the shade into the sun. “Do you know anything about forget-me-nots?” She squinted up at the beaming light. “I believe there’s too much sun.”

“The only forget-me-nots I care about is that after thirty-five years I cannot forget you.” Henry reached for her and she felt weak. “Campbell Stratton, ma’am, what are you doing the rest of your life?”

She pressed her trembling hand over her quivering lips, her heart jumbling up her words, not resisting him when he tugged her back to the bench and curled his arms about her.

“Will you have me?”

“I–I don’t know.” She’d spent years burying her memories of her first love. Of giving her heart, her all, to Leo.

“I don’t know?” He chuckled low. “That’s fair enough for me.” He kissed her cheek and stood. “Campbell Stratton, what are you doing for dinner, then?”

“I’ve no specific plans.”

“Would you dine with me?”

“That would be lovely.”

He bowed and backed away. “I’ll come ’round at seven.”

She stood to watch him go in the shifting morning shade. Indeed things were changing in Brighton. Changing in her.

With another peek at the forget-me-nots, she dropped to her knees and began to work the soil, watering them with her own teardrops.