The Princess

  After he was shaved and dressed, J.T. followed Walters down to the Green Dining Room. This was supposed to be the dining room for intimate dinners but it was larger than a basketball court.

  Walters pulled his watch from his vest. “We are a little early, sir. Royalty is always punctual. One could set one’s watch by royalty.”

  “I’ll have to remember that,” J.T. said, one eyebrow raised.

  J.T. wanted a cigarette but, somehow, the portraits of stern ancestors that lined the hallways seemed to frown on anything so modern. In the twenty or so hours that he had been in the palace, he had begun to conjure up a picture of the life of royalty: all duty and no laughter. He tried to remember his best table manners as his mother had taught him. If nothing else, he didn’t want to embarrass Aria or have Julian laugh at him. At the moment he desperately wished he could remember the name of that ancestor of his who had been an English earl. Maybe he could just drop the name when Lady or Lord So-and-so was speaking of their relationship to Rowan the Twelfth or whoever.

  “It’s time,” Walters said, and led J.T. to the door of a drawing room where everyone met before dinner. “Good luck, sir,” he said as J.T. entered the room.

  Aria handed her drink to a liveried servant, who seemed to be waiting for the honor, and made her way to J.T. “Come, I will introduce you. Wait,” she said, stopping and lowering her voice. “I cannot introduce you as…as…”

  It took him a moment to understand. “As J.T.? What is it you have against my name?” he asked angrily.

  “Initials are put on one’s underclothes,” she snapped. “It is an absurd American custom of abbreviating a name. I can only introduce you as Lieutenant Jarl Montgomery—that is, if you can part with your mother’s hold on that name.”

  J.T. laughed, causing the others to turn and stare. “Honey, you can call me what you want.” He reached out to touch her bare upper arm but she froze him with a look. “Okay, Princess, start the introductions.”

  The first person in line was a beautiful woman, about forty, but with skin like cream and a cleavage that made J.T. blink a couple of times. She held his hand just a second too long, and when she left, J.T.’s eyes followed her.

  “Are you planning a liaison with my aunt?” Aria asked under her breath. “She is much older than you are, you know.”

  “So are all the best wines.”

  Next came a voluptuous little nymphet named Barbara. “But Aria, he is utterly divine. It is so kind of His Majesty to send us something like him.” She clutched J.T.’s arm and started to lead him away.

  But the door opened and in ran Gena, looking exquisite, her face flushed from a run down the stairs. “Sorry, Aria,” she said quickly, then grabbed J.T.’s other arm. “He’s mine, Barbara, and if you touch him, you’ll draw back a bloody nub.”

  J.T. smiled from one young lady to the other. “I’m willing to share,” he said pleasantly.

  Aria started to separate the trio but Julian caught her arm. “Dinner is served and I think we ought to go inside.”

  The two young ladies led J.T. into the dining room, where he found place cards showing he was to sit between Lady Bradley and Princess Gena. Lady Barbara was across from him.

  The meal was not what he expected. If he had ever thought about it—which he hadn’t—he would have thought the best table manners in the world belonged to royalty, but that was not the case. They were a motley group, reminding J.T. of a group of spoiled children who had always been given their own way. Each person at the table, ten in all, had his own servant, and J.T. thought perhaps there should be two per person as each servant was kept busy with demands: one person liked cold wine, another warm wine; one person would not eat carrots, another ate an entirely different meal than what was served. One of the cousins, Nickie, ate with his mouth open while punching the air with his fingers to tell about his latest animal kill. And not one of them touched food with his hands. It was as if a curse had been placed on the food, that whoever touched it would die. The entire group came to an abrupt halt when J.T. reached for a roll on his bread plate. Defiantly, he picked it up in his hands, and after a moment they returned to eating and J.T. returned to his observations.

  He looked at Great-Aunt Sophie, a loud, rude woman who did her best to dominate the table—while everyone else did his best to ignore her. Barbara and Gena seemed interested only in sex, and tonight he was their object of desire. Lady Bradley hardly spoke but gave him long looks over her wineglass.

  As J.T. watched the people, he realized that the only one to interest him was Aria. She sat at the head of the table, ate with impeccable manners, and didn’t shout or make demands.

  “How you are observing us,” Lady Bradley said softly. “Like animals in a cage.”

  He smiled at her. “As an American I’m not used to formal dinners. I’m used to hot dogs cooked on the beach.”

  She smiled in a knowing way. “There is breeding somewhere in you. I can sense it. Are you one of those very wealthy Americans?”

  “I was hired to do a job, that’s all.” His eyes were on Aria.

  “Mmm,” Lady Bradley said. “You do not answer.” She glanced at Aria. “Are you in love with her?”

  J.T. told himself he would have to be more careful of what he revealed about himself. “She is different, that’s all.”

  Lady Bradley’s laugh rang out. “Aria has to behave herself. She has all the responsibility while the rest of us have the luxury. She does the work while we share in the rewards.” She laughed at his expression. “The others will give you a long list of what they do to earn their keep, but the truth is, Aria supports us. She will make an excellent queen.”

  Barbara began demanding his attention and J.T. had to turn away from Lady Bradley, but the thought of Aria as queen brought him back to the present problem. Someone was trying to kill her and it was quite likely that that someone was sitting at this table. Maybe what Lady Bradley had said meant something. Aria supported them all. Perhaps someone wanted more than just room and board. Tomorrow he thought he would look into the household accounts and find out who needed money.

  He looked at Gena, laughing at something the effeminate Freddie was saying, and J.T. knew that if Gena were queen and personally owned the fortune that uranium would bring her, she would give it to whoever asked for it. She would probably go through the money and the resource in five years. And whoever had Gena would share the money. All that was needed was to get rid of Aria and the king and Gena would inherit.

  The meal was long and tedious with course after course served on a different pattern of china. The royal family did not eat much, but seemed to drink a great deal.

  “Why doesn’t the king live in the palace?” J.T. asked Lady Bradley.

  “He says the air near his hunting lodge is better for his health, but the truth is, he doesn’t like us. Oh, he likes Aria and Gena all right, but no one else. In the fall we move to a much smaller palace south of here, then His Majesty moves into this palace. When we return, he leaves. It is most convenient for everyone, even Aria, because she is, in essence, queen while her grandfather is away.”

  J.T. thought he didn’t blame the king one bit.

  All through the long meal, which seemed to consist mainly of overcooked food laden with thick, rich sauces that after a while began to taste the same, J.T. watched Aria. She and Julian had their heads close together several times and once something Julian said made her blush.

  J.T. began to remember their time in Key West. He remembered her laughter, how she had discussed the distilling plant with him, how she had danced at the ball with his mother. He remembered holding her, waking up with her, making love with her.

  The wineglass stem snapped between his fingers.

  Only Lady Bradley noticed as a servant covered the stained tablecloth with a white brocade napkin and replaced his glass within seconds.

  Aria lifted her eyes, met his, seemed to not like what she saw, then frowned and looked back at Julian.

  You
can’t have her, J.T. told himself. She belongs here and you belong in America. You have to keep yourself remote from her. Guard her, protect her, but for your own sanity, don’t fall in love with her. And, also for your own mental health, let Julian have her. He wants to be king and he may make a good one.

  After dinner the men and women separated, the men going to a room to smoke cigars and drink brandy. Freddie, Nickie, and Toby were still talking about the number of animals they had managed to slaughter in their lifetimes and Julian refused to speak to J.T., so J.T. was not included in the group.

  He gave a yawn, downed his brandy, and announced he was going to bed.

  This effectively stopped everyone and he knew he had committed some great faux pas.

  “You may not leave until Her Royal Highness has bid us good evening,” Julian said, and his tone implied that any slug would know this.

  “Tell her I hope she sleeps well,” J.T. said with a wink. “See you around.” He nodded toward the three princes.

  “I’ll be damned,” he heard one prince gasp in disbelief before he got out of the room.

  J.T.’s plan was to get Walters to show him where Aria’s room was and somehow figure out how to guard her at night.

  Walters was waiting for him with pajamas and robe—silk pajamas and a cashmere robe.

  “I have to find a way to guard the princess at night,” J.T. said, eschewing the nightwear.

  “She is meeting the count in the Queen’s Garden immediately after dinner,” Walters said.

  J.T. told himself he didn’t care, told himself it would be better to allow them to meet alone. “Where is the Queen’s Garden?” he asked after a moment.

  “Over the bridge, go right, and follow the path. It’s just past the tall hedges, a very secret place, sir. It was named so because it is a traditional assignation place for queens and their lovers.”

  J.T. left before he changed his mind.

  The gardens around the palace consisted of acres of carefully tended grounds, some of which he had seen from his window. One part of it, about half an acre, was laid out with the Lanconian flag in five-inch-tall shrubbery, the insides filled with different-colored flowers: the grapes were green, the goat white, and there were bands of gray and gold.

  Beyond the coat of arms he could see trees and brilliant patches of flowers and occasionally pieces of white that looked to be marble.

  The path to the bridge was well tended and bordered on each side with drooping willow trees. He turned right past the bridge and the plantings became denser. The trees blocked the moonlight until it was so dark he could barely see the path.

  “Julian?” he heard Aria whisper.

  He stopped where he was, listened, then made a leap in her direction, catching her about the waist.

  She opened her mouth to scream, so he did what came natural to him: he kissed her.

  He missed her more than he thought possible. He held her so tightly he thought he might break her body in half—half for him and half for Lanconia. He drank of her lips and it felt very good when her arms went around his neck and she tried to pull him closer.

  “Oh, baby,” he whispered, kissing her neck and burying his fingers in her hair. Her hair fell about her shoulders, soft and loose the way it was supposed to be, the way his Aria wore her hair.

  It was a while before he realized she was struggling to get away from him. He was feeling a little dazed but he released her.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” she gasped as if she were out of breath. “Why did you follow me? Can’t you understand that I don’t want to see you again? I didn’t want you on the mountain and I don’t want you now.”

  J.T.’s brain was beginning to clear of the fog that had invaded it when he was touching her. “I came to protect you,” he said, but his voice had an unusual thickness to it, as if his tongue were swollen. He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to demonstrate how unsafe it is for you to be here alone. I could have been your attacker.”

  “You did attack me,” she said. “Now will you please leave me alone? I am here to meet my husband-to-be.”

  “He’s supposed to protect you? That little—”

  “Stop it!” she said, and there were tears in her voice. “He’s not big like you. He’s not, as Gena says, divinely handsome, but he is suitable. Can’t I make you understand that I have more to think about in a marriage than bed pleasure? You cannot be my husband so please stop…stop touching me. I am going to love Count Julian. Do you understand that? I do not want you to protect me or even be near me. Now, would you please return so I can meet my lover in private?”

  J.T. was glad the darkness hid his face and she didn’t see him wince at her use of the word “lover.” “You are right,” he said at last. “But I do have a job to do.” His voice was formal to the point of coolness. “My president has asked me to guard you and I plan to do so. I am not sure that your little count isn’t part of the conspiracy to harm you, so I plan to stay near you while he’s here.”

  “What does Julian have to gain by my death?” she asked, exasperation in her voice. “He gains by my being alive.”

  “Does he?” J.T. asked softly. “He will marry a hardheaded, stubborn wench of a queen who will make him walk two paces behind her, and he will never be more than a prince. Knowing you, you would never allow him any control of the country. This morning he gave an order to a soldier and you countermanded the order—and the soldier obeyed you. I don’t think a banty rooster like your count is going to like a lifetime of that.”

  Aria was silent for a moment. “And if I am dead?” she whispered.

  “Your little sister will inherit. Whoever marries her will rule the country. He’d have to since Gena is incapable of governing anything.”

  “But Lanconia is so poor. Why would anyone want control of it?” she asked.

  “It’s not as poor as you think. Listen! Someone is coming.” He leaned closer to her. “I’m not leaving you alone. I’m going to hide but I’ll be near. And fasten your hair back up,” he snapped before disappearing into the shadows.

  Aria tried to pull her hair back but she had no pins to hold it. Her hands were shaking too badly to do much anyway. Until Jarl’s words, she had made excuses for the attempts on her life because she hadn’t been able to see any advantage to her death, but she knew what he said was right. What did he mean that Lanconia wasn’t as poor as she thought?

  “Aria, my darling,” Julian said, pulling her into his arms. “Alone with you. I never thought it would happen.” He began kissing her face. “Your hair is down. How very intime.”

  Aria was intensely aware that Jarl was near them and listening. She pushed Julian away but still held his hands. “It is good to see you alone at last. Come and sit down and talk.”

  “Talk in the moonlight? Oh, my darling, no. Let us make love.”

  “Julian, please,” she said firmly, and drew him to a curved marble bench. “I think we need to talk. We have never talked about our future together.”

  He kissed her hands, first the backs then the palms. “I thought I was marrying a country but I find I am marrying a woman.”

  “After we are married, what do you plan to do? I mean in Lanconia. Do you plan to adopt charities? What form of sports do you play? I really know very little about you.”

  “How delightful that you are interested,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her lips, but she drew back. He sighed. “I have never been interested in sports. Other than riding a bit, that is. I was trained to run estates. I believe my father hoped he could make back some of the wealth my grandfather frittered away. But he could not. Everything was lost.” There was bitterness in his voice. “All I have left is my lineage and my knowledge. I came to Lanconia because I heard there was a crown princess to be had but I…” His voice softened. “I had not heard she was so beautiful. Aria, our marriage will be very happy.”

  “Yes, perhaps,” she said, “but what do you plan to do after our marriage?”

  “Be a
king, of course,” he said as if she were an idiot.

  “I see.”

  He began kissing her hands. “Yes, my darling, you will be a beautiful hostess. I shall buy you Paris gowns once this foul war is ended and we will entertain nobility from all over the world. We will produce lovely children and I shall teach our son how to be a king.”

  “How will Lanconia pay for these gowns and entertainments? Shall we tax the peasants?” There was an edge to her voice. “Shall we take a third of their crops and leave them with hungry children?”

  He dropped her hands and sat up straight. “You shall leave payment to me. I will manage everything. You have merely to plan the menus.”

  Aria was shaking, both with anger and fear. Here was a reason this man could want her dead. And if a man who was supposed to love her could want her death, what about the unknown people?

  She put her hands over her face. “Oh, Julian, you don’t know how heavenly that sounds. To not have to wake up every morning worried about making decisions! I should love to fly to Paris twice a year for the new collections. And I’d love to have children. I would spend a great deal of time with them if I didn’t have to worry about…about serious, government problems.”

  In the darkness, J.T. nearly burst out laughing. It was a perfect imitation of Dolly, minus the southern accent. How many times had he seen Dolly pretend to be helpless then end up managing everyone? J.T. almost felt like warning Julian.

  Julian took Aria’s hands from her face. “My darling, I’ve never been sure how you felt. You are making me the most happy of men. Tomorrow I will begin work. I must look at Lanconia’s revenues and we can begin planning our wedding.”

  “But the king—” Aria began.

  “Bah! He is an old man. He knows nothing of what is going on. I must prepare for when I am king. Come, let us return to the palace.”

  “Do I get no more kisses?”

  “Of course, darling.” Quickly, he kissed her lips. “This cool air is not good for you. We must return.”

  “No,” she said. “I will stay here awhile longer. A girl needs time alone to contemplate her marriage,” she said flirtatiously.