The Princess

  “I don’t like it, but all right.” He kissed her hands again and turned swiftly down the path.

  Aria stayed sitting on the bench for a moment until she heard J.T. move behind her. She fought back tears. Was it not possible for someone to love her for herself and not for her kingdom?

  She stood quickly, hands clenched at her sides. “Are you happy now?” she spat at J.T. as he emerged from the darkness. “Did you enjoy finding out that you were right? Julian wants Lanconia, not me. He plans to become king and relegate me to the nursery. An American housewife has more power than I am to have. Why aren’t you laughing?”

  He pulled her into his arms, holding her hands down as she flailed against his chest. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said, stroking her hair.

  Much to her shame, Aria began to cry. “I used to know he only wanted to marry me for my country, but I seem to have forgotten. I thought maybe he did love me. I’m a fool! Is it not possible for someone to want me? Just me—without Lanconia.”

  J.T. turned her chin up to face him. “Baby, if you didn’t have this damned country tied around your neck like it was the Titanic on its way down, I’d take you and run.”

  “Would you? You’d want me as a woman?”

  “I’d want you home with me throwing your red blouses in with my white T-shirts, telling me that you will not iron, and making me crazy by dancing in a skirt cut up to your hip.” He moved his hands to her face. “Honey, I’d want you there to wash my back. I’d want you in my arms when I woke up in the morning.”

  He brought his mouth to hers and began to kiss her with all the lonesome hunger he felt for her. “Stay with me tonight. Don’t let me wake up alone again.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. She forgot where she was. She was once again Mrs. Montgomery and she was free to laugh, free to dress in an absurd costume and not worry that she was letting people down. She was free to eat with her hands, free to choose friends, not restricted to people who might not write stories about the intimate details of her life.

  She clung to him, remembering and savoring those few glorious, heavenly weeks.

  Then a bird called, giving its long sweet song to the night air. It was a rare bird, found only in the mountains of Lanconia and therefore treasured, protected, and honored as its national bird.

  It made Aria remember where she was.

  Violently, she pushed away from J.T. “No, no, no,” she screeched. “You are the devil tempting me. I am not an American housewife. I am a princess—a crown princess—and my life belongs to my country. I do have Lanconia tied to me—no, we are part of each other. We are not separate. Do not touch me again, do not try to make me leave my country. If I did not love Lanconia so much, I would never have met you. Oh, how I wish I had never met you. I was content before. I didn’t even know there was a life other than mine. You have made me very unhappy. I wish I had never seen you! I hate you!”

  Still crying, she began to run down the path toward the palace.

  J.T. followed at a discreet distance, making sure she was safe. He was torn between feeling miserable and elated. She had missed him. Underneath the princess was the woman.

  But what she had said was true. Was he selfish to want to make her say that she wanted him and not some little blueblood? He was here to do a job and that job did not include making Her Royal Highness cry.

  Love didn’t matter; desire didn’t matter. They could never be together except temporarily and she knew that even if he seemed to forget. From now on he swore he was going to keep his hands off of her. In fact, he was going to help her find someone to marry. Someone who would stay out of the way. Someone not overly ambitious. Someone who liked her as much as he did.

  Someone impotent, so he wouldn’t touch what belonged to J. T. Montgomery.

  J.T. corrected himself, followed Aria until she went past her guard and into her room, then, sighing, he made the long trek to his own empty bedroom.

  Chapter Nineteen

  J.T. was waiting for Aria the next morning outside her bedroom door and started walking with her down to breakfast.

  “You cannot do this,” she hissed at him.

  He paid as much attention to her protests as he usually did. “I want to have a look at the books of this place.”

  She smiled. “Our library is excellent. We have a few manuscripts from Rowan’s time, even a map belonging to him.”

  “I want the books telling how much it costs to run this place. The ledgers. Accounts. Understand?”

  “Like the household budget you put me on?”

  “The one you overran every week,” he said.

  J.T. stepped back and allowed her to enter the dining room first and she was glad he did not embarrass her in front of her relatives, who were already eating. She took a plate from the end of a long sideboard and began to fill it from the many silver servers that were warmed by a candle underneath.

  “This is a lot of food for so few people, isn’t it?” J.T. grumbled as he filled his own plate.

  He didn’t say much during breakfast and Aria saw him watching the people at the table. She knew what he was thinking. Just what did these people do all day? Aria realized she had no idea. She saw Freddie snub J.T., looking at the American’s plain uniform with no medals, no stars on his shoulders. Of course Freddie’s uniforms were laden with gold braid and many medals but he had never done anything to earn them.

  “Ready?” J.T. asked, standing behind Aria’s chair, waiting to pull it out for her. “We have work to do.”

  He seemed oblivious to the open mouths around them, but Aria knew she had to obey him or he might cause a scene. Once they were out of the dining room, she let him have it. “You cannot treat me this way. I am a royal princess. You are supposed to be a guest in my house. People are going to say—”

  “I hope people will say, ‘You’d better stay away from the princess, or that American will flatten you.’ I want people to realize that if they get near you, they have to deal with me. Now, let’s go look at the ledgers.”

  “I will take you to my treasurer and you two can look at the accounts. I have engagements today.”

  They were at the door to her bedroom. “Let’s see your schedule.”

  “I do not have to get your approval.”

  “You bring it out here or I go in there. How do you think your old, little count will like my being in your bedroom?”

  She returned with her secretary holding the big maroon leather-bound book that was her schedule. “The Royal Society of Entomology wants—” the secretary began before J.T. took the book from her.

  He scanned the page. “There’s nothing here but more bug lectures and some ladies’ societies doings. No sick kids or old people.” He shoved the book back at the skinny little secretary. “Tell everybody Her Royal Highness is still weak from her illness and cannot attend. And from now on don’t accept every invitation sent to her. She needs a little time to”—he looked at Aria—“to jitterbug. Come on, baby, let’s go find your treasurer.” He took her arm and started pulling her.

  Aria knew she would die of embarrassment if she looked back at her secretary. “You cannot touch me,” she said in exasperation.

  J.T. dropped her arm. “Okay, so I forgot. So shoot me.”

  “And the names are intolerable. And you cannot cancel my schedule without my permission. You can’t seem to remember that I am in control in Lanconia.” He was walking so fast she had trouble keeping up with him.

  “Uh-huh. You’re so much in control that someone wants you dead.”

  “Here!” she said, stopping at a pair of carved walnut doors. There were two Royal Guardsmen standing on either side of the doors, their backs rigid, their eyes straight ahead. With a precise movement, they opened the doors and Aria sailed through without missing a step. J.T. looked at the two guards for a moment. “Thanks,” he said, and went into the office.

  Four men were on their feet instantly and it was easy to see that they were unaccustomed to visits from Her Royal Highn
ess. They mumbled greetings and tried to hide dirty coffee cups.

  J.T. stepped forward. He was going to drown in all the “Your Highnesses” going around the room. “I have been hired by the king to look at the economy of Lanconia and I’m starting with the palace accounts.”

  The four men of the treasury dropped their jaws. The oldest man’s eyes bugged.

  Aria stepped forward and said in a cajoling voice, “He is an American and he has been sent here by the king. Perhaps you could show us the household accounts and leave us.”

  The men didn’t say a word as they put the books on one of the four desks in the room then left.

  “You aren’t helping America’s image,” Aria spat at J.T.

  “I want to have the reputation of being an SOB. Maybe it’ll put a little fear in somebody.”

  “All right, you have your books so I’ll go now. Julian and I—”

  “You are staying with me. You’re not leaving my sight.”

  “But Julian and I—”

  “You’d be dead now if you’d gone out alone with him yesterday. Now sit there and be quiet.”

  Aria sat down on the edge of a hard chair, her body as rigid as flesh and muscle could be. Lieutenant Montgomery was ruining her present life and her future life. She wouldn’t blame Julian if he left her, but then she remembered his words of last night and she wondered if she cared if he left. Of course, she wasn’t going to delude herself that she could get anyone better for a husband. A princess’s choices were severely limited.

  “What is this?” J.T. asked loudly, making her jump. “Is this an entry for snow?”

  “It’s probably for Freddie’s snow cream.” Perhaps she could put an ad in a paper seeking some royally connected man who didn’t want to be a king.

  “Snow cream?” J.T. asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  On the other hand, maybe she could rule alone, a virgin queen like England’s Queen Elizabeth, but then it was a little late for the virgin part and she would rather like to have children.

  “Aria!” J.T. snapped. “Answer me. What is this bill for snow?”

  She sighed. Sometimes he could be so common. “Freddie loves snow cream so snow is brought down from the mountains for him.”

  “He eats this stuff every day?”

  “Of course not. He only has it four or five times a year, but of course the snow must be ready for him should he decide he wants some.”

  “How stupid of me not to realize that,” J.T. said quietly. “And are these other expenses for other necessities of life? Here are imported blueberries.”

  “For Great-Aunt Sophie.” She was beginning to understand what he was saying. “These people are of the royal family, they are entitled to a few luxuries.”

  “Fresh salmon from Scotland?” J.T. questioned.

  “For Aunt Bradley.”

  “How do you get these things during a war?”

  Aria kept her face motionless. “My Aunt Bradley seems to have an ‘arrangement’ with a few pilots. I have never been inclined to look into the exact details of how she procures the supplies.”

  “I can imagine,” J.T. said. “ ‘Procure’ might be the correct word. The Lanconian government pays for this and your Aunt Bradley—”

  “Stop,” Aria warned.

  J.T. looked over the ledger at her. Minute by minute she was becoming more princesslike, more like the prig he had first met. “You’ve got your underwear back on, haven’t you?” He was pleased to see her blush but she didn’t relax her rigid posture. “Here,” he said, holding out a stick of Juicy Fruit gum.

  “Ooooh,” she said with great pleasure in her voice.

  “I never got that reaction for anything I ever did.”

  She started chewing, the gum snapping. “You did, only you were making too much noise to hear me.”

  He looked at her with lowered lashes. “You’d better behave or I’ll give you what you’re asking for. Why don’t you find something to do and stop sitting on the edge of your chair? You’re giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “Sure thing, baby,” she said, and got up.

  He could hear her muttering “heebie-jeebies” under her breath, practicing the new word. It was difficult for him to concentrate on the books. The gum seemed to have transformed her back into his princess, the one who wore sundresses and pin-curled hair.

  He forced himself to look back at the ledgers. As far as he could tell, the Lanconian royal family consisted of a bunch of parasites who had no idea they lived in a poor country that was surrounded by other countries at war. They were a large group of spoiled children who had never been made to grow up. If he had any control over the group, he would parcel out Aria’s duties among them. That young Barbara would probably love getting out into the public and Gena could review troops. He didn’t know what use Freddie, Nickie, and Toby could be but they could damn well sit through bug lectures. Great-Aunt Sophie could go to whatever ceremonies they had where cannons were shot off. At least she would be able to hear what was going on.

  “What’s that little smile for?” Aria asked.

  J.T. leaned back in the chair. “I was thinking about your family.”

  “A bit of a mess, aren’t they?” she said with some apology in her voice.

  “Is that Princess Aria talking or Mrs. Montgomery?”

  “American Aria,” she said, slumping into a chair. “Freddie’s snow cream seemed perfectly reasonable before, but it costs money, doesn’t it? A lot of money.”

  “Too much.”

  “So what do we do?”

  J.T. turned his head away from her for a moment. What do we do? He should have punched the king in the nose and hitchhiked out of the country before seeing her again. He was tempted to say, “Let’s ask Count Julie,” but he didn’t.

  Instead, he turned back to her and told her how he thought her work load could be shared by her relatives.

  Aria was thoughtful. “They won’t like it. Gena would enjoy looking at the young men of the Royal Guard—they’re the only troops we have—and Aunt Sophie will love the cannons, but the others will protest.”

  “Then I’ll have to persuade them. I mean, your husband will have to persuade them.”

  “My…” Aria said. “Oh yes, whoever I eventually marry.”

  There was a quick knock on the door and the doors were opened. “Your Royal Highness, Count Julian,” said the guardsman.

  Julian strode in, obviously already angry. “Aria, what are you doing in here alone with this man?”

  Aria jumped out of her slouch and came to attention so quickly she swallowed her gum. “We are looking at accounts.” Her eyes were wide.

  “It won’t hurt you,” J.T. said under his breath. “Every kid in America would be dead if it did.” He turned to Julian. “We were looking into Lanconia’s debts and the princess is here so I can see that she’s safe.”

  Julian looked at Aria as a father looks at a wayward child. “Aria, it is time for our ride.”

  Before Aria could reply, J.T. stepped in front of her. “The princess is busy. You got that, buster? Busy. Now skedaddle.”

  Julian gave J.T. a look of fury then turned on his heel and left. A guardsman closed the door behind him and J.T. thought he saw a glint of approval in the guard’s eyes.

  “Oh no,” groaned Aria, sinking back into the chair. “Now you’ve done it. He’ll never marry me now.”

  “Good!” J.T. said. “You deserve better than him.”

  “Where am I going to find better than him?”

  “On any street corner in America.”

  “You really don’t understand, do you? I have to marry someone with royal blood, someone who understands the monarchy, someone who—”

  “Tell me about this Royal Guard of yours,” he said, cutting her off. “Is it my imagination or do they all look alike?”

  “They are matched.”

  “You mean like dishes?”

  “Something like that. Their size is based on what is traditiona
lly thought to be Rowan’s size. They are from six foot one to two, have forty-eight-inch chests and thirty-two-inch waists. They cannot be larger or smaller. It is the greatest honor a Lanconian male can achieve to be a Royal Guard—but he must fit the uniform.”

  J.T. was thoughtful. “Forty-eight-inch chests don’t grow, they have to be built. Do these guys have a training place?”

  “Rowan’s Field.”

  “Rowan again,” J.T. groaned. “I think I’ve seen enough of these books for a while. We’re going out to see the countryside. I want to see the grapes and I want you to tell me about this guard. Can they do more than open and close doors? And don’t give me that princess look. Here, have some more gum,” he said, leading her out the door.

  Aria’s dressers were horrified when she insisted on wearing a simple wool challis skirt and blouse and heavy-soled, short-heeled walking shoes when she planned to leave the palace grounds.

  “But, Your Highness, please think of your responsibility to the people. They will expect to see a princess.”

  “And they’ll see a human,” Aria snapped. Lady Werta looked as if she were about to faint. “No, I don’t want gloves and I’m going to let my hair hang.” Aria swept from the room before they made her feel too guilty and so change her mind.

  J.T. was outside her bedroom talking to one of the guardsmen, but he turned toward her when her door was opened. “You look great,” he said, grinning, and Aria felt as if she had lost twenty pounds; her feet didn’t quite touch the ground.

  He led her down the stairs, quite improperly holding her arm, but she didn’t reprimand him, not even after Aunt Bradley saw them and lifted her eyebrows. She led him to the garages at the back of the west wing and stood back and looked at the mountains while J.T. argued with a chauffeur about who was going to drive one of the cars. Just as she knew he would, J.T. won.

  He backed out of the garage driving a cream-colored front-wheel-drive Cord, a low, sexy, gorgeous vehicle. “This is Aunt Bradley’s car,” Aria breathed, feeling very risqué as J.T. leaned across the seat and pushed the passenger door open to her. She could feel her chauffeur’s horror at the gesture.