Princess Ever After

THREE





Voices sounded beyond his door and Louis’s deep tone announced the king’s presence.

“Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”

Tanner greeted the king, Nathaniel II, and his aide, Jonathan, at the door and invited them to sit for a spot of tea. Governor Seamus Fitzsimmons, Tanner’s old boss, trailed into the office behind them, the buttons of his silk vest straining.

The conversation was light, casual, with talk of sports and the weather. Twenty minutes passed just sipping tea and eating biscuits.

Perched on the edge of a wingback chair adjacent to the king, Tanner’s nerves were on their last, frayed edge.

What does the king want?

Next to Tanner, Governor Fitzsimmons prattled on about his accomplishments, preening his political feathers without shame.

“Your Majesty, did you see our report? We’ve funneled more public funds toward education. And with parliament’s new tax initiative, the economy is likely to rebound.”

Enough. Tanner didn’t care if Seamus got mad. He was rescuing the king from this continual campaign-trail drivel. He knew full well what the governor was up to—bolstering his political future with the king should Hessenberg not gain her independence and find herself a permanent part of Brighton.

Tanner took command of the conversation.

“How are your wedding plans coming on, Your Majesty?”

Since Nathaniel’s engagement to American Susanna Truitt, the media saturated the public with royal wedding news, comparing the pretty, blonde, athletic Susanna to Duchess Kate, wondering if she will adjust as well as Britain’s new darling to royal life. After all, America hadn’t had a royal ruler in nearly two hundred and forty years.

“Very well, Tanner. Thank you for asking.” Nathaniel smiled, and something beyond gratitude lit his eyes. Ah, ’tis the look of love. Tanner hadn’t experienced such a feeling, but he’d seen it in others. And envied them.

“Her mother arrived to help with the initial wedding preparations, and I say, you’ve not lived until you’ve watched the Dowager Queen of Brighton spar with the Queen of Georgia Barbecue.” He laughed. “I’m afraid poor Susanna is more referee on occasion than blushing bride.”

“Don’t be fooled.” Jonathan moved toward the tea cart. “Susanna can well handle her own. Give it out too.”

“Never a dull moment then?” Tanner rose himself for another spot of tea, but Louis, who’d finished refilling Jonathan’s cup, stepped in for Tanner’s and refilled it without a word.

“Throw in my brother, Prince Stephen, and we’ve a three-ring circus.” Nathaniel dusted his fingers with his napkin, giving a conferring look to Jonathan, who dipped his hand inside an attaché case for a thin brown folder, and handed it to the king. “But we didn’t come to talk about my wedding.” The king passed the folder to Tanner. “We came to talk about the entail.”

“What news have you?” Seamus huffed and puffed, pulling a pipe from his vest pocket.

“Tanner,” Nathaniel said, cutting Seamus a short glance. “You were spot-on when you introduced us to Yardley Pritchard. His older brother, Otto, did exchange a few letters with Princess Alice for some years after she left Hessenberg.”

“Professor Pritchard never said for certain he knew of the princess or her whereabouts,” Tanner said, “but he mentioned many times in his courses about how his older brother served as the prince’s reader before he fled the country. So I guessed that some correspondence had gone on.”

“You guessed right, Tanner. Yardley said his big brother rarely talked about his service to the prince and the royal family until his latter years,” the king said. “He’d been convinced by the old duke that if the prince’s enemies found out Otto knew anything about the entail or the royal family, his family would be in danger. Or worse, Otto might have been shot as a traitor.”

“Poor brother Otto,” Seamus said. “He was a good bit older than old Yardley, I do believe.”

“Seventeen years,” Nathaniel said. “Times were turbulent after the prince signed the entail, and then came the war. Otto was right to keep his mouth shut.”

“But fortunately the old man Otto had the wherewithal to tell Yardley where he’d stashed his letters from the princess,” Jonathan said.

“Are they in here?” Tanner flipped open the folder for evidence of any letters, thinking he could put them on display in the museum.

“Turns out he had only one,” Nathaniel said. “If there were others, they got lost, displaced, we’ve no idea. But we put a copy of the one in the report for you.”

“We’re not destined to know much about Prince Francis and his family,” Tanner said, scanning the brief letter, wishing he had a quiet, alone moment to read and think.

The illiterate prince kept little to no records of his life. Had television or talking movies, even the radio, been around in his day, he might have had something to say, to leave behind. But instead, they had one photocopied, water-stained letter. From Princess Alice to Otto. On the eve of her crossing to America.

Tanner looked up. “So it’s most certain the heir to the throne is an American?”

“That will never do.” Seamus leaned over Tanner’s shoulder, tainting the thin air between them with his lavish aftershave. “An American?”

“It will do, Governor, because she is the legal and rightful heir. A Miss Regina Alice Beswick. The investigators had a bully of a time tracing Princess Alice’s journey from Hessenberg to Brighton to London and finally to America. Turns out our first Alice was not the Princess Alice.”

“Records were a bit shoddy after the war,” Tanner said, skimming the report.

“All of Europe was shoddy after the war.” Nathaniel leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs. “The investigators finally found an Alice Stephanie Regina who married an RAF pilot in London in 1922. She’s our princess. They had a daughter, Eloise, in ’24. Alice’s husband was killed in the second war and she immigrated to America with Eloise in ’46 and eventually married again. Well, you’ll see the information in the dossier. At any rate, Alice’s heir, her great-granddaughter, lives in Tallahassee, Florida.” The king stood. “She’s twenty-nine and—”

“I expected someone older,” Tanner said. “A daughter or granddaughter.”

“As did we all. Alice’s daughter and granddaughter died young. In fact, she outlived them both. Regina is an only child, though she had an older brother who died shortly after birth.”

Tanner finished reading the pages and started to pass the folder to King Nathaniel. But the king refused to take it.

“Tanner, as Hessenberg’s Minister of Culture, a man who knows the entail law, I’m commissioning you to be our ambassador to the new princess. Travel to America and bring her home.”

“Me, sir?” He was barely Minister of Culture. Just six months. Surely there was someone more qualified. “I’m honored.” Tanner jumped to his feet, meeting his king eye to eye. “But might you be the proper one to tell her?” Tanner sensed the tension rise in the room, fueled by the governor’s indignation. He bet if he glanced down, he’d see the carpet quivering beneath the man’s big, scheming feet. “Or perhaps,”—Tanner motioned to the longtime governor—“Seamus might be the proper one.”


“Indeed, I quite agree with Tanner.” Seamus stepped forward. Tanner expected no less. “I might be better suited, having been governor these fifteen years now.”

But the king remained unmoved. “You’re too busy and needed here, Seamus. And I’m not the one to go. My diary is much too full. Tanner, you are the perfect candidate.” Nathaniel nodded once as if satisfied with his decision. “Not only do you know the entail, you’re the most current on the House of Augustine-Saxon history. You’re Miss Beswick’s age. Besides, we don’t know how long it will take to convince her to come, to step into her rightful place. It could take weeks, and since you’re new to your position, you’re the most flexible.” Nathaniel pointed at Tanner. “A convenient fact only, mind you. So I can’t leave for any length of time. Dare I say, neither can Seamus. Wouldn’t you agree, Governor?”

Nathaniel’s tone seemed to soothe the elder statesman. “Quite right, I say,” Seamus blustered about. “Quite right.”

“I know you’re just getting your feet under you on this job,” Nathaniel said. “But I believe you are the right man for fetching the princess.”

“Sir, I’ll do whatever you ask.” Tanner released his emotional and mental grip on his heart. On his schedule. For the king he could forgo his own plans, could he not, and move farther from his past failures? “If you feel I am the one to travel to America, to bring round the princess—”

“I do.” Nathaniel smiled as if it were all settled. “We’ve reserved Royal Air Force One for your travels. I’d like you to leave tomorrow, if you’ve no objection.” The king regarded him, waiting, the casual air about him solidifying into something regal and commanding.

So Tanner was traveling tomorrow . . .

“I’ll be ready, Your Majesty.” He’d be all night clearing his diary. Did he have enough clean laundry? Three of his suits were at the dry cleaners. They closed at half-five. “Shall I go alone or take someone along?”

“Go alone, if you’re willing. The more discreet, the better. We want no press on this. Not one word.” Nathaniel glanced about the room, gathering visual agreement. “Let’s get her here, get organized, then we can alert the media, and I daresay the whole world. Tanner, you’re our sharpshooter, as it were. You have the full backing of the government. The King’s Office has prepared all the formal documentation along with what you have there.” He motioned to the folder. “It’ll be waiting for you on Royal Air Force One.”

“Your Majesty,” Seamus said, “is there really all this need for a rush?”

Nathaniel turned to the governor, calm, steady. Jonathan reared back with surprise in his eyes.

“The entail ends in a month, Governor,” Tanner said. Seamus, old chap, don’t be a fool.

“What would you suggest, Seamus?” Nathaniel said. “If she doesn’t know she’s the heir, the news will take time to settle in, even more to convince her we need her. If perchance she does know of her heritage, it will most likely take time for her to negotiate her way here, I’m quite sure.”

“Posh.” Seamus jammed his unlit pipe between his lips, mumbling. “What girl doesn’t want to find out she’s a princess?”

“This is not a movie, Governor,” Jonathan said. “Miss Beswick has a life, friends, family . . .”

“What if she refuses?” Tanner went straight to the bottom line. “Rejects the whole lot? Royal princess needed to save the future of a small country and all.”

“You convince her.” Nathaniel squared off in front of Tanner. “Don’t come home without her.”

Tanner’s pulse tapped out his fear. Can’t fail, can’t fail.

“I’ll do my best—”

“Let’s have no illusions that this is going to be easy.” Nathaniel continued to offer wise, calm counsel. “We can all pray that in some way, large or small, she’s prepared to hear the news. Perhaps all our concerns are for nothing. Princess Alice may well have told Regina who she was before she died.”

“But we really don’t know what Alice knew when she fled Hessenberg in 1914. So we don’t know what she might have told Regina.” Jonathan glanced at his watch. “Your Majesty, we’ve got to go.”

“I’m sorry to rush off, but I’ve a state reception at the palace.” Nathaniel moved with his aide to the door. “But I wanted to ask you in person to take on this task, Tanner. It’s of the utmost importance to us. Jonathan will be in touch with further details.”

“I’ll have Louis notify you when I’m ready to go.” Tanner walked with Jonathan to the door. “Plan on the morning. Around ten.”

“Tanner,”—Nathaniel paused in the doorway and offered his hand—“your king and your country thank you.”

Tanner clasped his hand with the king’s, the significance of this moment a weighty mantle around his soul.

The last one hundred years of Hessenberg’s history had been traveling toward this moment. First with the speed of a ship adrift at sea, then as the decades passed, with the steady force of a motorcar. But now, as the Brighton-Hessenberg Entailment neared its end, the weeks passed with the power of a rocket ship.

And Tanner was the lone pilot who must not fail.



June 13, 1914

Meadowbluff Palace

I’ve my final sitting today in the meadow by the thicket for Mr. Renoir. He claims I am a great beauty and must be painted to perfection. Though he must be weary of me sitting before him day after day. Nevertheless, we are having the most beautiful Hessenberg summer, so I don’t mind being out of doors.

Uncle is quite pleased with Mr. Renoir’s work and has declared we’ll have a great unveiling when the portrait is complete. So, it’s off to the thicket as the light is perfect there midday. It’s quite magical. I feel peace when I cross the lawn to the meadow and the edge of the thicket.

It’s there I say my prayers with the most faith that God is listening. I’m not ashamed to say I’ve asked him for a husband. I rather fancy Rein Friedrich, as does Mamá, but he’s not called at the palace since the spring. Nor have I seen him in attendance at the summer socials.

Lady Sharon says she heard rumor that Rein joined the army. Though which army I don’t know. Hessenberg has not one to speak of. I know because it’s vexing Uncle as his prime minister is insisting he rebuild our armed forces.

I’m not sure what Uncle is thinking, but while in the meadow the other day, waiting for Mr. Renoir, I noticed Uncle moving his beloved Starfire #89 into the stable. I thought it rather odd, but when I asked him about it at dinner, he said he stored it there for safekeeping.

My own art lessons will advance next month. Mamá has invited renowned artist Rose Maynard Barton to spend July at the palace. She accepted and graciously offered to tutor Esmé and me. But Esmé would rather play sports than paint, so I’ll have this talented woman all to myself. I’m delighted.

Alice