American Royals (38 page)

“Stop it,” she hissed, and then again, with greater volume: “Just
stop,
okay? I don’t know how to win with you!”

“Daphne. It isn’t always about
winning.
”

“Of course it is!”

She reached up to smooth her hair, feeling powerful and unsettled. Before she could lower her hand again, Ethan caught it in his own. His thumb traced small circles over the back of her wrist—intent, slow, lazy circles that made Daphne’s breath catch. She didn’t pull away, though Ethan’s face was suddenly close to her own. For once there was no sardonic tilt to his full, sensuous mouth.

“Ethan …” Daphne meant to sound reproving, but her voice came out dangerously uncertain.

When he finally lowered his mouth to hers, it seemed inevitable.

The kiss snapped down her body like a drug, coursing wildly along her nerve endings. Daphne pulled him closer. She knew this was a foolish mistake—that she was throwing away all her years of hard work. She didn’t care.

The choice should have been so simple: on the one hand was Jefferson, the
prince.
Everyone wanted them to be together: Daphne’s parents and Jefferson’s parents and
all of America
and, ostensibly, Daphne.

Yet here she was. It was as if the touch of Ethan’s lips on hers had short-circuited her brain, and nothing else mattered anymore.

Somehow she’d moved to sit atop him, straddling his lap. They both fumbled in the dark, shoving aside the frothy mountain of her skirts. His lips traveled down her neck, and she tipped her head back, letting her hands curl possessively over his shoulders. She felt as if she and Ethan had become a pair of blades striking to make fire, like sparking against like.

Ethan was right about one thing: Jefferson didn’t know the real her, and he never would.

Beatrice couldn’t grab a moment alone with Teddy until the party was nearly over.

There were simply too many guests, all of them eager for their own personal moment with the groom- and bride-to-be. She caught Teddy’s eye a few times, and an invisible flicker of communication would pass between them—but then another well-wisher would pull him aside, or the photographer would request Beatrice for a photo, and they would again spin off in different directions.

A few partygoers still lingered on the scuffed dance floor. Footmen approached them with glasses of water, gently trying to herd them toward the entrance, where a long line of town cars stretched around the circle drive. Even the flowers in their towering arrangements seemed to have lost their bloom, stray petals already falling to the floor.

Beatrice finally turned to Teddy and asked for a moment alone. He nodded in understanding, and she led him toward the side of the dance floor, behind a column of rose-colored granite.

“Teddy, I’m so sorry about everything,” she hurried to say. “I hope you know that I … I mean, I never should have …”

“It’s all right,” he assured her, his blue eyes subdued. “As long as you’re okay.” The sentence upticked at the end, making it into a question.

“Not yet,” Beatrice admitted. “But I think—I hope—I will be.”

Teddy gave her a soft smile, one that she certainly didn’t deserve. “What can I do to help?”

It twisted her guilt like a knife, that Teddy was being so honorable and thoughtful at a time like this. That even when she was breaking off their engagement, he still focused on making things easier for
her.

“Please don’t tell anyone yet.” She was eerily reminded of making the same request when she proposed, though for drastically different reasons. “I need to break the news to my dad first. Then we can figure out the next steps.”

Teddy nodded. “I’ll keep behaving like your fiancé until I hear otherwise from you.”

“Thank you,” Beatrice murmured. “And thank you for being so understanding about all of this. For not hating me, even after what I’ve put you through.”

“I could never hate you.” He reached for her hand, nothing romantic in the gesture, but as if he wanted to forcibly transfer her some of his strength. “Whatever happens, know that you can always count on me. As a friend.”

Beatrice nodded, unable to speak.

When they reemerged into the remains of the party, the Eatons had lined up to say their goodbyes.

They were all here: Teddy’s parents, the Duke and Duchess of Boston; Teddy’s younger brothers Lewis and Livingston; and the youngest sibling, their sister, Charlotte. Even if she hadn’t met them already, Beatrice would have known at once that they were related. They all had that look about them. A golden-haired, patrician, photogenic look that made you think of playing football outside, fresh-baked apple pie, and windswept Nantucket summers. They seemed utterly at ease in their ball gowns and tuxedos, as if they woke up and got dressed in black-tie attire every morning of their lives.

“Thank you for coming,” Beatrice told each of them, with a clasp of their hands; this family wasn’t the hugging type.

“I’m so thrilled. So thrilled!” Teddy’s father boomed, throwing a jocular arm around Teddy’s shoulders.

Beatrice caught the awkward half hug of goodbye that Teddy gave Samantha, and stifled a smile. Maybe if they were lucky, both Washington sisters might end up with a happy ending.

It wasn’t until the Eatons had left that Beatrice cleared her throat. “Dad? Could I talk to you? Alone.”

“Sure. Let’s go to my office for a nightcap,” he suggested, still beaming.

Beatrice followed, to settle opposite her father in an armchair. A footman must have kept the fire going all night, because it blazed contentedly in the massive stone fireplace.

She wished she could relax into the chair like the young woman she was: pull her feet up onto the cushions and tuck them to one side, lean her head back. But she wasn’t permitted that kind of informality, because right now she wasn’t a daughter talking to her dad.

She was a future queen, talking to the current king. That was the context in which she and her dad had begun this discussion—
a matter between monarchs,
he’d said, when he told her that he was sick—and that was how she would continue it.

The king reached for the decanter on a side table and poured bourbon into a pair of cut-glass tumblers. He handed one to Beatrice, who immediately took a sip. Liquid courage, right?

“What a night,” he mused, still buoyed by his good mood. “You looked so beautiful, Beatrice. So regal. I’m proud of you.”

The only way to spill the news was all at once, she thought, and steeled herself.

“Dad, I want to call off the engagement.”

The jubilant smile slid off his face. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t marry Teddy. I don’t love him.”

There was a sudden urgency to her words, as if she’d broken open a tap and now they were pouring out like water, faster than she could catch them. “I
tried
to fall in love with him, really. I knew how much it meant to you. But I can’t do it, Dad. Not even for you.”

The king nodded. “I understand,” he said, and the knot in Beatrice’s stomach began to loosen. This had been so much less arduous than she’d expected. She should have known her dad wouldn’t pressure her—

“We’ll push back the wedding. That gives you and Teddy more time to get to know each other,” her dad went on, oblivious to Beatrice’s dismay. “We haven’t announced a date anyway. We’ll tell the planning committee that you need another six months, slow down the pace. Maybe you and Teddy could take a trip—spend quality time together, away from the all the public appearances. I know my illness has put everything on a compressed schedule,” he added, his eyes downcast. “I’m sorry that I made you feel rushed.”

Beatrice’s hands clenched frantically in her lap. “The timing isn’t the problem, Dad. A year from now, I won’t want to marry Teddy any more than I do tonight.”

Anger flashed in the king’s eyes. “Did he do something to hurt you?”

“Of course not,” she said impatiently. “Teddy is great, but—”

“Then what is it?”

“I’ve fallen in love with someone else!”

“Oh,” her father breathed, as if all he could manage right now was the single syllable. Beatrice didn’t dare reply.

“Who is it?” he asked at last, in a wooden kind of shock.

“Connor Markham.”

“Your
Revere Guard
?”

“I know he’s not from your preapproved list of options,” Beatrice hurried to say. “That he isn’t a nobleman. But, Dad—I love him.”

The wind whistled and howled at the windowpanes. The fire hissed, sparks flying up as logs resettled. Beatrice reached for her glass, to take another nervous sip of the bourbon. It glowed a deep amber in the light of the fire.

“I’m sorry, Beatrice. But no,” the king said at last.

“No?” she repeated. Was that really his response—to flat-out deny her request, as if she were a child asking to stay up past her bedtime?

“Surely you see that it’s out of the question.” Her father paused, giving Beatrice time to nod in agreement. When she didn’t, he forged ahead. “Beatrice, you can’t break off your wedding with Teddy Eaton—who comes from one of the very best families in the country, who is smart and honorable and kind—because you’re in love with your Guard.”

She tried not to wince at the way he said
one of the very best families in the country,
as if that were something the centuries-old titles actually measured and ranked. “Connor is all of that, too, Dad. Smart and honorable and kind.”

“Teddy graduated with honors from Yale. Your Guard never went to college, barely even managed to complete high school!”

“You’re the one who always says that there’s more than one kind of smart!” Beatrice gritted her teeth. “I know there isn’t historical precedent for this, but that doesn’t mean it’s
wrong.
”

Her father didn’t answer right away. He clinked the ice in his glass, his eyes still fixed on the fire.

“Remember what your grandfather always used to say, about how the Crown divides you into two people: one public, the other private? That you are Beatrice the future queen and Beatrice the young woman, all at once?”

Beatrice twisted her engagement ring back and forth, sliding it off her finger and on again. She had a sudden urge to throw it across the room.

“I remember,” she answered.

“It will stay that way your whole life. It gets even worse when you’re a parent, and have a child who becomes heir to the throne.” At last the king looked up, directly into Beatrice’s eyes. The sheer grief in his expression knocked the air from her chest. “The parent in me is overjoyed that you’ve found love. Of course it doesn’t matter to me, as your father, who you are with—as long as that person treats you well and makes you happy.”

“But …,” she supplied, when her dad fell silent. She was shocked to see his eyes gleaming with tears.

“That other part of me, the part that answers to the Crown, knows how impossible it is. If you were anyone else in the country …” The king winced and put a hand over his chest, as if he were in pain. “But you have never been just
anyone.
Beatrice, you cannot be with that young man and be queen. You would have to give up everything for him.”

She felt herself bristle. “You used to tell me that nothing was impossible, that we could find a solution to anything if we thought carefully and creatively enough.”

“That was about political problems!”

“From what you’re telling me, this
is
a political problem! That law is two centuries old. Maybe it’s time we had a commoner on the throne!” She cast him a pleading gaze. “You’re the king, Dad. Surely there’s something you can do. Sign an executive order, or submit a new law to Congress. There has to be a way out.”

Her dad’s face was very grave as he spoke his next words: “Even if there was something I could do, I wouldn’t do it.”

“What?” Beatrice cleared her throat, fighting not to scream. “You seriously won’t help me marry for love?”

“Beatrice, I always
wanted
you to marry for love,” her father insisted. “I just hoped that you would fall in love … within certain guidelines. That’s why I invited those young men to the Queen’s Ball. They are much more suited for this type of life than Connor is.”

Within certain guidelines.
Beatrice was ashamed to realize that it might have worked: that she might have talked herself into loving Teddy, eventually, if not for Connor. She shifted onto the edge of her seat, her voice scathing.

“You honestly think that I shouldn’t be with Connor because he’s a
commoner
?”

Her father shook his head wearily. “Beatrice, you’ve studied the Constitution backward and forward. Don’t you know by now that the Founding Fathers never did anything without good reason?” He poured himself another splash of bourbon. His mouth was set into a grim line, his eyes shadowed. “That law is there to protect you, and the Crown, from situations like this. From … misalliances.”

Tears pricked at Beatrice’s eyes. She needed space, needed a minute to
think
a way through this. “Why won’t you at least give him a chance?”

“It isn’t about me, Beatrice. If I was the only person you had to convince, you would already have my blessing,” her father said quietly. “But I know how flawed the world is—how fiercely people are going to judge you, as America’s first queen. I know the near-impossible task that lies ahead of you. Trust me when I say that if you marry Teddy, he will help lessen that burden for you in a thousand small ways. Teddy will lift you up, will support you. He will be an
asset
to you, while Connor would prove nothing but a hindrance. And you can’t afford a hindrance. It’s going to be difficult enough for you as it is.”

“Because I’m a woman,” Beatrice said flatly.

Her father didn’t argue. “Yes, exactly, because you’re a woman, and the world will make everything exponentially more difficult for you. It isn’t right, or fair, but it is the truth. You are going to be the
very first
Queen of America. You have a steeper road to climb than all the eleven kings who came before you. You will have to do so much more to prove yourself, to earn the respect of foreign dignitaries and politicians and even your own subjects. I have been trying for years to help prepare you, to make things as easy for you as I can, but it’s still a challenge that you will face every single day.”

“Connor
knows
all of this, Dad. He’s seen my life up close, and he hasn’t been scared away. I can lean on him as a source of support.”
I already do.

“He will drag you down,” her father said brutally. “Beatrice, I’m sure he means well, but that young man has no idea what he’s signing on for. How is he going to feel after years,
decades,
of being constantly told he’s not good enough? Of sitting quietly by your side at thousands of state functions? He will be forced to sublimate his entire
life
to the demands of the Crown.” The king took a bracing breath. “Connor may love you now, but is his love for you strong enough to withstand all of that?”

Of course it is,
Beatrice wanted to say. The words failed to reach her lips.