A March Bride (A Year of Weddings 1 #4)(13)
“Knock, knock.” Nathaniel’s brother stuck his head inside the office doorway.
“Stephen, what brings you round this time of day?” His afternoons were consumed with rugby practice. He’d been playing for the national team since his return from Afghanistan where he served with the Royal Air Force.
“Came to see you.” Dressed in slacks and a shirt, his black hair flowing loose about his sturdy face, he looked more and more like their Leo-the-Lion dad. Stephen crossed the wide, sunlit office and sat in a chair across from Nathaniel’s desk. “You look horrible.” Tact? Not with his little brother. “Not sleeping, are we? How are things with Susanna? Have you heard from her?”
“We’ve spoken once, but otherwise we seem to be missing each other.” Nathaniel drummed the pen in his hand against the desk and stared at the financial report in front of him. Seeing but not seeing. “What are you about today? No practice?”
“My ankle is still bothering me. I’m taking some time off.”
Nathaniel glanced up. “Time off? For a sprain? That doesn’t sound like you. ‘Play through the pain,’ you always say.”
“Yeah, well, not this time.” Stephen stared at the floor, then at Nathaniel. “I came to check on you. Is everything all right?”
Nathaniel looked toward the tall, narrow window where the sunlight dimmed behind a cloud. “I don’t know.”
“How can you not know? You’re getting married in a little more than a fortnight.”
“Two weeks and four days.”
“Spoken like a man in love,” Stephen said. “I’d be counting the days too if I was marrying someone like Susanna. But here’s my question for you. What are you doing here if she’s there?”
“Giving her space. She’s only gone home for a few days to see her granny and her friend Gracie. Besides, I’ve work to do, Stephen.”
“What of this business about her American citizenship?”
“I see you’ve spoken with Mum, the family crier.”
“She said Susanna might not want to give up her citizenship. Pretty bold of Brock Bishop and his party to tack on the writ.”
“Yes, but I agree with them. Not because I mistrust Susanna, but for our descendants and the future of the throne.”
Stephen whistled, leaning forward on his arms. “She must feel betrayed, Nate. You’re no better than our ancestors who authored the Marriage Act to keep royals from marrying foreigners.”
“I disagree.” Nathaniel rocked forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk. “Marry whom you will, but the spouse of a Brighton royal must be a Brighton-only citizen. It’s not too much to ask for the spouse of a royal in line to the throne.”
“But you must see her side. She’s doing all the giving, all the changing.”
“I realize that.” Nathaniel sighed and recapped his Parrsons House conversation with Susanna to his brother. “She is overwhelmed.” He moved to the window. The first of spring’s green leaves had started budding on the oaks lining the palace grounds. “Rollins found this. Brought it to me this morning.” Nathaniel pulled the pouch from his pocket, dangling it from his fingers. “Susanna’s engagement ring.”
Stephen whistled again. “She left it behind?”
“On purpose or not, I don’t know, but Rollins found it on her dressing table.” Nathaniel slipped the ring back into his pocket and it burned like a hot coal. “I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t come back.”
“Big brother, snap out of it. Go get her. Don’t sit around hoping for the outcome you want. It’s been three days. I can’t believe you’re not packing to leave. For pity’s sake, you’re a king. Act like one. Look at you, pouting like a helpless child.”
“Just what do you suggest? I wing my way to St. Simons Island, grab her by the hair, and order her home?” Nathaniel returned to his desk. “You should’ve seen her face when I told her she had to renounce her American citizenship. She’s already put up with leaving her home, her career, family and friends, taking on all the burdens of marrying a royal, but this last request required the only thing she really had left of herself.”
“Balderdash. She’s plenty left of herself. Her faith. Her love for you, and yours for her. Her talent as a landscape architect, her way with people. Get over there and remind her of those things. For pity’s sake, act like a king. Remind her that she’s a princess. Remind her that you are worth all she’s giving up. Remind her of who she is with or without her American citizenship. Do what needs to be done to win her heart. She loves you, Nate. You need her. I daresay we all need her.”
Nathaniel squinted at his brother. “Fine speech, but does she need us? I can’t imagine why she’d want to marry me with all the trappings I come with. It can be a privileged life, but also brutal and hurtful. Someone actually e-mailed her a link to a blog dedicated to hating and criticizing her. The blog title is not worth repeating in polite company. And what do you think I’ve been doing since she moved to Brighton but reminding her of the very things you mentioned?”
Despite his words of protest, Nathaniel had spent the weekend talking himself out of exactly the kind of plan his brother was suggesting. Part of him ached to put his schedule in the rubbish bin and go after her, while the other part convinced himself to leave her be and give her the courtesy of space. She’d come round when she was ready. Right?