A March Bride (A Year of Weddings 1 #4)(31)
“Too late,” she whispered. “I am worried. What are you going to say?”
“The truth. Remind them of a few things.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I come with a few punches of my own.”
Brock had slipped on his speaker robe and white wig and was now taking the podium. “We’ve before this Parliament a decree of treason against King Nathaniel II of Brighton.”
He recounted the issue and Nathaniel held himself in check, trying not to shake his head in disgust or scoff at the ridiculousness of it all. He would act like a king. Impartial. Even in cases against him.
When Brock finished his diatribe, Nathaniel stood, bareheaded without his crown or his robes. He needed no symbol on his head other than God’s delight and the love of his wife.
“Members of this esteemed parliament, I concede I married Susanna while she was an American. Out of love and deference to her. To prove my love was unconditional. She, in return, has offered all we and our law demand. She is ready to surrender her American citizenship and become a Brightonian. With no conditions. But knowing this, what do you do, slap me with a charge of treason? That is a serious charge and, according to our law, one not to be uttered lightly, as I believe it has been done here today.” He paused to survey the room and many heads bobbing in agreement. “Let me remind you that if I am deposed for no other reason than that I married an American on American soil, our government will be dissolved. A new one will have to be formed. Your seats, earned by hard work and campaigning, will be gone. You’ll have to begin again. In fact, our entire political existence will have to begin again. Because our prime minister has informed me he plans to rid Brighton of its monarchy.”
The room rumbled. Men and women shifting in their seats. Leaning toward one another with bold whispers.
Nathaniel went on. “I remind you that our trade and peace accords will be dissolved. Not by my choosing, but by our own laws, if the monarchy is removed. All will be wrestled over and reestablished. Brighton will go on, but who will be our leader? Who will establish a new constitution? Brock Bishop? The man leading us toward chaos?
“Brighton Kingdom, which has found economic stability in the past year, will have our front door, back door, and every window in the house open to our enemies, known and unknown while you scramble to reform a government.” He tapped the podium. “So as you debate this issue and cast your vote, keep those details in mind. And know that the House of Stratton will continue to stand. With or without me as King of Brighton.
“Meanwhile, Susanna will be at the Justice House swearing in as a full, complete, and proud Brightonian citizen. Good day to you all.”
As he departed, trembling beneath his suit, Susanna slipped her hand into his. “Brilliant, babe. My heart is swelling with pride.”
Then he heard the rumbling and shaking of the assembly floor by shouts and stomping feet.
Then at last, the one-chorus royal approval, “Hurrah!”
WEDDING DAY!
A ROYAL WEDDING IN BRIGHTON: KING NATHANIEL MARRIES THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE
BRIGHTON WARMING UP TO SUSANNA TRUITT: “SHE’S OUR PRINCESS; SHE MAKES THE KING HAPPY”
WATCHMAN ABBEY
MARCH 21
Susanna stood at the palace window, gazing down onto the street, overflowing with Brighton citizens who were waiting for a glimpse of the bride. Of her.
Butterflies and bees battled in her belly. Joy wrestled with anxiety.
Her swearing in as a Brighton citizen was heralded on the front page of the Liberty Press with the headline “America’s Loss Is Our Gain. Welcome, Princess Susanna.” She clipped that headline and tucked it into her Bible to read on the hard days, in the moments of doubt. Though she’d always be an American at heart, born and bred, she felt a certain newness in her soul about being a Brightonian.
At the light knock on the door, she turned back into the room. Her lady’s maid stepped aside for Daddy to enter, looking dapper and smart in his tuxedo with a white cravat and waistcoat.
“Don’t you look handsome.” He’d even slicked back his hair.
“You’re even more beautiful the second time around, kitten.” Daddy joined her at the window. “You nervous?”
“A little.” They leaned in unison to peer outside. For as far as the eye could see, people filled the streets, gathering under the Brighton banners snapping from every lamppost. A barricade of dark-uniformed police officers held them all in check.
“Shee doggies, that’s a lot of people, Suz.”
“And we have to drive through that to get to the abbey.”
“Speaking of, it’s time to go. Avery and your mama just left for the church. They’ll meet us there.” Daddy squeezed her hand. “Come on, this is a piece of cake. You’re an old married lady of two weeks now.”
She exhaled and made her way toward the door, picking up her bouquet of white roses.
“I’m not sure being married for a hundred years could prepare me for that crowd out there.”
“Remember this, Susanna. They are all for you. Cheering you on. Did you see the headlines this week? Seems the press is coming over to your side.”
“They’ve been kind this week.” She smiled and took his hand. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
With Daddy, Susanna maneuvered down the palace steps, her ivory organza and tulle skirt taking up nearly half the width of the staircase. The fitted bodice with the Cinderella neckline was made of organza and handcrafted lace. And she wore the Princess Crown, designed by Cartier in 1860 for the royal family.