Majesty (American Royals, #2)(111)
Her father wouldn’t have wanted her to be a puppet queen, her every movement dictated by Robert and the palace establishment. King George had understood that change was an integral part of America’s DNA, that change was crucial to the nation’s success. If the monarchy was as stiff and inflexible as Robert wanted it to be, it would never survive.
“Franklin,” Beatrice called out. The puppy emerged from beneath a marble coffee table, his tail wagging furiously. At her voice he bounded toward her. She settled onto the rug, smoothing her skirt over her legs, pulling his warm puppy weight contentedly into her lap. If only everything in life could be this simple.
The two of them were alone in the second-floor sitting room known as the Green Room. It had originally been named in the theatrical sense, since it was where the royal family gathered before their famous appearances on the Washington Palace balcony. But forty years ago, Beatrice’s grandmother had decided that the name should match the setting, and redecorated. Now the room looked like something out of the Emerald City, all forest green and gold.
Curtains looped over the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one wall. Through the gap between them, Beatrice saw the crowds still gathered outside the palace. They milled about restlessly, clearly wondering whether she and Teddy were still going to come out onto the balcony, even though they hadn’t gotten married today. It didn’t help that the palace still hadn’t confirmed when the wedding would take place, and refused to release any details about the so-called “security scare” that had delayed it.
If Samantha had never pulled that alarm—if the wedding had moved forward as planned—Beatrice and Teddy would be standing out on the balcony right now: waving down at crowds who were bright with excitement, instead of murmuring in confusion. The newlyweds’ balcony appearance dated to the reign of Edward I. He’d thought it the easiest way to introduce America to its new queen, only recently arrived from Spain. By now the balcony appearance was arguably the most beloved of all the Washingtons’ wedding traditions.
Beatrice had appeared on that balcony so many times in her life—in smocked dresses and ribbons as a child, in tailored skirts and patent-leather heels as she grew older—smiling, waving, presenting a meticulously curated image of herself to the world.
A memory rose to the surface of her mind, of one of those annual Fourth of July appearances. Beatrice had leaned her elbows over the balcony’s iron railing, craning her neck to see the military planes that soared in formation overhead. Then strong hands had hoisted her upward: her father, propping her onto his shoulders so that she could see.
When he’d gestured, it wasn’t upward, to where the planes were leaving great trails of smoke like messages in the sky, but to the sea of jubilant, shouting people below.
“They’re cheering for you, you know,” he’d told her. “Because they love you, Beatrice. Just like I do.”
Her vision blurred, and she twined her fingers in Franklin’s fur to steady herself. Her father’s words rattled around her empty head like pebbles in a jar. What would he say if he could see her now, hiding from her people instead of facing them?
A knock sounded at the door, and Beatrice wiped furiously at her eyes. “Come in,” she called out, her voice surprisingly steady.
Teddy stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him.
He was still wearing his outfit from this morning, the white button-down shirt and striped blue trousers of his ceremonial dress uniform, though he’d taken off the matching jacket. His shirt was untucked, and unbuttoned at the throat, revealing a small triangle of his tanned chest. Beatrice forced herself to look away as she stood, smoothing her dress against her thighs.
“You took off your gown.” Teddy nodded to her royal blue dress, with its elbow-length sleeves and pintucked waist.
“It’s a lot of gown” was all Beatrice could say. It hadn’t seemed right to keep it on, not after the decision she had reached.
Teddy lingered near the doorway, not making any move toward her. The new distance between them, when just last night they had been twined together in bed, made her chest ache.
“Beatrice,” he said heavily, and it struck her that he’d used her full name. “What happened earlier?”
“That security breach spooked everyone,” she began, automatically launching into the explanation she’d given all day: that after the jarring chaos of the alarm, she’d felt too on edge to move forward with the ceremony. Surprisingly, Queen Adelaide hadn’t objected—probably because she could tell that her daughter’s mind was made up. Even Jane had agreed, especially once Beatrice had clarified that her family would personally cover the cost of today’s events, leaving nothing to the taxpayers.
“We both know it takes more than a security scare to change your mind,” Teddy interrupted. “If you’d still wanted to get married after the alarm, we would have. Please, Beatrice—we promised each other secrets, but no lies. Remember?”
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it, shame silencing her.
“You know why the alarm went off, don’t you,” Teddy went on. It wasn’t really a question.
“I do.”
At first Beatrice hadn’t been able to believe what Sam had done. But then, seeing her sister’s quiet composure as she’d confessed, Beatrice had realized that it was the right decision.