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“No, she can’t,” Nick said, speaking to Josie but looking at Amelia. “Her Highness can’t step out her front door without reporters and groupies descending on her, and I’m not up to dealing with that right now.”
Amelia wanted to argue that he was wrong. She could usually move about the city with a certain amount of anonymity, provided she was careful. But she knew an excuse when she heard one. Nick didn’t want to be with her.
“When do we go to the orph’nage?” Jakob asked innocently.
“No one is going to any orphanage,” Nick said firmly. “Josie, what have you been telling him?”
“But that’s where kids go when they don’t have parents,” Josie said. “Remember that movie we saw, Annie?”
“There are no orphanages in Korosol, sweetheart,” Eleanor interjected. A bell announced the elevator’s arrival, and she gave Nick and the kids quick hugs.
“Call me later.”
The elevator doors opened, and Amelia started to get on, but Eleanor held her back. “Amelia, I just remembered, I have a…package for you to take home with you.”
Ugh. More study materials about Korosol. Amelia hadn’t read so much boring material since her last political science class. Nick and the kids boarded the elevator. Jakob waved to her, Josie stared at her, her young face full of disappointment. Nick pointedly ignored her.
Amelia wanted to scream at the ineffectual way she’d handled the situation.
“Come back to my office,” Eleanor said. “I don’t really have anything to give you. But I wanted to talk to you…about Nicky.”
She said nothing else until they were settled in Eleanor’s little alcove sipping tea. “How much do you know about Nick’s past?” Ellie asked.
Amelia shrugged. “Not very much, really. We became friends in Palemeir, but we never talked about personal things.” He’d been easy with her, kind to the children, but she’d recognized an emotional wall when she saw one. There were certain boundaries she’d learned not to cross during their brief acquaintance. One of those was Nick Standish didn’t talk about his past.
“Let me show you something.” Eleanor reached behind her and picked up a silver-framed photo from a group of personal knickknacks she’d arranged on top of a low bookcase. She handed it wordlessly to Amelia.
The subject of the photo took Amelia’s breath away. It was an informal portrait of a family—a beautiful young woman with black hair and dark, dramatic eyes, laughing into the camera; a darling little boy not much older than Jakob, his eyes full of mischief; and a younger, more boyish-looking Nick.
“He was married?” This was something Amelia had a hard time visualizing.
“For five years, very happily. Then Monette and William died in a car accident, about four years ago. It changed Nicky, made him into a different person. He resigned from the army and became a mercenary. He took crazy chances with his life—I believe he didn’t care whether he lived or died.”
Amelia struggled to absorb this new piece of the puzzle that made up Nick. Now his aura of reckless danger made sense. She’d been drawn to it as much as to his rugged, handsome face and enough muscles for a wrestling team. He and his band of ragtag soldiers had been hired to subdue rebel forces and restore order to the capital city. But somehow he’d gotten caught up in the plight of refugees trying to flee the fighting.
“Those children have changed him,” Eleanor went on. “He’s not quite the lighthearted, fun-loving man he was before, but I see flashes of the old Nicky beginning to surface. If he loses Josie and Jakob, I don’t know what will become of him. A man can only take so much pain.”
“I had no idea he’d suffered such a terrible loss.”
“I wanted to tell you—not because I think there’s anything more you can do, but just so you’ll understand why he’s acting a bit harsh.”
“I don’t blame him. I put him in a terrible position. If I’d only realized—”
“Don’t blame yourself, either, Your Highness.”
“Please, could you call me Amelia? We’ve become friends, after all.”
“Yes, but you’re soon to be queen.”
Amelia resisted the urge to groan. She detested pomp and circumstance.
“At any rate,” Eleanor went on, “I wanted to express my appreciation for what you did to help Nick and the kids. It was a huge risk for you as well, staying behind until the ICF practically dragged you out.”
But it had been an easy choice for Amelia. It might have been a marriage of convenience, but she’d have done anything to protect those children. And Nick—well, saying vows in a church with him at her side had been a little frightening, but a part of her had thrilled at the idea of being married to such a powerful, dangerous man.
If she had it to do over again, she would have stayed with them, returned to Korosol with them and consequences be damned. But she’d made the wrong decision. Now she carried the responsibility of that mistake with her. The fates of those children were on her head, and it was up to her to make things right. But how?
Chapter Three
Macy’s opened early on Sunday morning specifically for a private royal shopping party. As Amelia shopped for baby things with her two sisters and Hester, she couldn’t get her mind off Nick’s dilemma.
No wife, no adoption, no kids.
“Hey, how about this?” Lucia held up a hot-pink romper embossed with psychedelic flowers.
“Mmm, cute,” Amelia said absently.
“Cute?” CeCe repeated. “It’s ghastly. Even Lucia knows it’s ghastly, and she’s a bohemian. She was trying to get a reaction out of you, and you aren’t paying the least bit of attention. I need your help with the nursery decor.”
“I’m sorry,” Amelia said. “I’m just a little distracted.”
“Poor dear,” Hester said, putting her arm around Amelia. “It’s that Nicholas, isn’t it. You’ve been blue ever since he showed up. Well, he’ll be gone soon.”
“That’s just what worries me,” Amelia said, sinking into a cherry-wood rocking chair. “He believes he doesn’t have a prayer with the Ministry of Family. But he’s not about to relinquish those kids. I’m afraid he’ll do something desperate.”
“You mean like kidnap the kids and take them to Canada or somewhere?” Lucia asked, pulling up her own rocking chair.
“Exactly. Nick is a skilled mercenary and survivalist,” Amelia said, anxiety building in her chest. “He could slip across any border undetected. But that’s no way to bring up children. They need a stable, safe home.”
“Stable and safe is overrated,” Lucia said, drawing one leg up and resting her chin on her knee. “You’ve said that yourself a million times.”
“Yes, but I’m an adult. With children it’s different.”
“Children love adventure, too.”
Lucia was the real rebel in the family. She lived in a loft in SoHo despite their mother’s vociferous objections, crafting avant-garde jewelry in her studio and actually selling it to the public. Charlotte thought it was far too common an activity for a princess, but Lucia was starting to make a name for herself. Her brooches and earrings were showing up on debutantes all over New York, and even a few Hollywood actresses had been seen displaying Lucia’s designs.
With her shoulder-length blond hair hanging loose and windblown, and her flamboyant clothes, Lucia looked even less like a princess than Amelia. But the girl had a spine of steel and the will and determination of a charging rhinoceros. Secretly, Amelia thought Lucia might make a very good queen. She would love the attention, at any rate. But Easton had chosen Amelia instead because she was the next in line, and that was that.
“It’s a shame dear old Granddad didn’t come through for Nick,” CeCe said, sitting on the edge of a carved wooden toy chest. “He can be a rigid old goat sometimes.”
“Cecelia,” Hester scolded. “We don’t speak that way about our king.” But she pulled up a chair, too, and pretty soon the four of them were deep in conversation, the shopping expedition forgotten. The salespeople and bodyguards all politely withdrew out of earshot.
“I don’t understand why this Family Minister or whatever wants to take the kids away from Nick if he’s such a good father,” Lucia said. “I mean, so he’s single. Big deal. Single people in America adopt all the time. And it’s not like potential parents stand in line to adopt older children.”
“Ministry of Family,” Hester corrected. “Korosol isn’t America. They’re much more traditional and old-fashioned than we are here. But it does seem a shame that a little technicality like lack of a wife should keep Nick from holding on to Jakob and Josie.”
“Hey, what if he married someone else?” CeCe asked.
“Yeah, why not?” Lucia said. “A guy like that shouldn’t have any trouble finding a wife. He could probably snap his fingers, and a dozen would stand in line.”
“He already thought of that,” Amelia answered quickly, dismayed at how disturbed she felt at the thought of Nick marrying someone else. “He would run into the same problem he has now. The Ministry of Family is hung up on the fact that Nick got married solely to facilitate the adoption. If he entered into another quickie marriage, it would be obvious what he was up to. So that’s not the answer,” she concluded, relieved she could argue so eloquently against CeCe’s idea. It made her squirm to picture Nick with some other woman—only because she worried that another woman might not care about the children the way she did, Amelia reassured herself.
“Hmm.” Lucia tapped her chin, looking thoughtful.
“I just feel so terrible,” Amelia said. “It’s my fault he’s in this pickle. I ought to do something to—what do you mean, ‘Hmm’?” Amelia zeroed in on Lucia. Of all of them, Lucia was the most used to thinking outside the box—which made her a constant worry to their mother. But she was also a great problem-solver.
“How badly do you want to be queen?” Lucia asked.
That was a good question. “I want to do it, I guess. It’s an amazing opportunity. I’m not crazy about the idea of giving up anything resembling a private life, but I’m willing. Why?”
“I’ve got an idea—but it might kill your chances with Grandfather.”
Oh, dear. Lucia had that look of daring in her eyes that had always gotten them all in trouble when they were kids.
“Well, speak up, girl, what is it?” Hester urged.
“Amelia, why don’t you simply marry Nick—for real, nice and legal?”
Amelia’s heart hitched at the very thought before reality reasserted itself. She threw her hands up in the air. “Oh, for heaven’s—”
“No, no, wait, hear me out,” Lucia said. “This is good. By marrying Nick and readopting the children, you prove to the Ministry of Family that you really were serious back in Palemeir, and it was just circumstances that separated you. You solve Nick’s problem.”
Lucia’s suggestion met with stunned silence for a few seconds. Then CeCe spoke up. “And she also renders herself ineligible for the throne. I mean, a queen can’t marry an ex-mercenary and adopt children. Right?”
“Nick is a handsome devil,” Hester added. “If I were a few years younger and didn’t have my Quincy, I’d marry him.”
“Yeah, not a bad bonus, getting to share a bed with him.”
“Lucia!” Amelia felt the heat rising in her face because her sister had voiced exactly what she’d been thinking. “You’ve never even met him.”
“Yeah, but CeCe told me he was hot.”
“I said he was handsome,” CeCe objected.
Amelia laughed. “You all can’t be serious…can you?”
Three pairs of eyes looked expectantly at her.
“But he’s furious with me. He would never agree to it.”
“From what you’ve said,” CeCe pointed out, “Nick would do whatever it took to keep those kids.”
Amelia had to concede that was true.
“Anyway, it’s not like you have to stay married the rest of your lives,” Lucia pointed out. “Once the Minister’s Family is convinced the marriage was genuine after all, they’ll turn their attention elsewhere, and you and Nick can quietly divorce.”
Amelia gave her younger sister a friendly shoulder nudge. “Trying to get rid of me so you can be queen?”
Everyone laughed at that. “Grandfather dearest isn’t about to hand over his precious country to me,” Lucia said. “Not after the spectacle I made of myself at CeCe’s wedding.” She was referring to the fact that she’d shown up at the sumptuous society wedding on the arm of a rock singer. “He’ll have to look elsewhere for an heir to the throne. I mean, we’re not his only grandchildren. There’s always Cousin Markus to fall back on.”
Amelia shook her head. “I’m not marrying Nick. Mother would have a fit. She wants one of us to be queen so she can play Queen Mum.”
That produced another round of laughter. Charlotte wasn’t the Queen Mum type. She had her own empire to run—DeLacey Shipping. But she did want to keep peace with the king now that they were somewhat reconciled, and she did hope for great things for her daughters. She would be terribly disappointed if Amelia sabotaged her chance to inherit the throne of Korosol.
For the time being, discussion of Amelia marrying Nick was put on the back burner, for which she was grateful. The four women launched themselves into shopping in earnest. But one phrase kept running through Amelia’s mind…
No wife, no adoption, no kids.
When they arrived back at the penthouse, arms laden with sacks and boxes for the nursery, Bernice, Charlotte’s rotund, rosy-cheeked cook, enticed the sisters to have lunch before they all went their separate ways. Charlotte joined them. Amelia had hoped her grandfather, who was staying at the penthouse, might also venture out and share in the meal. In a more informal setting, she might broach the subject of Nick and Josie and Jakob again. But he took his meal in his room, which he often did.
Charlotte presided over lunch as if it were a board meeting. Her slim stature, erect posture and short, tousled white hair made her look far younger than her fifty years. She was deeply concerned about her girls’ futures, but she had spent so much time away from her daughters when they were young that none of them felt terribly close to her.
“So, Amelia,” Charlotte began as they all munched on crab-salad croissants around a table on the screened lanai, “how did Mr. Standish’s audience with the king go?”
“That was yesterday,” Lucia commented. “You’re just now asking?”
“I’ve been busy,” Charlotte said tightly. “We’ve got the dock workers threatening to strike and a new ship to ready for dedication next week. The mayor’s coming for that one, you know.”
Lucia poked her fork into the crunchy end of her croissant. “I thought you were interested in Nick’s audience.”
“I am, of course. And I’m sure Amelia will tell me what happened, if you’ll stop sniping at me.”
“Sniping? All I did was—”
“Knock it off, Lucia,” Amelia said wearily. “You were picking a fight and you know it.” Lucia and Charlotte mixed about as well as gasoline and matches. All of her life, Amelia had been the peacekeeper. If it wasn’t Lucia trying to establish her independence, it was CeCe trying too hard to compete with her mother, though Charlotte had been getting along better with CeCe since learning of her impending grandchild. Charlotte, who had not been the most attentive of mothers while the princesses were growing up, intended to make up for it with her grandchildren.
“You’re right,” Lucia said grudgingly. “Sorry, Mother.”
Charlotte smiled at Lucia. “My little drama queen. You always did like to scrap. I’ve always had that problem myself.” Crisis averted, Amelia related to her mother what had happened during Nick’s brief audience.
“He can be so inflexible,” Charlotte said in an exasperated reference to the king. “And once he’s made up his mind, there’s no changing it.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Amelia blotted her mouth and set her napkin on the table, no longer hungry. She couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. She had to at least talk to Nick one more time. He’d avoided her and all of the New York Carradignes like Ebola ever since their audience yesterday. She’d pried the name of his hotel out of Eleanor, and left half a dozen messages, but he wouldn’t return her calls.
Each hour that passed with no word from him increased Amelia’s suspicion that he was going to do something crazy. And she was powerless to stop him.
Or was she?
Quincy Vanderling, Hester’s husband, opened the door and stepped onto the lanai. “Begging your pardon, ladies,” he said even as he grabbed an olive off Amelia’s plate and popped it into his mouth. He then smoothed his thinning white hair in a gesture of nonchalance.
When Hester had come to America to work for Lady Charlotte and Prince Drake shortly after their marriage, a besotted Quincy had followed, eventually hired as the Carradignes’ butler—and as Hester’s husband. Slightly stooped and a little husky, he wasn’t very butlerish. But he was utterly devoted to Hester and the Carradigne family.
“What is it, Quincy?” Charlotte asked.
“Miss Eleanor Standish is here. She needs to deliver some faxes to the king, but she would like to pay her respects to you all as well. Want me to put her in the Grand Room?”
Ellie! Exactly who Amelia needed to see. She popped out of her chair. “I’ll bring her out here. Maybe she’ll want a sandwich—there’s plenty of crab salad left.”
Amelia wended her way through the kitchen and up the back stairs, following Quincy as he led her to Ellie, who was just coming out of the king’s suite. She heard the king’s final murmured words to her as she closed the door behind her.
“Here you go,” Quincy said, then shuffled off to do whatever it was he did when he wasn’t butlering—possibly getting himself a little nip of sherry.
“Amelia!” Eleanor said as she shoved some papers into her briefcase. “You didn’t have to escort me down. I just wanted to pop in and say hi to everyone.”
“But I wanted to speak to you privately,” Amelia said. Not here in the hallway, though, where someone might overhear. She led Ellie into an empty suite across the hall from Easton’s quarters and closed the door.
“Why all the mystery?”
“Is Nick still in New York?”
Ellie looked at her watch. “For about forty more minutes. His plane leaves at 2:05.”
“Plane to where?”
“To Korosol, of course. Where did you think?”
“LaGuardia, or JFK?” Amelia asked urgently.
“JFK.”
“What airline?”
“Air France, I think. Amelia, what is this about?” She gave Ellie a quick hug. “I don’t have time to explain. Tell the family I’m…running an errand.”
She sprinted down the hall to her own room, not really thinking or planning her actions, just running on pure instinct. There was no time to order the limo—she would have to take a taxi. She’d regretted her decision to abandon Nick and the kids to the fates. This was the only way to make it right again.
From her room she grabbed big sunglasses, a hat and a long, bulky jacket that disguised her figure, which sometimes drew unintended attention despite the fact she did little to show it off. As she crept down the main stairs, she stuffed her telltale blond curls into the hat, shoved the glasses onto her face and donned the jacket.
She would have to sneak past the security station. The guard on duty couldn’t keep his eyes on everything at the same time. While he checked the various monitors, she darted past him to the elevator. Ordinarily she was expected to let security know where she was going, but she didn’t have time for lengthy explanations.
Her luck held—no one saw her exit the Carradignes’ private elevator. Walking without her usual bold stride and confident gaze, shuffling along staring at the ground in front of her, she was a master at blending into crowds when she had to.
Once outside, she quickly secured a cab. “JFK, please, and there’s an extra twenty in it for you if you make it to the Air France gate in thirty minutes.”
“Yes, lady!” the Ethiopian driver said. He punched the gas pedal and the car jolted forward.
Amelia’s luck held out as they encountered no traffic jams in the Queens Tunnel. The cabbie made it with two minutes to spare. Amelia shoved some cash at him and leaped out of the taxi without a backward glance.
She found the flight to Korosol on the Air France monitor. It was on time, probably the only flight all afternoon that wasn’t running behind. So much for luck. She dashed through the airport until she reached the gate, which was devoid of passengers. Everyone had boarded already, but the plane was still at the gate.
Amelia zeroed in on the ticket agent. “I really need to speak to someone on that plane,” she implored.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t—Oh my gosh, you’re Princess Amelia.”
Amelia decided that for once she could use her royal heritage to advantage. “Yes, I am, and this is a matter of great importance to…to the royal family.” Well, a small part of it, anyway.
The ticket agent conferred with her co-worker, then looked back at Amelia. “The passenger’s name?”
“Nicholas Standish.”
She began punching buttons on her computer, driving Amelia wild with impatience. What was she doing?
The agent appeared confused. “Nicholas Standish is on the list, but he never checked onto this flight. Neither did Jakob or Josie Standish.”
Amelia stifled a gasp. It was just as she feared. Nick was running away with the kids. Think, Mellie, think. What would be his plan? He would go somewhere where he and the children could speak the language. Of course, Nick could speak half a dozen languages with some facility. But the children…only three. English, Russian and some French.
Canada—it had to be Canada. She thanked the agent, then walked as briskly as she dared without drawing attention down the terminal toward Canadian Airways.
He would go to a big city, where he could become anonymous. Quebec? Toronto? They spoke French in Quebec. Amelia checked the monitor. One flight had left at one-thirty, another was scheduled for three-fifteen. She went to the gate for the later flight. No Nick, no children.
Her hopes sank. Finding Nick in this airport would be like finding a particular grain of sand on a beach. He might have taken a completely different airline. For that matter, he might have gone to a different airport. Or he might be driving across the border with forged documents.
Amelia had one last idea. She went to an information phone and dialed the operator. “I need to page Nicholas Standish. Can you ask him to meet…his wife at the Canadian Airways ticket counter?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’d be happy to do that for you.”
A few seconds later, the page went out over the loudspeaker. Amelia found a chair across from Canadian Airways and sat down to watch and wait.
NICK NEARLY JUMPED out of his skin when he heard his name over the loudspeaker.
“Uncle Nick, they just called your name,” Josie said, sounding alarmed. “Are we in trouble for missing our plane?”
Nick smiled at her. “No, Josie. But I’d better find out what’s going on.” The only person who knew he was here was Ellie. His hopes rose. Maybe she had news from the king. Maybe Easton had changed his mind.
He and the children had missed their flight to Korosol. They’d had plenty of time, but as he stood in line to check in, Nick hadn’t been able to take that next step. He wasn’t sure why. Clearly there was nothing else to be done to further his cause in New York. But the thought of returning to his village and waiting passively while the Ministry of Family took steps to remove his children…well, it was a difficult step to take.
He’d taken the kids to a fast-food place and bought them chocolate shakes to give him some time to think, though the previous two days of thinking hadn’t yielded good results.
There was a courtesy phone right across from the restaurant where they’d gotten the shakes. Nick could answer the page and still keep watch over the kids.
“Be right back,” he said. Moments later he was talking to an operator.