Aria gave her grandfather one of her American grins and started talking. As much as listening to her, the king watched her, saw the way she relaxed her body when she talked about America and the friends she had made there. He laughed with her when she told of learning to dress herself, of getting the money confused and tipping taxi drivers hundred-dollar bills. She laughed at how obnoxious she was on the island and told how she had started to eat the shrimp raw. She talked of the glorious freedom of going shopping, then went into a ten-minute tirade about the monotony of doing housework.
And every other word was “Jarl.” It was how Jarl reacted to everything, whether an action made him angry or happy, how astonished he had been when she had dressed as Carmen Miranda (Aria stood and did a quick rendition of “Chica Chica”), how furious he had been when he had found out he was supposed to remain married to her. She told how proud he had been of her when she took the orphaned children. She talked of how magnificent he was when he had saved her from being shot.
She spent thirty minutes telling of all the things Jarl had done in Lanconia. “He has sold the grapes to America and he’s bringing them down from the mountains with engines. This morning at breakfast he talked of schools to teach the young people how to do things so they won’t leave Lanconia. He says the country could move into the twentieth century with a lot of work. Jarl said that Lanconia has a great deal of potential, that all it takes is know-what—no, I mean, know-how. American slang is so difficult to remember. And Jarl dealt with the Americans for the vanadium. He only sold them the rights to mine one site because he said it might be worth more later. The Americans said he was a fool but I don’t think so, and they didn’t really look as if they thought so either. And this morning Freddie got very angry because there was no snow for his snow cream. The Exchequer says Jarl has cut fifteen percent off the palace’s budget. And the Royal Guardsmen adore him. He wrestles with them and he says it’s a shame that over the centuries they’ve been relegated to door openers.” Suddenly she stopped, out of breath and a bit embarrassed. She took a deep drink of her tea.
“And how is Count Julian?” the king asked, looking at her over his beer mug.
To her disbelief, Aria put her face in her hands and burst into tears. “Oh, Grans, I love Jarl so much. Why doesn’t he love me in return? He is so very, very good for Lanconia. We need him so much. What can I do to make him stay? How can I bear to give him up?”
The king was big and Aria was thin and light, so he had no trouble pulling her into his lap and holding her as he did when she was a little girl. “You are asking him to give up his country. You want to keep what you have, yet you ask that he make many sacrifices.”
“But it’s not the same,” she sniffed. “He is merely one person in his country. He is not a king or a prince. His father has other sons to run his business. If I were not a crown princess, I would go with him to his country. I would follow him anywhere. I would give up…I would give up Lanconia for him.”
The king was quiet for a moment. “Thinking of abdicating, are you?” he asked softly. “Then Gena would rule Lanconia. Perhaps she could bring Lanconi
a into the twentieth century.”
“Gena will do only what she is told,” Aria said in disgust. “If I were to abdicate, Julian would no doubt ask for her hand in marriage—or rather ask for her throne in marriage,” she said bitterly.
“Ah,” the king said. “Tell me about Julian. I thought his father trained him to be a king.”
Aria sat up in her grandfather’s lap, pulled a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, and blew her nose loudly. “He was trained to be what kings used to be. He stays in the palace all day, doing heaven knows what, while the people of Lanconia are leaving by the truck load because there are no jobs. He gets angry with me because I eat a peasant’s meal—a meal prepared by one of my own people! He told me he desperately wanted to marry me, that he…”
“Desired you?” the king supplied.
“Yes, he said that but it was a lie. He will do anything to get my throne. But all he wants from Lanconia is the prestige of being a prince consort and the luxury of the palace. He is terrified of being poor. But poverty isn’t so bad. I know.”
The king’s voice was very quiet. “Aria, do you think he would kill you if he thought he couldn’t marry you?”
“Perhaps, but then the first attempt was when we were firmly engaged.”
“Firmly? And you aren’t now?”
Tears formed in her eyes again. “I am Mrs. Jarl Montgomery for as long as I can be. He may not want me, but I want him for as long as I can have him.”
The king hugged her. “I doubt if he doesn’t want you. In fact, my guess is that he is going through hell right now.”
She pulled away from him and smiled. “Do you think so? Do you really think so?”
The king smiled back at her. “Agony. Torture. Excruciating pain.”
Aria’s smile broadened. “What can I do to make his pain worse? How can I make him love me so much that he will never leave me?”
The king took her chin in his hand. “I asked him to stay to protect you. Now he has the guard protecting you, so why is he still here? Why didn’t he go home last week?”
Aria’s eyes widened as she thought about this. “I think I’m hungry. I think I’ll eat that whole plate of chocolates and do you think Ned could open a bottle of champagne? Lanconian champagne?”
The king laughed. “Go tell Ned to open two bottles and get off my leg before it dies and get me a clean handkerchief, you’ve soaked this one. Really, Aria, didn’t anyone ever teach you any manners?”
She laughed as she got up. “I guess they didn’t take.” She turned and started running across the lawn toward the house.
The king crossed his hands on his belly and smiled contentedly.
* * *
J.T. woke instantly, at the first sound coming from behind the panel that led down to the concealed staircase. Silently, he left the bed and made his way toward the panel. His service revolver was in the drawer by the bed and he got it as he moved.
With the revolver held ready, he waited for the door to open. It creaked on its hinges, then whoever was opening it stopped until it was silent again and pushed the door further open.