She smiled. “Our library is excellent. We have a few manuscripts from Rowan’s time, even a map belonging to him.”
“I want the books telling how much it costs to run this place. The ledgers. Accounts. Understand?”
“Like the household budget you put me on?”
“The one you overran every week,” he said.
J.T. stepped back and allowed her to enter the dining room first and she was glad he did not embarrass her in front of her relatives, who were already eating. She took a plate from the end of a long sideboard and began to fill it from the many silver servers that were warmed by a candle underneath.
“This is a lot of food for so few people, isn’t it?” J.T. grumbled as he filled his own plate.
He didn’t say much during breakfast and Aria saw him watching the people at the table. She knew what he was thinking. Just what did these people do all day? Aria realized she had no idea. She saw Freddie snub J.T., looking at the American’s plain uniform with no medals, no stars on his shoulders. Of course Freddie’s uniforms were laden with gold braid and many medals but he had never done anything to earn them.
“Ready?” J.T. asked, standing behind Aria’s chair, waiting to pull it out for her. “We have work to do.”
He seemed oblivious to the open mouths around them, but Aria knew she had to obey him or he might cause a scene. Once they were out of the dining room, she let him have it. “You cannot treat me this way. I am a royal princess. You are supposed to be a guest in my house. People are going to say—”
“I hope people will say, ‘You’d better stay away from the princess, or that American will flatten you.’ I want people to realize that if they get near you, they have to deal with me. Now, let’s go look at the ledgers.”
“I will take you to my treasurer and you two can look at the accounts. I have engagements today.”
They were at the door to her bedroom. “Let’s see your schedule.”
“I do not have to get your approval.”
“You bring it out here or I go in there. How do you think your old, little count will like my being in your bedroom?”
She returned with her secretary holding the big maroon leather-bound book that was her schedule. “The Royal Society of Entomology wants—” the secretary began before J.T. took the book from her.
He scanned the page. “There’s nothing here but more bug lectures and some ladies’ societies doings. No sick kids or old people.” He shoved the book back at the skinny little secretary. “Tell everybody Her Royal Highness is still weak from her illness and cannot attend. And from now on don’t accept every invitation sent to her. She needs a little time to”—he looked at Aria—“to jitterbug. Come on, baby, let’s go find your treasurer.” He took her arm and started pulling her.
Aria knew she would die of embarrassment if she looked back at her secretary. “You cannot touch me,” she said in exasperation.
J.T. dropped her arm. “Okay, so I forgot. So shoot me.”
“And the names are intolerable. And you cannot cancel my schedule without my permission. You can’t seem to remember that I am in control in Lanconia.” He was walking so fast she had trouble keeping up with him.
“Uh-huh. You’re so much in control that someone wants you dead.”
“Here!” she said, stopping at a pair of carved walnut doors. There were two Royal Guardsmen standing on either side of the doors, their backs rigid, their eyes straight ahead. With a precise movement, they opened the doors and Aria sailed through without missing a step. J.T. looked at the two guards for a moment. “Thanks,” he said, and went into the office.
Four men were on their feet instantly and it was easy to see that they were unaccustomed to visits from Her Royal Highn
ess. They mumbled greetings and tried to hide dirty coffee cups.
J.T. stepped forward. He was going to drown in all the “Your Highnesses” going around the room. “I have been hired by the king to look at the economy of Lanconia and I’m starting with the palace accounts.”
The four men of the treasury dropped their jaws. The oldest man’s eyes bugged.
Aria stepped forward and said in a cajoling voice, “He is an American and he has been sent here by the king. Perhaps you could show us the household accounts and leave us.”
The men didn’t say a word as they put the books on one of the four desks in the room then left.
“You aren’t helping America’s image,” Aria spat at J.T.
“I want to have the reputation of being an SOB. Maybe it’ll put a little fear in somebody.”
“All right, you have your books so I’ll go now. Julian and I—”