Page 120 of American Royals

The king reached for the decanter on a side table and poured bourbon into a pair of cut-glass tumblers. He handed one to Beatrice, who immediately took a sip. Liquid courage, right?

“What a night,” he mused, still buoyed by his good mood. “You looked so beautiful, Beatrice. So regal. I’m proud of you.”

The only way to spill the news was all at once, she thought, and steeled herself.

“Dad, I want to call off the engagement.”

The jubilant smile slid off his face. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t marry Teddy. I don’t love him.”

There was a sudden urgency to her words, as if she’d broken open a tap and now they were pouring out like water, faster than she could catch them. “I tried to fall in love with him, really. I knew how much it meant to you. But I can’t do it, Dad. Not even for you.”

The king nodded. “I understand,” he said, and the knot in Beatrice’s stomach began to loosen. This had been so much less arduous than she’d expected. She should have known her dad wouldn’t pressure her—

“We’ll push back the wedding. That gives you and Teddy more time to get to know each other,” her dad went on, oblivious to Beatrice’s dismay. “We haven’t announced a date anyway. We’ll tell the planning committee that you need another six months, slow down the pace. Maybe you and Teddy could take a trip—spend quality time together, away from the all the public appearances. I know my illness has put everything on a compressed schedule,” he added, his eyes downcast. “I’m sorry that I made you feel rushed.”

Beatrice’s hands clenched frantically in her lap. “The timing isn’t the problem, Dad. A year from now, I won’t want to marry Teddy any more than I do tonight.”

Anger flashed in the king’s eyes. “Did he do something to hurt you?”

“Of course not,” she said impatiently. “Teddy is great, but—”

“Then what is it?”

“I’ve fallen in love with someone else!”

“Oh,” her father breathed, as if all he could manage right now was the single syllable. Beatrice didn’t dare reply.

“Who is it?” he asked at last, in a wooden kind of shock.

“Connor Markham.”

“Your Revere Guard?”

“I know he’s not from your preapproved list of options,” Beatrice hurried to say. “That he isn’t a nobleman. But, Dad—I love him.”

The wind whistled and howled at the windowpanes. The fire hissed, sparks flying up as logs resettled. Beatrice reached for her glass, to take another nervous sip of the bourbon. It glowed a deep amber in the light of the fire.

“I’m sorry, Beatrice. But no,” the king said at last.

“No?” she repeated. Was that really his response—to flat-out deny her request, as if she were a child asking to stay up past her bedtime?

“Surely you see that it’s out of the question.” Her father paused, giving Beatrice time to nod in agreement. When she didn’t, he forged ahead. “Beatrice, you can’t break off your wedding with Teddy Eaton—who comes from one of the very best families in the country, who is smart and honorable and kind—because you’re in love with your Guard.”

She tried not to wince at the way he said one of the very best families in the country, as if that were something the centuries-old titles actually measured and ranked. “Connor is all of that, too, Dad. Smart and honorable and kind.”

“Teddy graduated with honors from Yale. Your Guard never went to college, barely even managed to complete high school!”

“You’re the one who always says that there’s more than one kind of smart!” Beatrice gritted her teeth. “I know there isn’t historical precedent for this, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

Her father didn’t answer right away. He clinked the ice in his glass, his eyes still fixed on the fire.

“Remember what your grandfather always used to say, about how the Crown divides you into two people: one public, the other private? That you are Beatrice the future queen and Beatrice the young woman, all at once?”

Beatrice twisted her engagement ring back and forth, sliding it off her finger and on again. She had a sudden urge to throw it across the room.

“I remember,” she answered.