Page 2 of His Unforgettable Bride (Bride Ships: New Voyages #4)

Two

No accomplishment within the scope of human knowledge is so beautiful in all its features as that of epistolary correspondence.

Saturday

Y our brother is dead.

Henry Graighton drew a trembling breath, dropping his mother’s epistle into his lap after reading the first sentence. “Dead.” Such an empty, hollow word.

“Who?” Henry’s valet and lifelong friend, Dobbin, closed the wooden wardrobe’s door inside the Victoria Hotel.

“Sutton.” It was easy for Henry to picture his older brother, almost like gazing in a mirror. Blessed with sturdy frames, they both had to duck through doorways. Their brown, wavy hair often misbehaved. Sutton’s dark brown eyes duplicated their father’s, and Henry’s matched their mother’s light brown hue.

“I am incredibly sorry.” The window behind Dobbin revealed a gray, early evening sky. The faint light also highlighted the young man’s posture, straight as a steeple. His blond hair was neatly combed, and his suit was impeccable as always.

“He was too young to die.” At twenty-three, Sutton was only a year older than him. “He was not supposed to perish, especially before…” Henry could not finish the sentence aloud. But the ending echoed in his heart—they forgave each other.

But honestly, how long would that have taken?

Henry’s heart swelled and pressed against his rib cage. From where he sat in a wing chair, mere feet from the hissing fire in his elegant room, he focused on his breaths, striving to keep them steady.

A couple of hours ago, the royal ship had arrived in Esquimalt Bay, where patchy hints of fog had settled over the water. There, his entourage transferred onto a smaller vessel to reach Victoria. Most everyone had already settled into their rooms in the establishment.

Mother’s waiting letter was not the greeting to the island he had anticipated. According to the hotel proprietor, the correspondence had arrived several weeks ago, which meant the news was old.

He could admit that he had fallen behind on the itinerary his parents had meticulously honed for his one-year worldwide sojourn. Because of the interesting people he had met, he had extended their stay in San Francisco an extra week. But had he not done the same in Portugal, Morocco, and Chile?

His parents’ goal, and the purpose of the trip, was for Henry to grow up and settle down. Or, in his father’s words, “Stop your irresponsible pursuits.”

But obviously, he hadn’t done that yet.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Dobbin asked.

“No, do as you wish. However, I beg you to play the role of friend tonight and nothing more.”

“Certainly.” Dobbin sank into the plush matching chair on the other side of the fireplace. “What happened to Sutton, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Of course not. I was about to learn that myself.” Henry retrieved the letter from his lap and read aloud,

“Your brother left this earth during the night after suffering from pneumonia. He disregarded the seriousness of his ailment until it grew too dire to ignore. How unlike him not to heed the royal physician’s advice.”

The stationery crinkled as Henry's fist tightened. "Sutton displayed his stubborn side every day of the week, but how dare he jeopardize his health? Risk our country's welfare?" Henry shook his head. "More than once, I heard him claim he led a charmed life."

"Perhaps an accurate statement until recently."

Henry smoothed the crease with his finger. "Mother also writes ...

“You shall soon receive an official notification from the palace, but I wanted you to learn the news from me first. The King is beside himself. Naturally, we are all devastated. It is a loss, but we understand God numbers our days according to His plans.

“Son, I am confident this letter cuts deeply even though you have worked hard to carve the distance between you and your brother.”

Had he? His mind wandered back to a day when he was eight. “Do you recall when we raced ponies with Faith as children?” She was not only a family friend but also Sutton’s eventual fiancée.

“I do, and if I remember correctly, we were beyond weary of her boasts about her superior equestrienne skills. Then you challenged her in an open meadow.”

“How better to discover if she told the truth?”

Dobbin nodded.

Sutton, a well-known tattler, attempted to dissuade the match, threatening to tell the King. Henry called his bluff, and the contest began in earnest. “I led the entire distance from oak tree to oak tree—just as we expected.”

“Indeed, you did.”

Then Henry had twisted back around after crossing the finish line, probably grinning like a joker. He had spotted Faith lying in the grass with Sutton at her side. Later, they discovered she had broken her leg. “That was the first time Sutton yelled he would never forgive me for what I had done.”

“Even back then, he’d loved the girl.”

Henry nodded. He and his brother shared the blame for their frequent feuds over the years. The more spirited of the two, Henry knew how to provoke his sibling and purposefully needled him. Eventually, their thorny relationship grew even pricklier.

And now, no more opportunities to make amends.

He raised the letter again but read silently.

If you are reading between the lines, and I assume you are???—the wisest of my wonderful children?—it is time to accept your duties and reorder your plans. I am sorry to clip your wings, though I bid you to return home posthaste. My dear heart, you are now the next in line to the Bascandy throne.

Henry’s stomach muscles clenched as if primed to receive a punch. Of course, he had reached that conclusion himself, but seeing the written words stirred something soul-shaking inside him. He had always wished for an ordinary existence—no pressing appointments regarding the monarchy, no expectations to lead a life of duty, and no pressure to be anyone but himself.

Such a wish was selfish, unkinglike, and nothing but a fairy tale.

He pictured his homeland—a small sovereign country off the coast of France, with English as the official language. The monarchy held weight in Bascandy, but a prime minister led a parliamentary government. Long ago, larger nations attempted to conquer their small island. Yet Bascandy had persevered, held firm, and earned respect worldwide.

“Do you wager peace will continue to govern once I rule, or shall I ruin the streak?”

“When it’s your turn, you will be as strong of a leader as your father.”

Henry scoffed. “You, my friend, are incredibly biased. According to him, I am too carefree. Too playful. Too irresponsible. All true, I suppose.”

“I disagree, though you are far different than Sutton.”

Sutton had always been disagreeable toward Henry, but over the years, they had learned to cope with one another. But then, on Henry’s tenth birthday, the King brashly suggested that he strive to be more like his older and more responsible brother.

Father’s harsh comment had built resentment inside Henry, festering over the years so that all Henry desired was to be the opposite of his brother. If Sutton announced he loved peas, Henry proclaimed he hated them. Sutton adored fencing, so Henry convinced himself he loathed the sport. Almost since birth, his brother only had eyes for one female, which convinced Henry not to rush finding a marriage partner.

“You have the makings of a wonderful king,” Dobbin spoke quietly and with assurance. “You’re admittedly headstrong, yet decisive, brave, and willing to learn. Once you return home, your father will teach you everything you need to know.”

Henry sighed and picked up where he left off with his mother’s letter.

It is time to face the facts. You must now wed Faith since Sutton cannot. I have no doubt you shall both accept the new plan in time. Your father believes the match is for the best.

Although an advantageous pairing based on wealth and connections, the King did not need to increase his riches or standing. He primarily desired to join families with his oldest and most loyal friend, Faith’s father. “I cannot.”

Dobbin leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “Can’t what?”

“Marry Faith, who will undoubtedly love Sutton forever. I shall never measure up to my brother in her eyes either.”

Besides, Henry had always hoped to wed for love. Among all the things he would have to give up, he did not wish to abandon that dream.

He read the letter’s closing and lowered the stationery embossed with the royal seal to his lap before pinching the bridge of his nose. A stack of additional correspondence sat unopened on the pedestal table beside him. But reading through them would have to wait. He needed time to absorb the news of Sutton’s death before doing anything else.

The room’s heat suddenly stifled him, and he longed for cool air.

He stood, folded the letter, and tucked it inside his trouser pocket.

Dobbin’s brow rose as he stood. “Are you fine, Henry?”

Of course not. How could he be? “I desire to step outside. Perhaps it shall clear my head.”

“I’ll join you.” Dobbin moved to the door, his hand on the latch.

As much as Henry wanted—needed—to be alone, it would be a royal sin, or at least dangerous, for him to wander by himself. At home, a bodyguard or a soldier always accompanied him. But during the trip, he had grown somewhat sloppy about the protection because most people he met did not know his identity as a prince, which was precisely what Henry wanted. The royal ship was unmarked for a reason.

His security would intensify with the announcement of his new royal status. A dreadful thought.

Dobbin’s kind eyes radiated with sympathy. “We both know my mother would box my ears if I failed to care for you properly.”

Henry forced a smile, picturing the cook, a small yet formidable woman with a penchant for correcting her son. Despite her firm hand, Henry held a soft spot for the cook who had given birth to Dobbin on the same day as Henry was born on the same property. Except one birth had occurred in the palace and the other in the head gardener’s cottage.

While Henry studied history at Oxford, Dobbin learned at the knee of Sutton’s valet. Balancing the dual roles of servant and closest confidant had sometimes proven difficult for Dobbin. But they had made strides since leaving Bascandy in May, followed by Henry’s best six months of life.

He donned his evening coat and top hat, pulling the brim low as Dobbin opened the dark-paneled door. They entered the empty, dimly lit hallway and closed the door in their wake. Soon, they descended the staircase. Wall sconces lit the thick banister and the rich, dark mahogany woodwork prevalent in the hotel.

A few guests milled in the lavish lobby, which boasted decorative pillars, groupings of plush chairs, and a shiny wooden floor. Avoiding eye contact with anyone, Henry quietly moved toward the exit and strode outside.

On the cusp of dusk, Henry led the way toward the shoreline to reach a sandy path, leading away from Victoria. Dobbin dutifully followed behind in silence. Patches of heavy, misty clouds shrouded the water, waves rolling in the wind. Nearby but hidden, a seagull cried into the night.

A stand of fir trees and the ocean lined their walkway with waves crashing against the shore. The fresh air and intermittent raindrops soothed his still-warm face as he stepped over a dead fish in their path. The sharp scent of seaweed was unmissable as they wandered farther from the city.

A sense of loneliness stirred inside him for the first time in a long while. Yet, the scattered fog held a soothing quality. “I desire a couple of minutes alone. Perhaps I shall sit on that flat stone overcropping the water and reread Mother’s letter.”

Dobbin bowed. “I’ll wait here until you’re ready to depart.”

Henry tugged Mother’s letter from his pocket and advanced toward his destination. Had he missed anything in the first pass? He climbed onto the hip-high stone and sat before unfolding the stationery and squinting at the words.

The wind gusted, slapping the waves against the shore, the spray inching closer. He read the message twice, then ran his thumb over the scar on his wrist. Minutes seeped away, and his thoughts jumbled until his fingers slowly curled around the letter, crumpling it into a ball. He squeezed with all his strength, then hurled the clump into the ocean. Almost immediately, the paper disappeared, and regret stabbed his chest.

The epistle connected him to home and his family, and he had carelessly tossed the link aside, much like his relationship with Sutton. With his chin raised, he asked, “Why, God? Why did You take my brother?”

“He ain’t going to answer if that’s what you think.”

The scratchy voice wasn’t Dobbin’s. Henry glanced over his shoulder to find two strangers cloaked in the fog and the fading evening.

Henry slid off the rock to the sandy beach. “May I help you?”

“You certainly can.” The man garbed in darker clothing lifted one notable accessory—a long-barreled weapon—and pointed it at Henry’s head.

Dobbin, a keen shot, always kept a revolver with him. Henry glanced toward his friend and winced. Dobbin was lying face down in the grass amongst the weeds.

Had the two men attacked his valet? Possibly killed him? Please, no.

His pulse spurted forward with dread, and he started toward his friend.

He made it only two steps before the man with the weapon thrust the barrel of the gun into Henry’s side. “Stop!”

Drawing a steadying breath, Henry turned slowly back around. “What do you want with me?”

The one without the gun, missing his front teeth, held a deadly glint in his eyes. “Our sister works at the Royal Hotel and says mail had piled up for Prince Henry Graighton. We believe he is you.”

Unbelievable, or at least unacceptable, behavior for a hotel employee. But then the welcoming committee before him—two men and at least one gun—were also highly objectionable.

“You see,” the toothless man continued, “a few of us been waiting on you for days, hatching a plan. You were to arrive before now. Then we heard your ship docked and tracked you to the fancy hotel. It was our lucky day when you slipped outside.”

Henry scanned the shoreline for an escape route. Could he outrun the duo? Could he hide in the fog or jump into the ocean and swim to safety?

The stranger waved the barrel of his weapon back and forth and stepped closer. “If you’re smart, you won’t try to escape. I never miss what I aim for.”

Perhaps the pair only intended to rob him. All Henry had on his person was his clothing. “Is it money you seek?”

Laughter rumbled from the toothless man’s chest. “Why else kidnap a prince for ransom?”

Kidnap? Not today, at least not without a fight.

He was a strong swimmer and could perhaps escape if he dove into the ocean and disappeared under the waves. It would be cold but not any more frigid than the North Sea, where he had learned to swim.

He took a step back. But before he broke away, the man with the long-barreled weapon swung it hard and slammed the butt against the side of Henry’s head.

Instantaneous, gut-wrenching pain swallowed Henry whole. He crumpled, then thudded into the sand, hitting his head.