Cordina's Crown Jewel

  She was a small woman with a lovely tumble of raven hair that provided an exquisite frame for her diamond-shaped face. Her eyes, a deep and bold blue, sparkled as she nudged Camilla toward the terrace wall.

  “Not enough time now,” she said in a voice that still carried a hint of her native Texas drawl, “but later I want to hear about your adventure. Every little detail.”

  “Mother’s already told you.”

  “Of course.” With a laugh, Eve kissed Camilla’s cheek. Gabriella had done more than tell her—she had enlisted Eve’s help in the matter of prying and poking. “But that’s secondhand information. I like going to the source.”

  “I’ve been waiting for Uncle Alex to call me out on the carpet.”

  Eve lifted an eyebrow. “That worries you?”

  “I hate upsetting him.”

  “If I worried about that, I’d spend my life biting my nails.” Lips pursed, Eve glanced at her perfect manicure. “Nope. He has to be what he is,” she added more soberly, and looked out to the sea that lay blue against the edges of her adopted country. “So much responsibility. He was born for it—and bred for it. As you’ve been, honey. But he trusts you—completely. And he’s very interested in your young man.”

  “He’s not my young man.”

  “Ah. Well.” She remembered, very well, when she’d tried to convince herself Alex, heir to Cordina, wasn’t hers. “Let’s say he’s interested in Lord Delaney’s work—and your interest in that work.”

  “Aunt Chris was a tremendous help,” Camilla added, glancing over toward Eve’s older sister. She wasn’t technically Camilla’s aunt, but their family was a very inclusive one.

  “Nothing she likes better than a good campaign. That comes from marrying the Gentleman from Texas. The senator was very pleased to discuss the Bardville Research Project with his associates in Florida.”

  “After Aunt Chris talked him into it, and I’m very grateful to her. She looks wonderful, by the way.”

  “Like a newlywed,” Eve agreed. “After five years of marriage. She always said she was holding out for the perfect man. I’m glad she found him. Whether it takes fifty years or five minutes,” she said, giving Camilla’s hand a quick squeeze, “when it’s right, you know it. And when you know it and you’re smart, you don’t take no for an answer. Something like that is worth fighting for. Well, back to work.”

  Camilla stopped by the tables, found a precious three minutes to speak with her young cousin Marissa. She watched her sister, Adrienne, sit and with apparently good cheer, talk with an elderly Italian countess who was deaf as a post.

  Hannah, her uncle Bennett’s wife, gestured her over to a shady table where she sat enjoying tea and scones with Del’s mother.

  “Lady Brigston and I have a number of mutual acquaintances,” Hannah explained. “I’ve been badgering her about her work, and now I’m dreaming about running off to dig for dinosaur bones.”

  There had been a time when, as a British agent, adventure had been Hannah’s lifework. But as a princess, and mother of two active sons, she’d traded one kind of adventure for another.

  As an agent, she’d had to deliberately downplay her looks and bury her love of fashion, now she could indulge them. Her dark blond hair was sleeked back in a twist. Her sleeveless tea dress showed off athletic arms and was the same vivid green as her eyes.

  “I’d like that myself.” Smiling, Camilla obeyed Hannah’s signal and sat. “Though I imagine it’s hard, tedious work. You must love it,” she said to Alice.

  “It’s what I always wanted to do—even as a child. Other girls collected dolls. I collected fossils.”

  “It’s so rewarding,” Camilla commented, “to know, always, what you want, and be able to work toward it.”

  “Indeed.” Alice inclined her head. “And tremendously exciting, I’d think, to discover an advocation along the way—and work toward it.”

  “Oh. Would you excuse me a moment?” Recognizing her cue, Hannah rose. “I need to speak with Mrs. Cartwright.” She exchanged a quick and telling look with Alice—and got out of the way.

  “Your family, if I may say so, Your Highness, is wonderful.”

  “Thank you. I agree with you.”

  “I’m, as a rule, more comfortable in the company of men. Simply don’t have much in common with females. So fussy about the oddest things, to my mind.”

  The hand she waved had nails that were short and unpainted. She wore only a simple gold band on her ring finger. “But I feel very much at home with your mother, your aunts,” she went on. “It’s no wonder I’m already so fond of you.”

  “Thank you,” Camilla said again, a little flustered. “That’s very kind.”

  “Are you very angry with my son?”

  “I—”

  “Not that I blame you,” Alice went on before Camilla could formulate a diplomatic answer. “He can be such a … what’s the word I’m looking for? Oh, yes. Bonehead. Such a bonehead. He gets it from his father, so he really can’t help it. He must’ve given you a terrible time.”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “No need to be tactful.” She patted Camilla’s hand. “It’s just we two, and I know my boy in and out. Terrible manners—partially my fault, I can’t deny it. I never was one to bother about the niceties. Outrageous temper—that’s his father’s—always booming around. Forgets why half the time after the explosion—which is annoying and frustrating to the other party. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes—” With a half laugh, Camilla shook her head. “Lady Brigston, you’re putting me in an awkward position. Let me say I admire your son’s work—his approach to it and his passion for it. On a personal level, we have what you might call a conflict in styles.”

  “You have been well raised, haven’t you?” Gabriella had warned her it wouldn’t be easy to chip through the composure. “Do you mind if I tell you a little story? There was once a young American girl, barely twenty-one with her college degree hot in her hand. She had a fire in her belly, one burning ambition. Paleontology. Most thought her mad,” she added with a twinkle. “After all what was a young woman doing fiddling around with dinosaur bones? She wheedled her way onto a dig—this particular dig because the man in charge was someone who’s work—his approach to it and his passion for it—she admired.”

  She paused, smiled and sipped her tea. “She read his books, read articles on or by him. He was, to her, a great hero. Imagine her reaction when he turned out to be this big, irritable, impatient man who barely acknowledged her existence—and then mostly to complain about it.”

  “He is like his father,” Camilla murmured.

  “Oh, the spitting image,” Alice acknowledged with some pride. “They sniped at each other, this rude man and this brash young woman. She did most of the sniping as he was so thickheaded most of her best shots just bounced off his skull. It was utterly infuriating.”

  “Yes,” Camilla said almost to herself. “Infuriating.”

  “He was fascinating. So brilliant, so handsome, so—apparently—disinterested in her. Though he began to soften, just a little, toward her as she was damn good at the work and had a sharp, seeking mind. Caine men admire a sharp, seeking mind.”

  “Apparently.”

  “She fell madly in love with him, and after getting over being annoyed with herself over that, she put that sharp mind to work. She pursued him, which flustered him. He found all manner of reasons why this shouldn’t be. He was fifteen years older, he didn’t have time for females and so on. She had a few quibbles herself. This Earl of Brigston business just didn’t fit into her Yankee system very well. It might have discouraged her, but she was stubborn—and she knew, in her heart, he had feelings for her. And since the title came with the man, and she wanted the man, she decided she could live with it. So what could she do but seduce him?”

  Because Alice looked at Camilla for agreement, Camilla nodded obediently. “Naturally.”

  “He stammered and stuttered and looked, for a delig
htful few moments, like a panicked horse caught in a stable fire. But she had her way with him. And three weeks later, they were married. It seems to be working out well,” she added with a little smile.

  “She was an admirable young woman.”

  “Yes, she was. And she gave birth to an admirable, if knotheaded son. Do you love him?”

  “Lady Brigston—”

  “Oh, please, call me Alice. I look at you, and I see a young woman, so bright, so fresh, so unhappy. I know my place, but I’m looking at Camilla, not Her Royal Highness.”

  “He sees the title, and forgets the woman who holds it.”

  “If you want him, don’t let him forget. You put flowers in his house,” she said, quietly now. “I never remember to do that sort of thing myself. You know he kept them, after you’d gone.”

  Tears swam into her eyes. “He just didn’t notice them.”

  “Yes. He did. Part of him wants to step away from you and bury himself in his work again. I imagine both of you—being strong, capable young people—will do very well if you go your separate ways. But I wonder what the two of you might do, might make, if you break through this barrier of pride and hurt and come together. Don’t you?”

  Yes, Camilla thought. Constantly. “I told him I loved him,” she murmured, “and he turned me away.”

  With a hiss of breath, Alice sat back. “What an ass. Well then, I have one piece of advice. Camilla. Make him crawl a little—it’ll be good for him—before he tells you the same. I have no doubt you can manage it.”

  * * *

  Del suffered through a formal, and to his mind interminable, dinner party. He was seated between the deaf Italian countess and Camilla’s sister, Adrienne. The single advantage was that Camilla’s father was seated well across the enormous dining room.

  It would, he decided, be more difficult for her dad to stab him with his dinner knife that way.

  By the time the main course was served, he’d reversed his initial impression of Adrienne as a vapid if ornamental girl. She was, he realized, simply an incredibly sweet-natured woman who was both blissfully happy and quietly charming.

  Her help with the countess saved his sanity. And when Adrienne glanced at him, a quick sparkle in her eyes, he saw some of Camilla’s sly humor.

  He found himself telling her about some of his work as she asked questions specifically designed to encourage it. It didn’t occur to him until later that her talent was in drawing people out.

  “No wonder Camilla’s so fascinated.” Adrienne smiled. She had, he’d noted, her mother’s soothing voice and her father’s sizzling blue eyes. “She always enjoyed puzzles—and that’s your work, really, isn’t it? A complex puzzle. I was never very good at them. Will you go back to Florida soon?”

  “Yes, very soon.” He shouldn’t be here at all, he told himself.

  “When my children are a bit older, we’ll take them there. To Disney World.” She looked across the table at her husband.

  It was that look he’d think of later as well. The sheer contentment in it. The look that had been missing from Camilla’s face, he thought, except for the briefest of times.

  It had been there. He remembered it being there, when she’d stretched out on the bank of his pond. Camilla Content, he’d called her. And then she’d been gone.

  Chapter 11

  For a princess she worked like a horse. It made it difficult for a man to manage five minutes alone with her to apologize.

  Del wasn’t sure exactly what he was apologizing for, but he was beginning to think she had one coming.

  Guilt—a taste he didn’t care for—had been stuck in his throat since he’d seen that tear run down her cheek. Adding to it were various members of her family who were so bloody friendly, or gracious—or both at the same time—he was beginning to feel like a jackass.

  Even her mother had cornered him. If that was an acceptable definition of being taken gently aside to be given a warm and graceful expression of her gratitude for opening his home to her daughter.

  “I know she’s a grown woman,” Gabriella said as she stood with him on a rise overlooking the gem-blue waters of the Mediterranean. “And a capable one. But I’m a mother, and we tend to worry.”

  “Yes, madam.” He agreed, though he’d never considered his mother much of a worrier.

  “I worried less when I knew she was with someone trustworthy and kind—who she obviously respected.” Gabriella continued to smile, even when he—quite visibly—winced. “I’d been concerned about her for some time.”

  “Concerned?”

  “She’d been working too hard for too long. Since the death of my father, and her own blossoming, you could say, there have been more demands on her time, her energies.”

  “Your daughter has considerable energy.”

  “Yes, as a rule. I’m afraid she’s been more exposed to the appetites of the media in the last year or two than anyone could be prepared for.”

  Could he understand? Gabriella wondered. Could anyone who hadn’t lived it? She hoped he could.

  “She’s lovely, as you know, and vibrant—as well as the oldest female of her generation of the family. The media’s pursuit of her has been voracious, and I’m afraid it cost her, emotionally. Even physically. I know what it’s like. I used to slip away myself. There are times the need to be away, even from something dear to your heart, is overwhelming. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes. I have Vermont.”

  Her face went soft, and bright. Yes, she thought, he could understand. “And I had my little farm. Until, I think, very recently, Camilla hadn’t found her place to be away. To be quiet, even if it was just inside her mind. Thank you.” She rose up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for helping her find it.”

  He might have felt lower, Del thought when they parted, if he crawled on his belly and left a slimy trail behind him.

  He had to talk to Camilla. Reasonably. Rationally. There were questions now, and he wanted them answered. It seemed only right a man should have some answers before he did that crawling.

  But every time he made some subtle inquiry about her, he was told she was in a meeting, taking an appointment, engaged with her personal assistant.

  He wanted to think all this meant manicures or shopping or whatnot, until Adrienne corrected him. “I’m sorry, were you looking for Camilla?”

  “No.” It felt awkward lying to that soft, pretty smile. “Not exactly, madam. I haven’t seen her this morning.”

  Adrienne cuddled her baby daughter. “She’s doing double duty, I’m afraid. My oldest isn’t feeling quite well, and I don’t like to leave him. She’s filling in for me at the hospital. I was scheduled to visit the pediatric ward, but with little Armand so fussy, I wanted to be close.”

  “Ah … I hope he’s all right.”

  “He’s napping now, and seems much better. I thought I’d bring the baby out for some sunshine before I went back up to check on him. But Camilla should be back in an hour. No,” she corrected. “She has an appointment with Mama regarding the Art Center afterward. I know she normally deals with correspondence midafternoon, though where she’ll find the time today is beyond me.”

  She kept the soft smile on her face and the delighted laughter inside. The poor man, she thought, was so frustrated. And so in love with her sister.

  “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “No. No, madam, thank you.”

  “I believe Dorian escaped down to the stables,” she said kindly. “Several of the guests are making use of the horses, if you’d like to join them.”

  He didn’t, but wished he had when he was summoned by Prince Alexander.

  “Lord Brigston, I hope you haven’t been neglected since your arrival.”

  “Not at all, Your Highness.”

  The office reflected the man, Del thought. Both were elegant, male and polished by tradition. The prince exuded power along with dignity. His hair was black as night and threaded with silver. His aristocratic face was hon
ed to sharp angles. Dark, his eyes were equally sharp and very direct.

  “Since the Princess Camilla has expressed such a keen interest, I’ve studied some of your work. My family’s interests,” he said in a tone smooth as a polished dagger, “are mine. Tell me more about this current project of yours.”

  Though he resented being made to feel like a student auditioning, Del obliged. He understood perfectly, and knew he was meant to understand, that he was being measured and judged.

  When, in twenty minutes, he was graciously dismissed, Del wasn’t certain if he’d passed the audition or if he should keep a wary eye out for the executioner.

  But he did know the back of his neck prickled as the image of an ax poised above it hovered in his mind.

  Any man, he decided, who considered—however remotely considered—becoming involved with a member of the royal family of Cordina needed his head examined. While it was still safely on his shoulders.

  Del had always considered himself perfectly sane.

  To stay that way, he decided to escape for a couple of hours. It wasn’t a simple matter. A man couldn’t just call a damn cab to come pick him up at the palace. There was procedure, protocol, policy. In the end, Camilla’s older brother Kristian casually offered him the use of a car—and a driver if he liked.

  Del took the car and skipped the driver.

  And came as close to falling in love with a place not his own as he’d ever in his life.

  There was something stunning about it—the tiny country on the sea. It made him think of jewels—old and precious ones passed down from generation to generation.

  The land rose in tiers of hills from the lap of the sea. Houses, pink and white and dull gold tumbled up and down those rises, jutted out on the promontory, as if they’d been carved there. Flowers—he’d been paying more attention to them since Camilla—grew in abundance and with such a free and casual air they added immense charm to the drama of rock and cliff. The fronds of regal palms fluttered in a constant balmy breeze.

  The sense of age appealed to him. Generation by generation, century by century, this small gem had survived and gleamed, and clung to its heart without giving way to the frenzied rush of urbanity, without exploiting its vast and staggering views with skyscrapers.

  He imagined it had changed here and there over time. No place remained the same, and that was the beauty of man. And when man had wisdom along with invention, he managed to find a way to preserve the heart while feeding the mind.

  The Bissets, who had ruled here for four centuries, had obviously been wise.

  He stopped on the drive back, along the winding, rising road, to study the place of princes. It was only just, he supposed, that the palace stood on the highest point. It faced the sea, its white stories rising from the cliff. It spread, even rambled with its battlements, its parapets and towers harking proudly back to another age. Another time.

  Wars, he thought, and royalty. Historic bedfellows.

  Even in modern times a small, ugly little war had been fought here. When he’d been a boy, a self-styled terrorist had attempted to assassinate members of the royal family. Camilla’s mother had been kidnapped. Her aunt, then simply Eve Hamilton, had been shot.

  He realized now that he hadn’t considered that, or how such a history so close to the heart could and did affect Camilla.

  Still, she hadn’t let it stop her from striking out on her own, alone, he thought now. It didn’t stop her from coming back here, to the castle on the hill, and taking up her family duties.

  The country, the family, was at peace now. But peace was a fragile thing.

  He imagined those who lived inside understood the palace had been built for defense. And his archaeologist’s eye could see how cagey the design. There could be no attack from the sea, no force that could breech the sheer rock walls of the cliffs. And the height, the hills made it all but impregnable.

  Its port made it rich.

  It had also been built for beauty. He considered the quest for beauty a very human need.

  Standing where he was, he wouldn’t have thought of it as a home, but only as a symbol. But he had been inside, beyond those iron gates. However powerful, or symbolic, or aesthetically potent, it was a home.

  Perhaps she lived a part of her life on a farm in Virginia, but this place, this palace, this country, was very much her home.

  It had to be obvious to both of them that it couldn’t be his.

  When he drove back through the gates, passed the bold red uniforms of the palace guards, a cloud of depression came with him.

  * * *

  “He’s in a horrible mood,” Alice confided to Gabriella when they stole five minutes in the music room. They huddled close, as conspirators should.