A Royal Kiss and Tell

Beck turned his attention to the procession. The king and queen were passing them now. Beck leaned toward her and whispered, “He’s a prince, Caro, and you are just an English girl. You’re indulging in fairy tales again. I can see it plainly on your face.”

Just an English girl? She very much would have liked to kick Beck like she used to do when she was just a wee English girl. “Better to dream in fairy tales than not dream at all.”

Beck rolled his eyes. He stood dispassionately as the archbishop and his altar boys followed the king and queen.

Just an English girl, indeed.

CHAPTER TWO

The newly married Duchess of Tannymeade is greatly admired by the citizens of Alucia, and indeed the world. Following the wedding ceremony, the couple was feted in a private ceremony by the duke’s family and specially invited guests, during which time the duchess was presented with wedding gifts, including a ruby necklace from Emperor Ferdinand I of Austria, a gold-plated and porcelain casket from Sultan Abdülmecid and the people of Turkey, and a pair of dancing horses from Prince Florestan I of Monaco. Our own Queen Victoria and Prince Albert have gifted the duke and duchess Crawley Hall, a country residence in Sussex, the keys to which were presented to the couple by the Right Honorable Lord Russell, who traveled to Helenamar in the queen’s stead.

The Duke and Duchess of Tannymeade were not the only ones to receive attention at the ceremony. Some observers noted a very close kin of the duke invested his considerable attentions on a Weslorian heiress rather than the newlyweds.

—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and

Domesticity for Ladies

THIS WEDDING WAS quite possibly the longest ceremony in the history of all mankind. Even a Greek bacchanal could not have lasted as long as this. The neckcloth around Prince Leopold’s neck felt too tight. The medals he wore as part of his formal attire seemed to be pulling oddly at the fabric, causing him to move his shoulder every so often to right his coat. What time had his guard, Kadro, rolled him into bed this morning? Four? It was all but a hazy memory now. It was not Leo’s fault, really. It had been a dare of some sort, to drink la fée verte, or the green fairy, as the Swedish ambassador had called it.

At the end of the newlyweds’ procession from the cathedral, they stepped into a small vestibule to sign the parish marriage registry. Leo, Mrs. Honeycutt and the archbishop followed them to witness. Leo watched his brother sign Sebastian Chartier

with the familiar thick and sure stroke of his pen. He realized he was tapping his finger against his pant leg with impatience as Eliza took the pen and signed next. Her hand was shaking, and she managed to leave a smear of ink under the broad, flourishing strokes that formed Eliza Tricklebank Chartier. As soon as she put down the pen, she and Mrs. Honeycutt clung to each other and laughed as if they were mad, Mrs. Honeycutt’s dark head pressed to Eliza’s fair one.

Sebastian and Leopold exchanged a look. Or rather, Leo looked at Bas, and then at the clock just over his brother’s shoulder. He didn’t want to be impolite, but his head was pounding and his mouth dry. For a fortnight, there had been ceremony after celebration after official event after reception. He’d attended them all, dutifully fulfilling his obligations as prince and best man and whatever else they wanted him to be, all the while drinking to numb his tedium. He chafed to be done with this, to be with friends.

Leo preferred a life far from Alucia, in England, with friends. Not this princely one where he was no use to anyone, a prop at one ceremony after another.

“You are to witness, Mrs. Honeycutt,” Leo said, to hurry things along, and he picked up the gold pen and handed it to her in case she was unclear what witnessing meant.