Princess Dottie

Chapter Eight

Two cars left the palace for the parliament building. In the second was Aunt Liz and another lady-in-waiting. The leading vehicle was a black limousine that had been specially constructed for the purpose of transporting a monarch. The entire rear was one huge window made of bulletproof glass, so that the sovereign should be easily visible.

Dottie sat there by herself. Randolph had chosen to sit in the front, beside the chauffeur, and by now she was sufficiently attuned to protocol to understand that this detail was significant. On this important day her people would see her alone.

She couldn't know that Randolph had another reason. He sat apart from her because he needed time to sort out the turmoil of his feelings.

Dottie's harsh judgment of him had briefly been right. He'd left the palace in a mood of bitterness, and headed for his estate, meaning to stay there. Dottie's mistrust, her accusations that he'd acted from base motives, infuriated him, and the look on her face when she'd said “I can't bear to look at you,” had struck him like a blow. He'd put as much distance between them as he could.

But he'd barely arrived at his country house when his more generous self reclaimed him. He'd brought her here, dumped her in the middle of a crisis and then abandoned her. And why? Because his pride was hurt. He, who'd always said that feelings didn't count beside his duty to his country, had done something so cruel.

He'd spent the night pacing the floor, and next day he'd returned to the palace, arriving just in time. He'd searched her face as he entered, for any sign that she was pleased to see him, but her manner had all the regal austerity that he'd tried to teach her. It should have been a triumphant moment.

Now they were entering Wolfenberg, drawing up before the parliament building, an elaborate edifice that looked incongruously like a wedding cake on the outside. But inside it was redolent of history. Tapestries, depicting battles, hung on the walls. Statues of monarchs stood gloomily in niches. Red tiles streamed across the floors.

In a small chamber that led directly to the cabinet room Randolph said to Dottie, “Would you oblige me by waiting here a moment, while I go in first, to make sure everything is in order for you?”

She nodded and he strode into the next room. The ministers were already in place, and they greeted him with relief.

“If you're going to direct proceedings, sir, we'll all be very relieved,” Sternheim announced. He was one of the few who hadn't warmed to Dottie.

“I'm not,” Randolph announced flatly. “And you must put any such thought out of your head.”

There was a universal groan.

“A woman,” Sternheim said. “And a stupid, ignorant foreigner at that.”

“Keep your voice down,” Randolph snapped. “That is exactly the kind of attitude I came to warn you about.”

“Be assured we shall observe all proper respect,” Durmand said soothingly.

“I meant more than that,” Randolph told him. “Let me tell you something about your crown princess. She might be naive but she isn't stupid, especially about people. Don't ever make the mistake of underestimating her, because she'll pounce on any slip you make like a ferret up a drainpipe.”

Sternheim was aghast. “Like a what?”

“Never mind,” Randolph said hastily. He didn't know what had made him say that, except that Dottie's rich language had come back to him suddenly, and it was catching.

Next door Dottie walked up and down, increasingly nervous at the delay. Aunt Liz had opened the door a crack and was shamelessly eavesdropping.

Dottie couldn't bring herself to do the same but “stupid, ignorant foreigner” reached her clearly.

“If he just went in there to stir them up he needn't have bothered,” she muttered.

“Of course not,” Aunt Liz said. “He's trying to ensure that they show you respect.”

“Then he's doing a lousy job. And I'll fight my own battles,” she added illogically.

At last Randolph returned, to lead her into the cabinet room. It was lined with bookshelves weighed down by learned-looking tomes. In the center was a heavy table, large enough to seat fourteen people. Randolph led her to her seat, and when he had solemnly presented her he stepped back and to the side, moving his chair to where she could just see him out of the corner of her eye.

Durmand gave a speech of welcome, then he courteously asked if she had anything to say to her ministers.

“Yes,” she said. “I have. Please sit.”

When they were all seated she felt horribly exposed, the only one on her feet. Until today it had been a kind of game. Suddenly it was for real.

“I think none of us really expected this moment to come,” she said in a voice that surprised her by being steady. “I thought you would find somebody more suitable, and you must certainly have hoped for it.”

Perceiving that their sovereign had made a witticism the ministers permitted themselves a few smiles.

“But here we are, and must make the best of each other,” she continued. “I know I can rely on your loyalty both to me, and to Elluria. And you can rely on my loyalty to my new country.”

That pleased them and she was able to smile as she seated herself, asking, “What do we do now?”

It seemed there were many matters requiring her attention. Since it was her prerogative to appoint the cabinet every minister resigned and was immediately reappointed.

“But I may wish to make a few changes later,” Dottie observed. “I notice that there are no women here.”

“There are only six women in parliament,” Stern-heim noted caustically.

“And how many men?” Dottie wanted to know.

Sternheim gave a snort of impatience. “I don't recall the precise figure.”

“But you're my chancellor. If such a simple sum is beyond you, perhaps I should think again.”

There were smothered smiles. Sternheim snapped. “Eighty-two.”

“And only six women? Well, there'll be time for me to put that right.”

Bernhard Enderlin, minister of the Interior, coughed gently. “Strictly speaking, ma'am, that's my province.”

“Certainly it is,” Dottie agreed warmly. “I look forward to discussing it with you. Shall we say sometime next week? That will give you time to work out your plan. How lucky that I'm here.”

“I see that you believe in taking the bull by the horns, ma'am,” Enderlin said, accepting defeat with grace.

“Otherwise known as being a steamroller,” Dottie murmured. “Is there any other business?”

“The Korburg ambassador is agitating for his master to be invited for a private visit,” Enderlin said. “It hardly seems advisable in the circumstances.”

“I disagree,” Dottie said at once. “Do you want him to think you're so unsure of me that you're hiding me from him? Nothing could be more dangerous. Never mind a private visit. Let's invite him for a state visit.”

There was consternation around the table.

“The more fuss the better,” Dottie rattled on be fore anyone could speak. “Let him see that the throne of Elluria is occupied. That'll teach him.”

Consternation changed to smiles as her meaning got through, and there were murmurs of approval.

“Bull by the horns, gentlemen,” Dottie said. “Boldness is best. Harold and I can get a good look at each other. He'll spit feathers, I'll say 'Get knotted!' and that will be that. All right, don't faint any of you. I'll just smile sweetly and do my stuff.”

Everyone sighed with relief. Durmand, seeming to feel that the sooner the meeting ended the better for everyone's nerves, murmured, “In that case…”

“One moment,” Dottie stopped him. “I have another appointment to make. You all know how unprepared I am for all this. Some people think I'm no more than a 'stupid, ignorant foreigner.”' She waited for the nervous frisson to die down. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Randolph give a faint smile. “Maybe I am, but it's not all I am, and to prove that I need help. Nobody can help me better than Prince Randolph, which is why,” she took a deep breath, “I'm asking him to be my confidential, private secretary.”

There were smiles of pleasure and relief. Dottie turned to Randolph, expecting to see approval, perhaps even a smile, but at once she knew she'd misread him. Of everyone in the room, he alone was not pleased, although good manners prevented him from saying so. He inclined his head and murmured something about wishing only to serve her, but his heart wasn't in it.

On the journey home he joined her in the back, shutting the partition so that they could speak privately.

“You had no right to do that without consulting me first,” he growled.

“I only thought of it at the last minute. Besides, it's perfect. You can keep me from making mistakes.”

“Like the one you just made?”

“I'm sorry for the way I did it, but that's all.”

“Then let me give you my first piece of advice as your confidential, private secretary. Don't ever, ever take me by surprise again.”

His reaction gave her a sense of disappointment that cut sharply and made her snap back, “I'm the crown princess. I can do anything I like.”

“Not anything.”

“Yes, anything. If you don't believe me, read the constitution. And if you say another word I'll declare a state of emergency.”

That silenced him. They spoke little on the way back to the palace, and Dottie had supper alone, feeling let down. She confided in Aunt Liz, and was surprised when the older woman seemed troubled.

“You don't think I did the right thing?”

“It depends what you were trying to tell people,” Aunt Liz said cautiously. “Naturally you need Randolph at your side, but people were thinking… That is they hoped-”

“That I would marry him? Suppose I don't want to?”

“Then the sensible option is to keep him by you as a servant. Which is what you've done.”

Dottie's hand flew to her mouth in horror. “A servant? Oh no! That's not what I meant at all. I meant to honor him.”

“You think he's honored to be a secretary? A royal prince? Not that he's a royal prince now. Or any kind of prince.”

“What is he then?” Dottie asked curiously. “Surely he has some other titles?”

“He lost all his titles since he was illegitimate.”

“What, everything? And what about his estate? I know he still has that.”

“That was a personal gift from his father years ago, so it's safe. But it's all he has now, and it's a very small place. Just a retreat, really.” She considered Dottie before saying casually, “Of course, you could always make him a prince again. Not a royal prince, and it wouldn't make him legitimate, but you could give him a courtesy title that would make his life a lot easier.”

“Did he ask you to suggest that?”

“Oh my dear, if you haven't understood that he'd go to the stake rather than ask, even indirectly, then you haven't begun to understand him.”

“No, I suppose I don't understand him. But he doesn't want me to, I understand that much. He'd see it as a sort of invasion. Oh heavens! I've done it all wrong. I'm always going to do everything wrong. Why didn't I think? Because I never think. I'm an idiot, a clown. I have no right to be here. Oh damn!”

Of the twelve candidates to be her ladies-in-waiting, the only one Dottie knew was Jeanie, Countess Batz, whom she'd met when they'd all gone to the nightclub. The others had briefly passed before her and been lost in a blur. Dottie immediately picked her.

“A good choice as a lady-in-waiting,” Aunt Liz enthused, “although perhaps a little young to be your chief lady.”

“I suppose I'll see more of the chief lady than the others?”

“Certainly.”

“Then I'll have Jeanie. I like her. Besides, her English is perfect.”

“They all speak perfect English,” Randolph remarked from a nearby table, where he was making notes. He didn't raise his head or look at her.

“I want Jeanie,” Dottie said stubbornly.

“As Your Royal Highness commands,” Aunt Liz agreed.

“Oh, don't give me that,” Dottie said crisply. “I did exactly what the two of you meant me to do. I'll bet you put your heads together and said, 'How can we make her choose Jeanie for chief lady? Oh yes, tell her Jeanie's unsuitable and watch her take the bait.' You were like a pair of sheepdogs corralling me into the pen.”

They were both looking at her now. She looked back, not defiantly but evenly, like a businesswoman setting out her terms. “Okay, it worked. Just don't kid yourself that I didn't see it happening. I may be ditzy but I'm not daft.”

“Of course you're not,” Liz enthused. “That's just what Randolph told your ministers. 'Like a ferret up a drainpipe,' he said.”

“Did he indeed?” Dottie murmured. “How interesting. It seems I'm not the only one learning things.”

Randolph gathered his papers and prepared to depart, but paused beside her first to murmur, “Well done, ma'am. You're getting good at the game.”

“You mean the game of never trusting anyone?”

she murmured back. “Yes, I was sorry to learn that one, but I manage better now that I have.”

She met Randolph's eyes. His fell first. These days it seemed that every conversation between them ended in some awkwardness. The gap between them yawned, unbridgeable, heartbreaking.

But Dottie was getting good at the nuances of court life. When she made her next move it was carefully planned.

She had just taken part in her first investiture. In front of a small audience twenty people came before her, bent one leg onto a small stool so that they were half-kneeling, and just the right height for her to pin on a medal, or bestow a title.

Randolph stood beside her, telling her who each one was, and how they had deserved honor, and when it was over and they were walking back to her apartments, she said casually, “Harold will be here soon. I'm working hard to learn everything I need to know, but I'm still floundering. Never mind. You'll be there to look after me all the time, won't you?”

“I'm afraid not,” he said.

“But why?” she asked in apparent surprise, although she already knew the answer.

“Because I'm only your secretary, and you can't keep me by you on state occasions. Naturally I'll help you behind the scenes-”

“No good. I want you 'on stage' with me.”

“That honor belongs to someone from a titled family. This is a very old-fashioned court, still. Tradition prevails. Only those of the highest rank may attend the monarch in public.”

“Then the solution's easy. I just restore your titles. Plus all,” she began to quote frantically before she could forget, “appurtenances and privileges theretofore, not withstanding, herinafter, thingywhatsit and howsyourfather.”

His lips twitched. “You've been doing your homework very well.”

“And landed estates,” she finished triumphantly.

“No, that you can't do. They are crown heritage and must belong to you. But the rest-” he broke off, sorely tempted.

Then he remembered the ceremony he'd just witnessed. He thought of kneeling before her; he who'd kneeled to nobody in his life, and his pride revolted. He was about to tell her stiffly that he would prefer not to receive her charity, but he saw her watching him anxiously, and realized how hard she'd worked to make this easy for him. His heart softened.

“Thank you, ma'am,” he said gravely. “It's a kind offer, and I accept.”

Her smile of relief told him how nervous she'd been of his reaction, and he was shocked at himself. He couldn't match her generosity. He could only pretend to and hope she didn't suspect.

She arranged the ceremony so quickly that he guessed she'd had everything planned. There was a small crowd, a few of the highest ranking families, the women in evening gowns and jewels, the men ablaze with decorations. Dottie was glittering with diamonds from the crown jewels, retrieved from the bank that morning under armed guard.

Randolph himself was in full dress uniform and Dottie, watching him walk toward her, thought he'd never looked so splendid. She knew this must be painful for him, but if only he would smile at her they could share the moment and turn the pain aside.

But he gave her no smile. His face remained stern and set as he neared the steps that led up to the throne, beside which she was standing. He climbed the steps, his eyes searching for the stool on which he must bend the knee.

It wasn't there.

His eyes met hers, registering his surprise that this detail had been forgotten. Then he saw her smile, saw her shake her head slightly and understood that this was no accident. The next moment she confirmed it, reaching out her hand to draw him to stand at her side.

She began to read from the letters patent that returned his status. Inwardly Randolph flinched, waiting for the words, “our loyal and most devoted servant.” It was foolish to be so troubled by a few words, after what he'd already endured, but every pinprick seemed to pierce him twice now.

She was nearly there. As if from a distance he heard Dottie say, “our loyal and most devoted cousin and friend…”

A frisson went around the crowd. She'd departed from the traditional words of the letters patent, words that had been carved in stone for centuries. She'd simply dumped them to spare the feelings of the man beside her. Randolph stared at Dottie, shock warring with gratitude.

Next moment she had another shock for him. Refusing to let him kiss her hand she reached up and kissed his cheek. Then she took his hand and gestured to the applauding crowd, presenting him to them, inviting them to share her pleasure.

Randolph was aware of a dangerous ache in his throat. It mustn't happen. He had to speak. Somehow he managed it. The discipline held, the words came out, meaningless because all he was aware of was Dottie's hand still holding his.

It was over. He turned, went down the steps and walked away. But before he did so he tightened his hand on hers and felt the answering grasp of her fingers. They felt so small against his big hand, but their grip was surprisingly strong.

That was how they communicated these days; through public gestures filled with unspoken emotion, while their private conversations were awkward and uneasy.

Everyone agreed that inviting Harold for a state visit had been a brilliant idea, but it resulted in Dottie needing a crash course in “royal” behavior.

She, who'd never been to a formal dinner in her life, must become familiar with a whole array of cutlery, wineglasses, finger bowls. That was the easy part. It was the conversation that drove her distracted.

“Can't I just smile and say, 'My, how interesting'?” she begged.

“Certainly,” Jeanie agreed. She'd entered into her new duties, and her youth and fun-loving nature were just what Dottie needed.

“You can say, 'My how interesting' when you're visiting a hospital or meeting a line of actors after the theater,” she explained now. “But in a longer conversation it's not enough. You have to introduce a new topic now and then.”

“But why can't other people do that?” Dottie demanded distractedly. “Then I could just float with the tide, and say 'My, how interesting!' at short intervals.”

“Because only you can change the subject.”

“What?”

“Nobody but you can introduce a new topic. If the sovereign wants to discuss one-legged spiders all night then that's what everyone has to do.”

“I'm outta here.”

“Now don't panic.”

“Panic? I'm in a state of stark terror. You're all crazy.”

The other thing she had trouble with was the royal “we.”

“You're not just one person,” Randolph explained. “You represent the state. In fact, you are the state. So you're speaking for both of you.”

“Both of who?”

“You and the state.”

“But you just said I was the state. So that's just one of us, isn't it?”

“In a sense. But you are you and the state is the state.”

“Except that I'm the state, and the state is me.”

To her surprise he beamed. “Excellent Dottie. Louis XIV expressed it in those very words. L'etat c'est moi!”

“Why didn't he speak English?”

“Because he was French.”

She tore her hair. “How did he get into this conversation?”

“Because you used the very same words, thus proving that you really do belong in the great line-up of rulers. Just remember, you use the royal 'we' to indicate that you speak for your country as well.”

“But I'll sound daft saying, 'We would like another slice of toast.' I'll probably end up with two.”

Randolph closed his eyes. “It's only for use in public,” he said with difficulty. “'We are delighted to declare that…' or 'It is our wish that…' And so on.”

“Okay, I'll try to get the hang of it. Now, would you mind going because it's late and we would like to do our toenails before we go to bed?”

In between learning the proprieties, she interested herself in politics in a way that set her ministers' nerves jangling. At the earliest possible date she carried out her threat to summon Enderlin to discuss the low number of women in parliament.

“There really is nothing to be done about it,” he protested. “Women aren't applying to stand for seats.”

“But they might if the hours weren't so long,” said Dottie, who'd been studying hard. “If you reorganized the debates so that the votes were at a reasonable hour I think the women would come forward.” After a moment's thought she mused, “With a little encouragement.”

Enderlin turned a hunted look on Randolph who was sitting to one side, but he seemed preoccupied with his notes.

“Do I understand that you intend to provide the encouragement, ma'am?” Enderlin asked faintly.

“Could be.”

“Might I suggest that these interventions would be more appropriate when you've been here a little longer?”

“You mean when the election's over?” Dottie asked mischievously. “I did know that there was one due in a year. I want things done before that.”

He made one last effort. “Such matters take time-”

“Not if you have the power of decree,” Dottie reminded him mischievously. “We'll have to move fast if we're to get things changed before then, but I know I can leave that to you. Randolph is always telling me how efficient you are.”

When Enderlin had bowed himself out Randolph said grimly, “Do you mind leaving me out of your assaults on the executive? I value my skin.”

“Coward.”

“Yes, I am a coward,” he said after a moment. “More than you know, ma'am.”

“Don't call me that.”

“It is appropriate.”

“I mean when we're alone. I'm still Dottie.” There was almost a plea in her words.

“No,” he said at last. “Dottie has gone a long way away, and how can I complain? It was I who sent her away.”

He walked out without the usual punctilious request for permission, leaving her wanting to burst into tears. Or throw something. Either one would have been better than the ache she felt all the time nowadays, and which she'd soon realized had nothing to do with the loss of Mike. It was the loss of Randolph that hurt.

It had been building up since that night in London when he'd whisked her away from her ordinary life, thrown magic into the air so that it dazzled her as it fell, and then…

“And then he made me fall in love with him,” she mused. “Dirty, rotten swine!”

Her feelings for him had always been there, from the first evening. No, from the first moment when she'd seen him in the café and known that he was unlike all other men. He was thrilling and dangerous, and he'd aroused her senses as Mike never had. She'd called him a magician, too ignorant and unsuspecting to know that the spell he cast was the oldest one in the world.

She would have seen the truth earlier if there hadn't been so many things in the way. But she saw it now, and it made her so angry with him that sometimes she could hardly bear to be with him. But when she wasn't with him it was worse.

Most painful of all was the knowledge that she could marry him tomorrow. A man as shrewd and subtle as Randolph would know the right words to convince her, because she longed to be convinced. Just let him once guess her feelings for him, and she would be lost. They would embark on a marriage of love on her side and duty on his. And in no time at all she would hate him.

Sophie had left the palace now and was living at the Bekendorf family mansion in Wolfenberg, at which, it was rumored, a stream of gifts arrived each day from Korburg. But she still had the freedom of the palace park, and arrived there most mornings for a ride.

Sometimes Randolph joined her, for it suited his pride to have the world see that they were still on good terms. And Sophie, still doing a hopeful juggling act, always welcomed him warmly.

One morning when he didn't appear she went to seek him out in his office. Strictly speaking she should have been properly announced before walking in on the crown princess's private secretary while he was reading the royal correspondence. But while So phie stuck rigidly to protocol for others, she blithely ignored it to suit herself.

“My dear,” Randolph said, rising to kiss her cheek. “It's good to see you looking so well.”

She was at her best, blazing with life and health, and elegant in her riding habit. She kissed him back, cheekily, on the mouth, lingering just a moment too long, so that he gently disengaged himself.

“Prince Harold would not approve,” he said lightly.

She shrugged. “Oh, nothing's settled. But he'll be here soon.”

“Sophie be careful,” he said, meaning only to be kind. “Harold is a cold, unscrupulous man. He won't treat you well if it suits him not to.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean he may be after bigger fish. He still wants the throne of Elluria.”

“As do you,” she said with a brittle laugh. “You'd better marry the silly creature quickly before she realizes what you're really after.”

“Don't talk like that,” he said in a voice he'd never used to her before. “I forbid you ever to mention the subject again. It's an insult to her and an insult to me.”

Sophie shrugged, not disconcerted, as Dottie would have been, by the bleak winter that had come over Randolph. She'd miscalculated, but she would recover. She perched on a corner of his desk and glanced over the letters there. Randolph didn't notice, being occupied in arranging coffee for her, to atone for his ill temper. By the time he dismissed the servant and looked back into the room Sophie was tearing open a small packet.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. “You can't open her letters.”

“Why not? It's from England. You couldn't have given it to her anyway. It's probably from her lover. Read it and throw it away.”

Examining the wrapping Randolph saw, with a sinking heart, that it was postmarked Wenford.

Sophie gave a shriek of laughter. “Listen to this…'Dottie, love-”'

“Give me that,” Randolph snapped, tearing it from her hands. “How the devil am I going to explain to her that it's been opened?”

“I thought it was your job.”

“Not her private letters.”

“She shouldn't be getting private letters from her lover. Just don't give it to her.”

“I shall give it to her, because I won't betray her trust.”

“She wouldn't know.”

“She would if you grew careless and-shall we say?-let it slip.”

“Me? Do such a thing?”

“I'm not sure, but I'm beginning to realize that I never really knew you Sophie.” He gave her a level gaze that would have alarmed a more perceptive woman. “Perhaps you and Harold will go well together after all.”

She smiled. “Don't you think I'll make a splendid Princess Consort?”

“Only for him. Not for me. I don't think you should come here again.”

There was no mistaking his meaning. Sophie scowled, understanding that this game, at least, was lost.

“I'll leave you then,” she snapped, snatching up her riding hat and marching out so forcefully that the servant, bringing coffee, was forced to flatten himself against the doorjamb.