Princess Dottie

Chapter Twelve

As the summer faded people looked anxiously at the sky and feared for the weather on coronation day. But the morning dawned pale and clear, with no clouds in the sky, and the promise of warmth to come. As she was picking at tea and toast, having no appetite for more, Dottie took a phone call from her head groom.

“With Your Majesty's permission I believe we could risk the open carriage.”

“I agree,” she said with relief.

As her ladies dressed her Aunt Liz remarked, “People would have been so disappointed not to see you properly.”

“Yes, it's really their day,” Dottie agreed, turning a little to survey the coronation gown in the long mirror. It was a magnificent creation in cream satin, embroidered with the four emblems of Elluria, each one studded with tiny diamonds. More diamonds were worked into the curve of the neckline, and in the long train that stretched behind her.

“What a day!” Aunt Liz enthused. “Who would have thought it would ever happen?”

“Nobody,” Dottie murmured, “because it shouldn't have.”

How could she tell anyone that her heart was heavy on what should have been her day of triumph? Who would ever understand that she was miserable at what today would do to the man she loved? This should have been Randolph's coronation. Instead he would hand her to the place that should have been his, and swear loyalty to her with her other subjects. And he would do it with a smile on his face.

That smile scared her, because he never told her of the pain that lay beneath it. It was kind, tender, understanding, and it shut her out. But surely, today of all days, he would give her a glimpse of his true feelings?

“Leave me for a moment,” she said suddenly.

Her ladies, who had been fussing about her, curtsied and withdrew. Dottie paced the floor, feeling a dozen years older than the unaware girl who'd arrived here six months ago. She stopped at the open French windows, looking out onto the park, where the colors of autumn were just being seen. This was the day when her future should stretch ahead, clear and triumphant. Instead it was shrouded in mist.

She turned at the sound of the door. It was Randolph, and she thought he had never looked more splendid.

“Are you quite ready?” he asked.

“I shall never be ready for this,” she burst out. “It's all wrong. This should be your day.”

“It is the day we shall share,” he told her gravely.

“No, no,” she shook her head. “That's just pretty words. I'm stealing what should be yours and I don't know how not to. I'm not really queen and we both know it.”

“Listen to me,” he said, shushing her as he took her hands between his. “I told you once before that you must believe in yourself before anybody else can do so. That was never more true than now. You have made the throne your own, not through your ancestors, but with your heart. You've won your people's love, and because of that they are truly your people.”

“But I was given the chance. You'd have taken it, too.”

He shook his head. “No, I never knew how. They respected me, but they didn't love me. I've always done my duty, and thought that was enough. It was you who showed me that duty could-should-be done joyfully, so that people's hearts reached out to you. I never had the gift of winning hearts.”

“You won mine.”

“Yes, and that's my best hope. When they see that you love me, they may think I'm not so bad after all.”

She couldn't bear that. To the horror of both of them she burst into tears.

“Dottie, Dottie…” he drew her close. “Don't cry.”

She couldn't stop. The sadness of his resignation overwhelmed her. She'd never wept for herself, but she wept bitterly for him.

“That's enough,” Randolph urged her, half tender, half commanding. And when she still couldn't stop he gave her a little shake. “Listen Dottie, for I'm speaking very seriously now. This is the twenty-first century. Kings and queens have survived a long time, but we can't go on in the old way, depending on respect, fear or power. Now our people have to want us. They have to love us. And it's you that they love. It's you that has the power to take this monarchy, this country, into the future. I know it, and your people know it. So now go out to them, and let them see that you are theirs. This is your day of glory.”

“But it should have been yours,” she said huskily as he dried her eyes.

“Is there only one kind of glory then? Haven't we discovered another kind?”

He spoke softly in the voice he used at night when there was only the darkness and their passion, but Dottie couldn't let herself off the hook that easily.

“Yes, we have, but you know you need more than that. You know you couldn't be happy if you weren't doing your job.”

“But I shall be doing it, through you. It's the same. Hush…” he laid a finger over her lips. “There are things about me you don't know yet. They can only be told at the right time, and perhaps that time will never come. Try to trust me, and believe this, that there is no bitterness in my heart today. Only love for you. My darling, why can't you believe me?”

“Because… Oh, I can't wrap it up in posh words.”

He laughed. “That's my Dottie. Blunt to the end. Be blunt then, and tell me why you can't believe that I love you.”

“Because it's your duty to love me. And you always do your duty.”

“Is that what you think? Only duty and no more? Dottie, Dottie what a short memory you have. Haven't there been nights when I've held you against my heart and we've been soul of each other's soul as well as flesh of each other's flesh?”

“Yes,” she said wistfully. “I've felt that then, but why have you never actually said you loved me before?”

“Because I didn't want to win your contempt. Don't you remember once saying to me, 'Would you have been crass enough to try to make me think you were in love with me? I suppose I should be grateful to have been spared that piece of dishonesty.'? My darling, blinkered Dottie, how was I supposed to speak of love after that?”

“But I…I didn't mean it. I was angry. I'd have said anything.”

“That I believe,” he said with a touch of humor. “But when you stopped being angry, you didn't take it back.”

“How could I?”

“Hush. We tangled ourselves in such a web, and words only made it worse. I tried to show you my love and hoped you'd understand, but you seemed to be pining for Mike…”

“Not really. I've loved you longer than you think. It was Sophie I was afraid of.”

“Never fear, and never doubt.” He drew her close and laid his lips on hers, caressing them tenderly. “Do you doubt me now…and now?”

If only they would all go away, she thought, and leave the two of them alone in the place where they could love and be happy. But the world couldn't be shut out for long. A noise in the outer room made them sigh and draw apart.

“There will be later for us,” Randolph said. “Now you belong to your people.”

“Not without you,” she said urgently.

“I am always beside you.”

She stood for a moment, composing herself. Meeting Randolph's eyes, she saw his slight gesture indicating that she should lift her chin, and did so. His smile reassured her.

Her ladies were waiting to attach the heavy ermine and velvet cloak to her shoulders. She took Randolph's arm and they walked out of the state apartments into the broad corridor. To left and right of them people were curtseying and she smiled. This was her day, because Randolph had given it to her. Now she would take what he had given, and make of it something better still.

Down the grand stairway, left along the crimson carpet to where the sun gleamed in the courtyard, then out through the wide arch to the open carriage. The waiting crowds cheered as they appeared and at first she acknowledged them, but the next moment, Dottie-like, she forgot regal dignity in the excitement of a discovery.

“It's him,” she told Randolph. “It's Jack, leading the horses.”

Before he could speak she slipped away to where the head groom stood holding Jack's bridle. The old horse stood proud and beautiful, a plume nodding from his head.

“It'll be his last outing, ma'am,” the coachman said proudly. “But I promised him he wouldn't miss this great day.”

“I'm so glad.” She planted a swift kiss on Jack's forehead. “It wouldn't have been the same without him.”

“Dottie,” Randolph said patiently, “I'm glad to see him too, but can we get on with the coronation?”

Smiling she took his hand and let him hand her into the carriage. The crowd, who'd understood what was happening, cheered louder than ever. That was Dottie, their queen.

The carriage door slammed behind them, then a signal to the horses and they were on the move out of the palace gates. Bunting flew in the breeze overhead, more bunting was draped from the lamp posts, almost everyone in the crowd seemed to be waving a little flag.

As they drew up outside the cathedral Randolph turned to her. “Remember,” he said. “Together.”

“Together.”

The cathedral was cool and dark as they entered it. There was the master of ceremonies watching their arrival, clutching a mobile phone with which to alert the organist. It all went smoothly and at the exact moment that they stepped forward the organ pealed out overhead.

Dottie had expected this part to be a blur. Instead she found her senses heightened so that she could hear each note of the music and pick out individual faces. Almost every country had sent a representative to her coronation.

Near the front she saw Prince Harold and his princess, invited because diplomacy demanded it. Sophie's face was a mask, but Harold was watching the procession near, and something told Dottie that he was tensed as a coiled spring. She could almost feel the waves of anger radiating from him.

She and Randolph slowed to a halt in front of the archbishop, solemn and splendid in his golden vestments. The organ faded to silence and the archbishop raised his voice to declare, “This is a glorious day-”

“It's a day of dishonor!”

The shout died away, leaving behind a stunned silence. Into that silence Harold's voice came again.

“This is a day of dishonor, the day Elluria crowns an impostor with no right to the throne.” He stepped out into the aisle and advanced on Dottie and Randolph who'd turned to face him.

“Be silent,” Randolph commanded him.

“You expect me to be silent while I'm cheated of my rights?” Harold screamed. “It's a conspiracy. This woman is not the true heir.”

He snatched a paper from an inner pocket and turned to face the startled congregation, waving it aloft. “She is not the true heir,” he shouted again. “She springs from a bastard line, and here is the proof.”

“Nonsense!” Durmand bustled forward, angry and businesslike. “This has all been dealt with. Her Majesty's line has been checked back to Duke Egbert and found to be direct.”

“Direct but not legitimate,” Harold sneered. “Egbert never had a child by his lawful wife. His daughter was the product of an extramarital liaison with a housemaid.”

“But that is nonsense,” Durmand protested. “He could never have passed her off as his wife's child.”

“He could in those days,” Harold snapped. “And with his wife's connivance. Don't forget what a long time it took Egbert and his wife to travel from Elluria to England. A journey of a few days took months, and why?”

“Because they lingered to enjoy themselves,” Durmand said helplessly.

“Because it was easier to perpetuate a fraud in another country,” Harold shouted. “The child was born in Switzerland, where nobody had ever seen either woman. They stayed in an out-of-the-way house in the country, the maid gave birth, the doctor was told he was attending the duchess. How was he to know otherwise?”

“But the duchess would never have agreed-” Durmand protested.

“Why not? People had jeered at her as too old to give her husband a child. After that the jeers stopped, and she traveled on to England with 'her' baby in her arms. The maid was bought off and thrown out. But she talked and the story has been preserved.”

Enderlin stepped in, as much Dottie's champion as he had been her combatant. “But nobody heard of it until now,” he said. “It's surfaced too conveniently for my liking.”

“And might never have surfaced at all,” Sophie said, speaking for the first time. “But for the invaluable assistant of Mr. Michael Kenton.”

“Mike?” Dottie exclaimed. “I don't believe it.”

“We had such an interesting talk the night of the ball,” Sophie continued, turning directly to Dottie. “He repeated tales he'd heard from your grandfather, when he was in his cups, and there was enough to put us on the trail.”

“But that was ages ago,” Dottie exclaimed. “Why wait until now?”

“It was just a rumor,” Harold said. “It's taken until now to get the proof, hidden in the Swiss archives.” He waved his papers again. “But the proof is here. Examine it. In the meantime I demand that this false coronation is called off.”

Through the whirling of Dottie's head only one thing was clear. If Harold was clever enough to make this credible, Randolph would lose everything for the second time. She herself would lose the friends she'd made and the country she'd come to love, but it was for him that her heart ached.

“Randolph,” she said, clasping his hand.

“It's all right, my darling. Everything is going to be all right.”

“But can this be true?”

“It wouldn't surprise me at all,” he said calmly. “Old Egbert was very free with his attentions. I should think he had any number of liaisons. He undoubtedly married his wife for her money and she was some years older than him. It all sounds very likely. How fortunate that it didn't come to light before.”

“But, Randolph…what difference does that make? It's out now, and that means I can't be the queen and-”

“It means no such thing. Trust me Dottie, I'll make you a queen before the day's out.”

Sophie was regarding Dottie with a mixture of triumph and malevolence. Harold and Durmand were having a shouting match, with Harold's voice growing shriller every moment.

“This woman is an impostor. She should be arrested for offenses against the state.”

“But you'll never get the king to agree to that,” Randolph observed mildly.

Harold rounded on him. “I am the king.”

“No,” Randolph said, still in the same mild tone. “I am.” Ignoring Harold's sneer he went on, “I have been king of Elluria since the moment of my father's death.”

If Harold's announcement produced consternation this one caused turmoil. Everyone was staring at Randolph as if unable to believe their ears, but his glance was for Dottie, as though only her reaction mattered to him.

“Your researchers have been hard at work, Harold, but so have mine. And I too have found something interesting. It concerns Ellie Trentworth, the young woman with whom my father went through a form of marriage. I say 'a form of marriage' because it wasn't worth the paper it was written on. Ellie already had a husband, two in fact. Probably more than two. Goodness knows who she was really married to, but it certainly wasn't my father.

“So the 'form of marriage' had no basis in law. It was invalid, leaving him as much a bachelor afterward as before, and therefore free to marry my mother. There never was a stain on their marriage, or my legitimacy.”

Harold had gone very pale but he recovered himself.

“Words,” he scoffed. “Where is your proof?”

“Here,” Randolph said, pulling some papers from inside his jacket. “These are the marriage certificates of Ellie Trentworth to both husbands. Since I discovered the truth I've kept them on me at all times. I had a feeling I might need to produce them at a moment's notice, especially today.”

Harold snatched at the papers. The whole cathedral seemed to be holding its breath as he went through them.

“These are forgeries,” he snapped. “I don't believe any of it.”

But Sophie believed it. As she saw her last chance vanish she screamed and went into hysterics. Nothing else could have so effectively demolished Harold's claim, and two soldiers moved discreetly to take their places behind him. Sophie's sobs grew louder, prompting him to hiss, “Shut up!”

“This is most irregular,” the archbishop said worriedly, looking at Dottie. “Is this lady of legitimate descent, or isn't she?”

“It doesn't matter, since she makes no claim to the throne,” Randolph said. “Indeed, she never did make a claim to the throne. It was forced on her, and she accepted it as a duty, and from love. But it was based on a misapprehension. The mistaken belief that I was illegitimate because my parents' marriage was bigamous. These certificates prove otherwise.”

Durmand was studying the papers with increasing delight. “Then the marriage was valid, and your claim to the throne cannot be challenged,” he told Randolph. “You are, and have always been, the rightful king.”

“You need never have brought me here at all,” Dottie breathed. “Randolph, how long have you known about this?”

“I discovered soon after you arrived in Elluria.”

Her brain whirled. “You mean…before we married?”

“Yes.”

She couldn't speak. The implications were so enormous, so wonderful, that she didn't dare believe them. “But why did you keep quiet?” she asked at last. “If you'd spoken then you wouldn't have needed to marry me.”

He put his hands on either side of her face and spoke in a voice deep with tenderness. “Darling, beloved Dottie, I wanted to marry you. I longed to marry you. I've loved you since the day we met in London, when you took me out of the narrow, constricted world I'd known, and showed me another world that could be mine, but only if you were there. Since then I've plotted and schemed, pulled strings, behaved unethically, broken rules, all to keep you with me. You made the sun shine for me, and I knew if I lost you the sun would never shine again.

“I was afraid that if you learned the truth, you'd pack your bags and go. I couldn't face the thought of losing the only woman I have ever loved. It was a deception, but one for which you will, perhaps, forgive me?”

“But you could have been king all this time,” she breathed, still not daring to be convinced by the love she saw in his eyes, a love that more than matched her own.

“Earlier today I told you that there were things you don't know about me, and perhaps never would, because they could only be told at the right time. Now that time has come.” He raised his voice. “I call on everyone here to witness that I would rather be your consort than king, and married to any other woman.”

The congregation broke into loud applause. The royal guests in the front row rose to their feet and were followed by row after row behind them, clapping and cheering. High up aloft the choirboys joined in.

But Randolph and Dottie saw only each other. His gaze said that this was the measure of how much she mattered to him. She was more to him than his duty, more than his life. She was his life. She was awed by the sacrifice he'd been prepared to make, rather than lose her.

The archbishop's worried voice broke in on them. “But can we have a coronation or not?”

“Of course we can,” Dottie told him. “The coronation of Elluria's rightful monarch, King Randolph.”

“And his consort, Queen Dorothea,” Randolph put in, “who reigns as supremely in her subjects' hearts and she does in her husband's.”

Taking her hand in his he stepped forward and they stood side by side as the archbishop raised his voice, calling to the people.

“I present to you, Randolph, your sovereign lord, rightful king of Elluria, and his lady…”

She barely heard the rest. The mist that had shrouded the path ahead had lifted now, and she could see clearly at last. This was the world they would share; years of work and duty, made sweet to each by the presence of the other. Behind them stretched the way back out of the cathedral, and beyond that lay the sunshine.