“What is that far-away look I see in your eyes, Miss Fairchild?” asked Lady Winslow. “Are you missing home?”
She gazed sideways at the woman, arrogant and beautiful, and although Francis Winslow had opened a conversation with Megan, her eyes remained pasted to the balcony where her new King, and what she’d always hoped, husband, stood addressing the crowds. This woman fit in – even a casual onlooker could see it immediately, and she wondered if Ryan could learn to love her.
Megan chose to ignore the question that hung in the air like lead concerning her feelings of homesickness. Lady Winslow’s only interest in that subject would be that Megan go home and never return to Edstrom.
“You must be proud of your new King. He is ready to take his place as leader and will do a splendid job,” Megan said instead.
“The Monarchy is not a job. It is a way of life, traditions and expectations as old as time itself.” She twisted and bored her eyes into Megan’s, diminishing her high-spirits with one easy sweep. “It really shows how ill-prepared you are to take your place beside him. Any woman in her right mind would flee when realizing the enormity of the role.”
“Except you, of course. I understand you’ve trained for the position your entire life,” said Megan attempting to keep her voice steady.
“I have, and am ready to take your place when your heart fails and you run to America with your tail between your legs – isn’t that a fitting description of how you feel right now?”
Megan felt violated and angry. She lifted her chin and spoke. “In the perfect world, love reins and that’s what marriages are built on – that’s Ryan’s choice to make.”
Francis Winslow glanced around and smiled at the eavesdroppers who’d heard Megan’s reference to Ryan. “King Ryannaus Julius Alexander Edstrom is his title in public. You’d do well to remember it.”
When the drinks passed by, Megan accepted one, not caring if it was non-alcoholic. The first sip told her it wasn’t, and she cringed from the bitter taste and her impulsiveness. Drunk had sounded good as she watched Lady Winslow make the rounds of debutantes and aristocrats. Suzanne and James had taken to the dance floor but Ryan appeared monopolized by duty. She stood alone, harboring a tragic heaviness of heart. She felt someone move in behind her and place a hand on her bare back. She turned to see the Queen mother smiling.
“I feel your awkwardness, my dear, and blame myself for it. We should have spent the time preparing you for this occasion and not ignoring the fact that my son loves you – for better or worse.” She emphasized the worse and it finally sunk into Megan’s thick skull that she’d not come close to winning his mother’s approval.
“Was there ever a moment you thought it might work between Ryan and me?” Megan asked.
“Never, my dear. But I don’t blame you. My son is easy to love and I can see why he is attracted to you. You are quite delightful; just not a good choice for Queen. Edstrom deserves the best that royalty can give them. Ryannaus will join the kings of the past and make the necessary sacrifice. Despite what you think, arranged marriages have served the monarchy well.”
The Queen mother looked toward the dance floor and Megan followed her gaze. Somehow Francis Winslow had stolen Ryan from his so-called-obligations and flirted openly with him on the dance floor. He appeared beguiled with her topic of discussion, and when he noticed his mother with Megan, offered a brief smile before returning his attention to his partner.
Megan felt like a second-rate citizen, then chuckled inwardly at the ridiculousness of that rating - she wasn’t even a citizen of this country and Ryan expected her to be Queen. How absurd! Besides Megan’s supposed escort had not asked her once for a dance and there he was on the floor twirling the woman everyone in the room suspected he’d choose as his wife. The wake-up call came loud and clear.
She focused on Ryan’s mother who beamed at the couple on the dance floor. “Could you have someone come for my bags in about thirty minutes and if its not too much trouble a car to the ferry?”
“No trouble at all. Safe travels. I’ll extend your regrets to the King at your unexpected departure before the New Year.”
Megan bit her lip and skirted around the woman who remained poised and haughty. She’d won – Ryan would be her puppet forever, until he transferred the power of the strings to the new puppeteer.
“Lady Winslow!” She spit the name into the air. “Good luck with her, King Ryannaus! May your life be filled with peace and joy.”
Megan hated herself for the cloud of bitterness that hung over her like impenetrable fog. Tears replaced the outbreak. Sliding off her high-heals she flung them in the corner and raced barefoot toward her room.
Up the winding staircase she stomped, her loud thumps echoing off the walls. Her mind ridiculed the foolish notions she’d entertained in imagining this insane union could possibly become reality. On the carpeted hallway leading to her room, Megan held her arms out front, and danced with her imaginary escort the steps she’d spent two evenings learning so as not to embarrass the new king when the couple went on display for his world to see. It was time to head home before she became the patient on her counseling couch instead of the therapist in charge.
Grabbing her suitcases, she flung clothes, makeup, jewelry, and her purchases in a heap and zipped up the mess. She glanced at the Tiara on the little tree
