Page 71 of American Royals
She’d chosen the Oak Room for its privacy. She could have invited Teddy to her sitting room, but that felt too intimate—which was ridiculous, really, given the conversation they were about to have. But the Oak Room was the type of place nineteenth-century courtiers might have gone to whisper treasonous secrets. It had only one window, and was lined in heavy oaken panels the color of dark honey, so thick that no sound escaped.
This conversation would be painful enough, without Beatrice having to worry that Connor might overhear from the hallway.
She had broached this topic with her father the other day, once her initial wave of shock had begun to subside. Any proposal would have to come from Beatrice. Like so many queens before her—the British Queen Victoria, Empress Maria Theresa of Austria, supposedly even Mary, Queen of Scots—she would have to ask the question herself. That was just part of being next in line to the throne. She was so stratospherically high in the hierarchy that no one could presume to ask her for her hand in marriage.
“Teddy,” Beatrice began, sounding formal and tense even to her own ears. “There’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“Okay,” he said hesitantly.
How different he felt from Connor, who had looked at her just this morning with such clear, vibrant love. Compared to that, Teddy was a stranger. Yet she was about to ask him to spend the rest of his life with her.
She dug her fingernails into her palms, trying to remember the words she’d memorized. Think of it as a speech, she reminded herself, like you’re addressing Congress.
“Teddy, in the time we’ve spent together, I feel like I’ve gotten to know you. Or at least, I know the important things. Your love for your family, your warmth, your thoughtfulness.”
He was looking at her so intently that Beatrice had to close her eyes. She couldn’t say what she needed to, not beneath the scrutiny of that gaze.
“I know all the important things,” she repeated, her voice wobbling only a little, “which is why I’m ready to ask you this. I know it might seem … fast, or rushed. But trust me when I say that I have reasons for asking you now.
“Being with me wouldn’t be the easiest decision of your life. Or the simplest,” she said earnestly. “So I want you to really think this over. You don’t have to answer right away. Teddy—”
She had practiced this part before a mirror, struggling to meet her own gaze. But no matter how many times she said it, the sentence failed to make sense. It just didn’t sound like it had anything to do with her.
“Will you marry me?”
Teddy stared at her with visible incredulity. “Are you sure?” he said at last.
“Would you believe me more if I got down on one knee?”
She was curiously glad when Teddy laughed at that. “Sorry,” he said swiftly, “I just didn’t think …”
I didn’t either, Beatrice silently agreed. Not this soon—really, not ever.
She held his gaze. “I believe that you and I could accomplish great things together. That we could be a fantastic team. But I understand that it is a sacrifice to be wedded to the Crown.” To be wedded to me, when we both know that we don’t love each other.
She didn’t insult Teddy by reminding him of the implications of his decision. He knew it just as well as she did. If he said yes, if they went through with this, it would be for life. As her grandmother always said, divorce was something only the European royals did.
Teddy was silent. He seemed to be reaching some decision deep within himself, various weights and tumblers falling into place in his mind. His eyes held hers, and Beatrice saw that he’d guessed what was going on: maybe not everything, because he couldn’t know about her relationship with Connor, but enough.
He reached to take her hands in his. The shock of his touch was like a bite.
To her consternation, Teddy knelt before her and bowed his head. A beam of sunlight sliced through the window to touch upon his golden hair.
“You don’t have to …,” Beatrice began, but fell silent at Teddy’s next words.
“I, Lord Theodore Eaton, solemnly swear that I am your liege man. I will honor and serve you in faith and in loyalty, from this day forward, and for all the days of my life. So help me God.”
Teddy had just sworn the Oath of Vassal Homage. The words that peers of the realm recited upon the accession of a new king.
He was speaking to her not as a woman he was going to marry, but as his future sovereign.
Beatrice glanced down, marveling at how strange and awkward his grip felt, as if their hands were puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit. It felt fundamentally wrong, but she supposed she would get used to it in time.
There was a scripted response to the oath—I humbly and gratefully accept your service—but it didn’t feel right. Beatrice settled for gently pulling on Teddy’s hands, to tug him to his feet.
His blue eyes met hers, and he nodded. Beatrice knew in that moment that they understood each other, both of them conscious of the pledge they were making—and what they were giving up.
“Thank you for entrusting me with your future happiness. I swear that I will try to be worthy of the honor you are doing me.” Teddy sounded as if he was accepting a job offer, which, she supposed, he was.
