The Princess Read online

  Since the war, it seemed that every man he knew was getting married, but J.T. had thought he was too wise to get trapped by a woman. More than once, he had seen a man marry some beautiful dish then two weeks later she would look like Aria looked now. J.T. had been disgusted. He liked his women combed and powdered and perfumed. But right now, looking at Aria, he wouldn’t trade her for a beauty queen.

  “Where did you get that shirt?” he asked over the radio, referring to the oversize, beat-up plaid she wore.

  She gave him a level look over her beer. “From a box in your closet.”

  “The box way in the back? The one that is—was—taped and tied and has ‘private’ written in three-inch-tall letters on all six sides?”

  “That sounds like the one,” she said, watching him.

  J.T. grunted and she smiled at him. He had always heard men complaining about the lack of privacy in marriage and he had always thought that if he had a wife she would never invade his privacy. But now he found it didn’t matter at all. In fact, he rather liked that she had been curious enough to search his belongings. It made it seem as if they really were married.

  He looked back at her. He was going to have to turn her over to another man.

  Right then he made a vow that he would be like a man falling off a horse—he would get right back on. As soon as he gave her to her short, old, effeminate count, he would get himself another wife. He liked having someone to come home to. He liked sitting in the backyard on a Saturday afternoon and eating hamburgers. He even liked the intimacy of rolling a woman’s hair.

  Of course he wondered if he would be able to find another wife as interesting as Aria. He smiled at the memory of last night. Most young officers’ wives were terrified of any man with a star on his shoulder, but Aria hadn’t cared one way or the other. And maybe he had been a little overbearing about his mother’s visit—of course who knew that one’s mother would act as his had?

  He leaned his chair back and turned down the radio. “Yesterday you said you were suffering from morning sickness. Was that true or did you just want to get rid of me?”

  “It wasn’t true,” she answered.

  “What would happen if you were going to have my kid? Would your blueblood count still accept you?”

  “I would still be queen, and as he wants to marry a queen, I don’t believe it would interfere in any way.”

  “And what about the kid?”

  “If he were a boy, as the oldest, he’d someday be king. If the child were a girl and I had no male issue, she would become queen.”

  J.T. took a deep drink of his beer. “I see. No objection from your short husband?”

  Aria coughed to cover a laugh. “I will be queen and the decision about the child would be mine.”

  “Ol’ Julian would be a father to someone else’s kid?”

  “He wouldn’t be involved much in the upbringing even if the child were his. Royal children are reared by governesses and tutors. My father died when I was quite young and until I reached womanhood at fourteen, I only saw my mother from six to six-thirty each evening.”

  “And that’s how your children would be raised?”

  “I know of no other way.”

  “In America we do things differently. If we had a kid right now, he’d be here with us. You’d be feeding him and I’d be tossing him a ball.”

  “Another example of American equality,” she said. “The woman does the work and the man gets to play.”

  J.T. looked like he might get angry but then he laughed. “It beats giving the kid to strangers. If you fell and cut yourself, who hugged you?”

  Aria looked puzzled. “A doctor would be called. But a royal princess is too well guarded to get hurt very often, although I have injured myself falling from a horse.”

  “Guarded? When I was ten I rowed myself out to an island and camped for two nights alone.”

  “Royal children are never alone. Even at night someone sleeps in their room. At fourteen I was given my own room but a maid slept in an adjoining chamber.”

  “I see,” J.T. said, taking a big bite of his hamburger. “And our kid—I mean, if we made one—would be raised like that?”

  “It is tradition.” She was quiet a moment. “But you could visit him whenever you wished.”

  “No,” J.T. said slowly. “I’m not sure I could do that.” He leaned back, turned the radio back up, and fell silent.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ON Monday morning J.T. received a telegram from General Brooks saying that all was arranged and the two of them would be shipped out to Lanconia on Tuesday.

  “The beginning of the end,” he murmured as Bill entered his office.

  “Something bothering you?” Bill asked.

  “The princess and I leave for Lanconia tomorrow.”

  “I’m going to miss her, and Dolly’s not going to be fit to live with. Those two have become as thick as thieves. And the merchants around town are going to cry too.”

  J.T. crumbled the telegram in his hand. “I better call her so she can pack,” he said solemnly.

  “And I’ll call Dolly so she can help.”

  Later that day Dolly called J.T. and said she was inviting everyone to a cookout on the beach. “A farewell party for her,” Dolly said, and there was a catch in her voice.

  You aren’t going to miss her more than I will, J.T. thought.

  It was a subdued Aria who met him at the beach. He took her hand in his. “Cheer up, baby, you’re going home.”

  “I shall miss America,” she said softly. “I shall miss its freedom and its music and its feeling of progression.”

  Not to mention missing me, he thought with some anger. “I guess I’m to catch the lobsters.”

  “Yes,” she said disinterestedly. “Probably.”

  Aria couldn’t cheer up, no matter how hard she tried. And Dolly was as bad as she was. A princess never shows her emotions in public, Aria chanted.

  J.T. brought back lobsters and the men put them on the grill.

  “Oh no,” Dolly said. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  Aria looked up to see a plump Heather Addison on the arm of Mitch. “Good evening, everybody,” Mitch called, then looked at Aria. “You look lovely, as usual. J.T. taking better care of you?”

  “I take great care of her,” J.T. said, holding a barbecue fork as if it were a weapon.

  Heather gave a contemptuous look at Aria then wiggled over to J.T. She took his arm and snuggled her breasts into his side. “J.T., honey, I haven’t seen you since Washington. Remember the night we did the town? The day after you got married?” she added loudly.

  “Just what we need—fireworks,” Gail groaned. “J.T., let’s make this evening pleasant, okay?”

  Mitch went to sit by Aria. “I hear you’re shipping out tomorrow. We’re going to miss you. J.T. going too?”

  J.T. turned around. “She’s going with me, not the other way around. This country of Lanconia needs some shipbuilding advice, and I’m giving it. My wife goes with me.”

  Mitch moved closer to Aria. “I hear Lanconia is very pretty with long, cool nights, nothing but cowbells ringing.”

  “True,” Aria said sadly. “No McGuire Sisters, no garbage trucks at three A.M., no honkytonks, no beach parties.”

  “You’ve been there?”

  “No,” J.T. and Aria said in unison. “We’ve just been reading about it,” J.T. added.

  “J.T., honey, I left my wrap in the car. Would you get it for me?” Heather asked.

  “Somebody watch the grill,” J.T. called, and stepped away from the light of the fire and into the darkness.

  Heather lost no time in following him. “J.T.,” she called, “wait for me.”

  He halted. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “Don’t give me that,” she said. “I know what’s going on. I had to pay three lipsticks and four pair of nylons to get the information about you and that…that princess. If she’s royalty, I’ll eat my bathing suit.”