“I’ll have to remember that,” J.T. said, one eyebrow raised.
J.T. wanted a cigarette but, somehow, the portraits of stern ancestors that lined the hallways seemed to frown on anything so modern. In the twenty or so hours that he had been in the palace, he had begun to conjure up a picture of the life of royalty: all duty and no laughter. He tried to remember his best table manners as his mother had taught him. If nothing else, he didn’t want to embarrass Aria or have Julian laugh at him. At the moment he desperately wished he could remember the name of that ancestor of his who had been an English earl. Maybe he could just drop the name when Lady or Lord So-and-so was speaking of their relationship to Rowan the Twelfth or whoever.
“It’s time,” Walters said, and led J.T. to the door of a drawing room where everyone met before dinner. “Good luck, sir,” he said as J.T. entered the room.
Aria handed her drink to a liveried servant, who seemed to be waiting for the honor, and made her way to J.T. “Come, I will introduce you. Wait,” she said, stopping and lowering her voice. “I cannot introduce you as…as…”
It took him a moment to understand. “As J.T.? What is it you have against my name?” he asked angrily.
“Initials are put on one’s underclothes,” she snapped. “It is an absurd American custom of abbreviating a name. I can only introduce you as Lieutenant Jarl Montgomery—that is, if you can part with your mother’s hold on that name.”
J.T. laughed, causing the others to turn and stare. “Honey, you can call me what you want.” He reached out to touch her bare upper arm but she froze him with a look. “Okay, Princess, start the introductions.”
The first person in line was a beautiful woman, about forty, but with skin like cream and a cleavage that made J.T. blink a couple of times. She held his hand just a second too long, and when she left, J.T.’s eyes followed her.
“Are you planning a liaison with my aunt?” Aria asked under her breath. “She is much older than you are, you know.”
“So are all the best wines.”
Next came a voluptuous little nymphet named Barbara. “But Aria, he is utterly divine. It is so kind of His Majesty to send us something like him.” She clutched J.T.’s arm and started to lead him away.
But the door opened and in ran Gena, looking exquisite, her face flushed from a run down the stairs. “Sorry, Aria,” she said quickly, then grabbed J.T.’s other arm. “He’s mine, Barbara, and if you touch him, you’ll draw back a bloody nub.”
J.T. smiled from one young lady to the other. “I’m willing to share,” he said pleasantly.
Aria started to separate the trio but Julian caught her arm. “Dinner is served and I think we ought to go inside.”
The two young ladies led J.T. into the dining room, where he found place cards showing he was to sit between Lady Bradley and Princess Gena. Lady Barbara was across from him.
The meal was not what he expected. If he had ever thought about it—which he hadn’t—he would have thought the best table manners in the world belonged to royalty, but that was not the case. They were a motley group, reminding J.T. of a group of spoiled children who had always been given their own way. Each person at the table, ten in all, had his own servant, and J.T. thought perhaps there should be two per person as each servant was kept busy with demands: one person liked cold wine, another warm wine; one person would not eat carrots, another ate an entirely different meal than what was served. One of the cousins, Nickie, ate with his mouth open while punching the air with his fingers to tell about his latest animal kill. And not one of them touched food with his hands. It was as if a curse had been placed on the food, that whoever touched it would die. The entire group came to an abrupt halt when J.T. reached for a roll on his bread plate. Defiantly, he picked it up in his hands, and after a moment they returned to eating and J.T. returned to his observations.
He looked at Great-Aunt Sophie, a loud, rude woman who did her best to dominate the table—while everyone else did his best to ignore her. Barbara and Gena seemed interested only in sex, and tonight he was their object of desire. Lady Bradley hardly spoke but gave him long looks over her wineglass.
As J.T. watched the people, he realized that the only one to interest him was Aria. She sat at the head of the table, ate with impeccable manners, and didn’t shout or make demands.
“How you are observing us,” Lady Bradley said softly. “Like animals in a cage.”
He smiled at her. “As an American I’m not used to formal dinners. I’m used to hot dogs cooked on the beach.”
She smiled in a knowing way. “There is breeding somewhere in you. I can sense it. Are you one of those very wealthy Americans?”
“I was hired to do a job, that’s all.” His eyes were on Aria.
“Mmm,” Lady Bradley said. “You do not answer.” She glanced at Aria. “Are you in love with her?”
J.T. told himself he would have to be more careful of what he revealed about himself. “She is different, that’s all.”
Lady Bradley’s laugh rang out. “Aria has to behave herself. She has all the responsibility while the rest of us have the luxury. She does the work while we share in the rewards.” She laughed at his expression. “The others will give you a long list of what they do to earn their keep, but the truth is, Aria supports us. She will make an excellent queen.”
Barbara began demanding his attention and J.T. had to turn away from Lady Bradley, but the thought of Aria as queen brought him back to the present problem. Someone was trying to kill her and it was quite likely that that someone was sitting at this table. Maybe what Lady Bradley had said meant something. Aria supported them all. Perhaps someone wanted more than just room and board. Tomorrow he thought he would look into the household accounts and find out who needed money.
He looked at Gena, laughing at something the effeminate Freddie was saying, and J.T. knew that if Gena were queen and personally owned the fortune that uranium would bring her, she would give it to whoever asked for it. She would probably go through the money and the resource in five years. And whoever had Gena would share the money. All that was needed was to get rid of Aria and the king and Gena would inherit.
The meal was long and tedious with course after course served on a different pattern of china. The royal family did not eat much, but seemed to drink a great deal.
“Why doesn’t the king live in the palace?” J.T. asked Lady Bradley.
“He says the air near his hunting lodge is better for his health, but the truth is, he doesn’t like us. Oh, he likes Aria and Gena all right, but no one else. In the fall we move to a much smaller palace south of here, then His Majesty moves into this palace. When we return, he leaves. It is most convenient for everyone, even Aria, because she is, in essence, queen while her grandfather is away.”