Page 15 of A Problem Princess

He smiled in appreciation at her attempted humor, yet she could easily see he was still preoccupied. She knew why. The reason lay beneath a blue damask drape less than twenty feet away. “Then we have something in common.”

“ButIdidn’t bring a pistol,” she added pointedly.

His smile faded, and she felt the loss of its warmth like the sun disappearing behind a cloud on a summer’s day. “Next time, perhaps you should.” He paused, and an unspoken warning filled the silence. “He tried to murder you tonight, Your Highness. Why would anyone want to harm you?”

“I don’t know.” She began to tremble as her fear returned. But Mr. Elliott seemed disappointed by her answer, so she repeated emphatically, “Honestly, I have no idea. No one has ever before tried—” She choked off. “I’m not that important.”

His eyes were somber. “He thought you were.”

“I don’t know why. I’ve never seen that man before. I–I haven’t spoken to anyone since we arrived in England except those who came with me from Monrovia. I swear—I don’t know!”

“I believe you. But I still want to keep you safe.” He slowly released her arm and trailed his fingertips soothingly across the bandage as he let her go. “Do you mind if we just talk for a bit?”

If he worked for the Home Office, then he worked directly for her cousin the regent, and she had no choice in the matter. Yet she nodded her consent because it was expected.

He stood and crossed the room to a mahogany cabinet in the corner, calling out to her over his shoulder, “Is this your first visit to England?”

“Yes.”

“Whose idea was it?” He opened the top cabinet doors and revealed a crowded selection of crystal decanters containing liquor of all colors. The names of their contents were etched into silver tags draped around each decanter’s neck on tiny chains. “Yours?”

“No, my uncle Ernest—I mean, Uncle Monrovia.” She’d been terrified tonight, wounded, and nearly killed, yet she could never forget who she was or her family’s duty to the crown. “He felt we should pay our respects in person since our two families are related.”

“How?”

“We’re distant cousins through Elizabeth Stuart, daughter of King James the First. My fourth great-grandmother was Princess Henriette Marie, older sister to Sophia of Hanover.”

“James the First?” He selected one of the decanters and removed the stopper to splash the dark liquid into two glasses. “That’s a long way back.”

She shrugged. “It’s the same line of succession as the current British royals, actually. Theirs is just a bit further down the family tree.” She added beneath her breath, “Low-hanging fruit.”

She caught her breath. Oh, she shouldn’t have said something like that! But when he chuckled softly at her slip, her unease melted away.

He asked, “Did the rest of your immediate family come with you to England?”

“Aunt Wilhelmina remained behind in Monrovia.”

“And the others?”

“I have no other family. Well, none except for distant cousins scattered across the Continent. My uncle and aunt are childless.” Her chest tightened with a pang of grief, but she inexplicably felt compelled to tell him, “And my parents died ten years ago. A storm came up unexpectedly while they were on their way to Italy. Their ship wrecked, and they drowned.”

He paused as he returned the decanter to offer her a sympathetic glance over his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Over the years, she’d learned to manage the pain of their loss, if never eliminate it, and gave the dutiful answer, “I’m grateful to have my uncle. When Papa died, he became the sovereign prince and kept Monrovia on a strong path forward.”

He closed the cabinet. “Why didn’t you inherit the crown?”

“Monrovia follows patrilineal primogeniture. The crown only passes to male relatives.”

“But your uncle has no sons.” He carried both glasses back to her. “What happens when he dies?”

“The Crown Council will choose an heir. If I’m married and have a son by then, he’ll most likely become the sovereign prince.”

He stopped in front of her and stared somberly down at her.

She shook her head. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s impossible.”

“Impossible that the next person in line to the Monrovian throne would want you dead so he can claim it for himself?”