Back at the Manor Friday morning, Corina sat at the small curved desk tucked under the dormer walls and pulled out the annulment papers.
Unfolding the pages, she skimmed the small print, a sick feeling forming in the pit of her stomach when she read the definition of what she and Stephen were about to do.
“An annulment means no valid marriage ever existed.”
But that was a lie. They had a valid marriage. At least in her heart.
A few lines down, Stephen had checked the “Mistake” box.
Was that how he truly saw things? She smoothed her hand over the pages, pressing them flat against the hard desk. Could she add her own box? Check “Coward”?
She pushed back and went to the window. She’d never forgive him for this, calling the marriage a mistake, ending it on his assumptions, abandoning the relationship when they needed each other most.
However, Stephen had delivered his part of the bargain. He told her what happened to Carlos. And Corina felt obligated to sign.
A fresh cascade of tears spilled down her cheeks. She was tired of crying. After her evening on the memorial bench with Stephen, they returned to the house at Parrsons and Corina hid in her suite and spent a good part of Thursday there, weeping, remembering, praying.
This morning early, Stephen drove her back to the city with little conversation and dropped her off at the Manor. “The annulment?”
“I’ll sign it.”
But how could she? Corina sat on the window seat and gazed out over the city, her love for Cathedral City summer mornings nothing but a faint memory.
She glanced back at the annulment documents. Just sign and be done with it.
When her phone rang, she snatched it up, hoping for Stephen’s number on her screen. But no.
“Miss Del Rey?”
“Yes?”
“This is Clem from the Children’s Literacy Foundation. On your auction form you listed your local address as the Manor, but we can’t find such a place anywhere in the city listings or on the map. Where would you like us to deliver your purchase?”
“Right, the Pissarro.” She’d dueled for the piece with a stodgy couple who seemed to have no monetary boundaries. Well, neither did she. She’d not touched her trust from Grandmother Del Rey and the power of compound interest daily kept the one account very healthy. She could buy the Pissarro three times over.
She finally won the bid at ten million. The place exploded with applause. The Children’s Literacy Foundation would have a grand year.
“Where shall we deliver it?”
“To Prince Stephen in care of the King’s Office.”
“Pardon?”
“The King’s Office. Prince Stephen.” She picked up the annulment papers again. She’d purchased the painting for Stephen, because, well, she thought he would enjoy it. Call it a “We’re annulled!” gift.
“I’ll need a special form to deliver to the King’s Office.”
“Fine. Do you need me for that form?”
“I just have to call the King’s Office.”
“Then call them.”
“If there’s a delay, I will ring you. Otherwise the painting will be delivered tomorrow.”
Perfect. She flew home on Sunday. “With the note I wrote? Please include the note.”
“I’ll see to it.”
Hanging up, Corina returned to the window. The streets below were quiet for a Friday. The wind had room to move and expand, dragging its train through the trees along the avenue.
Street vendors worked the sidewalk, preparing for the lunch crowd. Taxicabs lined the curb, the drivers huddled together, talking, flicking ashes from their cigarettes.
Love well.
Corina picked up the annulment papers. Was signing them loving well?
A light knock had her calling, “Come in.”
Adelaide came around the door carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. “Top of the morning. How was your time away?”
“Enlightening.” Corina tossed the documents back to the desk. By tonight she’d decide. If she flew home without signing, she’d have to be willing to face the consequences.
“You sound troubled.”
“I bargained for something, got what I wanted, and am not sure I can keep up my end.”
“Then you’ve a dilemma.” Adelaide poured Corina a cup of tea and placed a thin, wafer-like cookie on the saucer as she passed it over.
“My head versus my heart.” Corina pulled the desk chair around, a small fire flickering in her belly from her private confrontation with the annulment.
“Tea time will make you feel better.” Filling the cups with steaming, rich brown liquid, Adelaide handed one to Corina, then took one for herself. “This porcelain tea service is quite special.” Adelaide sat primly on the chaise, holding up the cup and saucer.
“Really?” Corina inspected her cup. “This one has a small chip.” She tapped the slight nick on the bottom.
“It’s been well used. King Stephen I heard of the great porcelain cups made in China. He sent for a set, and it took nearly ten years then to arrive. One of the first sets ever to arrive in the West.”
Corina lowered her cup and saucer. The air in the room changed again as Adelaide spoke and Corina felt bound by the electricity. “You’re serving me tea in a four-hundred-and-fifty-year-old cup?”
“Kings and queens, the sick and poor, women and men, children have drunk from these cups.”
“Where did you get them?” Again, why are they not with the royal estate?
“It lives with the Manor. Along with the tiara.”
“Adelaide, you’ve quite the mission. Hidden tiaras, special tea sets.”
The woman reclined against the cushy back of the chaise. “You’ve asked what Brill and I are about. Well, we’re here to help you see what you are about.” She raised her cup to Corina. “To wear the tiara, one must drink from the cup.”
Corina considered her cup. “You mean to be a true royal one must drink from the cup of love and service.”
“There, now, that wasn’t so hard was it? Ruling by serving. It’s how the Great Kingdom is structured. It’s the love that moves heaven and earth.”
The tracing of chills over Corina’s arms multiplied.
“And that’s how King Stephen I and Queen Magdalena loved?” She was catching on to Adelaide’s wisdom.
“Yes. You and your prince have been given the same call.”
“But he wants out, Adelaide. An annulment.”
“That is your journey, love. All I can give you is heaven’s vision.” Adelaide turned over her saucer. “King Stephen I had his artisans design a cipher for their royal house. Do you see?”
Corina checked her saucer. On the bottom she found a crown crossed with a sword that matched Adelaide’s. Underneath were the letters H of S. “House of Stratton.”
“He used to serve his guests, rich or poor, noblemen or common men, with a whole set. Only these two remain.”
“And I’m to do the same?”
“If you want to wear the tiara, then you must be willing to drink from the cup.”
“If I want to wear the tiara, then how can I sign the papers?” Corina said, setting down her tea and snatching up the annulment.
“That I cannot tell you. What’s in your heart?”
“That I love him. I came over here thinking I could win him back, you know? Love well. But maybe too much time has passed. We’re not the same people we were six years ago.”
“Just because he’s not changed his mind doesn’t mean you’ve not loved well. You’ve not failed.” Adelaide finished her tea with an “ahh,” and set it on the tray. “Now I must be off.”
Adelaide collected the tea set and left Corina alone in her room with so many questions. Crossing to the desk, Corina fished her pen from her purse and hovered over the papers.
Love well. If she had her way, she’d tear up the papers, but she’d made a deal with Stephen. What if the first step of loving well was letting go? Of wearing the tiara of faith and drinking from the cup of esteeming another higher than herself?
“Lord, what do I do?”
Closing her eyes, breathing in, she peered at the documents. And signed. She’d messenger them to the King’s Office this afternoon.
By the time she returned to the Beaumont Post, her journey would be complete. She would be a single woman, having loved well, in word and deed, and through every shifting shadow.