The Improperly Pregnant Princess. Jacqueline Diamond
one gave me a chance.” Rademacher tugged on his wrinkled coat sleeve.
“What are you doing here?” CeCe demanded.
His gaze met hers, then veered away. “Looking for the king. I’m in New York on Markus’s business while he’s tending to his affairs in Korosol.”
“He was snooping, is more like it,” retorted Hester. “I’m sorry, Miss CeCe. I shouldn’t have said that, I suppose. Now, come inside, Quincy. It’s cold out there.”
“Call off your dogs, will you?” Rademacher sneered at the guards and strode toward CeCe.
On the few previous occasions when she’d met him, he’d struck CeCe as a dangerous type. She hoped Markus had researched the man’s background.
Right now, his attitude offended her, and he’d had no business bypassing security on his way up. Still, it would give unnecessary offense to her cousin if her guards bodily ejected his confidant.
“You may go. Please check the locks on the back and side stairs,” she told the two men.
That was probably how he’d broken in. In addition to connecting the apartment’s two floors, the staircases served as emergency escape routes down through the building, although the heavy intervening doors could only be opened from the Carradigne side. “Quincy, you were very brave. Thank you for defending us.”
“It was completely unnecessary.” Rademacher oozed past CeCe into the kitchen.
“Mr. Rademacher.” Her sharp tone halted him as he headed for the coffee carafe. “Your behavior is unacceptable.”
“Is it indeed, princess?” Despite the supercilious tone, he hesitated.
“You had no business sneaking into this apartment without announcing yourself to the guards. The king is not here. I suggest you look for him at the embassy, and I suggest you do it now,” CeCe said.
Resentment flashed across his face, and was instantly replaced by obsequiousness. “Whatever you wish, princess.”
“I’ll show you out,” said Hester. Quincy accompanied her, watching Rademacher’s every move.
A short time later, Hester returned alone. “We put him on the elevator,” she said. “What an unpleasant man.”
“Is your husband all right?” CeCe was fond of Quincy, a former handyman whose devotion to his wife and to the Carradignes was beyond question.
“He’s better than all right. A scuffle like that makes him feel young again.” Hester smiled. “Now, let’s have that coffee.”
They took their mugs to the breakfast table and sat facing each other. Outside, boxed evergreens on the landscaped terrace blocked the cityscape.
Memories from years past drifted comfortably over the scene. There’d been summer days when blooms transformed the terrace into a lush paradise, and rainy days when the nanny entertained the three girls with hot chocolate and Korosol folktales.
“What’s on your mind?” asked the housekeeper.
CeCe released a long breath. She had to tell someone her news, and the longer she waited, the harder it would get. “Oh, Hester, I’m pregnant.”
Her old friend blinked in surprise. “Well! I don’t know what…You know, it might be the best thing for you.”
“What?” CeCe had never expected this reaction.
“It’s time you figured out you’re a woman. You’ve been denying your feminine instincts ever since your father died,” Hester said.
“I have not!” she flared.
“It was as if you thought you had to be the man of the family,” said her friend, undeterred by the outburst. “For a while, you refused to wear anything but pants. It nearly gave your mother fits.”
“I remember that.” CeCe had assumed her behavior must have represented a typical preteen phase. Perhaps, though, there was some truth in the housekeeper’s observation. “But, Hester, this isn’t the right way to rediscover my feminine instincts, as you call them, even if I wanted to. It’s a disaster!”
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