Finn squinted at the screen. "What is she doing?"
"I don't know," Alex said.
The woman reached into her pocket, then leaned over the velvet rope and placed something between the two thrones.
A light immediately lit up on the wall, indicating a silent alarm had been tripped in the throne room. Finn grabbed his radio. "We've got a code yellow in your sector," he said. "A woman, mid-twenties, with a baby in a carrier. She placed something between the thrones and is headed toward you."
"Wait." Alex leaned forward, squinting at the object. "It looks like a coin."
"Copy that," came the crackled response from the radio. "Moving to intercept."
"Zoom in," Alex demanded. Finn complied, and Alex shook his head in disbelief at what the woman had placed. "It's an American penny."
"It's an unknown object. That penny could be laced with anthrax or explosives or any number of dangerous things." Finn pushed the button on the side of the radio. "Waiting for your report, Colin."
"Oh, for heaven's sake." Alex pushed back from his chair, exasperation making his movements jerky. Whether tourist or local, she hardly seemed like a political extremist bent on the royal family's destruction.
"Where are you going?" Finn demanded.
"To stop this woman from being arrested," Alex said. "She's no more a terrorist than I am."
"Your Highness-" Finn began.
But Alex walked out without waiting for his response. Maybe he couldn't stop Isla from spreading lies, or make Durham trust him again. But he could at least stop Colin from shattering that woman's outward peace and calm.
CHAPTER TWO
Libby shifted from foot to foot, trying to ease the aching in her back as Stan droned on about the history of Durham in an accent that somehow managed to be both incredibly thick and annoyingly proper. Kenzie let out a mewling sigh and burrowed deeper against Libby's chest. The padded nylon carrier felt suffocating against Libby's skin, and the thin cotton of her dress grew damp.
How could an eight-pound baby be so heavy? She definitely should've worn tennis shoes instead of sandals today. But the July heat was nearly as oppressive as the thought of shoving her feet into socks. Connie had clearly not spent her maternity leave touring palaces with a baby strapped to her chest, or she wouldn't have suggested Libby take Kenzie in the wrap instead of the stroller-pram, Libby reminded herself. She hadn't thought she'd need to learn a whole new vocabulary when moving across the pond.
"Construction on the palace began in 1722," Stan wheezed on as he led them down an elaborate hallway. Oil paintings of famous battles and former monarchs lined the walls, their heavy gilded frames contrasting with the red patterned wallpaper behind them. "Before that, the royal family lived across the river in Brighton Castle. Brighton Castle, of course, has its roots firmly in medieval times … "
Ugh. The palace was beautiful and all, but Libby grew less interested in a history lesson by the second. She'd thought playing tourist would take her mind off the most recent phone conversation with her mom, who had spent thirty minutes haranguing Libby's dad for his shortcomings without pausing for breath, but all it accomplished was making her long for Connie's air conditioned flat and the small bedroom with soft yellow walls that was Libby's for the next six months to a year. However long it took to stop feeling nauseous at the thought of returning to Oregon.
Libby tuned out the tour guide as he led them into the music room. She stuck a hand in her pocket, running a thumb along the ridge of one of the copper pennies jangling there. But no, leaving a penny in the music room didn't feel right. She'd been leaving lucky pennies in places that felt special or significant for as long as she could remember-something that Cedric had teased her about. At the time, she'd thought it was good-natured ribbing. But had his annoyance with that one quirk ultimately thrown him into the arms of his leggy yoga instructor?
Kenzie squirmed in her sleep, and Libby patted the newborn's back through the carrier and bounced on the balls of her feet. Kenzie let out a grunt, then relaxed once more in sleep.
What was Libby doing here? She should be home in Oregon, tending to the gardens in Ocean Meadow while convincing her parents not to divorce. Not touring a palace in Durham while hoping to earn enough money as a nanny to ease her family's financial burden-and hopefully, by extension, erase the tension that had her parents deciding to call it quits after thirty years of marriage.
"If you'll follow me down this hallway, we'll next visit the throne room," Stan said, his vowels overly soft and voice obnoxiously nasal.
Libby tossed her long caramel-brown hair over one shoulder. At least the increased humidity was doing wonders for her natural curls. She'd never spent much time on her appearance-a leftover of being raised by hippies who didn't follow fashion trends-but since moving to Durham a week ago, she'd spent even less. Yet another reason to be glad she was thousands of miles from Oregon.
The stream of eager tourists with fanny packs and knee-high socks made their way toward the throne room, snapping pictures as they went. Libby stayed near the back of the pack, preferring to enjoy the moment. What good was documenting something if it got in the way of actually experiencing it? Besides, sometimes it was better not to have photographic reminders of happy memories that turned sour.
Divorce. She hadn't known it was even a word in her parents' vocabulary. They'd seemed blissfully happy until her father fell through the roof of their small two-bedroom house and broke his femur and tibia. Without insurance, the mounting medical bills had rapidly placed an unmanageable financial burden on her parents. That's when the fighting started.
When Connie, a friend from high school, had offered Libby the job as Kenzie's nanny, she'd said yes without a second thought. The compensation had been more than fair-free room and board and a decent wage to boot. Libby couldn't deal for one more minute with the constant tension at home. Escaping to Durham seemed perfect.
Her sandals slapped loudly against the marble floor of the palace hallway, and her sundress swished around her legs. Doorways were decorated with gold leafing, and crystal chandeliers hung from the fifteen-foot coffered ceilings. A single lighting sconce would probably pay off all her dad's medical bills and leave money to spare. It must be nice to be royal.
The tour guide paused outside the door to the throne room, hands clasped behind his back, and eyed the group with a disapproving frown. Thick, bushy eyebrows turned down over beady eyes. "I must ask you all to now put your cameras away, as photography is strictly prohibited for the rest of the tour."
Rustling filled the hallway as tourists stowed their cell phones in pockets and cameras in fanny packs. Kenzie let out a squeak, and the guide's disapproving stare zeroed in on Libby. She patted Kenzie's bottom and refused to meet Stan's eye. Hopefully Kenzie didn't wake up and demand to be fed until the tour was over.
Stan threw open the double doors with a flourish. "And now, I invite you to enter the royal throne room of the House of Somerset."
The tourists oohed and aahed as they entered the room. Libby watched as a woman near the doorway leaned into a man. He wrapped his arms around her and the woman smiled up at him, her face radiant. Libby swallowed hard and looked away. She'd never imagined experiencing the wonders of the world could feel so lonely.
Kenzie wiggled in her sleep, and Libby dropped a kiss on the baby's head. The silky soft hair tickled Libby's lips, and she forced herself not to let the sorrow well up inside.
Maybe she wasn't in Durham with a boyfriend, or fiancé, or husband. But she wasn't alone, either. She and Kenzie would have the time of their life exploring the country. Libby would make sure of that. She wasn't about to squander this opportunity of a lifetime on feeling blue.
Libby stayed near the back of the tour group, letting the others enter the throne room first. Anticipation welled within her as she slowly moved toward the room. She didn't keep up with politics or current events. Ocean Meadow didn't have television or internet, unless you counted the ancient computer still running on dial up in the community center, and Libby didn't pay attention to newspapers or magazines on her weekly trips to town. But she loved history and had spent her childhood reading about the European royals, many of whom had walked in that very room.
When she finally passed through the double doors, her breath escaped in a surprised whoosh. The photographs she'd seen in textbooks hadn't done the room justice. White marble floors, flecked with silver, gleamed beneath the elegant chandeliers. Two thrones sat on a raised dais. Delicate roses intertwined around powerful lions were carved into the wood. The crushed red velvet of the seats and back showed no signs of wear. Were these thrones even used anymore? Probably not. But that didn't lessen her awe.