A Princess for Christmas - Jenny Holiday Page 0,49
displeasure over the fact that she’d returned with guests known immediately upon his return from Riems.
“You didn’t tell me you were going to see the duke,” she said as he strode into her sitting room, a footman trailing him because he hadn’t even taken off his coat.
“You didn’t tell me you were bringing Americans home for Christmas,” he shot back.
Fair enough, but that was because if she’d “told” him, he would have interpreted it as “asking” and would have said no. “They’re my friends. They’ve had a difficult few years, and they’re alone for Christmas.”
“I won’t ask how you made friends with a couple of—”
She channeled the spirit of her mother and glared at him. Her mother had always had a way of tempering her father’s sternness, his most aristocratic instincts.
It must have worked, because he said, “New Yorkers” even though they both knew that wasn’t originally how he’d intended to finish that sentence.
“That’s the appealing thing about New York,” Marie said with studied mildness. “It puts you in the path of people you otherwise wouldn’t meet.”
“And you also met Philip Gregory, I understand. Or should I say didn’t meet?”
Clearly Mr. Benz had already filled him in.
“It didn’t go well,” she confirmed. There was no point in dissembling.
“And the other retailers?”
“Shall we discuss this at a more opportune time, when we don’t have guests waiting? I have some ideas on that front.”
Ideas he would shoot down, she was certain, even though he was doing nothing himself to address the problem.
Mr. Benz entered. Bless him, even though he and Marie didn’t always see eye to eye, he was forever trying to help pick up the slack caused by her father’s . . . what? She would have said grief, but three years had gone by. It seemed that what really animated him these days was anger. She feared her mother had had more of a tempering influence on him than they knew.
“Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, I’ve called the cabinet to come tomorrow and the next day. We can debrief the New York trip”—Mr. Benz glanced grimly at Marie—“and I’d like to discuss strategy for the MPs’ breakfast on the twentieth.”
“That sounds fine,” Marie said. “I’d like to add an agenda item, if I may.”
Both men raised their eyebrows at her. “The UN speech went extremely well. I’d like to discuss follow-up strategy, including raising the number of refugees we accept. And if we come to an agreement, we can informally raise the idea at the breakfast and encourage parliament to take it up in the new year.”
“We’re a small country,” her father snapped. “How many people do you think we can accept?”
Marie took a deep breath and checked herself from deploying her usual arguments: they couldn’t leave the rest of Europe to deal with the crisis. Had he not seen the terrible pictures from the Mediterranean?
Did he not have a heart? Had it died along with Maman?
She knew from experience that those arguments didn’t work. And she had a new idea. “I’ve been doing some reading. I believe our smallness can actually be an asset in this context.” She was going to suggest that they have individual villages come together to sponsor families. She’d gathered some information on American church groups doing that, and she suspected the tight bonds of Eldovian villages could be leveraged in a similar fashion.
Her father was starting to ramp up, but Mr. Benz stepped in to smooth things over. “I’d be happy to put your project on the agenda for the first cabinet meeting in the new year if that suits? We’ve told everyone two half days of meetings this week. Then the MPs’ breakfast. Then we’ll break for the holiday, so I’m wary of overloading the agenda.”
He was putting her off. He was just being nicer about it than Father, who would say that she wasn’t on the cabinet anyway. She could go to New York and do his job for him, but he didn’t see any need to listen to her ideas. It made Marie’s blood boil.
“Why don’t we discuss my trip briefly before cocktails?” her father asked, and the question diffused some of her frustration.
“Yes. I had no idea you were making such a trip.” She was glad he had, though. Her father and the duke were close, if unlikely, friends. The Houses of Accola and Aquilla had battled over the Eldovian throne centuries ago, and though there hadn’t been hostilities for generations, there had been a long-standing chill between the two