“But you lived in history. You saw what we can only read about. Knights on horses, famous people, the beginnings of literature, or at least . . .” I’d said.
Andrew had shaken his head and made a rather rude verbal expletive (or at least I think that’s what it was. Whatever language it was in, the expression didn’t translate, but his reaction was spread across his face, showing an emphatic distaste and denial.)
“You are very innocent, Penelope. It was never the pretty picture you are envisioning. No one had an education then. Books were almost non-existent, and the two of us hadn’t had any schooling. Prince Jeffry and I both learned to read in the palace of that tyrant king. It was the only positive thing I remember about that time.”
Andrew shook his head again, this time using a wagging motion that reminded me of the bobble head dolls some people placed on the car’s dashboard. “Neither of us regrets the end of those centuries of barbary, Penelope. The here and now suits us much, much better.”
He sipped his drink, which was probably the lemon water he preferred. “Don’t probe, though. You have to accept Timothy as he is now, not as he was throughout the ages. He is a good man in this time period. He will treat you with the respect you deserve. You can count on that.”
Timothy returned then from wherever he’d taken off to, and our conversation had moved to lighter subjects. But sometimes I thought about what Andrew had revealed. Had Timothy sort of liked being a prince, even more than he was willing to admit? Had it influenced him in ways that he could never recover from?
“Your worry frown has returned,” Timothy said nudging me from my contemplations of the tale that Andrew had told me. We were standing on the boat’s, I mean, yacht’s side, and staring out into the breadth of the ocean, which stretched for miles. The motors were sending fumes into the air, the seagulls were scolding, and the waves were a tom-tom on the side of our vessel.
I suppose Timothy suddenly took advantage of his ability to read my thoughts.
“I am who you see now, Penelope,” he said, apparently picking up on the ugly memory Andrew had shared. “I am not that arrogant prince of long ago. I will never be him again,” he promised. Timothy picked up my hand and started massaging my fingers, as if that would reassure me and erase all my fretful doubts.
“I admit that I might dip into over protectiveness at times,” he said with a crooked grin, “but that would only be because I adore you. I will try not to growl at men whose eyes fall on your beauty. I know I cannot keep you in an ivory tower.”
That ended the conversation for the moment, but not my worries over the impact of his history and the roles he’d played: commanding an army, ordering the deaths of criminals, beheading wayward soldiers, and prancing about in fine clothes in front of a score of court ladies . . . Timothy had been a movie star, a super hero, and a royal heir. Sure, it was long ago but actually not that different from who he was in the present. The newspapers had called him the most eligible bachelor in San Jose, and I had a feeling that he was as rich as a billionaire CEO. Timothy was still commanding, still throwing his weight around, still like that long ago cocky prince.