A Royal Christmas Wedding Read online

  ACCLAIM FOR RACHEL HAUCK

  THE WEDDING SHOP

  “I adored The Wedding Shop! Rachel Hauck has created a tender, nostalgic story, weaving together two pairs of star-crossed lovers from the present and the past with the magical space that connects them. So full of heart and heartache and redemption, this book is one you’ll read long into the night, until the characters become your friends, and Heart’s Bend, Tennessee, your second hometown.”

  —BEATRIZ WILLIAMS, NEW YORK

  TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  “The Wedding Shop is the kind of book I love, complete with flawed yet realistic characters, dual timelines that intersect unexpectedly, a touch of magic, and a large dose of faith. Two breathtaking romances are the perfect bookends for this novel about love, forgiveness, and following your dreams. And a stunning, antique wedding dress with a secret of its own. This is more than just a good read—it’s a book to savor.”

  —KAREN WHITE, NEW YORK

  TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  THE WEDDING CHAPEL

  “Hauck’s engaging novel about love, forgiveness, and new beginnings adeptly ties together multiple oscillating storylines of several generations of families. Interesting plot interweaves romance, real life issues, and a dash of mystery . . . Recommend for mature fans of well-done historical fiction.”

  —CBA RETAILERS AND RESOURCES

  “Hauck tells another gorgeously rendered story. The raw, hidden emotions of Taylor and Jack are incredibly realistic and will resonate with readers. The way the entire tale comes together with the image of the chapel as holding the heartbeat of God is breathtaking and complements the romance of the story.”

  —ROMANTIC TIMES, 41/2

  STARS AND A TOP PICK!

  THE WEDDING DRESS

  “The Wedding Dress is a thought-provoking read and one of the best books I have read. Look forward to more . . .”

  —MICHELLE JOHNMAN, GOLD

  COAST, AUSTRALIA

  “I thank God for your talent and that you wrote The Wedding Dress. I will definitely come back to this book and read it again. And now I cannot wait to read Once Upon a Prince.”

  —AGATA FROM POLAND

  THE ROYAL WEDDING SERIES

  “This is classic romance at its very best.”

  —DEBBIE MACOMBER, #1 NEW YORK

  TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  “Perfect for Valentine’s Day, Hauck’s latest inspirational romance offers an uplifting and emotionally rewarding tale that will delight her growing fan base.”

  —LIBRARY JOURNAL, STARRED REVIEW

  “Hauck writes a feel-good novel that explores the trauma and love of the human heart . . . an example of patience and sacrifice that readers will adore.”

  —ROMANTIC TIMES, 4 STARS

  “A stirring modern-day fairy tale about the power of true love.”

  —CINDY KIRK, AUTHOR OF

  LOVE AT MISTLETOE INN

  “How to Catch a Prince is an enchanting story told with bold flavor and tender insight. Engaging characters come alive as romance blooms between a prince and his one true love. Hauck’s own brand of royal-style romance shines in this third installment of the Royal Wedding series.”

  —DENISE HUNTER, BESTSELLING

  AUTHOR OF THE WISHING SEASON

  “How to Catch a Prince contains all the elements I’ve come to love in Rachel Hauck’s Royal Wedding series: an ‘it don’t come easy’ happily ever after, a contemporary romance woven through with royal history, and a strong spiritual thread with an unexpected touch of the divine. Hauck’s smooth writing—and the way she wove life truths throughout the novel—made for a couldn’t-put-it-down read.”

  —BETH K. VOGT, AUTHOR OF SOMEBODY

  LIKE YOU, ONE OF PUBLISHERS

  WEEKLY’S BEST BOOKS OF 2014

  “Rachel Hauck’s inspiring Royal Wedding series is one for which you should reserve space on your keeper shelf!”

  —USA TODAY

  “Hauck spins a surprisingly believable royal-meets-commoner love story. This is a modern and engaging tale with well-developed secondary characters that are entertaining and add a quirky touch. Hauck fans will find a gem of a tale.”

  —PUBLISHERS WEEKLY STARRED

  REVIEW OF ONCE UPON A PRINCE

  ALSO BY RACHEL HAUCK

  The Wedding Dress

  The Wedding Chapel

  The Wedding Shop

  NOVELLAS FOUND IN A YEAR OF WEDDINGS

  A March Bride (e-book only)

  A Brush with Love: A January Wedding Story (e-book only)

  THE ROYAL WEDDING SERIES

  Once Upon a Prince

  Princess Ever After

  How to Catch a Prince

  A Royal Christmas Wedding (Novella)

  LOWCOUNTRY ROMANCE NOVELS

  Sweet Caroline

  Love Starts with Elle

  Dining with Joy

  NASHVILLE NOVELS

  Nashville Sweetheart (e-book only)

  Nashville Dreams (e-book only)

  WITH SARA EVANS

  Sweet By and By

  Softly and Tenderly

  Love Lifted Me

  ZONDERVAN

  A Royal Christmas Wedding

  Copyright © 2016 by Rachel Hauck

  ePub Edition © September 2016: ISBN 978-0-3103-4481-0

  Requests for information should be addressed to:

  Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Hauck, Rachel, 1960-, author.

  Title: A royal Christmas wedding / Rachel Hauck.

  Description: Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zondervan, [2016] | Series: Royal wedding series; 4

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016018246 | ISBN 9780310344537 (paperback)

  Subjects: | GSAFD: Christian fiction. | Love stories.

  Classification: LCC PS3608.A866 R69 2016 | DDC 813/.6—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016018246

  Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by Zondervan, nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Interior design: Mallory Collins

  16 17 18 19 20 / RRD / 21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To all those who dare to dream

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  BRIGHTON
KINGDOM

  1834

  The night was moonless, the color of black ink, with not one star twinkling from the heavens. The air, cold and brisk, swirled with snow.

  The ancients called such darkness the Boot of God. But for Prince Michael there was no darkness. The glow of gaslights along the palace grounds and the love beaming in his heart showed him the way.

  Lady Charlene offered a challenge. And he intended to take it.

  Running along the perimeter, past the reach of the lights, Michael aimed for Pembroke Chapel and its notorious bell tower.

  “Mick, ole chap, what’s lit your fire?” The voice of his mate Paulson slipped over his shoulder. “The music, the food, pints of bitters, and all the pretty ladies are back in the ballroom, the latter just waiting for us to dance.”

  “Don’t slow me, Pauls. I’m going to ring the chapel bell.” Michael worked the heavy iron latch of the tower’s door until it sprang open.

  “What? You jest. And what unsuspecting damsel will be the object of your unwanted affection?” Paulson’s steps neared, his breathing heavy, his lantern adding light.

  “If I tell you, what will be the mystery?” Michael started up the slick stone steps of Pembroke Chapel bell tower in the dark, feeling his way and balancing with his hand on the rickety wood railing.

  Tonight he wanted nothing more than to ring the chapel bell at midnight—according to the Harvest Celebration tradition—declaring his love for Lady Charlene and his intention to marry her on Christmas Day.

  One hundred and eighty-two narrow steps and he’d arrive at the top of the tower.

  Paulson’s voice echoed from below. “If you ring that bell, everyone will want to know who your intended is. You won’t escape, ole man. What of your father? He’ll have a word or two to say.”

  “He’ll discover the truth on Christmas morn. Like everyone else. Who am I to break with a good Brighton tradition by revealing the woman of my affection?”

  At the top, Michael butted against the copula, forcing the rusty hinges to give way until he stood under the four-hundred-year-old bell.

  Paulson arrived a moment later, the lantern swinging from his hand, the golden light reflecting in his wide smile. “There’s your bell. What seems to be the delay, my good man?” He motioned to the bell cord. “Or did you knock some sense into yourself banging against the door?”

  “The cord . . .” Michael yanked on the twisted hemp rope attached to a hook in the tower stone. “It won’t budge. It’s frozen.”

  “Thank the heavens, you’re saved.”

  “I don’t want to be saved.” Michael, determined, rubbed his hands together, gripped the rope, and leaned, his muscles taut under his winter coat.

  “Mick, stop, think. What will you do after you ring the bell and realize you must marry the woman of your ardor? Brighton traditions are almost as sacred as Holy Scripture, I do believe. You can’t change your mind, citing cowardice and whatnot.”

  “My feet are plenty warm, thank you. I will marry her. Christmas morning at Watchman Abbey. As tradition bids me. There’ll be no breach of sanctity on my part. Now, make yourself useful. Give me a hand.”

  With Paulson’s help, Michael freed the cord from its hook just as the glorious cathedral bells chimed throughout Brighton’s capital, Cathedral City.

  When the last chime sounded, marking the dawn of a new day, the end of the harvest, and the beginning of Christmas season, Michael would ring the chapel bell, the lone sound indicating to all that there would be a royal wedding on Christmas Day.

  If, however, brave prince won fair maiden’s heart.

  “You’ve gone daft, man.” Paulson stamped his foot, the sound echoing through the stiff air. “How many poor sods, all of them princes and noblemen, I might add, have run these chapel steps? Declaring their true love only to end up at Watchman Abbey alone with no bride and, I dare say, no pride as the hounds of the press nipped at their heels?”

  Michael leaned against the wall, the cold rope in his sweating hands, counting the cathedral chimes.

  Four . . . five . . .

  “My fate is not another man’s, Pauls.”

  “Something’s afoot. Out with it.” Setting the lantern on the base of the open archway facing the city, Paulson grabbed the cord. “For whom doth this bell toll?”

  “Charlene.” Michael met his friend’s gaze in the flickering lantern light. “But now you are sworn to secrecy. Not a word of it.”

  Paulson stepped into Michael, wrenching the damp, worn hemp rope from his hands. “Lady Charlene of Clounnaught?” His expression, his tone, his posture mirrored that of the chapel construction—cold, hard as stone. “Are you trying to vex me?”

  The air vibrated with the resonating sound of the city’s cathedral bells.

  Six . . . seven . . .

  “Vex you? What on earth, man?” Michael took hold of the rope, using his might to twist it from Paulson’s hands. But to no avail.

  “Charlene and I are to be pledged. You know this with certainty.”

  “I know no such thing. If your words are true, why has her father not made the announcement? Why are you not already pledged? You’re both of age.”

  “When the hour is right. I’ve commercial investments yet to be settled as well as my position with Father’s barrister house. But if you ring this bell, good man, with intentions for Lady Charlene, we will be at war, you and I.”

  “Let the battle begin.” Michael slammed into Paulson, freeing the cord from his hands as the city bells peeled through him, through the tower, and through the cold.

  Eight . . . nine . . . ten . . .

  Paulson, the son of the Earl of Granite, raised his hand against Michael’s throat. “I will defeat you, Michael. Try me not.”

  Unable to breathe, Michael desperately stomped on Paulson’s foot. With a yelp, he released the prince.

  “Try me not. She all but told me should I ring the bell, she will marry me.”

  “Ha! How is that keeping with tradition? Nevertheless, her father will have the last word.”

  Eleven . . . twelve.

  The bells tolled one last time from the great cathedrals in the city, the tone vibrating across the palace grounds.

  “A prince against an earl? I believe she’s all but mine.” Michael shoved his hand into Paulson’s chest. “Stand aside while I ring the bell.”

  Gripping high on the thick rope, he pulled, leaning, putting the six-hundred-pound bell into motion. “For Lady Charlene, for Lady Charlene.”

  Paulson peered through the arches. “The palace doors are opening. I can see the glow from the ballroom.”

  Michael focused on ringing the bell up, tugging on the rope, letting it slip through his hands, then pulling again, the rope releasing higher and higher.

  The singular chime rang higher and louder.

  “People are exiting the ballroom.” Paulson snatched up his light and made for the stairs. “Lanterns are bobbing all over the grounds. They’re coming this way, bloke.”

  At last, the bell was in full motion. Michael released the rope and followed the light of the swaying lantern.

  “Out of my way, Paulson. I must be the first down.”

  “Well then, I consider that a challenge.” Paulson turned, shoved Michael so he crashed against the stone wall, his feet slipping down the steps. He clamored to reach the railing and steady himself.

  “Paulson, stop.” Michael gained his balance and felt his way down the treacherous stairwell, the light of the lamp fading. “I know what you’re about and it won’t work, I tell you. I rang that bell.”

  For one hundred years, princes and noblemen had sounded the bell with love in their hearts. Tonight was his night. His declaration. For Lady Charlene. He’d not be robbed by his so-called best friend.

  Michael’s heart thudded as he descended, catching himself with each slick step, but as he rounded a curve, a sharp blow cracked against his head. Stumbling against the wall, Michael winced against the pain, trying to stay
upright. “Paulson . . .”

  “Dare I repeat myself? We are at war, Mick.” Paulson leaned into him, his lantern raised. “I will be the first man through the chapel door—”

  “Out of my way, chap.” With an exhale, Michael smashed his fist against Paulson’s chin, the larger man bending forward, absorbing the blow with a soft “umph.”

  But it was enough. Michael dashed round him but found no traction on the slick stone. He slipped, falling, flailing . . .

  The railing . . . if he could reach the railing . . .

  His fingers grazed past the old, dried wood. Reaching, Michael at last grabbed hold, his hands sliding against the grain, splinters digging into his skin. When he stopped, he drew his first pure breath and pulled himself upright.

  “Paulson, shall we call a truce?” Michael started down the steps, searching the deep shadows for his mate.

  But the stone betrayed him again. His boot slipped. Then a slight shove from behind sent him tumbling and he crashed sideways against the unworthy railing. The lumber cracked beneath the force of his weight.

  The haunting sound of splintering wood filled his ears. His chest pounded as he toppled headfirst, 182 steps into the black hollow of the Pembroke Chapel tower.

  ONE

  NOVEMBER, PRESENT DAY

  ST. SIMONS ISLAND, GEORGIA

  If she closed her eyes, she could pretend nothing had changed at the Rib Shack since Daddy died.

  Not the click and clack of dishes, the hum of the dishwasher, the sizzle of the fry vat, Bristol barking commands at the window, Catfish singing “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen” while Mama, the queen of the Shack, admonished him to knock it off or he’d see a new kind of trouble.

  Catfish just tipped his head back and sang a little louder.

  Avery laughed at their exchange, yet still aware of the void made in her chest when her hero left this earth way too soon.

  Barely sixty when Daddy’s heart said it’d had enough. Nothing was the same without him. Not the Shack, not home, not Mama, not life. For Avery, to say she missed him was more than mere words.

  She missed him at the fryer telling Mama to leave him alone. Missed him at the prep counter making his famous barbecue sauce. Missed his wise answers to her anxious questions.