To Love A Prince (True Blue Royal Book 1) Page 13

  “Not really. I don’t know anything else. I sometimes envy Prince Harry, married to an American, getting a taste of another life.”

  “What about King Nathaniel and Prince Stephen? They married Americans, but their wives dedicated their lives to Brighton.”

  “Susanna had no choice. She married the king. Stephen’s wife was an heiress, already very global.”

  “Like Coral?”

  “Yes, like Coral.”

  “Would you have gone to America with her?”

  “We talked about it. She had a business, of course, but she understood I had royal obligations. We’d planned for her to work out of the Port Fressa office with trips to New York as needed. But that’s all— Enough about me. What about you? Ever want to do something different? Achieve the unachievable?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” She buried her answer in a gulp of beer. “Does it bother you? Being teased in headlines?”

  “You’re full of questions.”

  Daffy propped her chin in her hand, a contemplative expression softening the curve of her face. “I remember the year you came home from school because the lads teased you so much. Fifth grade, I think.”

  “Brock Chancellor saw my stash of junk food and started calling me Gus-Gus.”

  “And John didn’t defend you.”

  “He tried, but even princes want to be accepted by their peers.”

  “What made you finally ask to come home?”

  Gus paused, recalling the scene he considered the worst in his life. Little had he known back then what the future held for him.

  “We were coming out of evening vespers when Brock and his mates called me over. This was spring term, and for some reason, they’d let up on the teasing after Christmas.”

  “Can I ask why you had so much junk food?”

  “Why does anyone have chocolate and biscuits and sweets? For comfort. I never liked boarding school, Daffy. If I ever have children—and that’s a big if—I won’t send them away. I missed Mum and Dad.” He raised his gaze to hers. “You.”

  The color on her cheeks deepened. “What happened when Brock called you over?”

  “This movie started playing on the side of the building. Me. My face…on the body of Gus-Gus, the fat mouse in the animated Cinderella. Brock’s older brother was a film student. The scene was the one where Gus had all the corn in his hands and couldn’t get away from the cat.”

  “What? You’re serious?”

  “Everyone laughed. Ha, ha, Gus-Gus the fat prince.” His smile was more of a grimace. “The worst part was John laughing with them.”

  “Want me to slap him for you?”

  “Would you?” He sat back, shoving his pint aside. “Mum brought me home the next year. We tried to keep it quiet, but the news went on about me having issues, raising questions about my intelligence.”

  “I remember.”

  “Yes. We played a lot of video games together, didn’t we?” His eyes warmed at the memory.

  “We did.” Daffy finished her pint and watched the fire. “I never saw you as Prince Pudgy. You were always…my friend.”

  “I was really upset when the new security measures changed your privileges. I begged Mum to make an exception, but she claimed she must adhere to the new protocol.”

  Daffy’s soft smile communicated something he couldn’t understand. “I hated it too. But I think the queen did what she thought was best.”

  Silence stretched between them for a few moments, broken only by the sounds of the fire popping and a burnt log cracking. Gus felt completely and utterly safe. At peace. Home. As if all the people surrounding them formed a barricade, sheltering him, and Daffy, from the outside world, allowing him to just be who he was on the inside.

  “So who was your childhood nemesis?” Gus’s question pulled her gaze to his. “Wait. Let me guess. You didn’t have one.”

  Daffy shook her head. “No, not really, but when I was ten and banned from the upstairs, that was really, really hard. I felt like I was being punished for something I didn’t… Well, whatever.”

  “I’m sorry. I never really considered it from your side. Did the queen ever speak to you about it? Tell you why?”

  She made a face and shook her head. “No.”

  Gus waited, sensing there was more. Daffy traced the grain of the table, avoiding Gus’s intense gaze. “The pain of it stayed with me for a long time. I… I’d lost my best friend. I thought you all were my friends, like family really.”

  Her lips twisted around her confession, and though she tried to smile and bat them away, tears collected in her eyes.

  “Daffy, I’m so sorry.” He smiled. “I’ve been saying that a lot lately. Sorry.”

  “Either way, all of that was a long time ago. We’ve grown up. Moved on.”

  Hemstead crashed through the pub door. Ah, there he was. Slower than Gus imagined. He stalked through the tables filled with patrons and, with a determined scowl, sat in the nearest chair, his steely eyes pinned on Gus.

  “Something tells me I won’t be sneaking out alone again.”

  Daffy covered her laugh with her hand. “Well, give the chap a break. It’s his job to mind you.”

  “Mind me? I’m not two.”

  “But you are a royal. And that changes things.”

  “It always does.” Gus closed his eyes and sighed. Shifted his shoulders, as if settling a weight on them again. “Shall we go?”

  They waved goodbye to Ernst and Betsy and the lads lingering at the tables, motioned for Hemstead to follow, and stepped into the cold. The storm had passed, and the northern stars spread across the night sky.

  “Up in the mountains, you can see twice as many stars.” Gus crossed over to Canal Street and leaned on the railing to overlook the quay. Hemstead stood a few feet away.

  “I know.” Daffy joined him, shivering, folding her arms over her torso. “I came up here with friends to ski two years ago. Broke my ankle. Haven’t tried since.”

  “Ankle breaks are the worst.” He put his arm around her and turned her slightly to the south, pointing. “Can you see the Hand of God?”

  “The cleft in the cliff?” She brushed her hair away from her face. “Too dark.”

  “Not if you look just right. The rocks reflect the light. See?” He pointed again, telling her to follow the line of his arm.

  Daffy squinted. “I’m not sure. Is it there?” She pointed in the direction of the cleft.

  Gus stepped in closer. Too close. But just this once he wanted to feel like he was her man. He was letting Dalholm’s spell cloud his judgment. “That’s it. Ever climb up?”

  “I haven’t. Too high.”

  “We’ll climb sometime. I can lead you up. Can your ankle handle a steep climb?”

  “I think so. It hurts still from time to time, but it’s probably more in my head than my bones.”

  “Can I ask you a personal question?” Gus drew his arms to himself and leaned on the railing. From the corner of his eye, he could see Hemstead staring out over the channel. “Why Thomas? What made you pick him?”

  “Why does anyone pick another person to love?” she said. “We get on well. Started meeting up at the pub. Ran into him at church one Sunday. Then he suggested a movie night at his flat and things took off from there. He’s sweet and funny, talented and smart.”

  “And?”

  “And what?” He couldn’t make out her expression in the shadows of the amber street lamps.

  “Is that enough?” The dark made it easy to ask questions one wouldn’t pursue in the light.

  “Shouldn’t it be? Why’d you pick Coral? Or Lady Robbi?”

  “Robbi and I were both on the rebound when we saw each other at a party. We were what we needed in the moment. I got carried away and proposed. But Coral? She was a different story.” And one he wasn’t ready to share. “Do you love him? Thomas?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” She turned for the street. “We should go. It’s getting cold.”

  As they wa
lked, Gus tucked his hands into his pockets, resisting the urge to reach for her. This feeling was getting a bit out of hand. But he’d get over the newness of her in a few days. Over the infatuation. In fact, maybe this meant he was more healed up than he realized.

  “We’re not very mushy, Thomas and me,” she said through the quiet. “More practical. Especially him. But we’re a good match.”

  They’d just arrived at the castle’s front steps—no running through the woods and climbing secret stairwells to get back in—when she faced him.

  “What happened?” Her question was straightforward. “Why do you let the press go on and on about how this amazing woman left you? How two amazing women dumped you. Why didn’t you share your side of the story rather than letting the press tell theirs? Why did Coral leave?”

  “Whoa, lass, there’s about a thousand details in those few questions. First, with the press, what would I say?” He moved around her for the high, granite steps. “I didn’t want to slam either Coral or Robbi, and until a few months ago, I wasn’t sure their assessment of me wasn’t wrong.”

  “Of course they’re wrong. Gus, tell them your side—the truth. In Florida, you said you wanted to be in command of your story. To tell it on your terms. Choose someone and tell it.”

  “I can’t, Daffy. Robbi, yes. We knew we weren’t right for one another. We’d rushed in. But Coral?” Talking about it dug up some residual anger. And he’d been feeling so free. Gus jogged up the steps and then swung around so fast he nearly knocked Daffy back. “I can’t, Daffy, because I don’t know why she left. I blooming don’t know.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Daffy

  By Friday evening, ten of the twenty-five gowns graced the Grand Gallery, their elegant trains flowing over the carpet like luminous rivers of ethereal dust across a red moon.

  Lucy looked up from the hem she tacked into place, peeking through strands of her sandy-blonde hair falling from random hair clips.

  “Done.” She timbered to one side, tried to catch herself, and then crashed to the floor. “Every muscle in my neck is knotted. I need a massage. I hate to say it, Daff, but these gowns were not as cared for as we were led to believe. Two of them had stains—bad ones. The legendary Ilsa, grand dame of royal wedding gowns, was a fraud.”

  “Let’s keep the truth to ourselves. Ilsa served the crown for fifty years.” Upon inspection, each gown had something to be repaired or cleaned. A torn corner of lace. Missing pearl buttons. Scuff marks on some trains caused by careless tourists.

  The veil for the Queen Ambrosia was missing. Daffy had had to call the office and sweet-talk Goody into searching for it. Of course, Goody told Mum, who called straightaway and wanted to know why Daffy hadn’t noticed the missing inventory before she left.

  “I know you don’t mean it, Mum, but it sounds as if you’re accusing me.”

  “Well…” Mum sighed. “I suppose I am. But I know you’ll sort it out. No worries.”

  Easy for her to say. No worries indeed. And she still felt more like a daughter than a staff member. They’d work it out. Just took time. The next day Goody found the veil and drove it up Friday morning, then checked into the ski lodge for the weekend.

  But Daffy wasn’t here on vacation. She had a job to do, even if she struggled with wanting to live up to Mum’s expectations—and fearing she wasn’t.

  Then there was the dread of the chair. She’d not seen much of Gus since Tuesday evening. He’d texted her one night from a local youth symphony concert.

  Help! He’d added a funny smiley face. The planner wants to use them for the ball. Says it will bring a sense of heart and community. While I’m very proud of the youngsters’ accomplishments, and am a fan of community, they are not quite up to the task of a royal wedding ball.

  The first chair violinist shot her bow over her instrument and into the eye of the cello chap behind her. I am not kidding. P.S. Still no word from Ernst.

  Last night she considered his youth symphony dilemma and texted a suggestion to place various quartets or quintets about the castle Friday night before the Saturday ball.

  You’re a genius.

  “Daffy, I can book in at Spa Delight at eleven tomorrow. For an hour.” Lucy jumped to her feet. “Want to come? Please say we’re not working. I could use a break.”

  “A spa day? You go ahead. I might go to Port Fressa for the weekend, see Thomas, and water my roses. I’m sure Ella forgot.”

  She’d also been pondering Gus’s questions about her relationship with Thomas. Why she’d picked him. Did she love him?

  Her answer sounded like she was choosing a good motor, not a husband. Not the man she loved so deeply she couldn’t imagine her life without him. But why get lost in heady romance? More than one of her friends had crashed and burned on the island of He’s the Love of My Life.

  “Are you going to start wedding planning?” Lucy raised Daffy’s left hand so that her engagement ring glinted in the light. “Are you excited? Have you looked at any wedding dresses? Besides these?”

  “Haven’t even thought about it.” Which made an odd confession. “We probably should fix the date first.”

  “You’re so fortunate, Daffy. I’ve only met Thomas a few times, but he seems fantastic. Good-looking, successful, funny. Has that dimple in his chin.” She laughed behind her hand. “When Finance Today put him on the cover, I saved it. Hung it in my office. Don’t be mad.”

  “Why would I be mad?”

  “Because I have a pinup of your man?” Lucy shrugged with a question mark sort of expression.

  “I’ll tell him. He’ll be thrilled.”

  “Oh, don’t tell him it was me. I’ll never be able to look him in the eye. I read that journal every month.”

  “A financial journal? You’re a curator.”

  “Yes, but I don’t want to be stupid with my money. Anyway, Thomas was refreshing compared to their usual covers. Some old bloke with thin hair and cigar-stained teeth.” She sighed again and leaned on the gallery railing. “Funny how a few hundred million dollars can turn a frog into a prince.”

  Daffy laughed. “You’re punchy. Go downstairs and eat. Make your spa appointment. I’ll see you back here Monday morning. Unless you want a movie night. Then ring me.” She collected her things and started for her suite. “I’ll be down for some soup.”

  Before he’d taken off for the weekend, Chef Charles announced the kitchen was stocked with leftovers, soups, and sandwich fixings, along with a fresh loaf of bread and scones. Daffy already imagined a bowl of his amazing wild rice and chicken soup with a slice of warm, buttered bread.

  After storing her tools and kit, she collapsed on the love seat in her suite’s lounge and closed her eyes, just for a moment. She kicked off her shoes. Removed her jacket. Reached for a pillow to prop under her head.

  But instead of relaxing, she rehearsed next week’s schedule. Inventorying the remaining dresses, calculating how much work needed to be done to set them up. The newer ones wouldn’t require much tending, so the task would go quicker in the end.

  Then there was the chair. Daffy bolted upright. What if Ernst didn’t come through? She’d need to find another way. Take charge. Mum gave her the dickens for a missing wedding veil. One she’d never seen or touched. What would she say about the chair being destroyed while she’d watched?

  It will be all right. It will be all right.

  Would she really mind a life in the tower, surviving on bread and water? She’d lose those few stubborn pounds from Christmas. Maybe they’d let her read books to pass the time.

  She jumped when a text sounded from her slack’s pocket. Let it be Gus. But, no, it was Thomas.

  We were at the pub, missing you. Decided to come up. Ski weekend. The lot of us. Please say you’re free.

  Really? When?

  Now, actually.

  Now?

  I’m being spontaneous.

  I’ll say you are.

  She clutched her phone to her chest. Look at Thom
as, trying to be more whimsical. More…romantic? He did say he was missing her. Daffy needed to step up her game.

  I can’t ski but I’ll be there for lunch and dinner.

  A text shot in from Ella.

  Can I borrow your gear?

  Yes. And water my roses.

  I have been.

  Honest? Thank you.

  Okay I haven’t but I’m sure they’re fine.

  This changed things. Lifted her mood. She was going to see Thomas, her fiancé. Goodness, she had a fiancé. She’d been working so hard she hadn’t realized that she’d missed him too.

  Lucy texted next.

  If you don’t get down here, the soup will be gone. Cranston has gone back for another bowl and the skinny footman, Miles, has a wooden leg. Hurry.

  Now she was awake.

  “Evening, all.” Daffy headed straight for the soup tureen, interrupting a lively debate over the North Dals, Northton’s champion football team, and the Capitals, Port Fressa’s challenging football team.

  “Daffy.” Cranston focused on her as she took a seat. “The King Titus is missing from the Queen’s Library.”

  Her spoon clattered against her bowl. They never came up with a story for the ole butler. “What? Are you sure? I saw it there Monday evening. Miles, can you pass the butter?”

  “I’ve looked and—”

  “Am I late?” Gus to the rescue. “I hear there’s leftover soup and warm bread. Miles, good to see you.” He clapped his hand on the footman’s shoulder.

  The staff hurried to their feet. But Gus paid no mind and served himself. With a glance at Daffy, he chose the chair next to her.

  “I called Ernst on my way down.” He whispered the words as he slid into his seat. “He said to come to the pub tonight.”

  “Do you think he found this Emmanuel chap?”