I’m not surprised my parents loved her and let her have free rein in the Gardener’s Cottage. My father probably kept my old books specifically for her.
In a way, the times that I spend with Flora—reading and writing quietly beside each other—are some of the most pleasant moments of my first couple of weeks at Westhill.
I catch a glimpse of Prince Gabriel once in a window, and then I don’t see him for two weeks. I don’t mind though, the kind of energy he instilled in me in the library was almost too much to bear.
I remind myself that I’m here to take care of the roses, so my father will have something to come back to. Beyond that, I need to finish my new book. I’m not here for any other reason. Not for the Prince, and definitely not to act on any rogue desires.
I speak to my parents almost every day, and make sure to send my father lots of pictures of the roses. Settling into life in Westhill is easy. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m on the brink of failure. I actually feel like I’m doing well.
As the days fly by, I hear more and more about the upcoming Westhill Town Fair. Sam’s cheeks turn bright red whenever she tells me about it, and her fiery orange curls bounce with excitement. It’s contagious. By the end of my first few weeks at Westhill, my body is tired from the manual labor in the garden, but my mind is buzzing with thoughts of the Prince, my new book, and my father.
Three weeks after I arrive at the castle, the Westhill Town Fair officially opens.
It’s the event of the year, according to Sam. I’m as excited as the rest of the staff to get off the grounds and relax a bit. We’ll have funnel cakes, caramel popcorn, corn dogs—the works. Not to mention riding the Ferris wheel and playing carnival games.
Apparently, people from all around come into Westhill for the Fair. I’m not quite sure what to expect. After living in New York City, I can’t really bring myself to believe it’ll be all that exciting, but I’m glad to have a night away from the castle.
“Be ready at seven,” Sam says to me on the night of the Fair’s opening. Her blue eyes are shining. She brushes some dirt off her maid’s uniform and glances at me. “You want me to pick you up at the cottage?”
“I’ll come to the kitchens and we can leave from here.” I don’t know if Flora is allowed at the cottage officially, and I don’t want to get her in trouble. I feel oddly protective over the little girl, even though I’ve only known her a couple of weeks.
“Perfect,” Sam smiles. “You’re going to love the Fair.”
Most of the staff at the castle is abuzz with excitement. Even Bertrand, Prince Gabriel’s stone-faced butler, has cracked a couple of smiles today.
I have a few things to finish up in the garden, and then I head to my cottage to get freshened up. By the time I make it to the kitchens again, the sun is starting to set.
“Excited?” Sam asks, hooking her arm into mine.
“Definitely.” I try to match her enthusiasm, but I just can’t see how a country fair will be anything to write home about. I’ve just moved from New York City, where everything is hustle and bustle all the time, and I can get any kind of cuisine I want. I can’t help but wonder if the excitement in the castle is just a result of their being cooped up in here too long.
A horn honks, and I see Harry Brooks in the driver’s seat of a beat-up car.
“Come on,” Sam smiles.
Even Mrs. Grey is coming out tonight, wearing her best dress. We all pile into Harry’s car, and another carload of staff follows behind. We call ourselves the Westhill Castle Contingent. Harry glances at me in the rear-view mirror, and I ignore the slimy feeling his gaze sends down my spine.
I’m still skeptical—right up until we arrive at the Westhill Town Fair. Then, I finally understand the excitement.
The entrance is a huge garland of vines and flowers, towering overhead. We walk through to see thousands of twinkling lights strung up over the fair ground, and dozens of tents set up on a big field. There are booths offering food and games all around us, and a Ferris wheel at the far end of the grounds.
Sam jumps up and down in excitement. “I love funnel cakes. I look forward to this all year!”
“I’ve never actually had a funnel cake,” I say, allowing her to drag me further into the fairground.
“Excuse me? Did you live on the moon?”
I laugh at the outrage painted on her face, and follow her to the nearest funnel cake stand. A band is playing on a small stage nearby, and acrobats are walking through the crowd. I don’t know where all these people have come from, but the fairground is packed with smiling faces.
“The profits from the Fair are split between Westhill and the neighboring towns,” Sam explains. “So you can spend as much as you want without feeling bad—it’s for charity!”
I laugh, glancing at the carnival games. “I’m sure they’re experts at taking our money.”
“Come on,” she says. Harry stands on the other side of me, and our little group walks through the fair ground.
I’ll hand it to Sam—funnel cakes are delicious. Harry wins a teddy bear at a shooting game and presents it to me with a solemn face. I eat my way through all the food stalls.
After the stress of moving countries, all the work I’ve put into the garden during the day, and my writing at night, it feels good to have a night out. The Westhill Castle Contingent are good company, and pretty soon my cheeks are sore from laughing, and I’m so full of food I feel like I’m going to pop.
I can see how this would generate quite a bit of money for charity—I’ve already spent half a weeks’ wages, and all I’ve done is eat.
I’m not ashamed to say I was wrong. The Westhill Town Fair is the event of the year.
An announcement booms over the loudspeaker, and all the heads in the fairground turn up to listen.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice proclaims. “Now, for the main event!”
Spotlights swirl in the sky and then land on the main stage. A curtain drops, and a large tank of water is revealed. Sam jumps up and down, squealing.
“Dunk tank!”
“What?”
“The dunk tank! They haven’t had it in years. I wonder who they’ll have up there.” She grabs my hand and starts dragging me toward the stage.
“What is it?”
Harry, Sam, and even Mrs. Grey turn to stare at me, wide-eyed.
“Are you serious?” Harry says with a mocking grin on his face. “You don’t know what a dunk tank is?”
“Someone sits on that platform,” Sam explains, “and then another person throws a ball at that target.” She grins, glancing back at me. “If you hit the target… sploosh!”
I laugh, and we all move closer to the stage. The first person who appears on stage is a clown in full makeup. He bounces around the stage to laughter and cheers from the audience, and then props himself up on the dunk tank.
I’ve never seen so many people excited to throw a ball. The gatekeeper at the bottom of the stage has a hard time managing all the people who line up to compete. Harry pushes himself forward and manages to buy a ticket for himself.
I’m not a huge fan of Harry’s, but I have to hand it to him—he’s a good showman. He winds his arm back as far as it will go, and pretends to throw the ball. The clown in the dunk tank yelps, and the crowd eats it up. Everyone laughs and cheers, and pretty soon, Harry is the hero of the show. The two of them play off each other until all of us watching are in stitches.
“He’s good,” I say to Sam.
She laughs. “See? I told you it would be fun.”
Harry finally throws the ball for real, and the clown drops into the water. The crowd cheers, and Harry raises his arms in triumph. I can’t stop laughing. It’s so silly, but the atmosphere in here is contagious. Three more people step up to throw, and another one of them manages to hit the target.
By now, the clown on the platform is drenched, his makeup running off his face as he clambers down from the dunk tank. With a deep
bow, he exits the stage to clamorous applause.
Sam leans her head against my shoulder, sighing happily. Surrounded by all the staff from the castle, watching something as ridiculous as the dunk tank, I feel like I belong. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.
Even if the Prince is intimidating, I’ve only seen him once in person in the three weeks I’ve been at the castle. If I can stay out of his way, I could see myself staying at Westhill for a long time. It already feels like home. The staff is like an extended family, and Flora brings a smile to my face whenever she comes over to read with me.
It’s nice here. Maybe next year, I’ll be as excited as the rest of them for the Fair.
Harry comes back down from the stage to rejoin our group, and George, the chef, gives him a big pat on the back. Even Mrs. Grey shakes Harry’s hand, and another gardener claps him on the shoulder. Harry’s eyes flick to mine, and a blush creeps over my cheeks.
I’m not interested in him—and plus, it’s too soon after my breakup—but in this kind of carnival atmosphere, it’s nice to be surrounded by fun and happiness, and maybe even a bit of male attention.
The master of ceremonies on stage raises his hands, and a hush falls over all of us. I’m giddy, and I can’t stop giggling. I never expected to have this much fun.
“Tonight,” the emcee booms, “we have a special guest.”
I throw a questioning glance at Sam, who shrugs.
“Put your hands together for our next dunkee. The wild and untamable, mysterious and brooding, the one and only, Prince Gabriel of Farcliff!”
Total silence is probably not what the emcee wanted or expected, but that’s what he receives. A second ago, the crowd was buzzing. Now, the fairground might as well be empty. Even the music stops.
The Prince steps onstage, in all his brooding glory, and my panties turn as wet as the Prince is about to be.
He’s wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, and his hair is falling across his forehead. He searches the crowd for a moment, and then heads to the dunk tank. He doesn’t smile, or nod, or do anything to indicate that he’s happy about this situation.
He hates this, and everyone can tell.
I gulp.
With the clown, there was a rush of people trying to get up onstage to try to dunk him. There was an excited energy.
Now, though?
Total silence. Dread. Fear.
Not a single person steps up to the stage. The Prince takes his spot on the platform, his legs swinging gently off the edge. He turns to look at the crowd, scanning all the faces in the audience as we all stand there, unmoving.
When his eyes fall on me, fire ignites in my veins.
Prince Gabriel stares at me just as he did in the library, and I feel naked, and hot, and alive. It feels like there’s only him and me, and the entire fairground drops away.
I wait another few moments, and then I know what I need to do. Maybe a small part of me wants to do it, if only to get back at him for being so arrogant in the library. My feet carry me toward the stage without me really realizing what I’m about to do. Sam tries to call after me in a hushed whisper, but it’s too late.
The crowd parts in front of me, and I walk in a straight line toward the stage. I pull out a couple of crumpled bills to pay for a ticket, and then I step up to the platform.
Whispers pass through the crowd, and I accept the ball from the emcee with a trembling hand. His eyebrows are drawn together, and he holds the microphone away from his mouth.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Well, it’s too late now.” I force a smile, and the man frowns.
The ball is heavier than I expected. I feel the weight of it in my hand, and then take my spot on the small ‘x’ taped on the stage.
Then, finally, with a few hundred sets of eyes on me, I lift my gaze to meet the Prince’s.
10
Gabriel
Jolie looks terrified. Her big, brown eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them. She moves the ball from one hand to the other.
A grin tugs at my lips. Maybe my brother was right—maybe charitable work is fun.
No one else in this crowd was brave enough to do this. But here Jo is, looking like she’s about to jump off a tall building with no parachute.
None of the men in the crowd stepped forward. None of the people that know me—the ones that have worked at Westhill castle for years.
No, the person that volunteered to stand there is the one woman that I’ve been trying to avoid.
The writer. The rose gardener.
Jolie.
She takes a deep breath, and I watch the way her chest rises and falls. She has a short, sunflower-yellow summer dress on, and her long legs are tantalizingly bare. My mouth waters as I watch her dry her palm on her dress.
I’d love to slip the shoulder strap off and run my fingers over her skin. I’d love to taste her lips, and hear her whisper dirty words into my ear.
Jo glances at me once more, and then sets her shoulders. My eyebrows arch, and my grin widens.
She’s actually going to do it. She’s going to throw that ball and send me falling into this vat of ice-cold water. Even when I saw her accept the ball, I wasn’t sure that she’d throw it—but now, I know. A slight breeze picks up, and Jolie shivers. She closes her eyes for a moment, and then opens them to look at the target.
When she pulls her arm back, a collective gasp escapes the audience. They can’t believe she’s doing this either—but I love it. I love the cheek of it. The attitude. The little rebel rule-breaker inside her.
Everyone has seen the news reports about me. They’ve probably read the drivel that Paulette wrote. They think I’m a monster. They think Jo’s making a mistake, and that I’ll punish her for doing this.
And who knows? I might.
But her jaw clenches, and she does it anyway. Jolie launches the ball across the air, slicing toward me faster than I’d expected. The crowd gasps again, and someone cries out.
The ball hits the dunk tank with a dull thud, and I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for impact…
…and nothing happens.
She missed.
I open my eyes to see Jo’s chest heaving and her cheeks bright pink. She glances at me and lets out a sigh.
“Try again,” I hear myself say.
Jo’s eyes widen. “What?”
“I said, try again.”
“I only bought one ticket.”
“You’re not getting out of this so easily. How do I know you didn’t miss on purpose? Throw the ball again.”
The man with the microphone picks the ball up and hands it back to Jo. I think I see him mouth ‘I’m sorry’, and it makes me grin.
I’m loving this. I love how much they don’t want Jo to do it. I love seeing the whole crowd squirm uncomfortably as I sit on this perch, waiting to be soaked. My favorite part is the innocent, hesitant look in Jo’s eye, and the way she bites her lip as she stares me down from across the stage.
“Don’t miss this time,” I grin.
Something shifts in my rose gardener’s face. Her mouth sets in a pinched line, and she arches an eyebrow. “As you wish, Your Highness.” She gives me a tiny little curtsy and straightens up to aim.
The fucking attitude on this girl, I swear.
Desire roars through me. If we weren’t on a stage with a few hundred people watching, I’d tear her clothes off right now. I’d devour her, claim her as my own, fuck that sass out of her until the only thing she wanted to do was scream my name.
The scar on my face pulses as I think of driving my cock inside her. Even when she reaches back to throw the ball, I’m thinking about how she would look if I came on her tongue. As the projectile flies through the air, and her mouth drops open, I’m imagining what those pink lips would look like wrapped around my cock.
Even when the ball hits the target, and I hear the mechanism thunk, I’m thinking about fucking her to oblivion.
It’s not until I hit the water that I�
�m jarred me back to my senses. I sink down, deeper than I’d expected, and then push off the bottom with my feet to stand.
The water is chest-high, and I inhale sharply. It’s fucking freezing.
I’m greeted with complete silence. Jo is standing on the other end of the stage, looking like she just killed someone. Every face in the crowd is painted with shock and horror.
Then, I do something I haven’t done in a long, long time—I laugh.
I laugh at something other than my daughter’s antics. It bursts out of me, surprising even myself. As ice-cold water runs down my face and I brush my soaking-wet hair off my forehead, I laugh harder.
Maybe Charlie was right—maybe this is exactly what I need.
Who knew charity was this much fun?
As I laugh, I feel the tension in the air start to dissolve. The first cheer comes from the back of the crowd, and pretty soon the entire fairground is alive with whoops and hollers.
I climb out of the dunk tank and stand on stage in an ever-growing puddle. I raise my arm toward them.
Toward the subjects of Farcliff.
Toward my people.
They cheer for me, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I belong up here. I feel like their cheers are lifting me up, and not drowning me out. My smile splits my face open, and I laugh some more.
Turning to look at Jolie, I see her smile shyly at me. She nods her head slightly, and then exists the stage via the stairs she’d climbed to get here.
The crowd parts again for her, and she rejoins the castle staff. One of the gardeners—Harry—puts his arm around her, and a flash of jealousy makes my lips turn downward. I drop my arm, staring at them. I can feel the anger welling up inside me.
Jo looks over her shoulder at me, and gives me the tiniest of smiles.
It’s enough to snap me out of my anger, and I turn around before it grips me again. I walk backstage and away from the hundreds of prying eyes. I brought a change of clothes, and once I’m in them, I head out to the waiting car behind the fairground fence. Before I get in the vehicle, I look to the crowd once more.
Knocked Up by Prince Gallant Page 7