Finally, we made our way to the box, where we were escorted to our seats. At first, it was only the four of us there, plus two officials from the charity’s board of directors, but then shortly before the curtain rose, two women and a man were escorted to seats in the row behind us. Alex stood up and embraced the women, shaking the hand of the man before she introduced us.
“This is Mary and Kristie and Jack. They have all been involved in AfterCare for the last six months or so, and they were selected by the board to join us in the box tonight.”
I took in the shadowed eyes and pinched expressions on their faces and surmised that being involved in AfterCare meant they’d each lost someone whom they’d loved. Being chosen to sit with the charity’s patron, Princess Alexandra, was definitely an honor—but I imagined that they’d have traded that privilege for another day with their loved ones.
Before I could do more than nod a welcome to the newcomers, the orchestra began to play and the lights dimmed. The ballet had begun.
At intermission, liveried servers came into the box with light refreshments and beverages. I happily accepted a glass of wine and a small plate of hors d’oeuvres and turned in my seat to face the people in the row behind me.
Kristie, Mary and Jack all looked a bit ill at ease, slightly out of their depth, and since I could certainly empathize, I smiled and tried to think of a good way to initiate conversation.
“Are you enjoying the ballet?” It was trite, yes, but how else was I to begin?
The one who I thought was Kristie returned my smile and nodded. “Yes, very much so, ma’am. Er—Your Royal Highness?” Her face turned a pretty shade of pink.
“Oh, no.” I waved my free hand, the one not holding the wine glass. “I’m not a ma’am yet nor a royal highness. Please, call me Kyra. That’s about as much as I can handle at this point.”
They all three chuckled in response, and I thought they seemed to relax a bit.
“Congratulations on your engagement, Miss—uh, Kyra.” Mary spoke up this time. “My girls are very eager to watch the wedding. They’ve been begging for the day off school, if the date falls within the term, and I’ve thought I probably will let them stay home.” Her face lost a bit of its animation. “They’ve had enough unhappiness. It would be good for them to have something to celebrate.”
Impulsively, I reached for her hand. “I’m so sorry, Mary. Was it your husband you lost?”
She nodded. “Yes. His name was Richard, and he was a lovely man. We have three girls, ten, eight and six, and he always said it was his lot in life to be managed by beautiful women.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she fumbled in her evening bag for a tissue.
“It’s been just six months now for Mary,” Kristie said softly. “A bit over seven for me, since my fiancé Ian was killed.” She laid her hand on Jack’s arm. “And about the same for Jack here, since his wife Eileen died.”
“I’m so terribly sorry.” I could only repeat the words. “I can’t even imagine what grief you all must deal with on a daily basis. I hope, though, that the group—AfterCare, is it? I hope it’s been of some help.”
“Definitely.” Jack nodded. “Don’t know what I’d have done without them. I’m an only child, both parents gone, and Eileen’s family lives a long bit away, and we didn’t have any children. I was all on my own.”
“Princess Alexandra has been a huge source of strength.” Kristie’s eyes shone as she glanced across the box at Alex. “She comes by our meetings and get-togethers pretty often—not just when the press is there to take pictures, either. She’ll sit with us and share her own heart. It’s more than anyone could ask or expect, but she does it.”
“One day, I was very low.” Mary’s fingers curled into fists. “The girls had been sad all day, and Richard’s parents were very needy, and I felt like I couldn’t cope anymore. I was ready to . . . I don’t know, run away from home.” They all three laughed softly, and Richard gripped Mary’s hand in both of his. “I stopped by the AfterCare office, and the Princess just happened to be leaving after a meeting. She was in jeans and a hoody, just like a real person, and she saw me . . . she sat down right there and we talked for two hours. I swear to you, she never looked at the clock or made me feel like I was taking her valuable time.” Mary’s voice held a note of wonder. “Afterwards, I went home, and I felt worlds better. I could go on, where before I wasn’t so sure.”
I gazed at Alex, standing between her husband and her brother, speaking to one of the charity’s organizers. Seeing her so serene in her beautiful gown, with her famous, wealthy family and devoted husband, no one would guess at the heartache she’d endured. Yet she’d managed to turn that pain into something positive, reaching out to help others in their time of need.
For the first time, I began to truly understand a little more about Nicky’s family, about the value of their work. I knew that Nicky made a difference with his involvement in the food and hunger organizations, but I hadn’t thought about how his parents, his sisters and his cousins did the same for the causes of their hearts.
Maybe there was something to this whole royal business, after all.
10
“Kyra, do you have a moment?”
I turned at the sound of Sophie’s voice, smiling at my press liaison, who stood in the hallway outside of her office at Kensington Palace. I’d just finished my daily royal lessons with Lady Marjorie and Sir Todd, which was always an exercise in both boredom and frustration, but today, even that couldn’t bring me down.
I’d spent a perfect romantic weekend with Nicky. We hadn’t gone anywhere or done anything exciting; we’d stayed at home in the cottage, going to bed early, sleeping late, snuggling in front of the fire and watching movies together. I’d baked cookies, and Nicky had cooked dinners. We’d been cozy and alone and together. So now, even though it was Monday morning, which was not usually my favorite day of the week, I was still floating on a blissful cloud.
“For you, I can have two minutes. But just that long—I’m off to work, and I have a meeting in about an hour.”
Sophie smiled, but I saw the tension in her eyes. “I can’t promise that I’ll only keep you two minutes, but I’ll do my best to have you off to work in time.”
I followed her into her office and shut the door behind us. “What’s up, Sophie? You seem as though something’s bothering you.”
“Ah . . . well, a little, maybe. Actually, trite as it sounds, I have good news and . . . not so good news.” She gestured to the chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat.”
I sank down, crossing my ankles and folding my hands as I’d just been practicing with Lady Marjorie. “Give me the bad stuff first. Lay it on me.”
“All right.” Sophie sat down behind her desk and leveled her gaze at me. “A story broke this morning in one of the rags that you’re pregnant.”
My mouth dropped open, and forgetting the calm and decorous mannerisms I was meant to be practicing, I leaned forward. “What? Why the hell would anyone say that?”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Kyra, you know the answer to that as well as I do. These papers don’t worry overmuch about reporting the truth. They just want to sell copies.” She paused. “There was a picture of you from the visit to Brixton—well, two pictures, actually. One was of you with a small child, and the other was of you standing near the door, just before you went inside. Unfortunately, the angle of the second photo and the way the dress hung made it look as though you might have a baby bump. The tabloid ran both, saying that, uh, ‘sources’ at the palace confirmed that you’re expecting and are begging the Queen to let you move up the date of the wedding so you don’t have to walk down the aisle eight months along.”
“Oh, my God.” I sagged back in my chair, all of the wind knocked out of me. “Just when I think I can’t be surprised by anything the media does, something like this happens.”
“I know.” Sophie’s brow wrinkled. “I’m so sorry, Kyra. I feel like I’ve let you down, allowing something like this
to happen. It took me utterly by surprise, too.”
“Not your fault.” I twisted my engagement ring around my finger. “What do we do about it? Aside from burning that dress, that is.” I shuddered. “And here I thought it looked so nice.”
“It did, Kyra. Please don’t let this nonsense take away any of your joy in that day. This was simply a bad bit of luck and unscrupulous people doing horrible things.” She hesitated. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do. The Palace only issues denials under the most heinous of circumstances. I already spoke with Aline, who runs the Press Office, and she said the best thing to do is just to ignore the rumor and move on. The only good part about false pregnancy stories is that they are inevitably shown to be wrong, when a baby doesn’t come along in due time.”
“I suppose so.” I frowned, glancing up as something occurred to me. “Sophie, was it Garrett Smith?”
Her eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”
“Was it Garrett Smith who wrote that story? You know, you’re always telling me how horrid and obnoxious he is. It sounds like something he would do.”
“Oh. No, it wasn’t Garrett.” She cleared her throat. “I know that for a fact, because he’s the one who tipped me off about the story in the first place. He texted me this morning.”
I cocked my head, staring at my press liaison, whose face was turning a becoming shade of red. “Garrett Smith texted you? Since when does that happen?”
She drew in a deep breath. “Well, actually, that brings me to the second bit of, ah, news. It’s rather a long story—”
I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest. “I have time. Do tell.”
She blinked. “I thought you had to get to a meeting.”
“I do.” I waved my hand. “It’s okay. They won’t start without me.” My lips curved into a wicked smile. “Besides, this is much more interesting.”
“Fine,” Sophie huffed. “When I left on Friday, I planned to go straight home and collapse into bed.” When I quirked an eyebrow, she added, “Alone. By myself. But for some reason, I began to feel that was a very lame thing for a single woman to do on a Friday night, so I had Harold drop me at a pub, and I texted a bunch of my friends to meet me.”
“Sounds like fun.” I nodded.
“It would have been, had any of them been available. Sadly, none of them were, so I took myself off home. Or I tried to, anyway. The weather had turned nasty by the time I went to get a cab, and I was standing there in the freezing rain, trying to wave down a taxi, when a car pulled up and the driver offered me a lift.” She waited a beat. “It was Garrett.”
I let my head drop back and laughed. “Of course, it was! The one man in all the universe whom you did not want to see.”
“Right?” Sophie shook her head. “That was exactly what I told him.”
“You didn’t!” I wriggled in my seat. “Oh, Sophie, I’d have paid to see that! What did he say?”
“Essentially, he used my innate British terror of causing anyone inconvenience to force me into the car, and then we ended up getting caught in a terrible traffic snarl and having to stop for fish and chips.”
“You had to stop for fish and chips? He forced you to?” I couldn’t help teasing her.
“Well, my growling stomach did that for me, I suppose.” She threw up her hands. “That’s beside the point. In the course of our conversation over said fish and chips, Garrett told me a little more about himself.”
“Did he, now?” I grinned. “And let me guess. There’s more than intriguing tats and muscles on top of muscles to this enigmatic reporter.”
“Well, when you say it like that, it just sounds like a bad romance novel.” Sophie sniffed. “But in point of fact, yes. It turns out that up until this year, Garrett worked for Green Waves Report. It’s a publication concerned with environmental issues and sustainability, I guess.”
I sat up straighter. “Sophie, Green Waves Report is the premier news magazine for environmental issues! Honey and Handsome have old issues all over the house, and they used to read aloud from it when I was a kid. Their first interview about Honey Bee Juices was with GWR. And you say Garrett worked for them?”
She nodded. “Until last year, when they had to make cuts because of budget reasons. He was hired by another paper, but they only had an open spot on their royal coverage—which is why he now follows you around. He’s hoping to get a foot in the door when a position opens in their science and technology section, and he’s been hoping to interview you—and the prince, if possible—about your work in agriculture and sustainability.”
I was silent for a moment. “So that’s why he’s been pestering the Palace for a chance to interview us?”
“Yes. He said they were so dismissive that he got his back up and didn’t bother trying to explain. But he’d love the chance to talk with you.” Sophie dropped her eyes. “In the interest of full disclosure, I, ah . . . spent some time with Garrett over the weekend.”
I wanted to giggle and rub my hands together—I’d predicted this turn of events—but remembering that I was now meant to be a sophisticated almost-royal, I reined in my glee. “I’m assuming this was in a romantic capacity?”
Sophie’s face was now beet red. “It . . . yes, it was.” She fiddled with a pen on her desk top. “If you’d like me to resign my position, I understand. Fraternizing with the press is not something that was on my job description.”
I sighed. “Probably not, but you’re not going to give Garrett insider information on Nicky and me, are you? I mean, Sophie, I trust you. You’re good at this job, and I honestly don’t want to have to learn to work with someone else. So please don’t resign.”
“I appreciate that.” Still, she looked miserable. “The thing is, Kyra, I just passed on an interview request to you from Garrett. The truth is that I’d have done it regardless of who the requester was, given the circumstances, but the fact that I’m now involved with Garrett does complicate things more than a little.”
“Maybe.” I gave in and crossed my legs, flouting the rule I’d just been taught by Lady Marjorie. “But what if . . .” I fell silent. “Give me a little time, please. I want to think this over a little more.” I stood up and pulled out my cell phone to check the time. “I need to go now. Don’t say anything about Garrett or the interview to anyone else, please?”
“Of course not.” Sophie rose, too. “Thank you, Kyra—for listening and for at least considering the idea.”
“Sure.” I gave her a distracted smile. “You know, something occurs to me, Sophie. If Garrett’s the one who told you about the pregnancy story, he probably knows the person who wrote it, right?”
“He said she’s a regular contributor to the tabloid that ran the story, so yes, I assume he does. At least as a colleague. Why? Do you want me to have him talk to her, to ask her to write something else? To print a retraction?” Sophie frowned.
“No, that would only give the story more attention. I was thinking he could find out if she really does have a source in the Palace.”
Sophie reared back as if in shock. “You don’t really think someone from Kensington Palace is feeding information to the press, do you?”
“Don’t you?” I shot back. “I’m not saying that this story was necessarily prompted by whoever is doing the leaking—but if there is a leak, maybe this reporter would have some idea of who it is. Let’s face it, Sophie, we know that someone’s saying something. Too much of what’s showing up in these articles is accurate, or nearly so, for it to be coincidental. And we both know, too, that it’s far from the first time something like this has happened in the Royal Family.”
Sophie’s mouth twisted, and I could tell that she was struggling with the truth of what I’d just said. On one hand, as a reporter, she wasn’t so naïve that she believed leaks didn’t happen. But now she was on the other side of the fence, and she wanted to trust that everyone who worked with her had the same high standards she did.
Finally, she blew out a long breath.
“I wish I could say that you’re wrong, but I can’t absolutely promise that you are. I’ll mention something to Garrett. I doubt he’ll know anything, but maybe . . . well, he’s got connections, and no one would be surprised at him asking around.”
“Thank you, Sophie.” I hitched my purse onto my shoulder. “I appreciate it. I’ll be in touch about the interview.”
“Perfect.” She paused and then, with a twinkle in her eye, added, “Don’t let it throw you today when reporters toss out questions about the baby. And please, for the love of God, don’t say anything snarky when they do.”
I winked at her over my shoulder as I left.
“Can’t make any promises.”
On my way to the office, I thought about my conversation with Sophie. She and I both knew all too well that members of the Royal Family did not give interviews unless it was a special occasion or to commemorate a milestone, and even then, those interviews were granted sparingly, to reporters who had a long history covering royalty. I could go to the press office and tell them that I wanted to do this interview, but in the end, I’d be told that I couldn’t. Or more accurately, that I shouldn’t.
And maybe that was the best idea. After all, I wasn’t an expert in my field, not by a long shot. I had my graduate degree; I’d done research, and I was passionate about agriculture and food sourcing. But no one should be interested in what I had to say. I wasn’t famous for anything I’d done in my own area of study. I was only famous for being engaged to a prince.
But then again . . . I remembered Kristie, Mary and John from the night at the ballet. I thought of the good that Alex had done for them. If I could raise some awareness about the need to adopt better, more sustainable agriculture, maybe that would be one way I could use my undeserved fame for something positive.
The Anti-Cinderella Takes London Page 9