“A what?” A bubble of worry rose. What had they told this little girl about her brother?
“Something sin something. He’s a little different than me because he has an extra . . . an extra chromo—” She stumbled over the word, her brow creasing. “I don’t know. But it means he’s different. Not worse, not better, just different, and that’s okay, because we’re all different in one way or another.”
“Ah.” Now I understood. Syndrome had translated to sin something in Natasha’s brain. “I see what you mean. And yes, you’re right. We all are.” I pointed to myself. “I’m different from everyone else here at the garden, because I’m not British. I’m an American.”
“But you’re going to be a princess.” Natasha spoke with absolute assurance. “My mum told me. She said we can watch you on the television, and you’re going to wear a beautiful princess gown.” She eyed me up and down critically. “But you don’t look like a princess today.”
“That’s because you’re thinking of only certain princesses,” I countered. “Sometimes, Natasha, princesses do wear jeans and play in the dirt. Sometimes they like sneakers more than glass slippers. Sometimes they’d rather take care of plants than dance at a ball.”
She regarded me silently for a moment. “I guess that’s all right,” she conceded at last. “You’re not worse, not better, just different, and that’s okay.”
“Absolutely.” I bopped her on her small upturned nose. “Now I’d like to meet your parents—and Jack. Would you take me over and handle the introductions?”
Natasha was very enthusiastic as she presented me to her mother and father. “This is my mum and dad. Carol and Robin are their grown-up names. Mummy, this is Kyra. She’s going to be a princess, but not the kind that wears ball gowns and dances,” she announced. “She’s going to be the kind who plays in the dirt. And that’s okay.”
Her mother shot me an alarmed glance, but when she saw the merriment on my face, she relaxed. “It is, indeed, darling. Have you been showing Ms. Duncan your carrots?” She tousled her daughter’s hair. “She’s very proud of what she’s grown. She has grand plans for lots of other vegetables.”
“She’s doing a wonderful job.” I paused, dropping my gaze to the tow-headed boy who’d buried his face in his father’s legs. “This must be Jack. Natasha has told me about her brother.”
“She’s a very good big sister.” Carol rested her hand on her son’s head. “All of this is a bit overwhelming for Jack. Part of his—well, he has some sensory issues.”
I nodded. “Natasha says Jack doesn’t like digging in the dirt, so I wondered if that might be the case.”
“He’s interested, though.” Robin, Natasha’s dad, spoke up. “He follows me around at home when I’m doing the lawn and landscaping, and I think he might want to dig, but it’s the feel of the dirt, maybe.”
A seed of an idea was beginning to germinate within my brain. “I wonder if there aren’t things we could do to make gardening more appealing to Jack.” I smiled at the little boy, who was peeking one eye out at me. “I have to think that this kind of thing is something other children experience, too. I’d hate to think sensory issues keep people from learning the joy of growing food.”
“We’ve heard of a program in Australia that offers community garden plots for special needs children. They have gloves and specially-designed seats so that they don’t have to sit in the dirt if they’d rather not.” Natasha’s mom shrugged. “But I haven’t been able to find anything like that here. It would be wonderful if there could be. Jack goes to a school where most of the students have similar issues. I know they’d be very excited.”
I could almost hear Honey’s voice in my head: The right opportunity will present itself at the right time.
Aloud, I said, “I would very much like to talk about this more. If I can set up a meeting with Mr. Groves about using one of the plots here, would you come and share with us what some of the specific needs might be? Maybe some of the other parents might be interested in coming, too.”
Carol’s eyes lit up. “Really? Do you seriously think we might be able to get something started for the other children?”
“I don’t see why not. It might take a little while to get it all together, but this is something I’d really love to be part of.” I paused a beat and then went on. “I tend to be slightly outspoken when it comes to my love for plants and growing things, and for keeping the earth healthy. I might be a little, ah, militant about sustainability. But I really think the best way to change the world is by educating the next generation.” I patted Natasha’s back. “If we can get enough young people like Natasha excited about growing food and teach them how to do it without destroying our ecosystems, this old earth might actually stand a chance.”
Robin spoke up. “We love these gardens and the opportunity they give all of us to grow fresh food and to be neighborly. But a lot of us have been thinking we might want more.” He hooked his thumb behind him. “Sam over there—he’s a champ at the compost, but the rest of us would like to learn how to do it. Another lady knows all about pest management—what plants to grow which attract natural predators, to keep the bad bugs away. We all want to know how to do that, too.”
Now I was truly getting excited. “So maybe there could be some teaching plots and perhaps some classes that meet outside the garden, too. If we could eventually add a few lessons for the kids, too, so that they grow up educated in how to garden in a sustainable way, that would be amazing.”
“Do you really think this is possible, Ms. Duncan?” Carol’s face was filled with cautious hope. “I mean, I know Petey has his hands full already. This is a labor of love for him, and he doesn’t make much in the way of salary.”
“I think it’s eminently possible.” I grinned at her, though what I wanted to do was dance around the fields. The idea that maybe my royal platform could be about digging in the soil was completely wild. And yet, it made sense. This was something that could benefit hundreds of people, and at the same time . . . it was also something that made me happy and fed my soul.
Who said you can’t have it all?
19
“Do you realize that by this time, in seven short days, we will actually be married? Man and wife? Prince and Princess? Duke and Duchess?”
When I didn’t answer right away, Nicky nudged me. “Darling wife-to-be, what are you reading that’s keeping you from paying attention to me and my very important announcements?”
With a sigh, I turned off my phone and dropped it onto the bed next to me. “If you must know, I was reading in Debrett’s about what happens with dormant peerages. It’s pretty interesting.”
“Oh, really?” Nicky raised up on one arm, leaning over me. “Why in the hell are you reading Debrett’s, unless it’s to put you to sleep?”
“I’m reading it because Lady Marjorie suggested that it might be helpful for me to get a sense for all the peers I’ll be encountering in the days leading up to and at the wedding itself. And I thought it would be dry, too, but actually, it turns out to be more history than anything else. And since I find history fascinating, that works for me.” Lifting up, I kissed Nicky’s jaw, just below his chin. “Did you know that there is an earldom in Scotland that went dormant in 1995? And then everyone thought the line would continue through some relative of his who died in Florida, but it turned out no one could find any of that man’s descendants, until an amateur genealogist hunted down his great-grandson, who lived in Hungary and drove a cab! Now he might actually claim the title. Can you believe it?”
“That’s fascinating, Ky. But I can’t say I understand why that cab driver in Hungary would want to give up a life of freedom to take on an earldom in Scotland. If I were him, I’d tell them thanks, but no thanks.”
I frowned up at him. “If you could give up your title and position, Nicky, would you really?”
He exhaled long and used the tip of one finger to trace my cheekbone. “That’s a totally different situation, sweetheart.
Giving up something I’ve known my whole life, something I was raised to be and do, something in which my family is intrinsically involved, is not the same as choosing to avoid that lifestyle altogether.”
“I guess.” I hummed a little as Nicky’s fingers continued to stroke my face. “But that doesn’t exactly answer my question. Would you ever give it up?”
He didn’t answer me right away. Instead, he brushed his hand down to where the neckline of my nightshirt exposed the skin just above my breasts.
“Do you know how beautiful you are? How absolutely . . . sexy? Sometimes when we’re sitting together downstairs, with both of us reading or watching television, I glance over at you and can’t believe that you’re mine. I can’t believe that you agreed to marry into this craziness that is my life.”
I caught his hand and raised it to my lips, kissing the palm. “But I did. And you are a real sweet-talker, Nicholas Windsor. But you still didn’t answer me.”
“I did, in a way.” Dipping his head, he kissed me, his lips firm and ardent. “I grew up, as we all have in this family, with the shadow of my grandmother’s uncle, the Duke of Windsor, looming over me. When he abdicated, giving up the throne for the love of a woman, he fractured the family and the monarchy. Some thought it might never recover, but thanks to Granny and to her father, George VI, it did. Still, Uncle David remained a painful lesson for the rest of us. The idea of leaving the family, of giving up our titles—that would never happen. None of us would do that to the people we love.
“But even so, when you left me that day in November and I thought we were over, I gave the idea of renouncing my title some serious thought. I talked about it with Alex. I told her that if I knew it would give us another chance, if I knew we would have a future, I’d renounce my title and my place in the succession.”
Tears of surprise and love filled my eyes. I had no idea Nicky had ever considered giving up everything for me.
“What did Alex say?” I whispered.
“She was very kind.” He settled onto his side, facing me, his hand still resting on my hip. “I expected her to tell me that I was being ridiculous and foolish, to stop talking like a lovesick boy. But she didn’t. She said that I had to consider what giving up a piece of my own identity for someone else’s happiness might mean both to me and to the other person. She said it wouldn’t be fair to do that. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized she was right.”
“Anyone who would ask you to give that up—anyone who would expect that—wouldn’t be worth your sacrifice.” I framed his face and pulled him down to me. “I wouldn’t ever have married you for your title or position or fame or money, Nicky, but neither would I ever ask you to stop being who you are.”
“I know that.” He touched his lips to a sensitive spot just below my ear lobe. “So that’s the answer to your question. Would I ever give it up? My darling love, if I wouldn’t give up something for you, you can trust that I wouldn’t give it up for anyone or anything else.”
I caught my lower lip between my teeth. “Nicky, my love, those are the most beautiful words you’ve ever said to me. If that was all you said next week when we stand together in front of God, the bishop, our families and the world, it would be more than enough.” I slipped my arms around his neck and tugged him close. “I love you, Nicky. So much. So very much.”
“My Ky, I will love you as long as we both shall live.” He pressed a kiss to the crook of my neck. “Let me show exactly how . . .”
And he did.
I had heard from friends who’d gotten married after college or during grad school that the week leading into the wedding day always passed in a blur of activity and emotion. Those weddings might have been very grand and elaborate, but none of them were royal.
So really, I thought as I struggled to hold everything together that week, they had no idea.
My parents, my grandmother and my sisters had arrived en masse ten days ago, and they were all staying on one floor at a nearby hotel. For security reasons, that floor had been cleared for their use, and my sisters were excited about the novelty of exclusivity.
“Every time we go up to our room, a security guard goes with us in the elevator. It’s crazy,” Bria reported.
“And in the lobby, it’s like people know who we are. Like we’re celebrities.” Lisel laughed. “We’re getting a taste of your world, Ky.”
Honey was having the time of her life, too. She and my mother had been to Buckingham Palace to have tea with the Queen and Nicky’s mother, the Duchess of Westhampton, and they’d also been escorted to several tourist spots in London . . . including the Tower.
Although I had been busy beyond belief, I’d insisted on taking the time to accompany Honey to the Tower, both of us making the trip in honor of Handsome.
“Do you think somehow he knows that we’re here for him?” I leaned with Honey against a stone wall, watching the famous black birds strut around the lawn.
“Oh, absolutely.” Honey smiled. “I know he’s here with us. I don’t have any doubts.” She covered my hand, where it rested on the edge of the wall, with her own. “Do you think he’d miss your wedding, sweetheart? Nothing, including death, could keep him from being here in spirit.”
I blinked back tears. “I hope he knows how much I miss him.”
“We all do.” Honey sniffed. “Though I will say, if he were here in body, he’d be bossing all of us around within an inch of our lives and telling us where we should go and how we should get there.”
“That’s true,” I laughed. “And we’d all be allowing it.”
“Ah.” My grandmother gave a little kick as one of the ravens wandered a bit too close to us for her comfort. “Kyra, I’m happy to see that you seem a little more settled now. A little less anxious, even during this very stressful week. I take things have smoothed out with the Palace?”
“I think so.” I sighed and lifted my face to the sun. “It helped that I found the Tottenham Gardens and begun to put together that program to be my platform. It’s a perfect fit for me. I’ve settled into a comfortable routine balancing both engagements and work at Honey Bee, and the staff at the Palace have begun to trust me just a little bit. They had to eat a healthy helping of humble pie when it came out that the leak was actually Aline’s assistant, and not someone who worked at Honey Bee.” I smirked. “It also helps that I haven’t done any other interviews.”
Honey laughed. “You’re drawing your own boundaries, sweetheart. Good for you. You’ve found love, and with him, you’re establishing the right life for both of you. And I won’t pretend that I wasn’t ridiculously proud when I saw you just now outside the Tower, shaking hands and greeting the crowd as though you were to the palace born. You were so confident and relaxed—and most of all, you were yourself. How could they help but fall in love with you? I think, Kyra, it’s safe to say that you’ve taken London. What’s next?”
I exhaled and grinned. “I don’t know. What’s left? The world?”
“Maybe so.” Honey stood up and stretched her back. “Which reminds me that you are on a schedule that doesn’t allow too much time for long sentimental chats with your old grandmother. You have things to do. A final fitting for your gown. The rehearsal at St. George’s. Parties galore. Getting ready for a wedding that’s going to be broadcast around the globe.”
My stomach turned over, and I grimaced. “On second thought, maybe this princess-to-be isn’t quite ready to take on the world.”
“Ky, where’s my robe?” Nicky shouted down the steps to me, as though I might not hear him within the cozy walls of our little cottage.
I frowned. “You have a robe? I’ve never seen it. What does it look like? And why do you need it?”
He appeared at the top of the stairs, peering down at me. “It’s blue—royal blue, actually—and I haven’t worn it in a long time. But I need it at Windsor, because I’m going to be staying with my family, and they frown on me showing up for breakfast in my boxers or nothing at all.”
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“Well, in my opinion, they’re missing out,” I replied with a saucy wink. “As for your robe, I have no earthly idea. Maybe check the closet where we moved all the clothes you didn’t want in our bedroom after I moved in?”
“Oh, good thinking. I’ll go look.” Nicky began to walk away and then stopped. “By the way, I heard from Granny’s secretary today. The final choice for our title has been made. Do you want to hear it?”
I clung to the newel post and gazed up at him with wide eyes. “Of course, I do! Are you kidding? This is only how I’m going to be known for the rest of my life—how history will remember me! Tell me. Did Her Majesty go with Leeds?”
“No, actually, as of our wedding day, I will be the Duke of Kendal. And if you show up at St. George’s as planned and say the right words, you’ll leave the church as Her Royal Highness, the Duchess of Kendal.”
I tried the title out in my head. “Kyra, Duchess of Kendall. Hmm. I think I like it. Did the Queen tell you why she chose that one?”
Nicky chuckled. “She had her secretary send a very lengthy explanation, along with a history of the title—the note says, ‘Because Kyra will find this interesting.’ See, my grandmother is already impressed with your love of history.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to read it. To be honest, I’m just relieved and grateful that Her Majesty granted you a dukedom. Otherwise, I’d have been known as the Princess Nicholas, and that just felt wrong.”
“Darling, you know they’d all call you Princess Ky even though that would never be your title.” Nicky rolled his eyes. “But the Duchess part should forestall that.”
I thought about it for a moment as he went in search of his robe. When he didn’t appear again within a few minutes, I jogged up the steps and found him in our extra bedroom, digging through a box.
“Did you find it?”
The Anti-Cinderella Takes London Page 17