by Rachel Hauck
“I am.” Ella grinned. “Very much.”
“Me too.” Leslie Ann pushed forward with one of her fake telly smiles. Which meant nothing but trouble. “Your Royal Highness, please join us.”
“Thank you, Ms. Parker, but I thought I’d take a run down the slopes.” He glanced at Thomas. “You’re the fiancé, I believe.”
“Thomas Dune, sir.”
“Congratulations. You’ve a good one with this lass.”
“Indeed.” Thomas hooked Daffy into his chest with one arm.
“She’s the best.” Gus backed away from the exchange. “Nice to meet you all. I’d better hit the slopes while the light is still good.”
When he’d left the lounge, the group collapsed in a collective hush. Daffy reached for her cocoa but the drink had gone cold. But she didn’t mind. The prince had somehow come to her rescue. She still needed to sort out the ring business, but Gus’s appearing helped de-escalated the situation.
“He’s right.” Leslie Ann moved to the edge of the lounge area, her gaze following the prince’s path. “We’re wasting a good afternoon of skiing. I think I’ll go for another run myself.”
“You said you didn’t want to go,” Jones said.
“I changed my mind.” Leslie Ann picked up her ski jacket. “A final run will be breathtaking.”
Right.
“Sit down,” Daffy commanded her friend. “You’re not fooling anyone. Leave the prince alone. Haven’t you done enough damage?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Leslie Ann tugged on her jacket and hat. “I’m going to ski—get some exercise. Ta-ta.”
The woman left her no choice. Daffy fired off the couch and launched from the center table like Superwoman. She flew over the adjacent couch and landed on Leslie Ann like a duck on a June bug. They crashed to the lodge floor with a resounding thud.
“Get off me.” Leslie Ann kicked and squirmed, struggling against Daffy’s grip.
“Leave. Him. Alone.”
Leslie Ann huffed and puffed, her face a deep red. “I must…get an interview… There’s still a story… I’m the one to get it. Why did Coral Winthrop leave him…at the altar? Nothing on Good Morning New York…went on and on about God. Good grief, we get it. Jesus saves.” She gave Daffy a final push but Daffy’s strength prevailed. “Let me go! How much do you weigh?”
“Daffy, get up. People are staring.” Thomas lifted her to her feet while Jones and Rick aided Leslie Ann.
“I thought you’re my friend.” She straightened her jacket and smoothed her hair.
“Yeah, well you started this in Florida. You promised to leave me out of your shenanigans.”
“How am I including you? I saw him for myself.”
“Les, if you ever want an in-depth sit down with Her Majesty or any of the Family, you’d better respect protocol.” Daffy brushed her hair away from her face. “When and if Prince Gus ever wants to talk about his breakups, don’t you think he’ll choose a presenter he trusts? Who lets him ski without being hounded? You chasing him down the trail—’Hello, Your Royal Highness, yoo hoo, a word? Why did Coral Winthrop leave you at the altar?’—won’t get you what you want.”
“I’m aghast. Insulted. When have you ever heard me say ‘yoo hoo?’”
“Daff.” Thomas pulled her close, touching her face as if she had a fever. “Darling, you’re flushed. You need to sit down. Maybe take a walk outside.”
“She’s fine, Thomas. That’s her Prince Gus blush. Happens whenever he’s around. That’s how I figured out he was in Florida.” Leslie Ann ran over to the window and stared toward the slopes.
“What do you mean she blushes when he’s around?” Thomas said.
“It’s nothing. A childhood tic.” Daffy reached for her coat and kissed her sister on the cheek. “Love you all, but I’m tired. Leslie Ann, leave the prince alone.”
Her mates uttered low goodbyes followed by a soft, feminine “Love yous.”
“Wait, Daffy.” Thomas caught her in the lobby. “You don’t want to stay? Please, love, we can talk.” He attempted to kiss her, as if a kiss made everything fine between them. “And, you know, other things.” He smiled and arched his brow. “Are you really upset about the ring?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t want to be but I need to think.” She zipped on her coat, far removed from her earlier thoughts of going to the next level with Thomas.
“You’re upset.” Thomas took her scarf and tied it around her neck. “I wish you’d stay.”
“I really am tired. And I don’t want our first night together to be like this.”
He drew her in for a hug. “Do I need to be worried about this blushing?”
“No more than I need to be worried about a ring you bought for another woman.”
Or that he shopped with Blinky. Or that he wanted to tour their wedding venue with her. Deep down Daffy knew Blinky was just trying to help, but she felt confused and weary.
“Touché.” Thomas stepped back. “I’ll ring you later. Maybe we can meet in the Old Hamlet for dinner. Just the two of us.”
She held his hands in hers. “Thomas, why did you propose?”
He shrugged. “Because we’re good together.”
“And you love me?”
“I know I don’t say it much, but yes, I… I do.”
“I love you too.” She kissed him, her hand pressed to his chest. But when she pulled away, she could’ve sworn she felt nothing of his beating heart.
Chapter Sixteen
Gus
“Where in blazes were you yesterday? Don’t say the grounds—I looked.” Hemstead fell into step with Gus as he headed down to the servants’ hall breakfast. On Sundays, a local chef came from town to set out a brunch for those living on premises.
“Skiing.”
“Your Highness, I need to be with you whenever and wherever you go.”
“It was spur of the moment. I forgot.”
How long was the protection officer going to buy that excuse? It was just he didn’t want a shadow as he spied on Daffy. He’d finished the first stages of the chair repair with Emmanuel and, as he left the workshop, the snowy day had given way to a glorious, sunlit afternoon. The golden glints crowning the Highcrest ridge called to him.
Besides, he’d reckoned with something as he filled the splintered chair legs with putty then clamped them to dry—under Emmanuel’s supervision. He was filled with Daffy. The sense of her, the idea of her.
He was becoming all too fond of his old friend. It was time for a dose of reality. Not the romantic, fairy-tale atmosphere of Dalholm. Seeing her with her mates, her man, would stop his nonsense.
To his surprise, he found her friends in the middle of a row while she sat by listening, looking bored and a bit put out.
“I don’t think you forget, sir,” Hemstead said. “I think you mean to ditch me.”
Gus paused on the stairs. “In all honesty, yes. I rather liked not having anyone off my flank while in Florida.”
“A dangerous move then, and even more so now.”
“Why? Does the Crown have enemies?” Gus started down, inhaling the scent of warm scones.
“Everyone has enemies. Especially those in power.”
“Rather grim look on life, Hem.”
“I’ve been a protection officer for fifteen years, and I assure you that people like you have enemies.” Hemstead followed Gus through the Grand Foyer, through the formal parlor, and around the hand-carved column to the downstairs doorway. “I understand you’re comfortable in Dalholm. People know you and, for the most part, have let you be. But that’s precisely when things go wrong. The hamlet has changed, sir. The New Hamlet is full of career-minded men and women wanting to make their mark. Greed has no gender, race, or creed. I am responsible for your safety. The protocol seems simple. Inform me when you want to take an excursion and I’ll be ready in a moment.”
“I will try.” Gus scanned the servants’ hall for Daffy, but her usual place at
the table was empty. Did she stay with Thomas? Which was really none of his business, but if anyone asked, she didn’t look or act like a woman in love.
In the hall, Cranston sat at the head of the table, reading his paper, along with two hall boys, the two groomers, one maid, and one footman—not Miles—and Lucy.
“Good morning.” The staff stood as Gus made his way to the buffet. “Tell me there are plenty of scones left.”
“Your Royal Highness,” Cranston said. “Are you sure you want to continue dining with us? It’s nothing to set a place in the Grand Dining Hall. I think the queen would prefer it.”
Gus found the scones. “I, however, would not.”
Filling his plate and pouring a cup of tea with plenty of cream, he chose a place across from Lucy.
“How are you?” He snapped open a starched cotton napkin.
She choked and swallowed. “G-good, Your Highness. And you?”
“Have you seen Ms. Caron?”
“This being her day off, she may have slept in.”
“Something I wish I’d done.”
Lucy smiled. “I’m an early riser, me. Can’t sleep in. My mum never let us linger much past eight, even on holidays.”
“Now that I think of it, neither did mine.” Gus layered his scone with clotted cream and took a hearty bite.
“Your mum, the queen, woke you up in the morning?”
“Not always, but yes, quite often. She wanted us up and about, living life. ‘You can sleep when you’re dead,’ she said.”
“Goodness. That’s exactly what my mum said.” Lucy sat back, her eyes wide, a small giggle escaping. “She’ll go bonkers when I tell her the queen said the same thing.”
“Mums, eh?”
“Yes,” Lucy said with an easy laugh. “Mums.”
Hemstead sat two places down with a cup of tea and a plate of eggs and bacon. “What are your plans today, sir? With Stern gone to see his sister, you’ve no royal duties.”
“I’ve a busy week ahead. I think I’ll have a quiet day in my apartment. Maybe read or catch up on a show or two. I never watched telly in Florida.”
“Why would you? You had the sun and the beach.” Lucy seemed more relaxed with him now that their mums had something in common.
Hemstead brooded for a moment, his heavy brows creased. “About earlier, sir, I apologize for my tone. For scolding you.”
“You’re doing your job. Think nothing of it.”
He sighed, the lines in his face easing. “If you should go out, please ring. I’ll be there straightaway.”
One by one the staff exited the hall, beginning with Cranston and ending with Lucy, until Gus sat alone.
But he didn’t mind. The early March day was bright and blue with the sun falling through the windows. Taking his teacup to the row of double doors behind the dining table, he shoved them open and leaned against the frame. In the distance were the columns of the old portico. He and John used to try to scale those wide, round things only to fall back down to the cracked concrete foundation. The portico used to be a forward fortress, but the walls had crumbled. Now it was a nice place to see and look down on the world. Mum used to take afternoon tea there.
Overnight, most of the snow had melted, except for the stubborn drifts in the shade of the castle. Spring was desperately trying to make its mark on Dalholm.
The season of love. What was the old fable?
“…love blooms from the earth the same as flora and fauna. It perfumes the air… Expect a bit of fairy dust on your heart. Expect to fall in love.”
Gus sipped his tea. Despite Daffy’s accusation, he’d never been one for fairy tales. But love? He’d chased it hard. And it crushed him. But he’d not begrudge love to others. Like his brother. And Daffy. She deserved love. A passionate, devoted love. A man to cherish her. He stepped farther out and gazed toward Highcrest, barely catching sight of the lodge’s rooftop.
Did she stay?
“I see the snow is melting.” Daffy appeared next to him, her gentle presence as comforting as if she’d actually touched him. She’d freed her auburn tresses from their usual constraint, and the waves fell around her face and shoulders. She wore a thick pink jumper and jeans. “Please tell me there are scones.”
“I believe so.” He turned back inside and visually followed her to the buffet. “Lucy thought you’d slept in. I wondered if you’d stayed at the lodge.”
Her reach for a plate froze, then released. “No. I came back. Right after we saw you, as a matter of fact.” She looked back at him. “You seemed lost in thought when I came in.”
“Was I?” Gus settled at the table, finishing his tea with a large gulp. “Ready for spring, I think. And to get this royal ball business finalized.”
She eyed him as she sat in her usual spot. “Don’t let Coral Winthrop’s presence ruin your time with your brother, Gus. Years from now when you reminisce with him, or tell his children what his ball was like, you want to share good memories. Details. Not that you were lurking in a back room because a woman you loved two years ago danced a reel. She’s not worth it. No one is. If you ask me, she’d respect you more for moving on than for stopping your life because she made a very bad choice. In twenty years’ time you’ll be happily married with—”
“From what crystal ball are you getting all of this?”
“—children of your own. Coral Winthrop will be a distant memory. And you know I’m right. No crystal ball needed.”
“Have you forgotten the Blues are one of the most documented families in royal history? Being left at the blooming altar will quite literally go down in history. For crying out loud, you’ve details on a thousand-year-old chair.”
“Not a thousand years’ worth. Only about three hundred years.”
“In this digital age, everything will be recorded, videoed, photographed, and stored until the age to come and then some. And Coral didn’t make a bad choice, Daffy. Not for her.”
“Then how she left. Very poor choice. She agrees. I did hear her say that on Good Morning New York.” She spread a dollop of clotted cream on her scone. “How’s the chair?”
Was it his imagination or was she becoming bolder, more forceful, in her opinions? About him?
“Fine. First phase done. Daffy, why do you care about me this way? About letting go and forgiveness?” Gus folded his napkin in half, then in quarters. “What’s it to you?”
“Because I hate to see anyone give another person power over them. And you’re my friend.”
For which he was entirely grateful. “I’ve forgiven her.”
“Have you?”
In a matter of minutes, Daffodil Caron had gone from lovely and demure to straight up irritating. “She has zero power over me.”
“So dragging your feet on ball decisions and declaring your intention to hide all evening is entirely based on…what? Past experiences? Your disdain for the waltz? Your refusal to reel?”
“What about you? Does Thomas have power over you? You didn’t look like a blushing bride-to-be last night. You looked bored. Trapped.” Yes, that was the word. He’d fished for it all night. Trapped.
Her expression hardened. “I am not bored, nor trapped. I was rather upset by the argument.”
“What was it about?”
“Nothing.”
“An argument about nothing? Enough with that routine, Daffy.” He pushed away from the table and returned his cup to the buffet. “But you don’t have to tell me. I’m going up to Pontus Lake.” He paused by the door. Did he ask? Seemed stupid to go to the lake alone and leave her here alone. But there were boundaries. On the other hand, she’d just declared their friendship. “Are you meeting Thomas today?”
She glanced over at him. “They all went home. Only came up for the day. Work and family obligations.”
“Even Thomas?”
“Ella texted his car was the first to pull out this morning.”
“Then would you like to go to the lake?”
She hesitated, fini
shing her scone. “Pontus?”
“Pontus.”
“I’ve only been twice but I love that place.” Daffy rummaged through a cupboard and produced a portable tote. “We’ll need snacks.”
She wrapped several scones in a napkin and dropped them in the canvas bag, then retrieved two bottles of water.
“I was feeling a bit out of sorts, wondering what to do with my day off. Even considered working. But this is better. How will we get there? Don’t say horses. I don’t ride. Not well, anyway.”
“We’ll take one of the carts. Best get our coats. The snow is melting, but the air is still like ice.”
Fifteen minutes later he met her at their secret stairwell, remembering halfway down he didn’t tell Hemstead. Before he started the cart, he shot the burly protection officer a text.
Visiting Pontus. No need to tag along, chap. Back soon.
Chapter Seventeen
Daffy
“It’s so beautiful here.” Daffy snapped a picture of the serene Pontus Lake as it reflected the noon sunlight. She reclined against the stack of rocks smoothed by time and, for a moment, almost believed she was more than an ordinary girl.
From this vantage point, the castle grounds were clear with their rolling hills, rows of trees, patches of flower gardens with Hadsby, a stone fortress, rising above it all, keeping watch.
“Why didn’t the queen tear down the eastern portico?” Daffy looked toward the tip of the column, shading her eyes with her hand. “What’s it for?” The concrete structure with Greek columns was from the Middle Ages, maybe once used for plays or minstrels.
Next to her, Gus stretched out, eyes closed. “I’m not sure. Mum keeps threatening a family portrait there. But it was a forward lookout in the day. Even the ruins are historical really.”
“A family portrait would be lovely there. At the right angle, everyone would seem to be walking on clouds.”
“Maybe.” Gus locked his hands behind his head and stretched out his long legs. He wore hiking boots with his jeans and faux-fur lined leather jacket. Every once in a while, he’d rake back his loose hair, only to have the wind blow it forward again.