To Love A Prince (True Blue Royal Book 1)

by Rachel Hauck

  She offered monosyllabic answers to his questions and stared away from him more than at him. He suggested a walk over the grounds, but she didn’t bring the right shoes. She raised her foot and pointed to her thin-soled trainers.

  “Darling, I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

  A tear dropped from her eye to her hand. “You’ll know soon enough.”

  “Tell me now. Let me help.”

  “I’m not sure I can say it twice.”

  The hour they waited for Dad and Mum to return might as well have been a trip around the moon. In slow motion. Gus ended up watching the telly, sitting on the couch alone, just to keep himself distracted, to keep from freaking out.

  How could she still love him and be so aloof and cold? No probing for a hint of her mission worked, so he waited.

  When they were called to the queen’s lounge, Dad, Mum, John, and Holland were all present. Daffy appeared both pale and green, hunched over as if she might be sick. He placed his arm around her shoulders, but she shrugged him away. Her eyes glistened with ebbing and flowing tears.

  “What is it?” Mum spoke into the silence that had stretched on too long. “You have us here, so you might as well say it.”

  “Perhaps, ma’am, I should speak to you first. In private.”

  “We’ve no secrets.” Dad’s voice was gentle, but firm. “Go on, Daffy. And relax. You’re among friends.”

  “Yes, we’ve done away with firing squads and sentences to the tower.” John’s laugh added a bit of lightness to the room, but only for a moment.

  Holland chimed in, complimenting Daffy on the beauty of the wedding dress display.

  Still, Daffy did not speak nor move from her position in front of the telly.

  Mum stood. “Perhaps I should talk to her in my office.”

  “Sit, Catherine.” Dad again. “Daffy, just tell us. Gus, do you know what this is about?”

  “Not a clue.”

  Daffy raised her chin with a long inhale. “When I was friends with the princes, I wrote a story. My Life with the Prince. It was all pretend. Just pretend. A sweet journal of how our love affair began.” She glanced at Gus and his heart nearly broke for her. He wanted to sweep her away and remove the thorn she bore. “When we were children. Of course, I had no idea I’d actually fall in love with him one day.”

  “You two are in love?” Holland sat up, glancing at Gus then Daffy. “Since when? I’m thrilled.”

  Daffy held up her hands. “Let me get this out. Most of you know the story of the queen finding me in her dressing room.”

  Gus glanced toward Mum. She sat straight, her hands clasped in her lap, her ankles crossed just so.

  “I tried on a blue dress. Which I found again, quite oddly, at the Shop Vintage by the quay. We were going to use it for the Unknown Bride.”

  “And I requested she change it.”

  “You told her to burn it, Mum,” Gus corrected.

  “Why would you want to burn it?” John, more than curious.

  “But Mum rescued the ole thing herself,” Gus said. “Where is it?”

  “Anyway—” Daffy’s raised voice reined in the scattering questions—“I was sent downstairs. I felt horrible for overstepping my bounds.” She glanced at Mum for half a second. “I loved you. All of you. I thought we were friends, even family. But I realize my error. I was young and silly.”

  “You were her friend,” Dad said. “Catherine, tell her how you adored her. I think you told me at one time she was like a daughter to you. She reminded you of someone.”

  “Edric, hush. I really think I should talk to Daffy in private.” Mum stood but Dad urged her back down.

  “I want to hear this.”

  “Me too,” John said.

  Mum hesitated, then returned to her chair.

  “I came back upstairs to apologize,” Daffy said. “But the queen was on the phone. I started to leave, but then decided to wait until she’d rung off. I heard things. I wrote them down in my diary. Which I thought was lost. Thrown out. A few weeks ago, Mum found it. Put it in a box of old things she left at my flat. My sister Ella saw it, gave the diary to Leslie Ann Parker. Sinclair Posey filled in the details I didn’t know.”

  “I don’t understand.” Holland shook her head. “What did you hear?”

  “Your Majesty, do you want to take over the story?” Daffy started for the door.

  “Stay.” Mum trembled as she pushed up from her chair. “What…who Daffy is referring to is my daughter… Scottie O’Shay. Her father is Trent O’Shay. An American. I met him at Haxton. I was talking to him the day Daffy overheard. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  Her words dropped into the room like rocks cast across a lake, sending ripples over the smooth surface.

  “Catherine—” Dad stood, his voice deep and commanding. “You have a daughter we know nothing about? When? How?”

  But Mum disappeared into her room and Dad followed, intent on answers, their voices hushed, then loud, behind the closed door.

  “Wait.” John turned toward Daffy. “We have an older sister—and you’ve known for how long?”

  “Eighteen years.” Her answer was firm. As if she was resolved to her fate.

  “And you never said a word.”

  “If your mother didn’t, why would I?”

  “But now Leslie Ann Parker is going to tell the entire world?” John paced, a bull seeing red. “We…we haven’t even begun to process this. What of her, this Scottie? Does she know?”

  Daffy shrugged. “Leslie Ann will tell us tomorrow night.”

  “Gus.” John snapped his fingers. “Can’t we invoke some sort of gag order?”

  “Are you kidding? No. Besides, Mum is the champion of the free press.”

  “So we’re just to watch her be humiliated? Why would Leslie Ann do this?” John faced Daffy again. “And why would you give her the ammo?”

  “John, love,” Holland said. “I don’t think Daffy intended to arm Leslie Ann. Her sister found the diary. She gave it to Leslie Ann.”

  “Why did she even write it down?” The more John talked, the more his words fanned his temper.

  Daffy pressed her lips together and Gus wanted to hold her, but he was trying to understand everything himself. “I was told writing things down in my journal would keep me from saying them out loud.”

  Dad returned, retrieving his phone. “I’m calling the doctor. John… Gus—one of you call your mother’s secretary. And Lord Bellish. He’ll convene her privy council. We’ll need to get ahead of the tsunami.”

  “Is she all right?” Holland stood beside John, her hand on his arm.

  “Overwhelmed.” Dad looked as if he’d stepped in front of the Northton Express. “Did you know, Gus? Any clue? I can’t take it in. Thirty years of marriage and she never said a word.”

  Gus shook his head. “None. Except—” He faced Daffy who’d retreated to the shadows near the main exit. “You weren’t lying, that day on the beach. Mum did have a secret.”

  “You were so angry with me… I wanted to fire back. But I couldn’t actually tell you. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “This is why you didn’t bring luggage.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not staying?” He didn’t think he’d argue with her over it. The family needed space.

  “No.”

  “Then you should probably go.” He needed to process, be there for his mother.

  Having been where Mum would soon be—humiliated, scrutinized at a level no one should endure—he understood what was needed.

  His family had circled around him, even when he was too stubborn to accept their comfort and advice. Mum, however, would be the opposite. She’d want everyone near. And in the days ahead, she’d have a story to tell.

  On the verge of a glorious wedding week, one secret threw their joy in a tailspin.

  “I’m sorry, everyone. Truly.” The door clicked as Daffy exited.

  Gus dropped to the nearest chair, head in his hands.


  “You can’t go on with her now, Gus.” John’s directive was firm. “Daffy is a liability. Especially as long as she’s friends with Parker. Mum will never trust her.”

  “What? Surely you can’t shoot the messenger.” Holland intervened with sweet grace. “That poor lass just stood in front of the Royal House of Blue and warned of a coming storm. She’s a hero, if you ask me. Brave. Gus, go after her.”

  He stared toward Holland, but he didn’t see her. He saw the faces, heard the voices, of that day in Clouver Abbey—his parents, his brother, his mates.

  “Go after her!”

  “What happened?”

  “Did you have any idea?”

  “Win her back!”

  Move. But his feet remained planted, anchored between the past and the present. Go! In the distance, Holland and John debated.

  “…let her walk out of here feeling as if she launched a world war.”

  “Let her go. It’s over…see it in her eyes…not want to be in this family.”

  “Seriously…narrow minded?…thought better of you.”

  As they argued, Gus sorted his thoughts. Why wasn’t he charging out the door to catch her? This was not her fault. She never intended for Parker to read her diary. Still, betrayal was betrayal. Those who sat in the getaway car were as guilty as those robbing the bank.

  If he went after her, what would he say? Where were his loyalties most needed? With the family, the House of Blue, or with her?

  “I will not hurt you. I won’t run or hide or confess I love someone else.”

  A clank rattled through him. The sound of breaking chains. Of love conquering fear.

  Out of the apartment and down the corridor at top speed, he raced through the Grand Gallery and down the Grand Stairs. Bursting across the foyer and out the main door, he skidded to the edge of the granite portico.

  “Daffy!” He jumped to the ground, stumbling and rolling through wet grass, and scrambled toward the castle parking.

  Little blue car, be there. Be there. But the car park was empty. He dropped into a squat, head down. After a breath or two, he reached for his phone.

  Waiting for her to answer, Gus gazed west, toward the channel, the cliffs, and the Hand of God. Overhead, the conflicted sky warred between sunlight and a coming storm.

  His call landed in voice mail.

  “Daffy, ring me. Please.”

  Her father’s old blue motor was probably no match for Dad’s Aston Martin. Why not chase her down? Go for it. Gus exhaled, cleared his head and shook the slimy ropes of past rejection from his mind, his body, his soul.

  “I heard you wanted to see me.”

  Gus swerved round to see Emmanuel approaching, his winter anorak exchanged for a brightly colored, thick wool sweater. “Where’ve you been?”

  He’d stopped wondering how the man retained access to the castle grounds.

  “Busy. Tending business.”

  “The chair was stolen. I wondered if you’d taken it.”

  “If I wanted to take it, I would’ve long ago. I’m not a thief, Gus.”

  “I know. Hemstead, my former protection officer, went to the workshop to see what I was up to, broke the lock, saw the chair, and took it to Perrigwynn.”

  “Then the matter is resolved.” Emmanuel stood next to Gus and gazed toward the horizon. “What do you think, rain or shine?”

  Knowing what he knew? “Rain. A big, fat blooming storm.”

  “I’ll go with sunshine.” Emmanuel pointed toward the gold ring around the blue clouds. “If not today, after the storm.”

  “That’s like picking both teams to win.” Gus laughed and faced the big man. “Why did you help me? With the chair? You didn’t even quote me a price. I don’t know how much I owe you.”

  “Nothing. I’m your friend.”

  “A relatively new friend.”

  Emmanuel cut him a sideways glance. “Still, my friend.”

  “Yet I can’t even find you without Ernst putting out ‘the word.’”

  “Yes, you can.” Emmanuel touched Gus’s chest. Just over his heart. “If you ask. Don’t you know?” With a final glance, the carpenter started down the portico’s tall stone stairs. “I’ve some folks to see at the Belly of the Beast. See you around, Prince Gus.”

  “What do you mean, you’re in my heart? If I ask what? I don’t understand.”

  “You will.” Emmanuel carried on down the pebble-and-stone concrete poured path to the main gate and out to Centre Street. “Tell Coral I said hi.”

  “What? Coral? Emmanuel, come back.”

  The man was mad. Loony. But the skitter of chill down Gus’s arm gave him pause. Emmanuel. He’d look up the name after he chased down Daffy. He’d just arrived in the garage when John texted.

  Mum wants to talk to us. Come now.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Daffy

  Nothing felt right. Not the scenic three-hour drive back from Dalholm. Not her beloved apartment with its picturesque scene of a modern yet ancient Port Fressa wrapped in the lights of Clemency Avenue.

  Everywhere she looked, she saw Gus. Falling over the secondhand chair as they lost themselves in a kiss. The couch where’d they’d snuggled and talked until falling asleep in one another’s arms. The pillow which still held his scent. If she sat still long enough, she could almost catch the tones of his laugh…

  Now it was all shaded with the shame of the secret, anger, and sadness.

  Gus had not come after her as she exited Hadsby. Oh how she’d wanted him to chase her down the Grand Stairs and scoop her into his arms, but such fantasies were for her diary, her Nonexistent Life with the Prince.

  She didn’t blame him. His first loyalty was to his family.

  She tried to watch a show, but Saturday afternoon television wasn’t all that entertaining. Or it could’ve been her restlessness—which made everything darker. Sadder. And LTV-1 channel kept advertising Leslie Ann Parker’s Sunday night documentary.

  After a cup of tea and wandering about her place with no aim for the hundredth time, Daffy grabbed her keys and returned Dad’s motor.

  She arrived in time for pudding, and for a moment, the day was shut out, conquered by the comfort of her parents’ home.

  But the conversation turned to the secret baby, what Daffy knew, how and when, and the possible ramifications of Leslie Ann’s exposé.

  Sitting at the banquette in Mum’s warm, bright yellow kitchen, pretending to enjoy a slice of Mum’s yummy pumpkin cake, Daffy remained a foreigner in her own world. But the cake wasn’t yummy after all. Instead it tasted bland and dry, and Mum’s usually strong coffee was like water.

  Dad’s phone pinged with a text and she jumped, thinking it was hers. But it wasn’t. She’d left her phone at home, shoved under a couch cushion. Gus had called but she wasn’t ready to talk to him. No matter how she imagined the conversation, it ended with goodbye.

  On top of that, she and Dad didn’t even use the same text tone.

  She had to get over this. Move on. Brooding changed nothing. Life was too short to wallow. But oh, how was it possible the queen’s secret daughter business burned Daffy twice? She didn’t mean to hear about it back then. She didn’t mean for Ella to give Leslie Ann her private diary now.

  “What’d the queen and king consort say when you told them?” Dad returned to the yellow table with the yellow seat cushions, holding another slice of cake. “By the way, you did the right thing, love. Giving the Family a heads up. I’m proud of you. Brave, that’s right, what you did was brave.”

  “They said nothing really. Lady Holland was the kindest, but the princes were shocked, as was the king consort. Her Majesty was upset, of course, in an eerily calm way. She was the one to say she had a daughter, not me. I merely set the stage.”

  “Gus hasn’t rung?” Mum refilled Daffy’s coffee.

  “Yes, but I’ve not listened to his messages.

  “Why not? You love each other.” Mum again.

  “For all of
five minutes. I can’t expect him to choose me over his family. He’s better to break with me now and support the queen. I’m sure that’s how the conversation will go.” Daffy pressed her hand over her middle, all the sadness and tension building into a solid rock.

  “You’re such a martyr, Daff.” Ella finished her last bite of cake. “The poor little girl who got kicked from the palace. ‘Woe is me, I deserve the dungeon.’ Fight for him. Stand with him and the queen. Did you even give him a chance?”

  “You weren’t there, Ella. You don’t know. For your information, he agreed I should go. Didn’t try to stop me. I quite sure they all hate me. Especially the queen. This is probably her worst fear come to life. Thanks to me, my little sister, and my friend, Leslie Ann.”

  “Then make her see truth No one likes a perpetual victim.” Ella dropped her plate into the sink with a clatter. “Remind them I gave away the diary. That all you wanted was to apologize when you overheard the call. Is there no justice anymore?”

  “You know, I wonder if this disaster isn’t a blessing,” Daffy said, holding her coffee without taking a sip. “A sign I’m not right for the Family. I’m not House of Blue material. Finding myself the victim far too often. With them I’m usually in the wrong place at the wrong time. Thank you, Ella. You’ve opened my eyes.”

  “Mum, Dad, talk to her.” Ella leaned down in front of their father. “Why is her glass always half empty?”

  “Ella, you cannot deny my bad luck with the Blues,” Daffy said. “Best to be free of any lofty notions of making a go with Gus.” She gulped her coffee and reached for her cake, which tasted rather yummy this time round.

  You should at least call him,” Ella said. “What if he’s waiting for you to respond?”

  “I don’t think he is.”

  “You’re such a martyr.” Ella sighed as she dropped down to her seat. “What about Leslie Ann? Are you really breaking with her? She is one of your closest friends.”

  “Was. And yes.”

  “Are you going to forgive her?” Ella said.

  Daffy added a bit more cream to her cup. “Eventually.”

  “I still can’t get my head round it.” Dad leaned forward, arms on the table. “You heard the queen say she had a daughter?”