The Controversial Princess

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

I’M SURPRISED DAVENPORT ISN’T AWAITING my arrival at the entrance to Claringdon, as one would usually expect. Instead, the Master of the Household, Sid, is there, patiently standing tall. Damon opens the door for me, and I look at him, my bottom glued to the leather beneath it. He offers a small smile meant to reassure me. It doesn’t work.

  “Ma’am,” he prompts subtly.

  “Thank you, Damon.” I sigh, grudgingly pulling myself from the car. Breathing in some strength, I put one riding boot in front of the other and make my way up the grand steps to the palace’s entrance. “Good morning, Sid,” I greet as I pass him, entering the giant, bustling foyer of my parents’ home. Staff crisscross the highly polished marble floor before me, all precisely turned out in their royal uniforms. I must see two dozen staff members in the space of only a minute, but that is but a speck on the five-hundred strong workforce we have, some of who reside at the palace in one of the ninety staff bedrooms. Their life is to serve the Royal Family in one fashion or another.

  “Your Highness,” Sid says as he joins my side. “This way.”

  I fall into step behind him, performing an eye-roll of epic proportions. This way? Like I don’t know the route to my father’s office? “How are you, Sid?”

  “Very good, ma’am.” That is all I get, as always, nothing to lead a conversation. “His Majesty is expecting you,” he says as we take the stairs up to the massive gallery landing.

  “I would assume so, since he summoned me,” I mutter, nodding at one of the housekeepers who stops and bows her head as I pass, a pile of freshly laundered sheets resting across her arms. “Is my mother in residence?” I ask as we cross the space to the far right.

  “Yes, ma’am. Having breakfast, if I’m not mistaken.” Sid reaches my father’s office, and I hear voices from beyond. Loud voices. Annoyed voices. My heart sinks as Sid opens the door. “Her Royal Highness Princess Adeline of England,” he announces.

  I walk in to find my father pacing and Davenport standing by the fireplace, his tall frame as stiff as normal. The stick that’s constantly stuck up his arse is growing, making him seem taller and more intimidating every time I encounter him. When my father looks at me, I see angry lines distorting his round face. I don’t just bow my head out of respect and duty, I bow it to escape the furious glare burning me on the spot. “Your Majesty,” I murmur, seeing David Sampson out the corner of my eye sitting in one of the smoking chairs opposite my father’s grand antique desk. I only just manage to keep my curious frown at bay. What’s Haydon’s father doing here? My worry only grows when I spot Sir Don, too. Oh, great. He’s called in all the reinforcements.

  “Sit down, Adeline,” the King orders, getting my feet moving to the chair next to David. As I near, I see he also looks awfully mad. I am outnumbered four to one.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask, resting my hands in my lap. No one speaks, creating an uncomfortable silence. But before I can break it and push this along, get it over with, whatever it is, my father picks up something out of the red box that’s delivered to his office each morning. That box contains official papers on all matters of which the Sovereign needs to be consulted on, or simply advised on. So when a tabloid newspaper lands in front of me, folded, I’m somewhat confused. But then I spy the bottom half of a picture gracing the front page. I recognize those jean-clad legs. My sinking heart charges back up my throat and chokes me. Oh no. Those are my legs, and there is also a pair of man’s legs covered in combat trousers. I recognize what I can see of the background, too. The dining room at Kellington.

  Unable to move and fold the paper out to confirm my fears, David takes the liberty of helping me out, reaching forward and flattening out the tabloid. The picture in all its awful glory is revealed. I wince, taking in the full image through squinting eyes, like it can lessen the impact of the shot. Oh God, there is me atop the dining table, a bottle of Belvedere in one hand, a man in the other. Our mouths are stuck firmly together. The headline reads . . .

  WILD PARTIES, NEAT VODKA, AND ORGIES. THE LIFE OF A PRINCESS WHEN THE CAMERAS ARE OFF.

  I swallow and move away from the paper, unwilling to read on. I don’t have to, because I know one of these four men will enlighten me on the contents. Keeping my eyes downcast, I wait for the hurricane that is my father’s temper. “You are an aberration, Adeline,” he shouts. “A disgrace to the Royal Family!”

  I flinch at his harshness, but I don’t bother mounting my defense. There’s little point. The journalist who printed this will have embellished the truth. A source close to me who doesn’t want to be named will have been quoted to confirm the headlines. It doesn’t matter that the close source is either made up, not close to me at all, or simply lying. People believe what they read, and in that article, I’m painted as an alcoholic, sex-mad, out-of-control princess. It will all be massively exaggerated. How did this happen? I saw Eddie stamp all over that mobile phone, and the idiot who it belonged to was ejected from the palace without it.

  “We are constantly fighting back against the republicans.” The King launches into what I know will be a damning rant. “You are not helping matters.”

  I catch David and Sir Don shaking their heads out of the corner of my eye. It takes everything in me and more not to retaliate.

  “And how do you think Haydon will feel?” Father rants on. “The boy is waiting patiently for you to see sense, and you are carrying on like you are not promised to him.”

  My jaw might crack from the force of my bite, my veins heating. “I am not promised to anyone,” I say calmly, defying the tornado of anger swirling in my gut.

  “Wrong,” Father says simply, slamming his hands into the wood of his desk and leaning across threateningly. “I will not stand for this any longer. You will behave like the princess you are and fulfil your obligation’s as the King’s daughter, do you hear me?”

  I close my eyes and inhale slowly, trying to reason with the anger dominating me. Don’t argue. Don’t retaliate. It will get me nowhere. But I also won’t agree to this madness. So I remain quiet where I sit. Father snatches the paper up and tosses it aside, huffing and puffing, getting more and more stressed by the minute. He will give himself a heart attack one of these days. “Davenport, get me a drink,” he orders, not even looking at the Major. I should feel sorry for him, constantly being barked at by the King, but he chose this life. Being the King’s private secretary isn’t as glamourous as it should be, at least not for Davenport.

  “Am I excused?” I ask, rising to my feet, ignoring the disdainful looks pointed my way by all four men. I don’t appreciate it, but one thing I am managing to be grateful for is the fact that it is not my encounters with Josh Jameson that are cause for such anarchy. The soldier in that shot with me will be dealt with in one way or another. One kiss with the princess and he’ll be thrown out of the British army and have all sorts of skeletons crawling out of the closet, some possibly real, some undoubtedly fabricated. He will be labeled a fraudster, anything to discredit him and shine me in the best possible light. He will have spiked my drink, tricked me, or maybe something worse. And as for the snake who took the picture, I dread to think of the repercussions he’ll face.

  “One more thing.” Father drops to his chair and collects a cigar from the shiny teak box by his phone. Snipping the end off with his cigar cutter, he lights up before dragging in a huge hit and letting it billow from his mouth as he relaxes back in his chair. “Colin Sampson passed away last night.” He says it so casually, like he hasn’t just advised me that Sabina has lost her husband, David his father, and Haydon his grandfather.

  “What?” I look to David, expecting to find sadness at the mention of his father’s death, but all I see is an indifferent expression, nothing there. “David, I’m so sorry. How is Sabina?”

  He looks at me, stoic. “Grief stricken.”

  I’m so sad for her. “And Haydon?”

  His blankness doesn’t waver. “Do you care?”

  “Of course I care,” I splutter, deeply of
fended. I may not love the man or want to dance down the aisle into his arms, but I care deeply for him.

  “Then maybe you could demonstrate that by comforting him through this difficult time.”

  Well . . . ouch. David’s father has just passed away, and he’s monopolizing this as a way to push me toward his son? “I will be sure to call Haydon immediately. And your mother.”

  David huffs, dismissing me by looking away. “Maybe your compassion and support will redeem you with my son after the disgrace you’ve brought upon this family.”

  This family? He talks like he’s already a direct member of this family. “Good day.” I strain a smile and get on my way before I lose all resistance and ping-pong around the King’s office in an inappropriate outburst.

  “We will talk again once you have had time to think about your actions,” Father calls, short and clipped.

  My hand squeezes the solid gold knob on the door. “Why are you doing this?” I grate.

  He ignores me, turning to Davenport to accept his drink, completely dismissing me. Picking up some papers from his red box, he scans a few and drops them again. “How much of this do I actually have to read? I’d like to go shooting.”

  “Sir.” Davenport approaches the red box and pulls out a file, opening it up. “These require your signature.”

  I leave my father signing correspondence, of which he has no idea what it is about, and put myself on the other side of the door, bubbling with resentment. Not just for myself, but for Sabina and her family. Colin served my family for years and my father’s dismissed his death so callously. You would think by now I’d have mastered the art of keeping my cool, would have learned to keep the façade of serenity in place. But today? I’ve been attacked for something that should never have made the news. Four obnoxious men cast their judgement, and I feel completely muzzled. They believe my reputation will only be restored if I marry Haydon. If he’ll have me now. Insufferable. My heart feels squeezed, and I once again think how awful it must be for those of my family in loveless marriages. I will never be allowed to be with a man outside of this smothering world. I’ve never fully actualized the cost. My heart. Now, I’m truly worried for my future. And like an omen or something, my mobile sings with a call from Josh. I reject it and spend a few moments staring at the huge portrait of my grandfather on the opposite wall, the previous King of England, his noble nose held high, his stout body embellished in red velvet. Like my father, his successor, he was hell-bent on shining the family in the best light and building the support through the monarchists, no matter the cost of his family’s happiness. We’re here to serve. It’s that simple.

  “Your Highness?”

  I blink myself out of my thoughts and find Dr. Goodridge approaching. “Oh good, you’re here,” I mutter, pushing my back off the door. “His Majesty could do with some Valium.”

  Sid’s lips purse and Dr. Goodridge frowns as I pass them, making my way to my car. I dial Kim as I go. “I’ve just seen it,” she says when she answers. “Felix is in meltdown.”

  “How did we not know about this?”

  “The editor of The National is a fully-fledged republican. Shouts about it at any given opportunity. He’s one we can’t control.”

  “Well, he has certainly shouted about it,” I mutter. “I’ve just left my father’s office. My name is mud.”

  “We’ve had calls from Hello, the BBC, and ITV in the past half hour, all trying to secure interviews with you to put your side of the story to the nation.”

  “There is no bloody story. I kissed a man while having a few vodkas, for crying out loud.”

  “Well, the King has vetoed them all, so it’s a moot point.”

  “Are they preparing a press release?"

  “Yes. Something along the lines of them being disappointed that an editor who notoriously has a vendetta against the royals would make an innocent birthday celebration into something sordid.”

  I laugh out loud. Sordid? Oh, they have no idea. But the party before the sordid stuff really was innocent. “I bet the press is having a field day.”

  “Well, you’re trending on Twitter again. And, frankly, most are singing your praises. Even some republicans are shouting loud about you being the most human of the royals. Don’t beat yourself up too much about it.”

  I huff sardonically, but appreciate her trying to help me see the positives. “It’s not some of the public’s incorrect opinion of me that bothers me so much. It’s the fact that whoever printed that headline has made my life ten times worse with the King. I’ll be locked in the tower soon.”

  “I’m pretty sure social media will launch a petition to have you freed.”

  I smile. “Did you find the Jimmy Choos in red?”

  “They’ve been delivered.”

  “Thanks, Kim. I’m heading to the stables. I’ll be back by four in time for Jenny. Sabina’s husband passed away in the night. I need to send her some flowers and a card as soon as possible so she knows I’m thinking of her.”

  “Oh dear. That would explain why I can’t get hold of her. I’ll sort it.” Kim hangs up and Damon comes into view. I can tell by his face he knew all along why the King had summoned me. “Traitor,” I mumble as I reach him.

  “You still have your head,” he retorts on a small smile. “The kid had Dropbox synced to his phone, so Prince Edward may have destroyed the device, but the picture had already made its way into cyber space. Sorry about that.”

  “You weren’t to know.”

  Damon nods past me, indicating for me to look, and I see Sid coming down the steps. “Ma’am, Her Royal Highness Queen Catherine has requested you join her for breakfast.”

  I don’t mean to deflate, but I do anyway. I want to leave this stifling pile of bricks, yet I can’t bring myself to refuse my mother when I know she’s dining alone, like she does most mornings. “I’ll wait for you here,” Damon says as I reverse my steps and let Sid escort me to the dining room that puts Kellington’s to shame.

  “Adeline.” Mother reaches her hand out to me. “Thank you for coming.”

  “You don’t need to thank me,” I say, dipping to kiss her cheek as I take her hand. “I was already here.”

  She squeezes my hand before motioning to the chair beside her. “Sit.”

  I do as I’m told and let one of the staff pour my tea. Mother seems as serene as ever, her olive skin glowing, her hair in a neat bun at her nape. I would question whether she is aware of the goings on in the newspaper, but it’s The National. The whole bloody world knows. “Mother,” I sigh, ready to air my grievances, if only to get them off my chest. I know nothing can be done about them, but, as they say, a problem shared . . .

  “My title symbolizes status, darling. Do not mistake it for power.” Mother peeks up at me as she trails a pretty silver teaspoon over the rim of her china cup. “I will be staying out of the way of your father today.”

  “They have blown it out of proportion.”

  “Of course they have. That is what the press does.” She brings her teacup to her lips and sips. “Our relationship with the media is a fragile bond, darling. We must not put a strain on it. We feed them morsels to pacify them. We don’t give them a banquet to feast on.”

  Taking my knife, I smear a small bit of butter across my toast and nibble on the edge, talking myself down. There is nothing I can say or do to make them see reason, because there is no reason to be had. We are royals. We comply with tradition and expectation.

  “We were discussing baby names.” Mother places her cup down gently and starts to fiddle with the pearls around her delicate neck.

  I laugh a little. “Discussing? Why?” We all know what that child will be called if it is a boy, and we also know what it will be called if it is a girl. I am named after my father’s mother, and my two preceding names are that of my mother and maternal grandmother. Adeline Catherine Luisa Lockhart. Therefore, should John and Helen’s baby be a boy, it will be named after his grandfather, Alfred, with John and Har
old preceding. A girl will be Catherine Helen Elizabeth. Everyone knows that, even the public. Why are we wasting time discussing it?

  Mother gives me a tired look but says no more on the matter. We finish our breakfast chit-chatting about my engagement at the gallery this evening, Mother taking an interest in my dress as usual. One thing my mother and I have in common, as well as our Spanish looks, is our passion for lovely clothes. Although poor mother is more restricted than I am when it comes to breaking the rules of royal attire, her neat frame always hidden in the expected formal skirt suit and matching headpiece or hat.

  We say our goodbyes with the usual formal kiss, and I finally head toward the stables. I spend the afternoon bonding with Spearmint, the absence of Sabina acute. I hope she’s okay. I hate to think of Sabina lost in grief. I finally pluck up the courage to call Haydon while riding Stan down the bridal path, Damon trailing me in the Land Rover. “I am so sorry to hear about your grandfather,” I say with true sympathy. He was a good man. “How is Sabina?”

  “You know my grandmother. As strong as those horses she trains every day. I had to stop her from going to the stables this morning.”

  I smile. “And you? How are you, Haydon?”

  “I’d be better if my damn father would show his face. He left an hour after Granddad passed, and we haven’t seen him since.”

  It’s at this point it occurs to me that Haydon clearly hasn’t seen the papers yet. Should I tell him? I bite my lip, contemplating my best move. I’m sure telling Haydon that his father has been at the palace all morning dealing with a silly crisis would not be a move well played. Nothing should take priority over his duty to be with his mother and son. “Was he okay?” I ask tentatively.

  “Not really.”

  Silence falls. There’s really not much I can say to that. “Haydon, listen, there is a story in the paper today. I need you to—”

  “I’ve seen it.”

  I pull Stan to a gradual stop. “Oh. I see.”

  “We all know the papers dress things up.”