by Erin McRae
“It can’t be easy,” she finally said. “Your life and the rules you live by are hardly normal.”
“No,” Arthur said. “But I can do better.”
Someone coughed delicately. Amelia and Arthur looked up. People had filtered into the room and they hadn’t even noticed.
Arthur scanned his eyes over the throng and frowned. “It’s been a long day.” He dropped her hand and stood before speaking to the room at large. “I’ll see you all in the morning.”
Amelia also rose, as was protocol. Once Arthur was out of the room, the Lady Olivia Beaumont of Stoughton Grange, who’d stared at her all through dinner — approached. She was a tall woman in her late thirties with rich auburn hair and flawless makeup.
“His Highness does have a type,” she observed, her tone casual and her eyes judgmental.
“I beg your pardon?” Amelia hovered on the edge of dizziness. Whatever was about to happen next was going to be terrible and she had no idea how to stop it.
“Oh, I assumed you knew. It’s hardly a secret in these circles. The Duchess there and His Highness used to be…involved.”
The people nearest them stopped their conversations to listen. Helen, on the chair nearest Amelia, froze. She looked absolutely mortified. Amelia was torn between discomfort — knowing Arthur had had liaisons was one thing; meeting the object of one of those affairs was apparently something else — and sympathy for Helen, who looked as though she hoped the floor would swallow her whole. On the other side of the room, George watched with a hawkish curiosity as the conversation unfurled.
“I hadn’t expected him to take up with a girl quite so young,” Lady Olivia went on. “But needs must, I suppose. And I can see how the Duchess could have been a problematic choice….” she trailed off theatrically.
“You’ll excuse me,” Helen said before Lady Olivia could finish and vanished before anyone could say a word to stop her.
Amelia considered standing her ground. It was certainly the brave thing to do. But the thought of remaining in this room and hearing what Lady Olivia or anyone else had to say was unbearable.
“You’ll excuse me as well,” Amelia said. “I should go check on the Duchess.”
She never got there. In the corridor she ran smack into someone. Apparently, this was becoming a theme. She stammered her apologies and took a step back. The man, whoever he was, hadn’t been at dinner. This, combined with his look of mild neutrality — despite the fact she’d nearly run him over — led Amelia assume he was a member of the household staff.
“Lady Amelia.” He addressed her with a slight nod.
“Sir. I’m sorry. I was just — escaping.” She waved a hand back at the room she’d just come from.
“Ah.” He peered over her shoulder, though the door had already closed behind her. “Given that the Duchess of Water Eaton just made her egress through this same route, I must guess Lady Olivia.”
“Is she always like that?” Amelia asked in a low voice.
The man chuckled. He was older than Arthur, perhaps sixty or so, with a shock of brilliant silver hair and a friendly face. His eyes took in Amelia and the situation keenly. “Not always. But she chooses her enemies relentlessly and not always wisely. No one ever profited by insulting His Highness’s favorites.”
“So why are they friends?” Amelia asked before she could think the better of it.
The man looked amused at her asking. “His Highness admires her ambition and honesty. Unfortunately, she’s also the sort who mistakes being unkind for demonstrating wit. Which isn’t a problem until it is.”
“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know your name.” Amelia was glad for an ally against Lady Olivia but not quite sure how she felt about being called a favorite. Flattering, yes. Useful in the long run? Perhaps less so. The unpleasant suspicion that perhaps Helen had run after Arthur, and was with him even now, snuck into her mind. She tried to ignore it.
“Baron Vyvian Fuller of Inner Temple,” the man said with another incline of his head. “His Highness’s valet, at your service, ma’am.”
*
In her room, Amelia was grateful beyond words to finally be alone. But when she changed into nightclothes and crawled into bed, the solitude instantly became oppressive. She turned out the light and the room went dark except for a strip of moonlight coming in through the curtains. She stretched under the covers. The bed was so big she couldn’t reach all the edges of it.
This could be the rest of her life: Dinners with people she barely knew, evenings of excruciating conversation, accusations whenever she was out of Arthur’s protective sight, and then nights in a giant bed, all alone, with Arthur asleep in another wing — possibly with someone else.
She thought of texting Priya for a friendly presence. But Priya had her own life; Amelia already pestered her too much. Besides, she would surely tease her and tell her to go find Arthur in his rooms. While that wasn’t a bad choice, it wasn’t one Amelia felt prepared to act on.
*
She wasn’t sure what she would find the next morning when she went downstairs to breakfast, but only Hyacinth and George were seated at the table in the bright solarium.
“Where’s everyone else?” Amelia asked as she sat down with them.
“Sleeping off last night,” Hyacinth said as she spread jam on a piece of toast with terrifying precision. “Why are you awake?”
“I thought more people would be around and that I should be up for that,” Amelia admitted.
“You mean so they can’t talk behind your back too much?”
“Hyacinth!” George scolded.
The younger girl made a face at her sister. “What? It’s true.”
“That people are talking behind my back, or that I’m trying to prevent that?” Amelia asked.
“Yes,” Hyacinth said. “Also, if you’re looking for my uncle, he and Dad went out walking earlier. You’ve already missed them.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Amelia wasn’t sure whether she should confirm or deny Hyacinth’s assumption.
“Amelia,” George said, with some urgency. “About last night. I know you were being polite, but no one would blame you for showing your teeth from time to time.”
“I was given to understand princesses should only do that when they smile,” Amelia said in startled response. George had never spoken so many words to her at one time before. She hadn’t expected them to be on her behalf.
“Then smile when you do it.” George smiled herself. Before Amelia could respond to or even process this support from the strange Princess, George flicked her eyes up over Amelia’s head.
She looked over her shoulder. Arthur was standing directly behind her.
“I thought we might find you up,” Arthur said. If he had any idea what had happened last night after he’d left the room, he gave no sign of it. In fact, he bent to kiss Amelia easily on mouth before sinking into the chair next to hers. “How did you sleep?”
“Well, thank you,” Amelia said. “But tonight I’m following your lead and going to bed before everyone else.”
“It has its advantages.” Arthur reached across the table to pour himself a cup of coffee. Amelia wasn’t sure if he meant to imply that she should go to bed with him or was just making a simple statement of fact. Given the uncomfortable look George and Hyacinth exchanged, she wasn’t alone in her uncertainty.
“George and I are going riding this morning,” Hyacinth said into the awkwardness. “If either of you would like to come, we’d be glad of the company.”
*
The air was damp and cold with the first hint of spring as they rode out of the gate and onto a faint track that led over the fields, followed by one of Arthur’s equerries. Amelia hung back a little as Arthur bantered with his nieces. It seemed right to give them some sort of space for whatever freedom they all found in riding and being outside, and it gave her the chance to look her fill at Arthur.
Arthur was posting as he rode, unnecessarily at this speed, but Amelia
wasn’t about to complain. Perhaps he was showing off; perhaps it was merely long habit. Either way, the action highlighted his exceptional thighs. Amelia could tell he was eager to push the horse into far more than a slow trot, but anything faster would no doubt make conversation difficult and perhaps offer too much challenge to Hyacinth. A girl her age could be very skilled with a horse or not at all.
Eventually, George and Hyacinth moved ahead of their uncle together, leaving a space next to Arthur. Whether it was by design or just two sisters caught up in their own conversation, Amelia was glad of it.
Arthur gave her a broad smile when she rode up beside him. She was reminded of when they’d first met at the races. His smile, with fine lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, made Amelia’s stomach swoop.
“You have good form,” he said. Amelia couldn’t help but notice how his eyes tracked up her body. Nor could she help her own blush in response.
“You sound surprised. I did tell you I could ride.”
“You’ll have to show off your jumps to me some time,” Arthur said flirtatiously.
Had they been alone — and not on horseback — Amelia would have liked to kiss him. “I’d be happy to,” she retorted. “If you’ll show me yours.”
Arthur laughed, a sound of pure delight.
Before Amelia could say anything else, Hyacinth called back to her over her shoulder.
“Yes?” she answered distractedly.
“Do you want to race us?”
Amelia gave Arthur a questioning look.
“Well, do you?” he asked.
Amelia wanted to stay and continue this discussion, but perhaps riding with the Princesses was not the place for it. She did relish the chance to show off her skills. Amelia grinned at Arthur and nudged her horse to catch up to George and Hyacinth. Once they’d agreed on a finish line Arthur counted them off.
It was sheer joy to race through the fields. The horse Arthur had leant her was strong, fast, and responsive. The two princesses were skilled as well. Amelia could hear the hoof beats of Arthur’s mount following close behind, and if she rode a little more flashily than she might have otherwise, she could hardly be blamed. She was good at this, and a prince was watching.
Suddenly, Hyacinth’s horse stumbled and reared up. Hyacinth fell off the gelding and hit the ground with a sharp cry, rolling wisely out of the way. She didn’t hit her head, at least as far as Amelia could see, but she was curled on her side in evident pain.
George and Arthur, along with Arthur’s equerry, were off their horses in an instant attending to her. While their own mounts were relatively calm, Hyacinth’s horse had now bolted and was headed rapidly toward the woods.
“Am I useful here?” Amelia shouted down to Arthur and the girls.
“I don’t see how,” George snapped.
Oddly, Amelia had never been so happy for the unpleasantness of teenagers or the awkwardness of her own circumstance. She kicked her heels into her horse’s sides and drove quickly into a gallop after Hyacinth’s horse.
*
When Amelia returned to the stable yard leading Hyacinth’s horse beside her, almost an hour had passed. She was tired, cold, and very in want of a bath. She was also increasingly worried about the Princess, if for no other reason than a total lack of information.
She turned the erstwhile runaway horse over to a groom who came out to meet her, relieved to have had help with the difficult animal. The stable yard was otherwise mostly empty, except for a man on the other side of it brushing down a horse. With a jolt of surprise she realized it was Arthur.
He looked over when she rode up to him and swung down.
“You caught him,” he said, nodding to Hyacinth’s horse.
“Yes. Eventually. He ran into the woods. It took forever. Is Hyacinth all right?”
“For the most part. Broken wrist. Our physician took her to A&E, much to her displeasure. She’ll be back in an hour or so with X-rays and a cast. Could have been much worse.”
Amelia blew out a relieved breath. A broken wrist was an annoyance, particularly for the active Hyacinth, but it was much better than the dire scenarios she’d been spinning in her head.
“The horse is all right?” Arthur asked.
Amelia nodded. “Perfectly fine and not even sure what all the upset was about. Damn skittish though.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow as she removed her own horse’s tack and saddle.
“Why do you look surprised?” she asked.
Arthur shrugged. “You’re a small girl. This part’s a lot of work.”
“And you’re the Prince of Wales, doing it yourself. Isn’t this what you have people for?”
Arthur ran a hand down his horse’s neck. “This is one of the only things people leave me alone to do.”
“I bet it took you a while to train them into that.”
“It did.”
They fell into a silence after that, both of them focused on their horses. But whenever she glanced sideways at Arthur she caught him staring at her.
“This weekend is a bit of a mess,” Amelia said mildly into the silence which was beginning to grow awkward. “One of the Princesses fell off a horse, the other hates me; your friends think I’m a child and a fool who can’t even make it to dinner on time; and it’s only Saturday morning. You want me to be queen, I think, but no one else here seems to know that and they’d probably be appalled if they did.”
“I don’t really care about what other people think. Do you? Or was this just a game until it got hard?”
“Other people are not what make any of this hard. What makes this hard is you and your inability to be consistent or transparent about anything. Including whether you want me around.”
“I wanted to call,” Arthur said quietly. “When my father was ill.”
“So why didn’t you?” Amelia demanded. Maybe now they could be done with this argument once and for all. And maybe Arthur would finally say something that could make her understand him and his wretched mercurialness.
“Enough awful things have happened in my life. You’re one of the good ones. I didn’t want to drag you into a crisis.”
“If you want me to be your partner, you need to treat me as such,” Amelia said. “I won’t break because the world is hard to live in sometimes. If I’m going to go through with this, I’m not doing it alone.”
“So you are going through with this?” Arthur asked. He turned to look intently at her.
“That was the deal.”
“Good. Will you marry me?”
Amelia blinked. “What?”
“I said, will you marry —”
“No.” She took a step back, panicked. “Not like this. You can’t ask me like this.”
Arthur looked around, as if he had just realized where they were. “We can go inside?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean? You’re clearly not doing this just for your health,” Arthur looked nervous, Amelia noticed in an abstract way.
"Without me, your crown, or at least your legacy, is forfeit. I'm barely more than a child who is about to be abused by media all over the world. The least you can do is kneel." Amelia had no idea where the words came from. She hadn’t rehearsed them, indeed had never imagined this moment, not like this: standing in the Gatcombe stable yard in the cold damp of an English spring.
Arthur smiled at her, almost proud. Then, he strode the two paces to where she stood and sank to one knee before her, right there in the dirt. His horse whickered softly as he took her hands in his.
“Go on,” Amelia said. “Both knees.” She could hardly believe her own daring, but Arthur had always seemed to enjoy it when she pushed. She would have so little power in their lives going forward, he could at least give her this.
Arthur seemed to agree, because he shifted his other knee under himself as well.
At the sight of the Prince, on both of his knees for her and at her command, Amelia realized with a startling clarit
y that she was absolutely and completely in love with him. Well then.
“Is this all right?” he asked, with an amused tilt of his mouth.
It took Amelia a moment to find her voice. “Yes.”
“Lady Amelia Brockett. Of Kirkham. Of York. Of all my supposed enemies.” He looked her straight in the eye. “Will you marry me?”
Amelia nodded.
Arthur squeezed her hands. “The least you can do,” he said, “Is actually say yes. Aloud. Please.”
“All right then,” she replied, laughing just a little. “Yes, Arthur, I will marry you.”
“Shit,” Arthur said.
“Excuse me?”
Without a word, he stood, grabbed Amelia by the wrist, and strode off to the house, dragging her after him.
“Arthur!” she demanded, as he banged in through the side door and tromped through the atrium and then the sitting room, past a handful of people who broke off conversation to stare after them. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t have the rings,” Arthur said as he reached the stairs and started to climb, two at a time. Amelia had to run to keep up.
“You forgot?”
“I wasn’t quite planning on….” Arthur trailed off as they reached a wing Amelia hadn’t been in yet. He fumbled a door open and pulled her inside. For a moment their bodies were pressed together, and then the door closed again with a muffled bang of heavy oak.
Arthur finally dropped her wrist. “Wait here,” he said and vanished through another door.
Peering after him, Amelia could see the corner of a four-poster bed and a high window with a view of the field where they had just been riding. She hardly had the chance to take in the rest of her surroundings — solid wooden furniture, rich leather chairs, a fireplace that was empty now but would surely be cozy when lit — before Arthur was back, holding something in his hand.
“You weren’t planning on proposing?” Amelia still felt strange. Was this how myths began? She didn’t feel mythical; she felt like an awkward girl standing in a dimly lit sitting room.