A Queen from the North: A Royal Roses Book

by Erin McRae

“I’m an earl’s youngest daughter,” Amelia said. “And I’m in university, working on plate tectonics.”

  “Environmental causes are perfectly acceptable. We’re not like the Americans; we know global warming’s real.”

  Amelia stared. She knew women like Violet often did the work of CEOs and MBAs for free. But she had never imagined herself joining their number. Of course, it was logical. As princess and eventual queen, what else would she have to occupy her? She wondered if this were one of the topics covered in the binder she continued to refuse to read.

  “Since the engagement’s been announced,” Violet went on as if Amelia were keeping up. “You really should put something together. You can’t just be some student Arthur picked up — although, to be fair, of his many vices, youth’s never been one.” She sighed. “You’re more than welcome to come to events with me, and I’m sure my mother would say the same.”

  “What causes do you support?” Amelia asked, glossing over just, picked up, and Arthur’s many vices.

  “All the family charities, of course, and the Lady Exeter talked me into some borzoi rescue group nonsense that has dog fashion shows.”

  “Dog…fashion…shows.”

  “Yes, there’s a runway and everything. It’s absurd. I also write a number of large checks to various domestic violence shelters. But I don’t talk about those in public.”

  Amelia must have looked as startled as she felt, because Violet gave her a sly smile, not dissimilar to her brother’s.

  “This work can seem empty-headed. It’s not. But no one wants a monarchy that makes them sad. Sometimes I can help with my presence. Sometimes I can help with my money. Sometimes neither is enough. And I suppose saving the borzois doesn’t feel frivolous to the dogs.”

  “This must all be odd for you, too,” Amelia said. “Arthur marrying again. When you were so close with Imogene.”

  Violet gave her a considering look. “From the moment Imogene died, we all knew he was going to have to remarry.”

  “If he didn’t, you could be queen,” Amelia blurted.

  “Yes,” Violet said with a serious nod. Amelia wondered how much trouble she was going to get in for being impertinent and possibly treasonous. “But I don’t want to be queen.”

  “Why not? There’s so much work you have to do, and you’ll never be on the throne like Arthur.”

  “It can be difficult, being a royal child,” Violet said. “Nothing about your life is normal, and it takes you years to realize how different you really are from other people. Not in any innate quality, but in what is expected of you. I had more freedom than Arthur when we were young, but only a little.” She brushed a few strands of hair of her forehead. “Do you know how my parents made sure I wasn’t jealous of him, of the titles he had and I would never? Of the crown that one day would be his?”

  Amelia shook her head.

  “They taught me that for me to be queen my brother would have to die.”

  “Oh,” Amelia said quietly.

  “Even when I was very little, I knew I didn’t want that. This job demands sacrifices from all of us, but that was never one I was willing to make.”

  “I don’t think many people would say a prince marrying a girl seventeen years his junior was making any particular sacrifice.” Amelia tried for humor.

  “We both think more highly of my brother than that.” Violet smiled. “I know how difficult this life can be. I know the one you’re going to have is not one I want for myself or that my daughters want for themselves. I also know Arthur doesn’t want to inflict that life on anyone, much less someone he cares for. Why do you think he waited this long to remarry?”

  *

  A week later, with Arthur still in Australia and her lectures very nearly over, Amelia met with Violet in her office at Kensington Palace, where she, Matthew, and the two young Princesses lived, to discuss charity work. Her offer of help was not one Amelia felt she could refuse. After drawing up a timetable of activities and engagements, Violet turned to the topic of attire. Which was apparently more important than anything Amelia would ever say at the meetings.

  “The honeybee society,” Violet announced, flipping through an elegant leather-bound notebook of the sort her entire family seemed to favor. “Lady Bowyer has a loathing of purple. And you mustn’t wear a vibrant red before you turn fifty — at least half these women will be dead by then — and yellow is too on point.”

  “Because of the bees?” Amelia asked dubiously.

  “Because of the bees,” Violet echoed. She squinted at Amelia. “Must you really wear that necklace?”

  Amelia frowned at her.

  Violet held up a hand placatingly. “I’m only asking because Beatrice is going to make you take it off.”

  “She can try. I won’t.”

  “It makes you look like a radical.”

  Amelia couldn't wait to tell Jo of the inadvertent compliment. “It’s a piece of jewelry. And if I take it off, I'll look like a hostage. At least to York.”

  Violet smiled and tipped her head. “Point.”

  The next day Amelia — dressed in a light springtime blue — sat beside Violet at one of the six tables for eight at the Royal Society for the Protection of Bees. Which at least was somewhat relevant to Amelia’s interest in science. On a low stage was a long table with three women at it. One of them had a gavel.

  “They tried to make me the chair once, because of my position.” Violet whispered to Amelia. “When that happens, and you don’t wish to, you explain that you’re here as an observer and to provide support but that your royal duties preclude you from being able to be as fully dedicated to the cause as you might like. Then you write another check.”

  *

  Back in her room in her flat, Amelia pulled out her mobile and flopped on the bed. It was the middle of the night in Australia and Arthur was surely asleep, but she’d had been an aggravating day and wanted to reach out.

  I don’t know how your sister doesn’t go mad, she texted Arthur. Or anyone forced to sit through a bloody committee meeting on saving the bees.

  She was surprised when a reply came almost immediately. Bees are very important.

  I know that. You know that. I don’t need a committee meeting to tell me that.

  Surely it wasn’t that bad, Arthur replied.

  She was eventually going to have to have a talk to him about minimizing her reactions to things. There were sandwiches shaped like bees.

  After a moment, her mobile chimed again. Where are you now?

  At home. Why?

  May I call you?

  Amelia stared at the mobile for a moment. Since his departure, they’d exchanged texts, but nothing more. Her traitorous heart leapt at the chance to hear his voice. Yes, I suppose so.

  Her mobile rang almost immediately. She had to change Arthur’s ringtone to something other than God Save the King.

  “I didn’t think you’d be awake,” Amelia said by way of greeting.

  “Between jet lag and my schedule, it’ll be months before I’m back on a normal sleep cycle,” Arthur replied, his voice warm in her ear. “But now, let’s talk about the damned bees.”

  Amelia opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Before we get this conversation underway, you should probably do me the courtesy of reminding me that this call is recorded for posterity and we shouldn’t be having phone sex,” she said. Arthur’s admonishment regarding sexting so many weeks ago still made her cheeks warm.

  “Actually,” Arthur said. “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, these calls aren’t recorded.”

  “Oh.” Amelia’s cheeks burned with mortification. She’d been joking about their distinctly non-private lives. Would Arthur now think she was coming on to him in a completely inappropriate and ill-timed manner?

  But her prince went on like nothing remarkable had been said. “If you’re interested, I can help you make some of what is expected of you less shallow and more genuinely compelling. I don’t want yo
u withering away to nothing.”

  “Sometimes if feels like nothing is exactly what I’m supposed to be,” Amelia admitted with a bitterness she’d so far managed to keep out of her conversations with Violet.

  “No. No, no, no, no, no,” Arthur said firmly. “You are now my partner in this ridiculous venture. I want you to be as content as you can be. Which likely includes being proficient in charity work. My life — our life together — will be more pleasant if you’re not miserable. Especially when I’ve contributed to your misery. I owe you. Let me help. I’ve more practice at this.”

  Amelia slumped back in her chair. He wanted her to be happy, and he wanted to help make sure she was. That was kind — and she was grateful — but his very good points about why his concern had nothing to do with any possible feelings for her were not cheering. She decided to focus on her most immediate problems. “I’m staring down a month of exams, a summer full of wedding planning, and then a life I still can’t fully imagine. I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Amelia.” There was a note of exasperation in Arthur’s voice. “Someone else will be doing most of the wedding planning, and in a few months you will be one of the most powerful and influential women in the world, with more financial resources than even an earl’s daughter could dream of. You can, almost literally, do anything you could want or imagine. What does this country need that you care about and that it doesn’t have? Whatever it is, you can make that happen.”

  “Science education. For girls,” she blurted. If she couldn’t build her own career in the sciences — and that was a loss she was still learning to navigate; she hadn’t even gotten a final acceptance or rejection from Santa Barbara — perhaps she could build someone’s else’s. Several someone’s. Hundreds of someone’s. And for girls in the north the opportunity — the wealth — such a program could bring would be huge.

  “There you go,” he said, and Amelia could hear the smile in his voice.

  Chapter 15

  THE PRINCE OF WALES STOLE MY GIRLFRIEND!

  17 April

  Year 21 of the Reign of King Henry XII

  I got an email from Santa Barbara today. They’ve accepted me after all. Brilliant, useless timing, that. I wonder if they ultimately took me simply because they kept seeing my name in the news.

  In any case, I accepted the offer with a deferred admission to next fall — not this coming one — just in case it turns out I need a backup plan. There’s no harm in making sure I have options. I feel like I’m tempting fate to let my old life go quite yet.

  *

  In her first year at university, Amelia had been a frequent dinner guest at Charlie and Jo’s house. She’d been homesick, no good at cooking, and uncomfortable living in a new city so far from her own people. As school got busier and she adjusted to life in the south, her visits had become less frequent. Thus, it was somewhat of a surprise when Charlie called and announced that Amelia was long overdue for a Sunday night dinner.

  "Do I have to?" Amelia asked. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see her brother, but quiet evenings at home with nowhere to go and no chance of being photographed were something she treasured.

  "I'm pretty sure being engaged to Arthur means you sort of outrank me, so no."

  "I don't have any rank except my own until the wedding." Amelia said. That was one of the things the Lord Chamberlain had made very clear to her.

  "Then that means I still get to boss my baby sister around,” Charlie said.

  "I have to study."

  "A three hour break won't kill you. Bring Priya too, if she wants. And do tell us how much security staff we'll be feeding."

  "I'll let you know," Amelia said drily.

  "Excellent. Eight o'clock?"

  "I'll be there."

  Which was how Amelia and Priya, escorted by Edward, arrived at Charlie and Jo's in a chauffeured car. Amelia braced herself for incessant curious questions about processes and plans and the circus that her life was now. But her brother simply asked her how school was going and Jo asked Priya about Raveesh.

  When Meg asked if she could be a flower girl in the wedding, Jo changed the subject before Amelia could respond. Amelia was glad; wedding attendants had not yet crossed her official agenda, and she had no idea how much control she would be able to exert in that arena.

  "Do you want to take a walk?" Charlie asked Amelia after dinner.

  "Walk, yes. Be followed around your block, no."

  "Fair enough. Garden then?"

  "Please."

  “Priya?” Charlie asked.

  Priya shook her head. “Jo and I are going to have some girl talk that has nothing to do with royalty while you two bond.”

  Charlie and Jo's back garden was lovely in the spring twilight, even with Edward looming in the shadows. Charlie fetched drinks, and Amelia happily sprawled on a bench and looked up at the sky without a worry about being snapped in such an undignified position. The Daily Observer had questioned her femininity and propriety enough.

  After a quarter of an hour spent in peaceful silence contemplating the emerging stars she had once looked at with Arthur, Amelia said, "I don't know how to talk about any of it, if that's what you're after."

  "What I'm after is a quiet evening in my garden having drinks with my sister." Charlie grinned at her with a smile that reminded her of childhood. Charlie had been her dashing big brother then. Now, she was less impressed but she still felt safe with him.

  "Everyone has opinions,” Amelia said. “Everyone. I'm just trying to study enough so I don't fail my exams. Not that it matters, because I'm probably never going to school again, but I've worked too hard to let it all go now. I try not to get distracted by it or him but he's in Australia for six weeks, and I wasn't supposed to be this girl."

  "Which girl is that?" Charlie asked.

  "The one who pines after a boy.”

  "So call him,” Charlie said, in the voice that meant he thought she was being ridiculous.

  "He's the Prince of Wales. I text. He initiates calls."

  "Be that as it may, that has not stopped you shouting at him before."

  Amelia chuckled darkly, remembering the demands she had made of Arthur after paparazzi had caught her and Priya at the wine bar. "He told you about that?"

  "He did. He was rather impressed."

  "What did he say?" Amelia sat up a little.

  Charlie held up his hands, his glass still in one of them. "Oh no.”

  "Charlieeeee," Amelia wheedled.

  "No. Arthur's been my friend for a very long time. I'm happy to be his confidante. I'm happy to be your confidante, too. He can vent to me, and you can vent to me, but I am absolutely not sharing either of your confidences with the other."

  "Is Arthur venting to you about me?"

  "If you want to know what's in the man's mind, ask him yourself.”

  *

  Amelia may have lamented not yet having the courage to take Charlie’s advice, but it was just as well. The next time she spoke to her fiancé was at the Palace meeting to determine the date of their wedding.

  At Buckingham Palace, Amelia sat at a table with a representative from Parliament, the head wedding planner, Arthur’s social secretary, Beatrice, and the chief steward, as well as half a dozen other people she didn’t know but also had pressing opinions to contribute on the matter. A conference room phone sat on the center of the table, the sleek technology at odds with the rich woods and velvets of the rest of the decor.

  Arthur’s voice crackled out of it. “Good morning, everyone.”

  “Your Highness,” the wedding planner said.

  “Is Lady Amelia there?” Arthur asked.

  “I’m here.” Amelia raised a hand even though Arthur couldn’t see her.

  “Good,” he said. “Because it’s four in the morning, my body thinks I’m in Hawaii, and I’m ready to come home. I don’t want to suffer this alone.” His tone was warm and fond, but he did sound exhausted.

  Amelia wanted, sudden
ly, to be in bed with him. Not for sex, but to wrap herself around him and listen while he talked about his flight and dozed off from the jetlag. The fantasy was far from Amelia’s current reality, but indulging it was preferable to focusing on the bureaucrats wrangling over the date.

  The biggest consideration in determining the date of the royal wedding was tourism. September would be best, apparently, because that would allow sufficient preparation time. It would also still be warm enough for people to sleep outside along the carriage route the night before. As which particular date was most suitable was debated with little input from Arthur and none at all from her, Amelia wondered why she was in attendance. Wouldn’t it be easier to forgo the illusion that she had a say in these sorts of state decisions?

  After two hours, the assembled agreed on September 1. Amelia nodded because it seemed appropriate to. She had a wedding date, but she found it hard to care at all.

  “Is that everything you need from me?” Arthur asked after the final decisions had been made.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” the wedding planner said.

  “Good. I’m going to go back to sleep now. When are we announcing?”

  “As soon as you’re back in the country, sir.”

  “Of course. Need to give everyone a chance to plan their holidays around the big day,” Arthur chuckled. “Amelia, are you still there?”

  “Of course I am.” Amelia noticed he didn’t use her title this time. She counted it a small joy in a tedious day.

  “I’ll see you when I get back,” he said warmly. “The rest of you, have a lovely day.”

  *

  As she waited for Arthur’s return, Amelia stumbled through her double life as student and royal-to-be. Her first exam fell on a morning early in May, with the second following that afternoon. She considered going home between the two tests, but time was short, so Amelia detoured to the dining hall to eat. She had set down her bag at a table and was taking off her cardigan when she accidentally elbowed someone walking past.