by Erin McRae
“Oh, I am sorry.” She looked round at whoever she’d banged into. She tried not to startle when she saw who it was “Oh. Hello. Gary.”
“Amelia.”
Amelia hadn’t seen her ex from anything but a distance since their breakup just before Christmas. He was as good-looking as he’d ever been — medium height, a little lanky, with a sporty tan and brown hair that flopped into his eyes in a calculatedly careless way. Confronted with his continued existence she was overwhelmed with emotion: Anger at him for dumping her, nostalgia for when her life was a normal sort of disaster instead of a royal one, and terror at not knowing the right sort of small talk to make with him.
She turned back to the table and began digging through her bag as if looking for something. He didn’t go away. She looked up and did the only thing she could. “How have you been?” she asked.
“Great. Getting cuckolded by the Prince of Wales has been exciting.” His voice was louder than what was appropriate for normal conversation. Not that this was normal.
Amelia laughed nervously. Surely he was joking. “Gary.”
“What? Are you embarrassed?”
Amelia glanced around and saw that they had begun to draw eyes — and ears — all over the hall. Some people had their mobiles out. Ready to film the excitement, probably. She felt ill. “I am embarrassed that you are making a scene.”
“Hardly. You’re the one who decided to make a social climbing spectacle of yourself,” he said.
“I didn’t seek these circumstances out.” Amelia wondered if Gary had always been this awful. Surely he must have had redeeming qualities at some point.
“Really? You’ve always been ambitious, Meels. You saw an opportunity, and you took it.”
“Don’t call me that,” Amelia snapped. “And what’s wrong with opportunity? My very peculiar life started after we broke up. It has nothing to do with you, and I think we would have had to have been married for that word to apply.” She couldn’t bring herself to repeat it.
“You’d also have to be willing to do something other than suck cock.”
Amelia would have laughed hysterically had it not been so awful. She drew herself up to her full height of five feet and almost three inches. “I’m going to walk away before I slap you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Amelia raised her eyebrows. Gary had just said the absolutely wrong words. On the heels of a number of other wrong words. She was almost disappointed when Edward appeared at her elbow and gripped it tightly.
“Can I be of assistance, ma’am?” His voice was a study in neutrality, but his eyes were fixed on Gary and threatened danger.
“No. No, we’re just fine here, thank you, Edward.” She put a hand on his arm as a giggle threatened to burst out of her. Edward really was here to protect other people from her; without his presence she definitely would have slapped Gary. “I know we’re due back at Buckingham for more meetings soon. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
He released her and slipped away but maintained a far less discrete distance than before. Amelia was thankful.
“I think we’re done here, Gary?” she smiled and shouldered her bag again before turning away.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by your thing for older men,” he called after her.
She turned around, oddly delighted that he felt the need to continue the fight. “Pardon?”
“You were always a child,” he clarified.
It was the perfect set-up, and Amelia beamed. “But unlike you, I grew up!”
*
Edward followed her as she made her way outside. He stayed a respectful distance behind, as he always did, until she turned, grabbed his elbow as he had hers earlier, and drew him forward. “We don’t need to go to the palace. I just wanted to be mean,” she said, as if Edward weren’t well aware of her schedule. “But I really do need a sandwich or something. Do you mind if we stop?”
He murmured something polite and agreeable and let her hold his arm as if they were out for a lunchtime stroll together. It wasn’t until they were in line at a Pret that what had happened with Gary truly sunk in.
Amelia took a shuddering breath and barely resisted the urge to hide her face in Edward’s chest.
Edward, because he was wonderful, curled a soft hand around hers on his arm. He said nothing until she had collected sandwiches for both of them and they were walking back to the university. Amelia still had to take an exam this afternoon.
“I think Gary broke up with me because I wouldn’t let him fuck me,” Amelia said, chagrined at herself for her language choices.
“Ah?” Edward asked, as if she had just commented that she thought it might rain tonight. Amelia wondered if being this calm in the face of emotional intransigence from one’s charge was part of his training, or if that was just Edward.
“For twelve hours it felt like the end of the world, when he dumped me. And then I decided I was well rid of him. Until my mother lashed out about it at Christmas. Then I met Arthur.” Amelia picked the crust off her sandwich. “This is going to be a mess, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so.”
She was going to have to make so many phone calls to head this off. God, what was Arthur going to do?
*
Back in the flat, Amelia dialed Beatrice’s number and paced the kitchen floor as she waited for her to pick up.
“There’s a situation you should be aware of,” Amelia said when she answered crisply on the fifth ring. The woman was disconcertingly quiet as Amelia explained as succinctly as she could what had gone on in the dining hall. Amelia couldn’t stop her voice from faltering uncertainly as she finished.
“This is not good, Lady Amelia,” Beatrice said in a stunning declaration of the obvious. Amelia flinched as though she’d been scolded. “The press will love this, but you will not. Our media is going to twist Mr. Hendley’s words and make them worse. You’ll be blamed for all of it.”
“Naturally,” Amelia said wryly.
“You’ll apologize, of course.”
“I’ll — what?”
“Apologize,” Beatrice repeated, as if Amelia hadn’t heard her. “For the scene caused. And for your indiscretions.”
“There were no indiscretions.” Amelia had done nothing wrong whatsoever. The outburst had been all Gary; he’d made the spectacle — and at her expense.
“There was a public discussion of sex acts, which is certainly unbecoming —”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“No one, at any point, has so much as suggested that my engagement to His Royal Highness requires I be a virgin as pure as the driven snow.”
“Surely you must —”
Amelia ran over Beatrice’s words. If she’d been angry with Gary, it was nothing to the rage she felt now. “And even if I weren’t at least one of those things, I would not apologize. A woman does not apologize when a man harasses her for having a relationship with someone who is not him.”
“Lady Amelia —”
“A woman does not apologize for private activities that hurt no one and violate no promises. And no matter what the papers print tomorrow, I would be setting a terrible example if I did.”
“Ma’am, it’s my job to —”
“No. I have literally never said this in my life. But I outrank you. Even without my upcoming marriage. And short of an order from the King, Parliament, or my fiancé, your words are just advice. Come up with another plan.” The speech came easily in her fury.
“You’re not a princess yet,” Beatrice said darkly.
“Was that a threat?”
“It’s a statement of fact.” Beatrice’s voice was clipped. “Arthur’s engagement is a matter of political expediency. The new princess is meant to strengthen the image of the Crown around the world, not create petty tabloid headlines.”
“The Crown, including the current Prince of Wales, has a history of making plenty of petty tabloid headlines without my help. Good day, Beatr
ice.”
Amelia’s cheeks burned with anger as she hung up. Immediately she scrolled to Arthur’s number in her mobile.
When he didn’t pick up, Amelia slumped down at the table. He was either asleep, ignoring her, or already on a call with Beatrice.
“Hello, Arthur,” she said to his voicemail as politely and calmly as she could. “When you get this, please give me a ring.” She considered saying more, but wasn’t sure she could remain calm enough to do so in the face of this ridiculous, awful, infuriating situation. “Hope your day is going well.”
*
Amelia’s mobile rang with Arthur’s ringtone at five that the afternoon.
“Amelia. Is now a good time to talk?” It was two in the morning in Australia, but Arthur sounded wide awake and sterner than she’d ever heard him. His tone made it clear that was less a question and more an instruction to make it a good time to talk. Amelia’s heart sank.
“I’ve been waiting hours for you to call, I clearly have nothing but time.”
“Up to and including time to get into a fight on YouTube.”
“Yes, because I scheduled that, invited cameras, and oversaw the uploading,” Amelia snapped. She hadn’t expected Arthur to be thrilled. But she also hadn’t foreseen having to fight him about this.
“Beatrice called me.”
“I’m sure she did,” Amelia said. “Right now I’m angrier at her than Gary.”
“So she said.”
“Did she say why?”
Arthur sighed. “I’m going to tell you what I told her. Which is that I’m not a referee and you’re not a child. But I need you to trust her expertise.”
“She told me to apologize!”
“You two did make a scene.” Arthur tried to reason.
“No. I was trying to get lunch. He accosted —”
“He hardly accosted you, Amelia.”
“He accosted me, cast aspersions on us, and aired my personal history with him. And Beatrice wants me to apologize?” Amelia kept her pitch low, restrained, and furious.
“It didn’t make you look very likable.”
“Arthur!”
“Yes?”
“Will you listen to yourself? Beatrice is asking me to make a public apology because a man I used to date, and who dumped me, approached me in public, yelled at me for moving on with my life, and then tried to slut-shame me for not having sexual intercourse with him. You never asked me if I was a virgin until after we were engaged —”
“I didn’t care. In some ways, I’d rather you weren’t.”
“This is not the time to examine that.” Amelia couldn’t believe any of this was happening. “Beatrice is asking me to apologize for being a real girl. One who’s too slutty to marry you and not enamored enough with men to keep every single one she’s ever met happy. And then she threatened me! Regarding you…us.”
“She didn’t —”
“She did!” It was an effort to keep her voice restrained, but she managed. “I understand you just want this to go away. So do I. But if the reason she wants me to apologize is that I’m supposed to be a role model, apologizing is the worst thing I could do. And I won’t. Women shouldn’t have to apologize when men treat them badly. Or when their perfectly reasonable private lives are made public because people are malicious, puritanical busybodies.”
For a long moment Arthur was silent. “I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but you really do give magnificent speeches.”
Amelia smiled in spite of herself and was glad he couldn’t see it. A compliment would not deter her. “Do I have to apologize or not?”
“No,” Arthur sighed down the line. “You don’t have to apologize. I’ll speak with Beatrice. Although I do owe you an apology. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she repeated. Needing, against all good judgement, not just his acquiescence, but his support.
“Well,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “Other than saying yes to me, probably not.”
Chapter 16
PRINCESS PRIMPS AT PRIVATE RETREAT WITH QUEEN
1 May
Year 21 of the Reign of King Henry XII
I have no idea what Arthur said to Beatrice, but whatever it was, I think it worked. I haven’t heard anything from her about apologies or anything regarding Gary at all.
The papers have been less lenient, and the internet has been a disaster. I finally had to block news sites and social media so I wouldn’t see people talking about how terrible I was to Gary or how terrible I’ll be for Arthur.
I’ve had a few defenders here and there — women who are as angry about having to apologize for existing as I am. But as glad as I am for them, reading anything about the incident makes me feel ill.
I’m trying to forget it happened. I’m trying to remember I have people on my side. And I’m trying to pretend there aren’t more unintended consequences ahead.
*
Amelia slept in gloriously late the day after she finished exams. By the time she got out of bed, in the early afternoon, there was a knock at the flat door. The security detail must need something from her. As she answered it, Priya peered curiously over her shoulder.
On the other side of the door was not Edward, nor any other member of the security staff, but a young man dressed in the drab uniform of a palace messenger — navy blazer, regulation tie, and clunky shoes made for walking. The messenger bowed to Amelia, offered her a heavy white embossed envelope, nodded to the security guard, and departed.
“That’s never not going to be weird,” Priya said.
“He didn’t even speak,” Amelia agreed.
“What is it?” Priya tapped at the delivery with one perfectly manicured pale blue nail.
Amelia turned the envelope over in her hands. The royal crest was on the back, but who would be contacting her in this manner? Arthur was still in Australia. Violet would have called. Beatrice wouldn’t use a messenger for anything less than a stack of binders Amelia didn’t want to read.
Amelia slit the envelope open. The card that dropped out of it into her hands was almost identical to the one she had received inviting her to that first tea with Arthur and, later, to the garden party. This one, however, had not been issued on behalf of the Prince of Wales or the chief steward. It was from the Household Office on behalf of Queen Cecile. And it wasn’t regarding a simple afternoon event. No, Amelia was being invited to spend three weeks at Sandringham.
Priya let out a low whistle and snatched the card out of Amelia’s hands. “So I guess they’re not kicking you out of the princess business?”
Amelia grabbed the invitation back. “Maybe it’s a typo,” she said doubtfully.
Priya walked into the kitchen and flipped the kettle on. “It’s hand calligraphed. Those people don’t make typos.”
“They could.”
“They don’t. At what point are you going to stop thinking this is a dream you’re going to wake up from?”
Amelia frowned and sat down at the table.
“Why the glum?” Priya asked. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
Priya was right. But from the first this entire experience had been a case of careful what you wish for. She knew it would add new and strange features to her life, but she hadn’t understood all the ways in which it would interfere with all the things she loved best.
“It’s three weeks, Priya. Three weeks! With the Queen of England! Who is a real person. Who I apparently know! Even though I am human disaster and a possible traitor and Arthur and I are…whatever we are. It’s like I’m sitting an examination every minute of every day, but no one has told me what the questions are. I’m going to have to be on my best behavior the entire time.”
“And this is why I don’t like visiting my gran. What are you going to do?”
Amelia fidgeted desultorily with the edge of the card. “There’s nothing I can do. Who says no to the Queen?” She looked up at Priya and the tea she was making. “I wish you could come with.”
“So invite me.”
“It’s not like I’ve got a plus-one.”
“You’re an earl’s daughter and engaged to the Prince of Wales. I’m fairly sure you can do whatever you want. They probably expect you to come with a retinue. You get ladies-in-waiting, right?”
“You are not my lady-in-waiting.”
Priya made a dismissive noise. “Obviously. Twenty-first century and all that. But if you want me along for courage, you’re going to have to have some courage yourself. Now call that royalty customer service whatsit of yours and get us sorted.”
*
Two days later, Amelia and Priya climbed into one of the royal Bentleys to make the three hour drive up to the royal residence at Sandringham. Summer had finally arrived in England, which was quite the change from when Amelia had last taken this journey in a cold, uncertain spring. As they made their way out of London they rode with the windows down, their hair whipping toward the lush green fields that glowed in the warm sun.
As they laughed over the small luxuries of the royal car — sparkling water, fresh fruit, fancy jammie dodgers — Amelia couldn’t help but worry. The invitation may have been a sign of her inexorable progress toward being Arthur’s bride, but with Priya by her side, the journey away from London and the life she once thought she’d have seemed clearer than usual. But no one else seemed to understand.
Her parents, when she’d called to tell them her return to Kirkham House for the summer would be delayed, had been delighted. At least her mother had been. Her father had said as little about it as he had about anything else in this venture. Arthur’s response to Amelia’s email about the trip had been downright bland, which did nothing to lessen her sense of merely being a box to be checked.
Amelia and Priya straightened up as the car began the winding climb into Sandringham. Remembering the ravages the breeze had wrecked on their hair, Priya rolled up the window and repinned hers. Amelia tried to smooth her own into place as she adjusted her hat.