by Aven Ellis
Then, to my surprise, he leans over and plants a sweet kiss on my cheek, a show of affection I wasn’t expecting in front of these exclusive guests, which makes me treasure it even more.
I turn and face the room, which contains the elite of the elite in the world. I know who is in this room: lords and ladies and blue blood friends of the king and queen.
And me.
The weirdest feeling washes over me. I’m not like any of them. While my parents provided me with a very comfortable life, it’s nothing like the lives these people have led. I don’t know what to talk about, and I don’t know all the rules. If this pantyhose didn’t feel like it would rip in half, my brain would tell me to run from this situation. Because once I step into the Green Drawing Room, I can never go back to who I was.
I’ll make mistakes, I’m sure of it. But I also know I’m a good person, with Christian’s best interests at heart. I will navigate this for him, and somehow, I’ll grow from it, too.
My nerves shift to resolve, and I square my shoulders as I stare down at the richly patterned carpet. Then I place one foot inside the room, followed by the other.
I’m here, I think looking around the room in awe, taking in the deep-green fabrics, Chippendale mirror, and ornate pieces from a time long ago.
I have taken a big step, not just for me, but for Christian, too.
I know the next one is coming soon, possibly the most important one of the journey so far.
I’ll be introduced to Queen Antonia.
It won’t be easy to win her over. I honestly don’t know how to begin, other than by adhering to her dress code and wearing stupid pantyhose.
I might never be her choice for Christian, which I can live with.
Because Christian is all that matters.
With that thought in my head, I accept a glass of champagne off a silver tray and take a sip, wondering what the evening will bring.
Chapter 25
Five Wine Glasses
“Clementine?”
With surprise, I turn around and immediately recognize the woman speaking to me. It’s Felicity Cheltham, the Countess of Westwick—and my new boss.
“Lady Cheltham,” I say, pleasantly surprised to meet her here. “I’m honored to meet you in person at last.”
I shift my champagne glass and extend my hand to her.
Wait. I know I can’t do that when meeting royalty, but where does a lady fall? Did I commit my first breech of etiquette?
“Please, call me Felicity,” she says warmly, shaking my hand.
Whew. I must be okay on the handshake.
“King Arthur told us you would be here tonight, and I was eagerly awaiting your arrival so I would have someone I could walk around and discuss the splendor of Sèvres porcelain with.”
I smile. “You have found the right person.”
“I assume you have introduced yourself to our newest tour guide?” a tall man in his early fifties says, smiling at me as he moves next to Felicity. I recognize him as John Cheltham, the eighth Earl of Westwick. He extends his hand to me. “Welcome to England.”
I shake his hand. “Thank you, Lord Cheltham.”
“John,” he says easily. “Are you ready to start on Monday? I know Felicity is eager to have you on site.”
“You have no idea how excited I am. I might have stalked the estate website.”
“Ah, so that must be why page visits from the United States have skyrocketed,” he says, his deep brown eyes shining at me.
I blush. “Apparently so.”
I hear more voices, and we all turn toward the door.
I freeze.
The royal family is entering.
The first royal I see is the Dowager Queen, in an emerald-green, long, satin skirt and belted satin jacket, with an emerald and diamond brooch on her lapel. She is smiling as she takes in the room. Princess Elizabeth is by her side. Elizabeth—known socially as Liz—is stunning in a pearl satin gown with her long, curly blonde hair tumbling past her shoulders. I can’t help but see the connection between her and Christian as they share the same hair color.
Next, Isabella and Victoria walk in side-by-side. Isabella is equally beautiful, with her hair a dirtier blonde and worn half up, half down. Her gown is black and sleeveless, but with an elegant ruffled neckline. Victoria is dressed in a fantastic, pale-green, sequined jumpsuit. A jumpsuit! She shimmers like a mermaid when she walks, and her long, blonde hair is swept back in a messy bun with some loose strands sweeping near her cheeks.
I can only imagine how this look is going to go down with Her Majesty.
Behind them is Prince Henry, King Arthur’s brother and the Duke of York, who looks strikingly like him, with the same blond hair and blue eyes that Christian and all the princesses inherited. His wife, Arabella, the Duchess of York, is a beautiful brunette, dressed in a burgundy V-neck gown with butterfly sleeves, wearing a necklace that looks like it is from the family vault.
Following them is Prince James, who has thick, dark-brown hair and the same brown eyes as Queen Antonia. My heart jumps when I see Christian behind him. His eyes search for mine in the room, and as soon as he sees me, a smile lights up his face.
When I see that look in his eyes, I know, without a doubt, I can handle all of this.
Prince Alexander is behind him, and I can see why girls are obsessed. Yes, he’s going to be a king someday, that certainly plays into it, but he’s striking with his jet-black hair, blue eyes, and tall, athletic frame. He’s not as gorgeous as Christian to me, of course, but I see why he is a magazine cover favorite.
Lastly are the king and queen. King Arthur’s eyes dart about the room, and I wonder if he’s going through his mental list of who he must greet tonight and what conversations need to be had.
I swallow hard as I see Queen Antonia for the first time. I’m brave. I know I can do this. But the second I see her, I feel cold inside. I hear all of Christian’s painful childhood memories in my head, and I am reminded of the disconnect he felt from her and the horrible secret he and Xander have had to keep about James.
She is dressed in a long column dress in ivory that has a boat neck top and three-quarter length sleeves. Queen Antonia’s hair is in her signature chignon, tight and perfectly pulled back, not a single strand of her black hair daring to fall out of place. Her glittering ruby and diamond necklace sparkles from across the room, and a matching pair of earrings does the same.
A smile remains on her face, never moving, never breaking, as she regally scans the room, inclining her head at the appropriate guests. But as soon as her mahogany brown eyes spot me, she freezes. The corners of her mouth turn down for a brief second, ever so brief, before her smile is right back in place and her eyes move past me.
As if I don’t exist.
I take another sip of my drink, wishing I could have a shot of something harder instead.
Because I’m going to need it.
“Ms. Jones?”
I turn and find a woman at my side.
“I’m to bring you to meet His Majesty now,” she says. “May I suggest you put down your drink first?”
“Oh, of course,” I say, and right as I’m about to look for somewhere to put it, a man in a uniform appears with a tray.
Damn. The royal staff is on it.
“Thank you,” I murmur. I turn to John and Felicity. “Please excuse me while I greet King Arthur and Queen Antonia. I look forward to visiting with you more this evening, and tomorrow at Ascot.”
“I’m looking forward to it already,” Felicity says warmly.
I follow the woman, who leads me over to a small group of people. It’s obvious we are all here to greet King Arthur and Queen Antonia. I spy Christian off to the left, with Liz and Xander, and his eyes are glued on me.
The eyes I know so well, the window into his heart, are filled with anxiety.
Not for how I’m going to act, but how his mother will.
I turn back around to the couple in front of me, who are greeti
ng King Arthur and Queen Antonia. They move on to talk to the Dowager Queen, and now it’s my turn.
King Arthur breaks into a smile the second he sees me, while Queen Antonia remains locked in place, her eyes cutting through me.
I dip into a curtsy, which isn’t easy because my pantyhose feel tight.
“Your Royal Highness,” I say to him. “Thank you for your gracious invitation to attend Ascot as your guest.”
He clasps my hand warmly in his, and Queen Antonia’s eyebrows raise a shocking millimeter before she pulls them back under control again.
“I’m delighted we finally have you back on our soil,” King Arthur says. “As is Christian.”
A blush fills my cheeks. “I’m so happy to be in the same city; you have no idea.”
I shift my gaze to Queen Antonia, and my palms begin to sweat. Oh, crap, I’m sweating everywhere, and my legs feel practically swampy. I try to ignore the sensation as I dip into my curtsy and rise. “Your Royal Highness, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Queen Antonia’s eyes quickly move over me. She doesn’t extend her hand to me as she did with the previous couple she greeted.
“I see you’re wearing royal blue tonight,” she says coolly, her arched eyebrows barely moving up.
Was I not supposed to wear blue? Is there some rule against that? Why is she staring at me like this?
My cheeks grow warm. “I love royal blue.”
“Oh, yes, I bet a royal shade of blue is rather appealing to you, isn’t it, Ms. Jones?” Queen Antonia says.
“Antonia,” King Arthur warns through a smile as he prepares to receive another guest. “Not now. Or ever.”
Now my face is burning. That was a passive-aggressive way of implying I’m chasing after her son for his title and trappings.
Like she did with Arthur.
Well, she might be Her Majesty, but she’s not getting away with this crap.
“Christian loves when I wear blue,” I say, beaming at her. “It’s his favorite color on me.”
Her nostrils flare ever-so-slightly.
“Do enjoy your time here,” she says icily, “for however long you manage to stay.”
A chill sweeps through me as I move past them. In those two sentences, my first official introduction to her, she put me on notice.
She will lay every trap she can to make sure I don’t last.
“You must be Christian’s friend.”
I snap from my thoughts to find the Dowager Queen staring at me. Unlike Queen Antonia, she makes no effort to disguise the sour expression on her face. Her lips are drawn tight and her eyes are narrowed, as if she just bit into a lemon.
“Yes, your Royal Highness,” I say, dipping into my third curtsy of the night. I rise, thankful my dress and pantyhose haven’t ripped yet.
Of course, my legs are so sweaty the pantyhose is cemented in place, probably saving me from that disaster.
“Christian says he met you online,” she says, her expression one of disdain. “I think that is a dreadful way to interact with the world. In my day, you met people in person, with a proper introduction.”
How do I even respond to that? How?
“I’m glad we didn’t have a proper introduction,” Christian says, moving next to me and saving me from having to come up with an appropriate response. “Or Clementine never would have given me the time of day.”
“Tsk, I doubt that,” the Dowager Queen says. “Excuse me.”
As she walks away, Christian links his fingers through mine. I gaze up at him. He swallows hard, and I put my hand on his shoulder. Thanks to my heels, I can get close enough to his ear to whisper, “Tough crowd in this room, but I’m sure my ability to sing the Shrek soundtrack in order will completely win them over. That or my stash of caramel M&M’s. I had you and your roommates eating out of my hand for those.”
I step back from him and see my prince is smiling now.
“I adore you,” he says.
“I know you do.”
Christian puts his head next to mine so he can whisper back, “I’m sorry. Please remember that. I’m always going to be sorry for this.”
I resolve to tell him later to never say that to me again. No family is perfect, no matter what gilded rooms they live in, and he has nothing to apologize for.
“Come on,” Christian says. “I want to introduce you to everyone.”
I’m still nervous, but for a different reason. With the queen and dowager queen, I was afraid because I knew they had already formed an opinion of me, and not a good one. However, it’s a different story with Christian’s brothers and cousins. These are the people who understand the world he has to live in better than anyone else. I want them to accept me because their opinions matter to Christian. I want them to like me, and I want to like them in return.
The modern royals, as I think of them, are all gathered by the fireplace, drinks in hand. As soon as we join the circle, they stop talking, and my nerves go crazy.
“I’d like to introduce you all to Clementine Jones,” Christian says, putting his hand on the small of my back. “Clementine, this is Xander.”
Xander’s blue eyes are riveted on my face, studying me carefully as if he is trying to solve a puzzle.
I furrow my brow back. “What?” I ask instinctively.
Now his eyes widen in surprise. “What?” Xander repeats. “What do you mean, what?”
I freeze. Crap, what am I doing? He’s not some guy. Xander is the future king! I’m not supposed to speak to him first; I’m supposed to curtsy!
I snap into action, going into a curtsy, and quickly rising.
“I’m so sorry, Your Royal Highness,” I say to Xander.
“I want that to be your last curtsy to me unless we’re at some formal ceremony,” Xander says, his face lighting up in a brilliant smile. “Please call me Xander, always.”
“We don’t do the curtsy thing within the squad,” Liz says, her eyes dancing at me.
“Squad?” I say, confused.
“We consider ourselves a squad, all of us,” Liz continues. “The next generation of the monarchy.”
“We don’t dip and bow to each other,” Christian explains, rubbing his hand up and down on my back.
“Otherwise, it would take all day just to enter a room,” Xander quips, pausing to take a sip of his cocktail. “Although it wouldn’t for me, since I don’t need to bow to any of you lot.” Then he winks at me. “Perk of the whole next-in-line bit.”
I smile. I’m already warming to him.
“Now what was your ‘what’ about?” Xander asks.
“You were staring at me with a confused look on your face,” I say. “Was it my droop?”Now Xander is furrowing his brow. “What? No, I was wondering how on earth my recluse brother found an amazing woman like you. Of course, it was from his laptop. We all know he doesn’t go out to nightclubs unless we drag him and tie him to a table.”
I laugh. “Oh. I thought you had noticed my facial paralysis. It’s a side effect from my brain surgery.”
Xander’s eyes widen. Obviously, Christian hasn’t mentioned my medical history to them, which touches my heart. When he said he kept it between us, he truly meant it.
“Benign tumor, no big deal, but this was the result,” I say, wanting to put everyone at ease. “Right here,” I say, pointing to the area on the right side of my face which has the slight droop.
“Bloody hell, you’ve been through the wringer, haven’t you?” Xander asks.
“You would never know it,” Christian says, smiling down at me.
“I never would have noticed it,” Xander says.
“Botox evens it out,” I say.
“She has that in common with Mum,” Christian declares.
The girls and Xander laugh, but I notice James doesn’t.
I remember what Christian told me about James, how he is always trying to please their mother.
I decide to deflect the conversation away from Antonia.
“You must b
e James,” I say. “Is it all right if I extend my hand first to you?”
James grins. While I see he has Queen Antonia’s mahogany brown eyes, his smile is absolutely King Arthur’s. “Yes. Lovely to meet you, Clementine,” he says as he shakes my hand.
“I’m Isabella,” the girl in the black gown introduces herself, extending her hand to me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Christian has told us so much about you.”
“Thank God you’re finally here, so Curry Takeaway will finally stop moaning about missing you over his tea and toast every morning. It’s enough to drive me back to the army ahead of the end of my leave,” Xander says.
I burst out laughing. “What did you call him?”
A wicked smile lights up Xander’s face, and I glance up at Christian, who begins to blush.
“You didn’t tell her about your nickname?”
“I know CP is one,” I say, cocking an eyebrow.
“That’s boring. Curry Takeaway is much more him,” Xander says, lifting his glass to Christian.
“Wait, back to the important bit,” I say. “Did you miss me over tea and toast? How quaintly British of you.”
“We do love our tea and toast,” Victoria says, extending her hand to me. “Hello, I’m Victoria. How do you take your tea? We need to know this.”
Christian grins, as he knows the truth.
No white lying on this important question.
“I’m not a tea drinker.”
Xander cocks an eyebrow. “And your work visa was still approved?”
I grin. “Shockingly, yes. I was still allowed in.”
“Are you a coffee person?” Isabella asks. “I’m obsessed with coffee.”
“Wait until you have the iced coffee tomorrow in the royal box; it’s my favorite thing about Ascot next to the hats,” Victoria declares.
“I’m not much of a coffee drinker, either,” I admit.
“If you say cocktails, I’m stealing you from Curry Takeaway,” Xander jokes.
Another member of the household staff begins ushering us to the dining room. I feel like I’ve been invited to a fraternity formal at Stanford. I have that excited energy about being with my date. I’m meeting his friends, and the first introductions have gone well, and now we’ll see how the rest of the evening plays out.