The Princess Royal (Royal Romances Book 2)

by Molly Jameson

  He didn’t answer, didn’t absolve her of guilt for toying with him. She shifted uncomfortably under his silence. Predictably, Lizzy reached for her phone.

  “Don’t.” Phillip said. “Listen to me first. There’s a news article. It’s everywhere. Magnus has spoken with the press and said some quite rotten things about you. I’m sure no one will believe any of it—“

  “Double shit on a cracker, Phillip. What does he say? Shit.”

  She scrolled through her phone and he saw her squint her eyes shut tightly. Then she opened them again and scanned the screen, moving it down with a flick of her finger and reading on. She just chewed her bottom lip and shook her head once.

  “This is what he thinks of me, then.” She said. “That I’m a boring, shallow spoilt brat.”

  “He was with you only a few months and I’m certain his reputation isn’t that credible. What sort of integrity could a man have who speaks this way about a woman? Discretion being the better part of valor—“

  “Do not Shakespeare all over my angst, Orsino.”

  “He’s a fucking wanker who didn’t deserve any part of you. Is that better? Less stuffy?” Phillip said, raking a hand through his hair. “What do you want to do? Get drunk? Have another tattoo or get your belly pierced or something?”

  “I want to hide. I don’t want to face Father and all his contempt. I don’t want my stupid antics upsetting him while he’s sick. I don’t want to have the trouble of refuting every ugly thing Magnus said about me, point by point, in interviews and have to do damage control where I wear a suit from Harvey Nichols and keep my knees together.” She said her chin trembling.

  “Aw, shit, Lizzy.” Phillip said uncomfortably and sat on the bed beside her.

  He put his arm around her, comforting. She turned into his arms and held on tightly, her wet hair in his face as he mumbled soothing things to her. She felt smaller in his arms, fine-boned and almost fragile beneath her thin pajamas. This could not be the same indomitable Lizzy who had faced down a mechanical needle at the tattoo shop. This girl seemed younger, and far less certain. She was full of hectic tears and rage at the unfairness of her ex-boyfriend being so mean to her. This Lizzy he could almost have folded up and put in his pocket. He had liked it better when Lizzy was brash and hearty and uncomplicated.

  “That’s enough now.” He said, leaning back and lifting her chin with his fingers.

  She looked up at him, her face red and sweaty from crying, strings of hair stuck to her cheek. He kissed her forehead.

  “Chin up, Lizzy.” He said. “You’re better than this. One stupid wanker isn’t going to be the end of you. What’ll you say back? You have followers depending on you, now.”

  “That is the worst cheering-up I’ve ever had.”

  “If I’ve offended you with my miserable pep talk, I do apologize. Now go mop up and we’ll talk about this like rational beings.”

  “I want a drink.”

  “You’ll have one.” He said. “And I may have two more. Because a gentleman never lets a lady drink alone.”

  They were toasting to Nene with their second round of brandy, sitting side by side on the rather small bed. Her damp hair was in his face, her head lolling comfortably on his shoulder.

  Lizzy’s phone chirped.

  “It’s Father.” She said, eyes wide as if she’d been caught out.

  “Answer it.”

  “I could pretend I didn’t hear my phone.”

  “No one would believe that.”

  “Hullo. How are you tonight?”

  “I’m at Nene’s dirty thirty right now. No, I didn’t agree to that article. I haven’t made any comment yet. I’m to ignore it? It won’t go away.“

  She held her phone and stared at it, dumbfounded.

  “He said the palace publicity team has decided our official response is to ignore the article. Not to dignify it with a reply. No comment is tantamount to an admission that it’s true!”

  “Is it true?”

  “What? You believe that article? That I’m only a selfish vain twit?”

  “Not a bit of it. But the substance of the article…is it true? Did you decline to take part in a, er, a threesome?”

  “Yes. On more than one occasion.”

  “What about refusing the cocaine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you flush it down the loo?”

  “Yeah, I did that. He was plenty angry with me.” She said.

  “Did you shout at him for sitting round looking at pornos?”

  “Yes, I did that regularly.”

  “So the essential facts are accurate.”

  “Ah. That doesn’t make me look very good.”

  “It makes it look like you finished with your boyfriend because of his drug abuse and unusual sexual practices. It makes you look like a paragon of British morality to me.”

  Lizzy snorted.

  “Did the Princess Royal just snort?”

  “A princess never snorts. It was a cough.”

  “Clearly. Now do you wish to release a statement to this effect, that he took issue with your sterling English morals?”

  “That’s the first time anyone has accused me of having any virtues.”

  “It casts you in a better light than the way you’re portrayed by Magnus.”

  “Are you certain you’re not an accredited press agent? You’re brilliant. I’ll do it then. How’s this? @KenPalace no comment but I have 1. @MagnustheMagnificent I’m dull, won’t abuse drugs with him, have an orgy. #British Morals #HailBritannia”

  “Well done, though I think you took the high road on that rotter. Is his handle really the Magnificent? That’s a bit rich.”

  “You’ve no idea.” She said. “I posted it. There. Now the palace will call back in three-two----I’m disappointed, they’re slowing down this time of night.”

  With that, her phone rang. “It’s Smithpeters this time, Father’s head of publicity. Christ on a cracker.”

  Lizzy answered, nodded her head a lot, rolled her eyes theatrically and said, “No. I spoke up for myself. I made clear the palace had no comment. No.” She hung up.

  “They want you to take it down?”

  “Of course they do. I’m in total disgrace. I’ll be lucky if Martin doesn’t replace my security detail with a nanny.”

  “Have a sleep. It’ll look better in the morning.”

  “Now you sound just like my mum.”

  “All right, we could go back to London. I don’t fancy a camel ride or walking round on a leash and this feels more like Sodom and Gomorrah than a birthday party.”

  “We’ve each had a bit much to drink for that.” She said, “Let’s just have a sleep. I’m bloody tired of all my own drama.”

  Lizzy set her drink on the nightstand and scooted down under the duvet. She curled onto her side, nestling against him.

  “I’m going to give you a few hours rest. I plan to lie here like a proper insomniac and watch you sleep.”

  “That’s creepy.”

  “Have courage, Phillip. I’ve had enough of this party and this—whatever this was with the two of us, Phillip. Good night.”

  A few hours later she woke him, fully dressed and with her bag packed.

  “Let’s go. I have you a bottle of water here and aspirin in case you have a hangover. I’ll give Nene a text later that there was an emergency or something. She’ll know about the article by now so it’ll seem as if I left because of that.”

  “Only tell her it was your plus-one who’s so dull he can’t endure a party for more than one night.”

  “You mean that plus-one who took me to have tattoos recently?”

  “You coaxed me into it. Let’s turn in our peacock feather and escape.” He said.

  “I rather thought I’d keep the feather. It’s a pretty thing.”

  Lizzy picked it up and trailed the soft frills of the feather’s end against her palm. She raised it and brushed it against his cheek.

  “See, it’s soft.�
� Phillip felt the muscle in his jaw clench to keep from twitching when she ran the feather along his neck playfully.

  “Stop it.” He said.

  “Grump.” She said and set off down the narrow creaky stairs.

  Chapter Six

  Lizzy stared listlessly out the window and fiddled with her phone during the ride home.

  “Ooh, look! My Vanity Fair cover is live!” She practically bellowed, bouncing in her seat. She brandished her phone for Phillip’s approval.

  On her screen was a moody black and white shot of herself lying on her stomach, the tattoo twining its way up her bare side as she looked boldly at the camera. Wearing far too much eye makeup and apparently nothing else. Phillip raised an eyebrow and returned to watching the road.

  “I realize you’re not one for flattery but one approving comment isn’t likely to cause you to have an aneurysm, Phillip.”

  “Now who’s the grump?” He said. “It’s a brash photo. Very becoming, but I doubt your family will appreciate it.”

  “It’s the first interview I’ve ever done without their approval and their set of questions and responses. I wanted to express myself.”

  “You’ve certainly expressed a great deal of yourself. All but a few inches from what I can see.”

  “Do not attempt to shame me for having agency. I had women’s studies at Uni and you’re only threatened by my power.”

  “I’m very much threatened by your power, but that was true before you dropped your kit for a photographer. You can command this much attention, but you’re using it just for ego, not for anything better.”

  “You’re a bit harsh early in the morning.” She said, trying to hide how his remark had hurt her.

  She was proud of the pictures and it wasn’t pleasant to hear that he thought them nothing more than a conceit. Lizzy retweeted the article. She sulked and looked out the window.

  “Is this how you get the king to notice you?”

  “What? That’s absurd. I did this for myself. As a counter to the image the palace has put about of my seeming interest in flower gardens and musical charities. I’m not a porcelain doll. I’m a woman with interests and hopes.”

  “No one has said differently.”

  “I’m tired of fitting in to what I’m supposed to be and falling short every time. Is that so wrong?”

  “No, Lizzy, you haven’t tried to meet expectations. At every turn, you’ve grabbed for the spotlight with a new boyfriend or a pet antelope—“

  “I rescued that antelope! He lives on a nature preserve now.”

  “As I was saying, a pet antelope, an extravagant party or this new tattoo. None of that is to please the palace. It’s to be seen.”

  “I want to be seen, Phillip. I don’t feel like anyone ever has seen me.”

  They rode in silence until her phone lit up with her father’s private number. She didn’t say much on the phone, just accepted the summons.

  “Phillip, instead of Kensington, I’ll need you to take me to the Buck.” She sighed when they got into the edge of London.

  He drove to the palace and let her out. She wished for all the world that she had that pink tiara on, the one she’d worn to the music program benefit. That had made her feel regal, like she could face down anything, even her father’s wrath. She deserved his wrath, she’d courted it. Anything to keep to normal, to make him act his old self.

  Lizzy slipped into the living quarters and a maid took her to her mother’s sitting room. She thought she should be happy they hadn’t elected to receive her in the throne room with a headsman on duty. She tried to affect an expression of remorse but it just wasn’t there.

  “Good morning.” She said to her parents.

  Her mother looked up from her book, her lips pressed together in stern disappointment. Her father was, in every respect, a born monarch and expected her to fall in line. She felt fully fifteen years old in his presence and more than usually recalcitrant.

  “Eliza, tell me the truth.” Her mother said. “Are you taking drugs?”

  “No! Why would you think that?”

  “You’ve taken off your top for a lad’s magazine—“

  “A lad’s? Vanity Fair is an American fashion icon!” She said.

  “Don’t interrupt your mother.” King Victor said.

  “It isn’t as if I dropped my knickers and sat on a sport car for an annual!” She said. “It’s an artistic photo that expresses who I am as a person!”

  “They took the photo because you are a princess of England, Lizzy, don’t fool yourself that they care what sort of person you are. This sells magazines for them, you taking off your top and telling secrets.” He said.

  “I talked about sun cream and melanoma!”

  “You’ve had more tattoos, I see. As the world sees. What are we to do with you? You make a hobby of opening up the royal family to ridicule! And at such a time, when we need everything to be above reproach. Do you want the monarchy abolished? You’re to remove that absurd remark about British morals on your Twitter and you’re to leave at once for Sandringham. Smithpeters has arranged it. The press statement is that you are excusing yourself from official duties and appearances due to an indisposition.”

  “I’m being sent to my room for a month.”

  “A month at least. The queen persuaded me to reduce my original intention of six months. She spoke on your behalf.”

  “I’m not going to Sandringham.”

  “You cannot remain in the city, in full sight of the press after your disgraceful behavior. We held out hope for a day or two when you were stepping out with that nice Rhys-Cooper boy. It was only a ruse, I gather.”

  Lizzy nodded a bit miserably.

  “Now, Eugenie, you owe me fifty quid. Eliza, you see, I wagered that you had never any intention of getting serious with someone so suitable, so respectable. Your mother thought you had decided to grow up and raise your standards.” The king looked appallingly merry at his victory.

  “Now off to the country with you. Fifty quid or not, your absence will be better for the family. Show some discretion, Eliza. And for your mother’s sake if not your own, take your medicine.” The king demanded through gritted teeth.

  “This is NOT about my medicine. I’m fine without it! I’ll go to Pembroke.” She said, raising her chin. “Sandringham is yours. Pembroke Lodge is mine.”

  “Very well. Go to Pembroke Lodge and don’t step outside its grounds until I’ve given you leave. It will take a deal of effort to sway public interest from the spectacle you’ve made.”

  The only creature in London she was loath to part with was her cat. Lizzy told Bennie goodbye for the moment and promised him that Marj, her assistant, would spoil him in her absence. Instead of taking a driver out to the Cotswolds, she loaded up her aging Audi. It hadn’t many miles on it as she was driven most places, but it wasn’t the sparkling new sports car the public would have expected her to drive. She plugged the AV jack of her MP3 player into the console and cranked some David Bowie as she pulled onto the M4. It was only a couple of hours out of London, but by the time she Tweeted a picture of bucolic green pastures dotted with impossibly fluffy sheep, it seemed worlds away.

  When she saw the lodge with its four-square homeyness, her heart gave a lurch. She pulled to a stop in the horseshoe drive and got her bags out of the boot. Stomping up the steps, she realized she hadn’t any key. Lizzy was scrolling through her contacts for the Pembroke main number when the front doors swung open proudly and Mrs. Chambers greeted her. The housekeeper had been with the place since her grandmother’s later years and Lizzy barely prevented herself from discomfiting the good woman with a hug.

  “Good day, Mrs. Chambers. Did Smithpeters phone ahead?”

  “Yes, Miss Lizzy. You’ll find all in order and I could have a light tea brought up to your old room if you like.”

  “Jammy tarts?”

  “Of course, Miss Lizzy.” Mrs. Chambers said.

  Lizzy smiled and bent
down to dig in her tote bag. She located two of the items she’d sent her assistant out for earlier, a book of crosswords and a packet of Frazzles. She handed them almost shyly to Mrs. Chambers.

  “Why, Miss Lizzy, you remembered!”

  She carried her two bags up the staircase, all the way up to the third floor to her old room. It was the one she’d chosen at age nine or ten, liking the high up isolation, the view of the stables, the sloping ceilings. She stood at the window and looked out at the familiar roll of the green hills and felt something that had been wrong and tense within her begin to unknot. She had jammy tarts and a scone with clotted cream. She took a long walk around the grounds with her grandmother’s old walking stick as a companion. She knew Bennie would not have been happy with all the sleek barn cats roaming the grounds earning their keep by mousing, but she missed her pet on the walk and her mind wandered to wanting a dog or three to have with her at the lodge.

  When Lizzy returned to her room, windblown and hungry, she heard the alert on her phone. The screen showed two missed calls from Phillip. She went to the kitchen for sandwiches and coffee and had her shower. Then she thought to ring him back.

  “I was thinking of using Pembroke, as you suggested. Do you mind?” He said.

  “Not at all. You should know, in the interest of full disclosure, that I’m in residence currently.”

  “You are? Honestly I’m already on my way. I’ll be happy to turn round and return to the city if it’s inconvenient.”

  “Feel free to join me in exile. I’m alone here with the staff and my shameful exhibitionism, so consider yourself warned.”

  “I’ll be the most boring company, with my research and my primary sources piled up. If it would be better, I’ll take a house somewhere else for the summer.”

  “Nonsense. I’ll ride and have walks and be out of your way. It’s a big house.”

  “If it’s really fine with you…I’m there. Or rather, I’m here.” He hung up and she bounded down the stairs to meet him.

  Phillip was at the door, ready to ring, when Lizzy flung the doors open wide.

  “Welcome to Pembroke.” She said. “I’ll have Mrs. Chambers make you up a room. Which sort of view would you like? Lake or stables or garden?”