Vivian nodded. He could tell she’d really been listening to him. She hesitated for a moment, but finally asked her question.
“Are you the first? Black private secretary, I mean?”
He nodded slowly and tried not to let his face reflect the rush of pride he felt.
“And that’s another reason I said yes.”
He spent his days immersed in this job and didn’t think about that too often. What an accomplishment it was, and everything it had taken for him to achieve it. Not just the years of hard work, but all of the tiny insults and jokes he’d had to ignore, all of the naysayers, the hundreds of times he’d kept a straight face and a low voice when he wanted to pound on the table and yell.
He opened the door to his small office.
“And here’s where I work—less glamorous than the rest of the house, but it’s enough for what I need.”
She looked around and smiled at the painting on his wall and the photographs of his family on his desk. She picked up one of them.
“Your son?” she asked him.
He shook his head.
“My nephew. My sister’s son. His father died when he was young, and I suppose I’ve been a bit of a surrogate dad for him. He’s a great kid—well, he’s not a kid anymore, but I’ll never stop thinking of him that way.”
Vivian laughed.
“I do the same thing with Maddie, and she’s in her thirties. How old is he now?”
He smiled.
“Nineteen. He’ll be off to Oxford next year.”
Vivian raised her eyebrows at him.
“Following in your footsteps?”
How had she figured that out?
“Yes, but how did you know?”
She grinned at him.
“It was something about that look of pride in your eyes when you said it.”
He laughed.
“I try not to be so obvious, but since I’m bragging about him”—he gestured at the painting over his desk—“Miles painted that for me a few years ago. It’s the river in Scotland where we often go fishing together. I know there are lots of priceless paintings in this building, but this one is my favorite.” Miles’s painting was usually on the wall of his office at Buckingham Palace, but he’d brought it down here for the week. These walls were too bare and dreary without it.
Vivian contemplated the painting, then smiled at him.
“I can see why it’s your favorite.”
Malcolm was looking forward to seeing Miles at Christmas. He’d seen very little of his nephew over the past few months. Most of that was his own fault—work had been busier than usual this fall—but whenever he’d texted Miles, the boy had been either in the middle of painting, and so didn’t text back for hours, or more likely, with his new girlfriend, the one Malcolm’s sister, Sarah, hated. In their texts recently, Miles had hinted that he had some big surprise to tell him about at Christmas—probably that he was going to move in with the new girlfriend. He shook his head and sighed. He’d be the one to have to smooth that over with Sarah, like he usually had to do with Miles’s escapades.
She walked over to the window and looked out.
“You have a lovely view here, Malcolm. This estate really is beautiful.”
He stood next to her. The window wasn’t that big, so he was so close to her they were almost touching.
“It is.”
His phone rang, and she stepped aside. He glanced down at who was calling and shook his head.
“I don’t have to get that.” He looked at the clock next to his phone and had a jolt. It had been over two hours since he’d left the Sycamore Cottage kitchen with Vivian. How had they managed to talk for that long?
Vivian looked at her watch and took a step back.
“Oh! I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. I’m sorry for taking you away from your work for so long. I should walk back to Sycamore Cottage. Maddie is probably looking for me.” She looked back up at him. “Thank you so much, Malcolm, for the walk and the tour and the conversation. It was a great first morning in England.”
They left his office together.
“I can walk you back to Sycamore Cottage,” he said.
She tilted her head.
“Do you really have time for that?”
He hesitated, and her smile got wider. Finally he gave up and smiled back at her.
“As a matter of fact . . . no, but . . .”
They both laughed.
“I can walk back on my own, I promise,” she said. “Just point me in the right direction, and maybe warn the security guards that a middle-aged black American woman is wandering around the grounds of a royal estate.”
He laughed as they went down the back stairs.
“No need, I told you they know you’re here. But I’m going to take you out the side door—we took the long way up to the house today, because I wanted you to see the whole thing, but it’s faster to get back to Sycamore Cottage from this door.”
She smiled.
“It helps that I know what it looks like now.” She pulled out her phone. “And those pictures I took on our walk here will come in handy to get me home.”
He paused by the door.
“Did you trail scone crumbs, too, so you could find your way home?”
She winked at him.
“See, I knew I was inside of a fairy tale.”
He opened the side door for her, and the cold air rushed in at them.
“Have a safe walk back, Ms. Forest. I’m counting on that trip to the stables tomorrow.”
She grinned.
“Thank you, Mr. Hudson. I look forward to it.”
She walked away and waved at him. He turned to go inside, still with a smile on his face.
Chapter Three
Vivian’s walk back to Sycamore Cottage took only about fifteen minutes. How was that possible, when her walk from Sycamore Cottage to Sandringham House with Malcolm had taken so much longer?
Well, they’d walked the long way around, after all. And that house was enormous. Plus, he’d had to stop and show her things on the way in, like the . . . Okay, she couldn’t remember anymore what he’d stopped to show her; she just remembered how entertained she’d been.
She hadn’t lost track of time like that talking to a man in years. It had probably been since the beginning of her relationship with Ray, which had fizzled out on both sides a few years ago. She knew this couldn’t be the beginning of any sort of relationship—not even a fling, since she was sleeping in a Duchess’s guest room across the hall from her daughter—but she’d missed having someone to talk to. Someone to flirt with. Someone to laugh with. Someone—a male someone—who clearly enjoyed her company.
She had no idea if Malcolm really was going to get in touch with her to show her the stables, but she bet that he would. She’d seen that interested look in a man’s eye enough times to recognize it. If she had even a few more hours of that during her time in England, what an unexpected bonus that would be.
She walked up the front steps to Sycamore Cottage, still smiling, and said hello to the suit who opened the door before she’d even been able to knock.
“Ms. Forest.” He nodded at her.
She smiled at him.
“Good afternoon . . . I’m sorry, what’s your name?”
She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to ask questions like this, but she wasn’t in the habit of letting people open her doors and cook for her without knowing their names. Of course, she wasn’t in the habit of letting people open her doors at all, but she knew the names of all of the cafeteria workers at the hospital, and all of the janitors, too. This guy might wear a suit, but that didn’t make him invisible.
“James, ma’am.”
She nodded at him.
“Good afternoon, James.”
Maddie came into the hallway.
“I thought I heard your voice. Where did you go this morning? You look all smiling and windblown; did you have a nice walk? Are you ready for lunch?”
Vivian unwound the scarf from around her neck, and James took it and her coat from her.
“More than ready. I’m starving.”
Maddie led her back toward the kitchen.
“Great. Lunch is just us. The Duke and Duchess are off doing a family thing this afternoon. I can’t relax for long; I have a bunch of tiny alterations to do that I want to make sure to get right, so I’ll be booked most of the afternoon, if that’s okay.”
Vivian nodded.
“Of course that’s okay; you’re here to work. I’ll keep myself occupied, don’t worry.”
She pulled her phone out of her pocket to check if Jo had texted back.
Doing great here, don’t worry about me. You’d better be having a great time in England!!!
“How’s everyone at home?” Maddie asked.
“Okay, I hope. Aunt Jo says she is, anyway. But she might just be saying that.”
Maddie put her arm around Vivian’s shoulder.
“Aunt Jo is fine, Mom. I’m sure she wants you to relax and not worry about her.”
Vivian laughed.
“That’s just what she told me to do. Are you two conspiring against me?”
“Conspiring for you, maybe,” Maddie said.
They walked into a little breakfast room Vivian hadn’t noticed before, where Julia was setting lunch out on the table.
“Ms. Forest, hello again. Did you have a nice walk with Mr. Hudson?”
Vivian saw Maddie’s eyes on her.
“I did, thank you. He gave me a lovely tour of the grounds and the house, though I’m sure we only saw a small fraction of what there is. And we enjoyed those scones of yours a great deal.”
Julia laughed.
“He’s always like that about those scones. I tease him like he’s not allowed to have them, but I always make extras so he can have some, and I wager he knows that.” She gestured to the small, round table. “Please, sit down. Your lunch is all ready.”
Julia bustled back to the kitchen, and Vivian and Maddie sat at the table.
Before Maddie could ask the question Vivian knew was coming, Julia brought bowls of steaming potato soup and a platter of roast beef sandwiches to the table.
“I thought you’d need something cozy and warming, and you said how much you enjoyed those sandwiches last night.” She poured them water from a pitcher on the table. “If you need anything else, just ring the bell here.”
Vivian and Maddie both thanked her, and she disappeared.
Vivian tasted the soup. She was doubtful about it—in her experience, potato soup tended to be heavy and bland. But wow, this was creamy and flavorful and just what she needed after a walk outside in northern England in December.
“Oh wow, this soup is great.”
Maddie put her spoon into the soup but didn’t taste it.
“Hey, Mom?”
Vivian looked up at her, a mock-innocent expression on her face.
“Yes, Maddie?”
“Who is ‘Mr. Hudson’?”
Vivian laughed, more at how predictable her daughter was than the question itself. When Maddie was little, Vivian had kept her life with her daughter very separate from any romantic relationships. That had infuriated Maddie, who since the age of seven had wanted to know if her mother was dating anyone and if not, why not. Vivian had always refused to tell her—which had just infuriated Maddie more. Even though her daughter was a grown woman now, she’d never really gotten out of the habit of keeping her personal life a secret.
But she supposed she had to answer this question. She and Malcolm weren’t dating; she would probably never see him again.
Though she really hoped she did.
“Malcolm Hudson works over at Sandringham House. He was in the kitchen this morning chatting with Julia when I came down for breakfast, and he offered to give me a little tour of the grounds while you were occupied. Satisfied?”
“What does he do over at Sandringham House?” Maddie was obviously not satisfied. “What was he doing in the kitchen here?”
There was no real way to avoid answering these questions, was there?
“He was in the kitchen because he and Julia have known each other for years, and he came over to say hi to her. And he’s the private secretary to the Queen.”
Maddie dropped her spoon.
“The what to the Queen?”
Vivian carefully didn’t roll her eyes.
“The private secretary.” She took another sip of the soup.
Maddie stared at her.
“That’s a big deal kind of job, Mom!”
Vivian took a bite of her sandwich.
“Yes, I gathered that,” she said. Sometimes she really enjoyed irritating her daughter like this.
“Okay, but then, why did he give you a tour? Doesn’t he have more important things to do with his time?”
Vivian was pretty sure he had many more important things to do with his time, which made her even more pleased he’d taken two hours out of his schedule to wander around and chat and eat scones with her today. But saying that to Maddie would cause her to ask a million more unanswerable questions, so instead, she just shrugged.
“It’s Christmastime. I think he had some unexpected free time, so he decided to fill it by entertaining the nearby American. It was a really nice walk, even though it was freezing outside. I’m glad you made me get this coat; it and my boots were the only things that kept me from turning into a Popsicle.” Vivian had to deflect Maddie before she asked even more about this man. Luckily, she knew just how to do it. “How was your morning with the Duchess? Did the clothes get delivered okay? Did you guys make some good decisions?”
Maddie nodded eagerly.
“Yeah, it was a great morning. All of the clothes got delivered, thank God, and the staff here did a fantastic job listening to my very specific directions about how to hang them up. I always feel like an asshole when I have to give instructions like that to other people, because I get so particular and detailed about everything. But maybe in royal households they’re used to people being exacting, because they don’t seem to hate me, even after my three-page email about ten different things to do with ten different navy blue dresses.”
Vivian laughed and poured more water for both of them.
“Well, that’s good. I’ve seen how you get when people don’t listen to your very specific instructions. People like me, for example.”
Maddie rolled her eyes and went on.
“Amelia usually spends a week in England every two or so months to work with the Duchess and plan for all of the upcoming events, but she hasn’t been here in three months, so I have a lot of work cut out for me in the next few days, but I think it’ll be a lot of fun. A lot of pressure, too, but I’m up to the challenge, especially with you here.” She grinned at Vivian. “Tomorrow we might head into the town to do some shopping for an hour or so. Let me know if you want to come.”
Vivian smiled to herself.
“I’ll think about it, but I might want to just relax here”—she looked at her daughter pointedly—“like you keep telling me I have to. And it will be nice to hang out and read; I don’t get much time to do that at home.”
That was all true, but she hoped she’d have other plans tomorrow. Plans Maddie didn’t need to know about.
Malcolm spent the rest of the day attempting to do nationally important work, but all he could think about was Vivian. He knew he was being ridiculous, but for once, he didn’t care. He’d spent two hours with an attractive, interesting, charming woman, and it had been the happiest and most relaxed two hours he’d spent in months.
Maybe years.
Had she taken him seriously when he’d suggested going to the stables? Because he’d meant every word of it, but maybe she’d just been polite?
Well, there was one way to find out.
He packed up a notepad when he left the office for the day, and once he was settled into his hotel room in town, he sat down at the desk to write Vivian a note.
The next morning, he copied out his final draft of the note onto his official stationery and slipped it into an envelope.
Ms. Forest,
I’d like to request the pleasure of your company at 14:00–2:00 p.m. to you—this afternoon at the Sandringham House stables. If you are agreed, I’ll call for you at Sycamore Cottage. The horses look forward to making your acquaintance.
Sincerely,
Malcolm Hudson
He scrawled her name on the outside of the envelope and pressed a button on his desk to summon a footman to his office. It felt very Victorian to do it like this, but when one worked in a palace, one may as well make use of artifacts from the past on occasion.
“Please bring this over to Sycamore Cottage, if you would,” he said once the footman finally arrived at his door. “If there is a reply, please bring it back to me directly.”
The footman nodded.
“Very good, Mr. Hudson.”
He smiled as he walked down to his daily meeting with the Queen.
A few minutes after he got back to his office, there was a knock at his door. He looked up to see the footman. He kept his face blank.
“Yes?”
“I have a reply for you, Mr. Hudson,” he said. He stepped forward and handed it to Malcolm, who dropped it on his desk like it didn’t matter at all.
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