by Ellie Hall
There was no mistaking the rash of color that broke out on Genevieve’s cheeks. “Of course, not. I have better things to be doing with my time.”
“How do you explain the feather then?”
“It could be anyone’s feather.”
“If you don’t mind me saying so, it matches your slippers,” Addie said in a small voice.
“I was in here earlier when the necklace was discovered in her grubby boot.”
Winston shook his head. “You remained right where you are by the door. I’m certain you didn’t come in here. In fact, I seem to remember you making an insulting comment about how boring Penelope’s wardrobe is.”
She rolled her eyes.
The queen stepped forward. “Genevieve, can you offer us an explanation?”
Penny’s confession was close but she wanted to tell the queen in private—not on the back of being accused of theft.
Everyone looked at Genevieve.
The sound of shattering glass interrupted the tense moment. “Excuse me, I have to take this call.” She turned toward the hallway. “Yes, father—”
Penny startled. She was sure Genevieve set her up for a fall. She inhaled a deep breath. “Last night, I woke up from a bad dream. I got up to get some fresh air and someone entered my room. Then I thought I heard the sound of shattering glass. Like Genevieve’s ringtone. I know it’s my word against hers, but I wouldn’t take something from her.” She glanced at the table covered in jewelry. “What would I have to gain from the theft other than making an enemy?”
“Good points,” Oliver said. He opened his mouth to say more then seemed to think better of it.
The queen’s lips formed a thin line. “It’s clear Genevieve was trying to humiliate Penelope. I expected more from her. Leave me to deal with this. You have my official apology, dear.” The queen swept from the room, causing the feather to slowly float to the floor.
From the hall, the glower Genevieve cast in Penny’s direction as the queen ushered her away suggested it was far from over.
Oliver stepped over to her. He discretely rested his hand on her arm. “I had a lovely time baking with you and you were right, you—your cookies rocked my world. I’m sorry a perfect afternoon turned unpleasant. I also apologize for suggesting that you being out of your room last night might have been related to the missing necklace. I know you wouldn’t do something like that.”
Penny felt like crumpling into a heap of shame but she swallowed back the truth. “I’m glad we got to spend time together today. I understand if you suspect me of committing a wrong, but I hope you’ll forgive me.” She stumped out of the closet and hoped he’d soon leave so she could throw herself on the bed and sob. Dramatic, she knew, but everything was a mess and she wasn’t sure how to fix it.
The door to the suite soon closed and as her chin trembled, Addie said. “Miss, there’s no time for that. Isabel Breton will be here at any moment.”
“Isabel who?” Penny asked.
“The premier dressmaker in the world.”
“I’ve never heard of her.”
“She only fits ten dresses a year. The queen asked her to select one of her famed pieces for you for the ball.”
Penny’s mouth fell open. “She shouldn’t have.”
“If I may speak plainly, since you’d been gone so long and perhaps aren’t accustomed to fancy dress, I think she wanted to, um, spoil you,” Addie said.
“And to make sure I don’t look like I rolled out of bed.” Penny caught her reflection in the closet mirror. Her hair was a bit frizzy and she had flour on her shirt. “Or coming from the kitchens.”
“I would not imply such a thing, Miss.”
Penny eyed the boots she had arrived in just as a knock came from the door. The footman announced, “Madam Breton and her entourage.”
Several more footmen followed with a riser for Penny to stand on for the fitting. And another pair wheeled in clothing racks from which hung large pale pink garment bags, customized with Isabel Breton’s initials in black thread.
In minutes, the suite bustled with activity as Madam Breton’s assistant took measurements. The woman herself stood by the window pinching her chin and staring at Penny. She tilted her head every few minutes.
When the assistant passed the dress designer a pad with the measurements, another helper brought her a palette covered in fabric swatches. As she held it up, Madam Breton resumed her stance while Penny stood there, feeling awkward and uncertain as the clock above the mantle circled around the hour.
At last, Madam Breton broke her focus and started speaking in rapid French for what seemed like an eternity. Penny didn’t understand a word of it and her expression reflected as much because Addie translated.
“She thinks a medium, muted blue would favor your complexion.”
The dressmaker snapped her fingers.
“Is that all she said?” Penny whispered. It sounded like she’d said a paragraph’s worth of words, at least.
“She said you have lovely features and, well, she said mostly nice things about your appearance.”
Penny’s jaw dropped. “Did she say not nice things too?”
Addie shrugged then leaned in. “She’s very particular about complexions and proportions. She suggested you should walk, um, move, um,” Addie swallowed. “It’s not for me to say.”
“What? You can tell me.”
“Well, she thinks you should, um, make out more. Said it’ll be good for your circulation.” Addie turned a shade or two darker than the pink garment bags hanging nearby.
Penny tried not to giggle. The night before, in Oliver’s room, caused her cheeks to match Addie’s. They hadn’t made out but it had certainly crossed her mind. In fact, every time she met his eyes, hers drifted to his lips and she liquified inside.
Two of the assistants brought over a stunning gown and held it in front of Penny. The underlayment of the dress was the medium, muted blue Isabel had requested, but a sheer blue layer was on top, embroidered with golden brocade that wound around the skirt, up the back, and around the chest. The golden threadwork was embedded with Swarovski crystals along with the hem at the neckline which was a few inches below Penny’s collarbones. It was Cinderella, fairy godmother, fairytale stunning.
Isabel said something and Addie moved to help Penny put the gown on. She was glad to have the help because she didn’t want to cause a snag or otherwise damage the work of art. It was slightly too big and the assistants scribbled notes on the pad.
Isabel stepped closer, inspecting every inch of Penny with a critical eye. “Oui,” she said at last. Then she said a few more things in French before departing.
“This is the one you’ll wear,” Addie said. “Now, we have to decide what to do with your hair, makeup…”
“Her nails,” one of the assistants said in accented English, gripping Penny’s hands.
Isabel examined them. “My gowns are masterpieces.”
“It’s only right the woman wearing them should be the right vessel to reflect the beauty,” her assistant added.
“I’m sorry, I just haven’t had a chance.” Penny tucked her hands behind her back.
“Don’t worry. She’ll be perfect for the ball.” Addie angled the mirror so Penny could see her reflection.
The gown was gorgeous but the dull cast to her eyes and the downturn of her lips reminded Penny that she was living a lie.
Chapter 12
Oliver
Oliver anticipated the queen-to-be selection process would be difficult if not tedious, but he did not expect the drama. Then again, when Genevieve was announced as a royal-in-waiting, he should’ve known. If Penelope had a reputation for having a carefree attitude and not apt to fall in line with rules and requirements then Genevieve was her evil opposite. She’d made scenes at a few balls over the years, spread rumors, and wasn’t averse to making others around her feel small, insignificant, and inadequate. He’d been raised not to get involved in such tasteless activities.
/> Oliver had thought for a moment Penelope might’ve been guilty. On and off, she’d acted oddly and she had been out of her suite in the middle of the night. But it was clear Genevieve had set her up. In fact, he recalled hearing the ringtone of her phone from the hall as she stalked around during the wee hours—there was no telling what she was up to.
Although it was no laughing matter, Ava, Oliver’s sister, would have a good one when she caught wind of Genevieve’s escapades. They were dressage rivals, back when Ava still competed. He anticipated her return to the palace any minute. In fact, he was desperate to see her, to talk to her, to get her opinion. His life was about to change and whatever the outcome, he wanted his sister, who’d been with him through everything, to be there.
She might already have arrived, and if so, he knew exactly where to find her. The day was overcast, but the clouds were high enough he didn’t think it would rain. He hoped not. He had activities laid out for the entire day, concluding with his surprise for Penelope. It was his choice this time and he hoped she’d enjoy his selection. It was harder with the other girls, Genevieve especially, though she may no longer be in the running after the necklace incident. At least, he hoped not. If he had to spend the rest of his life with one of the royals-in-waiting, he did not want it to be her.
The clip-clop of horse hooves echoed off the brick walls of the buildings behind the palace as Oliver approached the stables. Sure enough, Ava was already in the saddle and warmed up Topsy, her favorite Friesian, in the ring.
Oliver watched for a few moments before she trotted over.
“Hello, stranger,” Ava said. Her red hair was braided down her back and her cheeks were flushed from riding. She gracefully dismounted.
“You visited Topsy before your own brother?” Oliver said, mock offended.
She threw her arms around him. “Have to ease myself back into this unreality,” she muttered in his ear.
“Do you mean the palace bubble? While you were abroad you had drivers, minders, coordinators…Is it really so different?”
Ava smirked.
“Wait. I know that look. It’s the same one when you showed me the tunnels to sneak around the palace that were built during the World War. It’s the same one when you showed me how to sneak into the pantry and nab sweets. Did you ditch everyone?”
She shrugged. “I’ll tell you all about it someday. In the meantime, I need an update on the royals-in-waiting.”
Ava absentmindedly fed Topsy bits of carrot while Oliver gave her the abbreviated version of the past days’ events, concluding with Genevieve’s drama.
“She’s a diva. Always has been. If Bea so much as tried to match you with her, I’d make the biggest stink.”
“Who’s the diva?” Oliver asked, joking.
“Takes one to know one. But a diva doesn’t backpack all over southeast Asia.”
“Wait, I thought you were in eastern Europe—”
“Right. That’s where I was. How silly of me to get the two geographical areas confused. I must not have been paying careful attention to my tutors.”
Oliver laughed. “My lips are sealed.”
“Not so fast. I want to hear about our other royals-in-waiting. Is there one you’ve taken a fancy to or are you still following your no-royals rule?”
“Yesterday, Penelope taught me how to bake cookies. I saved you some. Later today, we have the activity I selected…” He went on in detail about their time together before Ava interrupted.
“So, she’s the one.”
“I didn’t say that. I—” Oliver’s pulse picked up its pace, much like the horses practicing in the distant rings.
“Don’t worry, brother. My lips are sealed.”
“But perhaps you can help me with something.”
The two continued talking until, from the rear entrance of the palace, came the chiming of a bell.
“Don’t tell me that’s Winston.” Ava laughed. “Still keeping time with his bell, is he? Well, you should get going then. Oh, and I want milk with my cookies,” she said, mounting Topsy before trotting off.
Oliver struggled to focus while he visited the botanical gardens with Colette and watched a play with Odelia later that afternoon. All he could think about was Penelope. Perhaps Ava was right. Maybe she was the one. But they both knew it wasn’t truly up to him. He only hoped the queen wouldn’t hold the incident with Genevieve against her and would look at Penelope’s potential versus her track record. The royal advisors might be concerned about her lack of training in etiquette, the history of the monarchy, and the various details that constituted the daily engagements required of her role when married to him, but she could learn. Then a terrible thought crept into his mind. What if she didn’t want to marry?
Winston’s bell shook him from the depressing thought. The two waited and waited. Oliver checked his watch. Winston rang his bell. She still didn’t come.
She’d said she wanted to leave, but he’d thought it was because being in the palace brought her too close to painful memories of loss. What if she’d really done it and was on an airplane back to America? His stomach dipped.
The queen’s voice echoed down the hall followed by the tinkling of familiar laughter—a sound he’d recently taken a fancy to.
“It’s my fault she’s late. I was giving her a tour of my ball gowns.” The queen winked.
Oliver’s smile met Penelope’s. He felt a twang inside like something cut itself loose and it would do whatever necessary to keep her from making a hasty decision to leave the palace before she truly gave it a chance…gave him a chance.
“Thanks again for everything. The dress is, as Madam Breton said, a work of art.”
Livingston, the butler, called to the queen and she excused herself.
Penelope leaned in. “I won’t tell you what else Madam Breton said.”
Oliver tilted his head in question but Penelope didn’t say more. “I see you dressed warmly. Good. Off we go.”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Surprise.”
They left the palace grounds in an SUV. Penelope watched out the window the entire time as he pointed out sites of interest and landmarks.
“Do you have any guesses?” Oliver asked when they got stuck in traffic.
“Dinner? I’m hungry.”
“We can eat when we get there. Let’s see, there will be burgers, sausage, and pies.”
“Pies? Sounds like a diner in New York.”
“Savory pies.” Oliver’s mouth was already watering.
The SUV pulled into a garage under Wembley Stadium.
“Are we going to watch a soccer match?” Her eyes lit up.
“Liverpool and West Ham.”
Penelope bounced in her seat.
Oliver grabbed a backpack from the floor, passed her a Liverpool team hat, and slung the bag over his shoulder as they got out.
Winston rang his bell.
“With all due respect, Winston, not here.” He didn’t need people seeing he was led around by a bell like a goat.
“Sir, it’s protocol, signaling the beginning of your appointment.”
Oliver leaned in. “We’re at a football match and I don’t want anyone seeing my manny ringing my bell.”
Another SUV pulled up behind them and four men dressed in suits and wearing coms units got out.
“Great. My manny and my chaperones.”
“They’re your protection, Sir. As you said, you’re at a football match.”
Oliver sighed. He just wanted some time alone with Penelope. He wanted to experience life outside the palace like she so often had overseas. And he wanted to show her he could be a regular guy. Unfortunately, that took a great deal of planning. Probably not the case for actual regular guys.
The royal guards escorted them to the private box in the stadium. There was a bar with access to gourmet food, a lounge area with couches, and two chairs arranged behind a large glass wall overlooking the pitch. It was the perfect view.
Oliver gestured for Penelope to sit and he lowered beside her. The stands filled with fans wearing red like them and alternating with the sky blue of the West Ham team.
Oliver summoned the royal guards’ attention. “This is a very important match and my last opportunity with the royals-in-waiting. Please, under no circumstances, interrupt us. The servers know our order because Winston called it in ahead of time.”
The men nodded in understanding and returned to their posts.
“Wow. This is impressive,” she said with her arms outstretched. “I can almost hear them cheering.”
It was true, inside the private box, the roar of the game was muted. As so often, he felt like a spectator; on the outside looking in. Then a commotion came from the exit door. The guards took point to subdue the disturbance. Oliver nodded at the server behind the bar and the two quickly exchanged hats. He indicated Penelope do the same with the other server.
The servers rushed over to the seats Oliver and Penelope had just occupied and the pair scurried through the service exit and into a long, cement hallway. Oliver kept his head bowed until they turned a corner. He pulled out Liverpool jerseys from his backpack, fan merchandise, and a different set of hats.
“What’s going on?” Penelope asked.
“We’re having an adventure.” He grabbed her hand and they raced through the hall, exited through a metal door, and the soccer fans swept them into their midst.
He checked the tickets Ava had helped him procure—along with some of the disguises—and located their seats.
The cheering, clapping, and shouting, as the teams took the field, thundered in his veins. He felt so alive and the expression on Penelope’s face as she raised her arms and pumped her fists with excitement told him she felt the same way.
After Liverpool scored and then subsequently were penalized for a foul, a man came by with pies. Oliver purchased two and passed one to Penelope.
“I was thinking apple pie, pumpkin, cherry…”
“Nope, these are savory, meat pies. Football match staples. Try it, I think it’ll rock your world,” he said, echoing her previous comment about cookies.
