The Anti-Cinderella Takes London

by Tawdra Kandle

  I smiled along with her, picturing the young girl she must have been at the end of World War II. “I bet it was.”

  The Queen blinked, and I didn’t miss the touch of sadness there. Her sister had been gone for many years now, as were, of course, her parents. I thought how painful it must be, to be the only one left of a generation, of a family. Even surrounded as she was by supporters and her children and grandchildren, the Queen must have felt lonely at times.

  “Well.” She straightened, her lips pressing together. “That’s quite ancient history, and not at all what we’re here to talk about, is it? I was very pleased to hear that my grandson had asked for your hand and that you had agreed to marry him.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The Queen was, I sensed, a woman who didn’t care to indulge too often or too long in sentiment. “I feel very lucky. Nicky is—well, he’s amazing.”

  “He’s a bit of a scoundrel, but he has a good heart, I believe, and a strong intellect. He’s kind and loyal, and he’s hard-working. And anyone with eyes can tell that he’s besotted with you.”

  I felt my cheeks heat. “I—thank you, ma’am. The feeling is mutual.”

  “Last year, when we were all together for the Christmas holidays, he was not at all himself. He moped around and was generally miserable. I was given to understand at the time that the two of you had had a falling out. That perhaps my grandson had acted in such a way to cause a rift.” She watched me, and I wondered if this was some sort of test to see how I would respond.

  “I think we both had some things to figure out.” I spoke slowly, feeling my way. “I was trying to be the person I thought I had to be, trying to change who I was, and Nicky was worried that he was asking too much of me—that being with him was going to be too difficult on me. He was trying to protect me.” I swallowed over a lump in my throat. Those had been painful months. “If you could speak with my family, they’d probably tell you very much the same thing about me last Christmas. I wasn’t much fun to be around, either.”

  “Then I suppose we should all be grateful that the two of you worked everything out.” Her Majesty gave me a brief incline of the head—and for a moment, I almost thought she’d winked at me. But I must have been mistaken.

  “Now, before Nicky wanders back, which should be any minute—knowing him, I imagine he’s anxiously pacing in the hallway, worried about what I might be saying to you—let’s have some tea brought in and discuss wedding plans. The spring is such a lovely time, and I have some thoughts on the church . . .”

  “ . . . and she was just wonderful. And so was the Prince. Your grandfather, I mean.” I let my head drop against the headrest of the car seat. “I can’t believe it. I survived.”

  “Not only survived, but thrived.” Nicky beamed at me as we drove back to Kensington Palace. “Granny loved you, just as I predicted. Now that we have her approval, we can go ahead with the engagement announcement.”

  “Yes.” I took a deep breath and heaved it out.

  “Does that make you nervous?” Nicky kept his voice even, but I noticed the small tick in his cheek. “The idea of telling the world that we’re getting married, I mean?”

  “Not exactly nervous. I don’t mind everyone knowing that we’re in love and want to spend our lives together. But it feels so . . .” I searched for the word. “Irrevocable.”

  One of Nicky’s eyebrows rose. “So you’re saying you’ll be trapped with no way out once we announce it?”

  “Not trapped by you, silly.” I hugged his free arm, the one that wasn’t currently steering the car. “And honestly, not really trapped at all. It’s just that from that day on, everyone will see me as one of the Royal Family, and they’ll have expectations of me. Now, I’m just the girl who might be Prince Nicky’s girlfriend. They can’t hold me to a standard of behavior. They can’t complain that I don’t dress like a princess or walk like a duchess, because I’m not either of those things. But once we tell them that we’re getting married, that’s all any of the reporters will see—all the ways in which I am deficient.”

  “Ky.” Nicky’s lips pressed together as he swung the car through the opening gates of Kensington Palace. “You are not deficient in any way, shape or form. You know that in my eyes, you’re absolutely perfect. And you’ve promised me that you’re not going to try to change to make anyone happy.”

  I didn’t answer him right away. Mindful of the fact that Harold, Nicky’s policeman, was sitting in the backseat, I waited until Nicky had parked the car alongside the cottage, next to my own sensible sedan, and we’d both climbed out before I said anything. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Harold; I did, implicitly. But I hadn’t yet reached the place where I was comfortable baring my soul in front of an outsider. Nicky and his sisters often acted as though their protection crew were part of the furniture. Not that they were ever rude or dismissive—they simply behaved as though the men and women who kept them safe didn’t hear or see anything.

  Thinking about this, I made it a point to turn around as Nicky and I climbed out of the car and began to walk toward the cottage door.

  “Thank you, Harold. I hope you have a nice evening.”

  He smiled at me, and I read a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. “You’re welcome, miss. Same to you both.”

  Once we’d gone inside, I dropped my purse and coat onto a chair. “I’m not going to change to make anyone happy, Nicky. But change—and growth, I hope—are inevitable, no matter what. If I married a farmer from Maine, I’d have to adapt to that lifestyle. I’m going to do the same here.” I slid my arms around his waist and nuzzled his neck. “Any changes I make are for us, not just for you. Whether you know it or not, you’ll change, too.”

  He looked down into my face, studying me silently for a moment. “I already have changed. Everything in my world centers on you now, Ky. The sun doesn’t rise for me in the morning unless I’m with you. I would do anything to make you smile, to see your eyes light up. I don’t care what the rest of the universe might see or not see—I know the truth. You are perfect and without flaw, love, because you complement me so wonderfully. Because we fit together, as though we were made that way.”

  I lay my cheek against his chest, reveling in the security of his arms around me. “You’re the only person I want to fit with, Nicky. Any changes I make will only be to make both of us happier, to help me cope with everything I have to learn.” I lifted my head to gaze up at him again, needing to erase any hurt I might have accidentally caused. “I can’t wait for the world to know how much I love you. I have no reservations about that part of announcing the engagement. And the other parts, where I’ll be a princess-in-training . . .” I took a deep breath and managed a smile. “Bring it on.”

  5

  “How much longer, do you think?”

  The woman sitting next to me at the long table glanced my way, startled. I’d leaned over to whisper the question into her ear, but maybe that also fell under the heading of ‘Things Royals Don’t Do’. The list was beginning to feel endless.

  She cast a cautious look toward the head of the table, where the same woman was droning on and on, before she replied.

  “I believe we need to cover your staffing needs and, em, lessons—or rather, conversations about etiquette and behavior, and then launching your engagement calendar. That’s all.” She gave me what I guessed was supposed to be a bracing smile, but my heart sank. All of that sounded as though it was going to take a very long time, and we’d already been sitting here in this Kensington Palace meeting room for over an hour.

  I hated meetings at the best of times. My grandfather Handsome always told me that the only thing that came out of meetings were people; he and Honey preferred to have short and casual catch-ups and personal conversations instead, and they tried to use email and texts to convey information and ask questions if at all possible. I recognized the beauty of that system all the more now that I was working in the new London office. I wished that the network of people who ran the business th
at was the Royal Family also subscribed to Handsome’s theory.

  “Ahem.” As if sensing that my attention had wandered far afield, Mrs. Allan, the sharp-eyed woman who seemed to be running the show in conjunction with the suited gentleman next to her, cleared her throat. “Now we should move onto staffing.”

  Around the table, people shuffled papers. There was nothing in front of me, so I merely folded my hands again and waited.

  “Given your situation, marrying Her Majesty’s grandson, you won’t have extensive needs when it comes to a personal staff. However, we all do agree that you should have a media liaison—a press secretary, if you will—for at least a year, during all the publicity that will rise from the engagement announcement through the wedding itself.”

  “That makes sense.” It was a relief to think that I would have someone to help me handle the reporters and photographers.

  “Of course, the final decision in whom you hire is yours, but we have a list of recommendations right here.” Mrs. Allen passed a sheet of paper down to me. “All of these candidates are highly qualified and have worked for the Family for a long time. You are welcome to interview them and see who might suit you best.”

  I scanned the list, biting my lip. I didn’t know any of them, of course, but even their names looked stuffy and pompous to me.

  “You said all of these people work for the Royal Family now?” I frowned, thinking.

  “Yes, some of them for several decades.” I was certain that Mrs. Allen meant that to be a positive point, but it had the opposite effect on me.

  “Have any of them actually been reporters? Worked in the media at all?”

  The man sitting next to Mrs. Allen—I thought his name was Sir Todd or something like that—raised his eyebrows. “I don’t believe so, no.”

  “Ah.” I fiddled with the corner of the sheet of paper as an interesting thought occurred to me. “What if I have someone else in mind?”

  “Someone else?” Mrs. Allen’s lips curved into a half-smile that I found condescending. “Someone from America?”

  “No.” I returned her smile, not looking away from the challenge I read in her eyes. “Someone from the UK. A reporter, actually. Sophie Kent. She covered me last year before I moved to London, and now I’ve noticed that she’s writing columns for The Lloyd Press. I got to know her pretty well back in the US, and I think she’d be very good at this job. She’s fair-minded, and since she’s part of the press corps, I imagine they’d respond to her better than they would to someone who’s always been an insider.” I paused a beat. “So to speak.”

  “Ms. Duncan.” Mrs. Allen tilted her head, and this time, her smile was clearly patronizing. “While I’m sure you have good intentions, the fact is that we’re not looking for someone to make the press respond better. We don’t need someone who will be cozy with the enemy. You want someone who will serve you, not have any conflicting loyalties when it comes to the reporters.”

  I bristled but managed to hold myself in check. “My intentions are to have someone working with me—for me—whom I can trust and to whom I can relate. I can’t tell ages from the list of names here, but if some of them have been working for the Palace for decades, I’ve got to guess that most are middle-aged or beyond.”

  Sir Todd Whoever nodded. “They are all seasoned and professional, yes. That’s meant to be a positive, Ms. Duncan.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe it’s meant to be that, but I would like someone closer to my own age. Someone who knows both sides of the coin. Sophie Kent was both fair and professional—” I added emphasis to that last word—“when she covered me. She went out of her way to be kind when others were not. She seems to have a good reputation with her fellow journalists, too.” I cocked my head, too, and pasted on a smile, hoping they could all see I wasn’t backing down. “I’m not like other women who’ve married into the Royal Family, so it makes sense for me to do things my own way, as much as I can. I will do my best to follow the rules, and I’ll always be respectful. But I’d like to offer this position to Sophie Kent.”

  “Ms. Kent might not be interested,” put in one of the underlings. “She might want to stick to her side of the road, when it comes to being part of the press. And what if all of this backfires on you, and the other reporters resent her for jumping sides? Then you’ll have a real problem.”

  “You’re right. Sophie might not want to change her career path,” I conceded. “I don’t talk to her, so I’m not sure about it—this idea just popped into my head. But I’d like to at least broach the subject to her. Make her an offer. If she says no, then I’ll take another look at your list.” I tapped the paper. “As far as the other reporters resenting her, I think it’s far more likely that they would resent being handled by someone who’s never known what it’s like to be one of them.”

  “But that’s how it’s always been done,” pointed out Mrs. Allen. “They are used to that. This would be an entirely new situation.”

  I leveled a stare at her. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. If we don’t try, how will we know?”

  For a long, tense moment, there was silence around the table as everyone felt the shifting of power. I didn’t want to demand my own way in every aspect of life. I honestly didn’t care much about the finer details of the transition from commoner to royal. As long as Nicky was happy, I was glad to give in and follow the traditional path as laid out by the Palace officials. But I didn’t intend to be bulldozed as though I were a child who knew nothing, either.

  “Fine.” Mrs. Allen expelled a long breath. “We’ll reach out to Sophie Kent and see if she would be interested in the position.” She raised one manicured finger. “But if she does come on, she’ll have to be trained by the Kensington Palace press office. She’ll need to be up to speed very quickly, which will mean long hours of hard work. It will be as though she’s learning years of information in a matter of weeks.”

  “She seems to be pretty bright. I’m sure she can handle it.” I sat a little straighter. “Now that we’ve covered the press liaison, what’s next?” I tapped the edge of the table, liking this feeling of taking control, even if it was a very little bit of power. “Let’s finish up here. I have other things to do today.”

  “. . . and I got a call just before you came home that, in fact, Sophie is very interested in the position. She’s coming into Kensington Palace tomorrow morning for a meeting—well, it’ll be an interview, whether they call it that or not. But I’m going to make it a point to be there, too. I want to make sure she’s given a fair chance.”

  Nicky and I were sitting at our tiny dining room table, eating what he called ‘take-away’ Chinese food as I filled him in on the adventures of my day.

  “Look at you.” Nicky grinned at me as he reached for a dumpling from the take-out container. “Taking on the Palace and winning. They won’t know what hit them, those stuffy old suits.”

  I paused, the chopsticks in my hands halfway to my mouth. “That doesn’t make me sound like a very nice person. I’m not pushy.” I frowned. “Am I?”

  “I didn’t mean to make you seem that way.” Nicky stuffed the entire dumpling, dripping with brown sauce, into his wide-open mouth. “It ‘as ‘ent a ‘omplm.”

  “Not sure what you’re saying there, Prince Suave.” I passed him a napkin. “Maybe you need to come with me to the etiquette and behavior classes. Mrs. Allen said that Lady Marjorie has very kindly agreed to take me on for further lessons, and she said it as though Lady Marjorie should be nominated for sainthood. I’m not that bad. I didn’t grow up in a cave.”

  “Of course, you’re not.” Nicky dabbed at his lips. “There are just a lot of ins and outs of what is seen as proper and what isn’t when it comes to my family.” He leaned back, regarding me with speculative eyes. “What I was trying to say earlier is that I meant my words as a compliment, that you’re taking on the Palace and not letting them walk all over you. Now your mission will be to determine what is negotiable and what is not.”

  I t
ilted my head, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

  “This isn’t the Middle Ages, darling, and no one’s going to send you to the Tower if you elect to wear a shorter skirt or different color nail polish. Lady Marjorie and the rest are going to tell you that everything is set in stone. It’s not. My grandmother . . . well, she likes what she likes, and she has certain strong opinions, but even so, I’ve never seen her treat anyone differently because that person had a differing point of view.” He smiled, and his face took a glow of affection. “Granny has lived a long time, and I think she’s learned where and how to pick her battles. As long as she feels you’re pulling your weight and doing your duty, she won’t have a problem if you choose to go your own way in some areas.”

  “Will she be unhappy about Sophie?” I twirled lo mein around my chopsticks. “Maybe I should have just gone with one of their suggestions rather than make waves.”

  “I doubt she’ll care, unless Sophie turns out to be a problem. In that case, she’ll let you handle the consequences yourself. She won’t rescue you.”

  “I don’t want to be rescued. I wouldn’t expect that.” I folded up my legs under me as a draft of frigid air wafted over us. “Brrrrr. Have you ever noticed that the insulation in this cottage leaves something to be desired?”

  Nicky chuckled. “It was built over a hundred and fifty years ago, Ky, and the updates have been few and far between. You live in England now—we prefer things to be charming and to stay the same instead of updating and improving them.”

  “Well, when your fiancée ends up with frostbite on her nose, you won’t find it so charming.” I wrapped my arms around my knees. “I heard the temperatures were going to drop tonight, but I didn’t realize they meant it would happen right here in our living room.”

  “Where’s my hearty Maine girl, who withstood the harshest winters?” Nicky pretended to glower. “Don’t tell me that was all an act, and you’re really a hothouse flower.”