by Rachel Hauck
They’d barely declared any sort of love let alone a life partnership. And a public proposal was so unlike him. Daffy twisted her fingers together and leaned toward him, lowering her voice to gain a sense of privacy. “Thomas…are you sure? We’ve not talked about—”
“Yes, I’m very sure.”
Very sure? “We’ve never talked much about marriage.”
“Well, I love you. I think you love me. We’re good together, don’t you think?” The perspiration beads on his brow multiplied.
Slowly the cavernous space closed, and she became aware of their friends watching and waiting, heard the song from the stage and clanking pints.
“I-um, wow, darling, goodness.” She smiled, supposing her relationship with Thomas had been leading up to this moment. But of all the ways to get a proposal, this was not what she had in mind. “You’re sure? How long have you been planning this?”
“When you went on holiday I realized how much you meant to me. How we could build a life together.” He covered her hands with his. “What do you say?”
“I guess I say yes. Sure. Why not? I’ll marry you.”
With that, Thomas took her trembling hand and slipped on the ring. When he looked up, he drew her in for a kiss.
“Wait, wait!” Elizabeth “Blinky” Cox dashed through the pub, twisting and squeezing between patrons and tables. “Did I miss it? Did I miss it?”
She landed at their table like a 747, dropping the suitcase she used for a handbag in the middle, knocking over an empty pint.
“Oh my word! Thomas asked you already. Daff, you said yes. Of course you did. Isn’t the ring gorgeous? Let me see. Tell me everything. How’d you propose, Thomas? Move over, Jones.” When he scooted back from the table, Blinky plopped down in his lap. “Someone order me a pint. Daffy, go. Tell me everything.”
The vivacious chestnut blonde with bright red lips and blue eye shadow reclined against Jones, who rolled his eyes and complained she’d gained another stone or two, even as he settled his hand comfortably about her waist.
Thomas returned to his seat next to Daffy, brushed the pub floor grime from his slacks, and recounted his simple proposal.
“And she said yes?” Blinky reached for Daffy’s hand. “I knew it would fit. Well done.” Blinky stood and faced the pub. “Couple over here engaged, everyone!”
The patrons cheered, and someone ordered the table a round. Caught up in it all, Thomas jumped up with his arms overhead. “I’m engaged! She said yes!” He dragged Daffy to her feet and together they stood on the booth seat.
Daffy smiled as the voices raised in a triple “Hip, hip, hurray.” Then the singer began a soft rendition of “You Are So Beautiful.” Thomas helped Daffy down and held in her in a slow, romantic sway, his legs bumping the chair behind him.
So this was it. Love. Her story. Her prince. The next chapter of My Life with the Prince by Daffodil Caron began with a new hero.
“Are you happy?” he whispered when the attention dialed down. His warm breath tickled her ear.
“Surprised. And yes, happy.”
“I decided to be spontaneous.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips.
“You mean you didn’t even plot this on your spreadsheet?”
He laughed and gripped her closer, still turning in the slow dance. “Well, maybe a little. But I knew you’d want something spontaneous, so—here we are.”
When the song ended, they returned to their table as the server arrived with a round of pints.
“From the princes.” She nodded toward the corner.
When Daffy looked over, Gus raised his pint to her. She willed her blush to not creep across her cheeks, but the heat singed her skin.
She’d have to get over this…this…thing. She could not go through life with a tell that indicated affection for a man not her husband.
For now, she would celebrate. Kayle and Tonya launched into tales of their engagements. Frank and Marlow kept interrupting to “set the record straight.”
“But tonight,” Thomas said with a puff of pride, “you’ve been outdone by a master.”
“Master? You’re mad. I promise I thought she was going to turn you down flat.”
“Where are the flowers, mate? You didn’t even bring flowers.”
“If I ever get engaged—”
And so it went. Daffy tucked herself between the conversations to assess. She was engaged. A bride-to-be. To a man she’d declared love for once, maybe twice.
“Mum wants you to call,” Ella whispered.
“Now I know why she was acting funny this afternoon,” Daffy said. “Do you know if Thomas talked to Dad?”
“While we were on holiday.” Ella’s eyes glistened. “Are you happy? I’m so thrilled for you. He’s a catch, Daff. Truly.”
“I know, and yes, I’m happy.”
Give her another hour or two and she would feel her confession and profession. After all, she’d given her word. And wasn’t a promise where love really started?
Chapter Eight
Gus
The sun and sand of Florida still flowed through his bones Friday morning as he waited in the royal lounge at Port Fressa Authority for the train to Dalholm, Northton.
He wasn’t scheduled to leave until Monday, but a mate from uni rang, inviting him to a housewarming.
“The wife and I just built the place and need to show it off. Every raise we get until we’re retired will go to paying it off, save the children’s education. But who cares? It’s only money.”
Easy to say when one had money. Gus doubted very seriously Melvin Ludwig, who was to inherit his father’s fortune, would be house poor. Nevertheless, the invitation warmed Gus, prompting him to leave Perrigwynn early so he could attend. Seeing old friends, touching base with his life before the humiliation would help erase more shadows from the last two years.
Besides, he was rather anxious to see Hadsby, the renovations, and the rolling green hills surrounding the castle where he’d lived his best summer memories.
His parents worked very hard to give Gus and John as normal a childhood as possible. The laid-back hamlet and Hadsby were their staging area.
Gus stared across the lounge. His secretary, Stern, read, while his new protection officer, Hemstead, stood outside the door, scanning the platform.
While he was glad to be home, truly, he missed being free of his security shadow. He tried to convince Mum he didn’t need a PO, but she wouldn’t hear of it.
If he had to have a man watching his back, Hemstead would do. Gus liked the brisk, formal demeanor of the former special forces officer.
Gus texted Helene last night to see how she was getting on and asked after Adler. She replied with a short video of the crew and a few of the regulars giving him a shout-out.
“Come on back, buddy. Not the same without you.”
“Helene said you had family business. I thought we were your family.” Old Ike. Gus missed him. Even teared up a bit at the sound of his voice.
Hemstead stepped inside. “The train is arriving any second.”
Gus finished his bottle of water and gathered his coat and satchel. Dressed in trousers and a tailored button-down shirt, a coat and scarf, he met the PO on the platform as the train whistle pierced the soggy sky.
Passengers—businessmen and women, travelers, tourists, mothers with young children—gathered, hunched against the late February cold.
As the speeding train pulled into the station, the porter arrived with Gus’s suitcases. Yes, everything was as it should be. Very proper and royal.
Once on the royal car, Gus settled into one of the plush, purple reclining chairs and pulled out his laptop. He must catch up on his patronages. And maybe reminisce about Florida by going through photos.
The train engine rumbled beneath him. The platform cleared. The whistle blew.
“All aboard!”
The coach’s steward, a chap called Alex, dashed into the car. “Sorry, Your Royal Highness.” He delivered a box of snacks to the serving co
unter. “I had to wait for these.”
“It’s only two hours north, Alex. I’m sure we won’t starve.”
The whistle blew for the final time. Three short but shrill blasts. Gus had just opened the update on the Dalholm Youth Sports League when a distinct, feminine voice called from the platform.
“Wait… I’m coming! Wait!”
He glanced up just as the doors eased closed. Someone was terribly late. Maybe one of the station’s porters could assist her. But this express train waited for no one. Not even the royal family.
“Wait…please!” Running footsteps echoed over the cold concrete. The breathless call was desperate.
Gus moved to the door just as it clamped closed on Daffy Caron, who struggled along with her large suitcase.
Stern stood next to him. “What is she doing? She acts as if she belongs in this car.”
“Open the door, please.” She rapped on the window as the hydraulics sighed and the train inched forward. “Prince Gus, I’m supposed to be in this car.”
“I can’t.” He raised his hands, palms up. “The train is moving. Stern, can’t we do anything?” Though Gus knew the answer.
“She’ll have to catch the next one.” The private secretary returned to his chair, snapping open the News Leader. “But I daresay she’s not to ride in the royal coach.”
“She’s with the Royal Trust. Someone must’ve granted her permission.” Gus moved to the back of the car and waved with a shrug, watching her for as long as he could.
* * *
Daffy
Halfway to midnight, when a thick darkness settled over the hamlet of Dalholm, Daffy arrived at Hadsby Castle. She was tired, hungry, and beyond agitated.
“I’m here.” She dropped her suitcase in the middle of the sitting room of her suite and collapsed on the love seat, holding up her phone as she talked to her mum. “I caught the eight o’clock. There was nothing else. Everyone’s heading north for the final weekends of skiing. Lucy arrived on time, however, met the crates, and had the footmen bring them to the second floor Grand Gallery.”
“Daffy, what happened? After I booked you in the royal car.”
“I left my flat in plenty of time. Made a quick stop.” To say goodbye to Thomas. He’d sent her the most beautiful roses before she left. “Then sat in a jam by the port for an hour.”
If she didn’t have a suitcase full of clothes and her laptop case, she’d have hopped out and sprinted the five miles to Port Fressa Authority.
But she was here now. Ready to work. And this dreadful day was only minutes from ending.
“Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.” Mum yawned, her speech softening to sound more like a mother than a boss. The two of them were still working out how to be boss and staff while also being mother and daughter. In the background Dad called, “Love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
Ringing off, Daffy rolled her suitcase to the bedroom, retrieved the chargers for her watch and phone, then hung her coat in the dressing room that was almost as large as her flat’s bedroom.
Kicking off her shoes, she flopped on the bed and sank into the mattress. She might just stay like this all night.
Eyes closed, she drifted through various stored memories. The purple hue of Highcrest Mountains. The sunrise over the channel. The honk of the ferry horns as they crossed the channel, and the low lap of Pontus Lake against the shore. Then she saw roses, two dozen beautiful roses. Thomas’s roses.
She sat up. She forgot to tell someone to water them. Reaching for her phone she texted Ella.
Please go by my place. Water the roses. Xo
Thomas suggested a ski weekend next week when she’d popped in to say goodbye and show off her ring to his colleagues. He’d get it organized, he said. So the lot of them might descend on the lodge. Daffy hoped she and Lucy had progressed far enough with the gowns to take time off.
Not that she could ski anyway, not after breaking her ankle two years ago falling down an icy slope. But she could sit around the fire and drink hot cocoa with the rest of them.
Opening her suitcase, she retrieved her toiletries as a small door chime sounded from the front room. Daffy listened at the bedroom door. The chime sounded again, followed by a muffled, “Daffy, are you awake?”
“Prince Gus?” When she opened the door, he stood on the other side, and the unwanted invasive warmth spread across her cheeks. Daffy stepped back, inviting him in. “What are you doing here?”
“Is it too late? I’ve been waiting for you. I am sorry about this morning, truly I am. I didn’t see you coming until it was too late.”
“The fault was entirely mine—and the ridiculous traffic in Port Fressa. Even if you knew I was coming, you couldn’t have stopped the train.”
“You looked so forlorn standing on the platform as we pulled away.” He tilted his head, his dark hair falling over his forehead.
“Did I? More like mad. But Lucy arrived to receive the dresses, so all is well.”
Silence fell between them for a moment. Then he pointed to her left hand. “Quite a proposal from your chap. You looked surprised.”
“I—I was very surprised. Thomas and I never talked about marriage. Not really. Just casual things like ‘When I marry I want…’”
“He seemed rather sure of himself.”
“That’s Thomas.”
The prince walked farther into the room. “Cranston let you in? Is everything shipshape?”
Cranston was Hadsby’s butler and house manager.
“He did. As for shipshape, I’ll know more in the morning.” She joined Prince Gus in the larger room.
“I think there’s a dining schedule around here somewhere,” he said.
“I’ll find it,” Daffy said. “So, what about you? Did you find everything in shipshape?”
“I think so. The renovations exceed my expectations. I’ve dinner tomorrow night with a mate. A busy diary next week plus the Aegean task of choosing the wine, food, puddings, music, flowers, lighting, guest gifts, and on and on for John’s ball.” He rubbed his hand against his bearded jaw. “I’d fooled myself into believing I’d just stand at the door and greet everyone. If I had my way, we’d order pizza and pints, put bowls of crisps and dip on standing tables. Hire a DJ to play oldies.”
She laughed. “Sounds perfect. But then, John threw you a very elegant bash.”
“Did he?” Gus stopped by a portrait of his great-grandmother wearing her bridal gown. “I can’t remember. At least, I try not to. But yes, he hosted a rather lavish affair.”
“I’m rather busy with the parade of wedding gowns, but if you need help with the ball, just ask.”
“Do you mean it?” He swerved from the painting to face her. “After the way I came after you in Florida, I’m not sure I’m worthy of your friendship.”
“Your Royal Highness—”
“Gus. Please call me Gus. Not Prince Gus either. Just Gus. Even Pete if you dare.” His famous smile beamed right through her as he came near, moving with the ease and grace she’d witnessed on the beach.
“Gus, you always have my friendship.” She took a step back. What was it about his smile that made her feel welcomed? Wanted? What did it reflect from his soul that she understood?
“When I saw your Instagram post, I didn’t think clearly. I reacted based on past experiences, past betrayals. Not at all fair.”
“You thought I’d betrayed you too. Because you were betrayed so cruelly by someone you loved. Not that you love me. Or I you. I mean— Not, um, in that way.” It was hard to pedal when one’s foot was in one’s mouth.
His smile dropped her into the nearest chair, hand to her warm cheek.
“I should have all that mess behind me by now. Should be ready to move on.” He pumped the air with his fist. “Not everyone will betray me the way Coral did. It’s just—”
“You get a knot in your belly every time something smacks of it? Or breach of trust? I get it. Been there. Not
hing feels right. There are no comforts. Not even food or the telly.”
“Exactly. And I hope you’ve not been through what I’ve been through.”
“Well, I wasn’t left at the altar—not yet anyway.” She made a face and flashed her ring finger. “But I’ve been let down by others, by myself even. I was turned inside out over what Leslie Ann did.”
Gus’s light faded. “Have you two made up? If you haven’t, you won’t get a speech from me.”
“We were stuck in that cottage together. We have the same friends. So yes, I’ve forgiven her. She’s promised not to include me in any more royal family stories. Not that I have anything to contribute.”
“I suppose we all need our friends. To forgive.” He hesitated, then sat on the edge of the love seat. “To be honest, I’m not sure how to forgive Coral. We’re not friends, so I don’t have to navigate that breach.” He said her name without a hiccup. “Mum asked me if I still loved her. I said I’d only stopped hating her.”
“Hate only costs you, Gus. Doesn’t harm her at all.” From the hallway, one of the six grandfather clocks chimed the midnight hour.
“No, but hating her made me feel good.” He shook his head. “That’s a lie. I felt horrible. I’m just not sure she deserves my forgiveness.”
Daffy eased down deeper into the club chair. “Do any of us deserve forgiveness?”
“Ah, now you’re going philosophical on me, and meanwhile, the clock is telling me I shall turn from a handsome prince into a chubby mouse. I should go.”
“You’re not a Disney animated mouse.” His nickname as a kid was Gus-Gus. When he gained weight, tabloids posted images of Cinderella’s chubby friend with Gus’s face. “Or the Pudgy Prince.”
“But I do love cheese.” His grin teased the rosy hue to her face again.
She laughed as he said goodnight, closing the door before Gus asked about her tell. Maybe it was because she was so tired. Or newly engaged. Or that the memories of her two summers at Hadsby with John and Gus, the adventures and laughter, came back so easily. But their brief conversation seeped into some of the cracks of her soul. Places she hadn’t known were dry and thirsty. Places where she’d missed her old friend.
