by Rachel Hauck
“All right, you’ve made your decision, now stand by it,” Mum said. “So off to Dalholm and Hadsby. It will be refreshing. You know how much the hamlet loves you. When I visit, the crowds are modest. When you go up, the crowds are so large they have to bring out the volunteer mounted police.”
“Yet I can walk down Centre Street without being accosted. Dine in a pub, shop without security.”
“But you will have security.” Mum used her queen voice to drive her point home.
Gus did love the small, coastal hamlet that faced the North Sea Channel and the eastern edge of England.
When he and John were young, Mum spent the summers at Hadsby and enrolled them in sports leagues. For their teen years, she put them to work on construction and grounds crews. As far as Gus knew, the beam he’d helped install at the Belly of the Beast, Dalholm’s oldest public house, was still holding the place up.
“One more thing.” Mum reached for another folder. “This is the final guest list for the ball.”
Gus scanned the list of confirmed guests. The ball was a pre-wedding celebration attended by family, close friends, and a few political allies.
“You can’t be serious.” He glanced up, having finished his inspection, and tossed the folder onto the heavy, hand-carved desk commissioned by King Titus VIII in the nineteenth century.
“I’m afraid so.”
“I’m to host a ball with my two ex-fiancées and their husbands?” He modulated his tone. “I don’t mind Robbi. While it was painful to part, we were on good terms. And I like her husband, Bennett. But Coral? No, Mum, no. She humiliated the entire House of Blue and all of Lauchtenland.” He shot to his feet. “Why is she even on the list?”
“I understand, Gus. The thing is, Coral and Robbie are very good friends of Holland.”
“What about the brother of the groom? Do his feelings matter?” He was more than willing to step up to his brotherly duty. But to live, dine, and sleep in the same castle, no matter how spacious and grand, with the woman who’d obliterated his heart? Who humiliated him and the entire family?
No. Just no.
“Holland should’ve talked to you last night. When she became involved with your brother, many of her friends showed their true colors and proved untrustworthy. Some even abandoned her. Said she was too high and mighty for them. Meanwhile, Coral and Robbi have been a huge support. Holland is concerned about your feelings, but, Gus, love, this is her wedding.” Mum reached back for her cup and saucer and stared at the fine bone china as if it contained some mythical wisdom and courage. “When Coral lived here, they became quite close. Now Holland’s marketing firm represents CCW Cosmetics in Europe.”
Another downside of being a royal. Their world was very small. Everyone knew everyone else. Billionaires and world leaders were their friends. Of course Coral, an heiress to one of America’s richest families, would be a friend to Lady Holland.
This moment called for cinnamon puffs. Gus retreated to the tea trolley and filled a plate with his favorite pastry. A light, airy donut dipped in cinnamon.
“Do you know about Coral’s husband? Her mother tells me he’s an Uber driver, but he’s growing on her.”
“I may have read that somewhere.” Gus popped puff after puff in his mouth and instead of a comforting sweetness, the cinnamon tasted bland. Flat. He didn’t work hard all last year to get in shape only to lose it because Coral Winthrop might come to town.
“You don’t still love Coral, do you?” Mum’s question was laced with compassion.
“Love? No. I only recently stopped hating her.” Gus set his plate on the cart and dusted cinnamon from his fingers, then ran his hand over his hair. The long locks weren’t as fun here as they were on the beach, behind the bar. “But think about what it takes to unravel all the love you’ve given someone. All your hopes and dreams. Gone in a moment.” Gus dropped down to the thick, leather couch.
“Believe it or not, I’m not unfamiliar with a broken heart.” Mum sat next to him. Her hand was soft and warm on his. “You’re almost twenty-nine years old. Very much a man, not a boy. I think seeing Coral will bring closure.”
“What do you know of a broken heart? You met Dad, fell in love, and married six months later.”
“Take it from me, Gus, love is worth your effort. Don’t give up, darling.”
“On love? Too late, I’m afraid. At least for the time being. I’ve untangled up myself twice with disastrous results. For now, I’ll remain unencumbered. And I won’t walk the Blue family line either. Marriage without love.”
Mum brushed her hand over his head. “In case I’ve not said it in a while, I’m proud of you and how you’ve weathered your romantic recent storms.”
He leaned to kiss her cheek. “You’re all right, Mum. For a queen.”
“Well, isn’t that high praise.”
“I’ll leave on that note. I’ve got to meet my new protection officer. Stern set up a meeting at eleven.”
“What about the newsbreak by Leslie Ann Parker? Do we need to discuss it?”
“What’s to discuss? She found me out. I heard their ratings went through the roof. And you are the royal champion of the press and free speech. More than any of your predecessors. I think we have to live with it.”
“Very well. I agree. One more thing. The Royal Trust is setting up the wedding dress display at Hadsby next week. A treat for our guests, then to remain as we reopen the newly renovated castle for tourists during spring and summer.”
“Very good.”
“Daffy Caron will be heading it up.”
Gus paused at the door. “Daffy? You know she outed me to Leslie Ann Parker. Not on purpose but—” He gave the queen the short version of the story, ending with the mystery of how she blushed whenever he was around.
“Then be on your guard, Gus. I’m mistrustful of Daffy. Ever since she was a girl.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“It does when people overstep their bounds. Daffy ran around Perrigwynn so much she thought she had the run of the place. I found her in my dressing room once trying on clothes.”
“So she’s why we had new security protocols?” Why hadn’t anyone said before now? “Trying on your frock is hardly a breach of national security.”
“It was a violation of my privacy, and frankly, her access to the Family was setting her up for huge disappointment.” His mother’s tone cooled. “She was not, nor ever would be, a royal princess. She needed to grow up in her world, not ours.”
“Put your mind at ease. I have no intentions toward Daffy Caron. The royal wing is on the other side of the castle from the servant and guest quarters. I doubt we’ll see one another.” He started to leave then remembered something Daffy said on the beach. “Mum, does Daffy know a Blue family secret? She implied she did but when I questioned her, she put me off. She doesn’t know anything, does she?” Gus regarded his mum, searching for a flicker of truth.
“Certainly not. What could she possibly know? Now I must get on. I’m part of the judges’ panel for the woman who left her child in a hot motor last summer. Dreadful case. Gives me nightmares.”
As Lauchtenland’s sovereign, Mum sat in on certain legal cases. Ones with constitutional ramifications—she was Lauchtenland’s living constitution—and capital cases. Once in a while, she was part of the judges’ panel, along with a twelve-person jury, on high profile cases. It was the reason all crown princes or princesses studied the law. Why Mum spent three years at Yale.
“Horrid case,” Gus said. “Are deliberations nearing an end?” He’d read the story online while in Florida.
“No, we’re in the middle of things.” Mum shuddered.
A text sounded on Gus’s phone. “It’s Stern. I should go. Don’t want to keep the new protection officer waiting.”
As he departed, he heard Mum muttering. “She claimed a secret? Now I ask you…”
Chapter Six
Daffy
She had a grand task ahead of her. P
reparing the royal wedding gowns for a trip north to Hadsby Castle in the hamlet Dalholm, County Northton.
But she was caught between time zones, her body not sure if it should be awake or asleep, thanks to their delayed flight home—one postponement after another. Their flight landed early Sunday morning instead of Saturday afternoon.
Yet when Daffy unlocked the door to the Hall of Dresses, inspiration sparked. The massive, windowless room housed a sentry of armoires and chests of drawers, each one labeled with a princess’s name and the year she married.
Inside, the gowns were stored in muslin and unbuffered acid-free tissue within a cedar drawer. Daffy had until Friday to box all the gowns and carefully transfer them to the Royal Trust lorry headed to Dalholm and Hadsby Castle.
She would train up that same day and await their arrival.
Removing her blue uniform jacket with the House of Blue cypher over her breast pocket, Daffy stood between the decades 1790 and 1800 and launched the wedding gown inventory on her tablet.
The very idea of arranging these historic gowns made her heart swirl. This room—the one-of-a-kind treasures within each armoire—was one of the main reasons she joined the Royal Trust.
To preserve the story of Lauchtenland and the House of Blue. To see the Princess Louisa.
This was her first, in-person glance of the famous royal wedding dress. She’d been fascinated with the gown since reading about it in grammar school. When she wrote her master’s thesis, the gown had been on an around-the-world tour so she wasn’t able to inspect it firsthand.
Daffy told others that she loved the Louisa for its history, its unique beginning. The fact it was more art than clothing. Even the story of the designer, Taffron Björk’s, fascinated her.
But being in the Hall of Dresses…somehow affirmed her. Touched her with a sense of romance. Of distinctiveness. As if her dreams were within reach. That the girl who penned My Life with the Prince wasn’t forgotten.
She had a wedding dress in her someday future. And while her gown would not be placed in the Hall of Dresses, she’d feel like a princess bride on her wedding day. Chosen. Special.
Daffy focused on her tablet. She was here to work, not daydream.
Reviewing her inventory and the map of the cabinets, she eyed the stack of boxes to be put together. She’d start with Queen Catherine II’s dress and work backward in time. The oldest gown belonged to Queen Aribella, wife of King Rein I, and weighed twenty-five pounds. Fashioned in 1624 from a heavy, damask textile—because the princess feared she’d catch a cold during her winter wedding—and decorated with a thousand diamonds and two thousand gold studs. Her extravagance put her father into debt from which he never recovered.
Daffy texted her counterpart, Lucy Melrose.
I’m here. Starting to assemble boxes.
“May I come in?” Daffy turned to see Lady Holland just inside the door.
“Yes, please.” Daffy bobbed in a quick curtsy. “How may I help you?”
“I wanted to see how you handle the dresses.” She stood straight, her shoulders back, her tall frame wrapped in a pink, light wool suit, the jacket cut to her waist, the skirt extending to mid-calf, just above a gorgeous pair of Louboutin heels.
The recessed lighting bounced off her golden hair and caught the sparkle in her glorious diamond engagement ring.
“I’m a bit in awe my gown will be here one day,” she said.
“We can’t wait to see it.” Daffy set one of the boxes on the worktable. “I expect it will set a new trend in bridal gowns. There’s no family more watched and documented than the royal family.”
“Goodness, I hadn’t thought of that.” Holland exhaled, a hand pressed to her stomach. “I mean I knew I’d be watched and followed. The Chamber Office said there are three hundred social media accounts about me. But being a part of history feels…awe-inspiring.”
“You’re making history by marrying a crown prince.” Daffy liked the future queen. She was both regal and everyday. She’d fit in with Daffy’s mates at Pub Clemency as easily as with world leaders during a state dinner.
“For me it’s just about marrying the man I love.” Lady Holland twisted her engagement ring around her finger. “It’s a conundrum—he’s a crown prince.”
“Aren’t you glad they’ve done away with old traditions like arranged marriages and bedding ceremonies?”
Holland laughed with a heavy exhale. “Yes. Very much so.” She extended her hand. “I’m Holland by the way.”
“Yes, of course you are,” Daffy said. “I’m—”
“Daffodil Caron. I know you.” Lady Holland joined hands with her. “And then I saw your Instagram post.”
“Not mine, I assure you. Leslie Ann Parker pirated my account.” She refused to go down for something Les did.
“I heard about it from John. He was quite angry at first. Said you used to be mates with the princes when you were children, but changes in palace policy put you below stairs.”
“Please tell him how sorry I am. I had no idea—”
Lady Holland’s smile offered her grace. “He knows. Gus set him straight. And he shared some fond memories of you.”
Gus defended her? “I have many fond memories of the princes—”
Just then Lucy barged into the room. “Daff, did you remember we need a gown for the Unknown Bride? Oh, hello.” Lucy stopped short and curtsied to Lady Holland with a side glance at Daffy. What’s she doing here?
“Lady Holland came to see the dresses,” Daffy said.
“I don’t want to take up your time,” Lady Holland said. “I know you have work to do. But would it be possible to see the Princess Louisa? Do I even have the right to ask?” She glanced between Daffy and Lucy, stepping closer. “My designer modeled my gown like the Lousia and I’d like a peek at the original.”
“Of course.” If a member of the royal family, or almost a member, wanted to see an artifact, they could. “I’ve no dress forms in here, but I can retrieve the gown and spread it out on the worktable. Lucy, would you please cover the table with a cloth?”
Daffy opened the cabinet marked Princess Louisa. For a moment, only a moment, she feared it’d gone missing—a silly thought, really. The gowns were all safe in this room. And the cream-and-ivory gown lay sleeping in its linen bag.
With slow, measured motions, she and Lucy removed the gown from the protective cloth and arranged it across the table one layer at a time.
“Stunning.” Lady Holland leaned close, her hands clasped behind her back. “Is it all chiffon?”
“With organza and layers of French lace.” Lucy added additional details.
“This gown, along with the King Titus I chair, which I probably may never see, were my spark into curating,” Daffy said. “Their history and beginnings fascinate me.”
And now she was in charge of one of them. Life did offer sweet surprises.
“The King Titus chair?” Lady Holland smiled. “This is your lucky day. John told me this morning the queen is setting out the chair for the ball. So you’ll see it after all.”
“But I won’t be attending the ball, milady.”
“They’re releasing it from storage this week, I believe.”
Lucy whistled, a high, soft sound. “The chair has only been out of its room twice in the last twenty-five years. The queen is so protective of it.”
The chair was stored in a controlled environment at Hadsby Castle and only seen for rare and special occasions.
But, back to the star of the moment. The Louisa. The three of them admired the dress with its princess collar, long, tight sleeves ending with a subtle Tudor flare. A pattern of pearls decorated the bodice that connected to a pleated skirt of chiffon and organza. The pleats released just above the hips, and the creamy fabric flowed, boosted by layers of muslin and tulle.
“Well? Is your gown very similar?” Daffy straightened the collar.
Lady Holland stepped away from the table and offered Daffy a cunning smile. “We’ll just
have to see.”
Lucy waited to say anything until the future queen of Lauchtenland had exited the room. “I’m sorry. But a gown modeled after the Louisa is not unique at all. Lots of aristocrats have been inspired by this gown. If she wanted to be unique, she should’ve designed her gown after the Queen Arabella. Or even the Queen Catherine II.”
“She’d never make it down the aisle in an Arabella. Besides, it’s hideous. And if you ever quote me, I’ll deny it. And the Queen Catherine is too new. She was the last princess to marry. Holland had to make her own mark. We shall see how her designer modified Taffron Björk’s pattern.”
“Makes me wonder if Björk faded from the fashion scene because everyone copied his design,” Lucy said.
“Maybe. But isn’t it lovely that a common girl could wear something like a princess?” An image flashed from her past of when she’d stepped into one of the queen’s gowns. The blue fabric was so rich and elegant. Even at the age of ten, she knew she’d touched something special.
She shouldn’t have been in the queen’s dressing room, but once she saw the dress, everything else faded.
Carefully and methodically, Daffy and Lucy packed the dresses for their moving day. Upon inspection, they noted those that needed slight repairs before being placed on the display dress forms. And goodness, the skirt and long train of the Queen Catherine II practically required its own postal code.
Late in the afternoon, Lucy ran to the corner shop and back for sandwiches and crisps—which they ate in the courtyard.
They’d boxed seven gowns with eighteen to go when their bellies rumbled. After the gowns, they’d tackle the dress forms and stands, sewing kits, and repair tools. Last but not least, plan the staging.
Daffy had just finished boxing up the simple drop waist dress of Princess Amelia from 1922 while Lucy prepared the next gown when Mum entered.
“I see you’re making progress.”
