by Rachel Hauck
“Four hundred years of wedding gowns, three to seven princess brides per century, plus the two from the medieval era… We should be done on time. Oh, we had a special guest earlier. Lady Holland came by to see the Princess Louisa.”
“Did she? Any particular reason?” Mum inspected the Arabella gown. Not as a casual observer, but as a curator. “Check the seams on this, Daffy. They seem weak.”
“Lucy and I will go over everything when we set up the dresses.” The work would be slow and tedious, but worth it. She would do Mum proud. Prove she was worthy.
“You’ll be ready to leave on Friday?”
“I haven’t booked my passage on the Northton Express yet, but I plan to take the early train. The dresses will go up in the lorry. I’ll be there to welcome them.”
“Well, I’ve a surprise.” A sweet twinkle lit Mum’s eyes. “The Royal Travel Porter has booked you in the royal car.”
Daffy made a face. “Really?” Such a treat didn’t seem likely. “Thank you.”
“He mentioned the car would be empty, so I suggested you could keep the plush purple chairs company. He agreed.” Mum turned to Lucy. “You can book first class but I didn’t want to push my luck with the royal car.”
“I love first class. Wouldn’t know what to do with myself in the royal car.”
Daffy selected a box for the gown Lucy brought from a deep cedar drawer. “I thought you were here to scold me about last week.”
Mum’s twinkle sharpened to a laser. “The queen knows it was Leslie Ann’s doing. Which Prince Gus confirmed.”
“He spoke to her about me?” First Prince John and now the queen. Lucy took over assembling the box while Daffy arranged the gown—the Princess Dauphine from 1924—on the worktable. Dauphine was the younger sister of Princess Amelia. “I’m sorry about Leslie Ann, Mum. I had no idea—”
“I know.” Mum patted her hand. “It’s over. Let’s move on.”
The same words she’d said eighteen years ago when Daffy, and thus Ella, had been removed from Perrigwynn’s upstairs and thus the company of the princes.
“The queen and her security team deemed it necessary.”
Mum knew Daffy had been caught in the queen’s dressing room. In hindsight, a rather poor choice for a hiding place. She also knew that she’d tried on one of the queen’s gowns. And that Daffy had stumbled upon a secret.
From that day to this, they never spoke of it.
“Do you really blush around the prince?” Lucy looked at Mum, then Daffy. “Your Mum told me.”
“So it seems. Though I don’t know why I only blush around him. Seems a rather odd quirk. Mum, you started it with your teasing. Created a Pavlov’s dog sort of thing.”
“Then create a new dog. Think of something else when you see him.” Mum laughed. “And I did not make it up. You blushed the first time you saw him—and every time after. Have you sorted things out with Leslie Ann?”
“A little. She can be so self-focused.” Daffy began folding the Princess Dauphine’s simple skirt. “The whole blooming mess ruined our holiday. Every time I thought of Prince Gus barging into our cottage, I wanted to tear her to strips all over again. She was proud of herself. You should’ve seen her smirking, sipping her tea, lording her scoop over us.”
“What about your sister? She’s quite repented of her part in it all.”
“She’s naïve—and a geek. I don’t blame her, except she blindly admires Leslie Ann. But I’ve forgiven her.”
“Work it out with Leslie Ann.” Mum smoothed a wrinkle Daffy missed. “She’s one of your oldest friends, and good friends are a treasure. Even selfish ones.”
“There’s always Blink,” Daffy said. Another one of her friends from A-levels. Blinky, the exuberant one of their group. But a flake, according to Mum.
“I’m not sure I’d put my eggs in Blinky’s basket. You never know what she’s going to do.”
“I know she’d never betray me.” Lucy helped Daffy settle the dress in the box and folded the bodice and sleeves. “Mum, you should’ve seen Gus’s face. One of absolute betrayal. And after what he’s been through, with not one, but two women, I don’t blame him.”
“He’s an adult, Daffy. And a royal. He’s grown up in a world where the paparazzi is always pointing a camera at him or trying to find the next story. Preferably something negative. Scandals sell papers. I’m sure he’s used to it.”
“Why should he have to be used to it, Mum? It’s a crummy world to live in, if you ask me.”
When she was a girl, the palace was a marvelous playground with real-life princes as her mates. She had no need for fairytales. She’d lived in one.
Until she was discovered. Then she learned not all fairytales had a happy ending.
“There’s one more thing.” Mum aided the packing by stuffing tissue around the dress, stabilizing it for travel. “Prince Gus will also be at Hadsby. He has several things on his diary, as well as finalizing wedding ball details.”
“What?” Was the drumming of her heart echoing in the room as loudly as in her ears?
Try as she might, Daffy couldn’t get Prince Gus out of her head. Up until the day they’d lugged their packed bags to the motor and locked the cottage door, she watched for him on the beach. Or Adler. Or him with Adler.
She’d even wandered, oh-so-casually, past the Captain’s Hideaway’s back deck, customers overflowing and spilling out onto the beach, where Helene had set up plastic tables.
It wasn’t until she returned home, to her world, that she’d begun in earnest to scrub that man out of her hair. Her mind. Her heart.
“He’s on assignment for the queen and his brother.” Mum gave her a quick glance. “Shouldn’t be a problem, should it?”
“Of course not.” Daffy fitted the lid on the Dauphine and stood back while Lucy sealed it. “Hadsby’s a big place, and the staff quarters are on the opposite side of the royal apartments. I doubt I’ll see him.”
“Good.” Mum glanced at her watch. “I’m late. I’ll see you later. Good work, ladies. Oh, Daff, I hear you’re meeting your mates at Pub Clemency tonight.”
“How’d you hear?”
Mum hesitated then fired out, “Ella.”
“Naturally. It’s not our usual Friday night but Thomas insisted. Everyone else seemed keen. To be honest, I think I’ll cancel. I’m still worn out from the trip home.”
“Go.” Mum nodded as if the pub waited outside. “Show off your tan. I’d let you take a personal day tomorrow, but you’ve a lot to do.”
“True.” Daffy sighed and looked around the room. “But the more I think about it, I’m going to beg off. I’d rather rest for the week ahead.”
“Don’t, love. Thomas missed you. You can always make it an early night. What do you say, Lucy?”
“I’m always game for a night out with my mates.”
“Exactly.” Mum’s jolly laugh escorted her to the door. “Daff, call me after the pub if you want.”
“Why would I call? I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I don’t know—just if you want.”
Chapter Seven
Daffy
Ten of the gowns were boxed and ready to ship. Ten more tomorrow and then the final few on Wednesday. Followed by packing and planning for staging, Daffy would just make her Friday morning train time.
However, she was an hour late for her date with her friends at Pub Clemency. Thomas texted, as well as Ella and Leslie Ann.
Are you coming?
Where are you?
Love, I’ve saved you a seat.
She needed to go home first and change. She wasn’t allowed to wear her RT uniform to a pub. Plus she was exhausted, and hot from working in a windowless room all day. And then the footmen assigned to carry down the crates forgot so that she had to run all over to find them.
All it took was a quick shower to renew her spirits. She changed into jeans and trainers, and breezed into Pub Clemency—established 1742—hungry and eager to see everyone.
The Clemency District marked the cultural crossroads of Port Fressa. One block south, on Clemency Street, was the home of the media. A hundred years ago there were no less than five newspapers competing for the nation’s, if not the world’s, attention.
Now there were two, along with three tabloids, four television stations, and, in one building, the north European offices of Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. Half of Port Fressa expected that place to implode at any moment.
North of the district was the Royal Plaza. Over three square kilometers of royal offices and dwellings, including Perrigwynn Palace and the Chambers Office. Just north of the Royal Plaza was Republic Boulevard, home of the Royal Republic Parliament and the Supreme Court.
To the west sat the financial district, where Thomas worked. Modern office structures were mixed in with the enormous, old world mansions, creating a tableau of the past and the future.
To the east were the brownstones, walk-up flats, and simple homes of the staff and servants who tended the rich, the royal, and the elected.
This was Daffy’s world. Where she grew up in a three-bedroom, two-bath home on good ole Waverly Street, a mere stone’s throw from Perrigwynn.
As much as she loved Florida, this was home. As she made her way around the tables, Thomas greeted her halfway.
“You made it.” He kissed her cheek and led her to their regular large booth in the corner, under the shuttered windows.
The pub buzzed with voices, white collar and blue collar mingling together. In the far-left corner, a singer tuned his guitar and tested his mike.
“Hello, everyone.” Daffy squeezed into the circular booth next to Ella. “Sorry I’m late. Lucy and I were packing wedding dresses.”
“Are you still going to Hadsby next week?” Thomas said.
“Friday actually.”
“What? No. Since when?”
“Since we realized how much we had to do. I’m sorry. I won’t be gone long. Promise. Two or three weeks.”
“We’ll keep him company.” Sitting on the other side of Ella with a tall glass of wine, Leslie Ann inserted herself into Daffy’s private conversation. No surprise. “Why don’t we all go up to Dalholm on the weekend? For some late winter skiing?”
Frank and Kayle, who sat on the other side of Leslie Ann, said they were game. So did Marlow, Tonya, and the three single lads at the end of the table. Albert, Rick, and Jones.
“Let me get up there and see how much work I have to do, please.” Daffy shot Leslie Ann a look. Stop controlling things.
In Florida, she and Leslie Ann hashed out their differences, but the sting of her betrayal hadn’t quite faded.
“Where’s Blinky?” Daffy smiled at the server who set a pint in front of her then eyed the already started plate of sausage rolls. “Tonya, can you dish me a few of those? I’m famished.”
“Blink is still working,” Thomas said, moving closer to Daffy, slipping his arm behind her on the back of the booth.
“Daff, you can’t still be mad at me?” Leslie Ann angled around Ella.
“Leslie Ann, just drop it.” Daffy bit into a sausage roll.
“I’m so jealous of your tan, Daffy.” Gracious Kayle steered the conversation to a lighter topic. “Frank, take me to Florida.” She nudged her husband of two years.
“Now see what you’ve done, Daff?”
“Not my fault you never take your wife on vacation.”
“Who can afford it?”
“Daffy.” Leslie Ann rapped her knuckles on the table. “You have to forgive me sometime.” She pleaded her case to the table. “I was just doing my job.”
“What you did was pretty rotten, Les.” Thomas came to Daffy’s defense. “You highjacked her social media account.”
Apparently at this table “drop it” meant talk about it.
“There’s laws against that, you know.” Tonya sounded every bit like a Port Fressa prosecutor.
“I’ve apologized.” Leslie Ann slumped against the back of the booth. “Whatever happened to forgiveness?”
“I’ve had enough. You two are ruining my fun.” Ella grabbed Leslie Ann’s hand, then Daffy’s. “Leslie Ann, do you promise to never involve Daffy in one of your stories again?”
“Especially anything related to the royal family.” Daffy pulled her hand free as she twisted toward her friend. “I work for them.”
“I promise.” Leslie Ann crossed her heart, sending a kiss toward heaven. “I will never involve you again.”
“Then I forgive you. Again. But don’t ever—”
Leslie Ann crossed her heart again. “Never, ever. Unless the story is—”
The entire table chorused, “Leslie Ann!”
“Fine, fine.” Leslie Ann raised her wine goblet. “Never, ever.”
In the distance, the singer with a guitar began a James Taylor song, one Mum used to play when she wanted Dad to dance with her.
“Just yesterday morning…”
As he pulled the notes from the guitar strings, he pulled a few more thorns from Daffy’s holiday. She smiled at Leslie Ann. Yes, all was well. Mum was right. Good friends were a treasure.
The blonde presenter with porcelain skin and apple-green eyes reached around Ella to hug Daffy.
“All this emotion.” Jones feigned tears, dabbing his eyes with his napkin. “I can’t take it. So much love.”
“Jones, what is it about emotion you can’t handle?” Albert, the psychiatrist of the group. Always analyzing.
“No more pints for him.” Rick slid Jones’s glass to the center of the table. “And I have an announcement. I closed on the estate I’d listed last month. Finally. My commission will keep me well into next year.”
Applause and hoots circled the table.
And just like that, their normal resumed. Teasing banter, laughter mixed with serious news, and job details.
Daffy snuggled against Thomas, relaxed, half-awake and half-listening as Tonya detailed what she could of her day in court. With a long inhale, Daffy breathed in the woodsy notes of Thomas’s cologne. Most of it had faded, but what remained lingered in his shirt threads. She nestled a little closer and he gently stroked her arm.
The table talk moved to a debate over food. Just when they worked out which starters to order next, the pub door opened, escorting in the sounds of the streets along with three tall, broad men with the chiseled profiles of aristocracy.
One bearded bloke bore the undeniable kiss of the sun on his high cheeks.
Prince Gus.
Daffy looked away too late. The warmth of her tell spread across her face.
Dressed in a chocolate-brown coat and gray slacks with his dark hair wavy and loose around his face, he was no longer Pete George, the man toting a bin of dirty dishes.
He was the chap who rode into every girl’s dream on a white horse. Daffy’s blush burned hotter.
“Blimey, the princes are here with their friends.” Big, burly Frank, a former rugby player, rose from his chair. “Come in, lads. Shut the door.”
The first man removed his hat as he scanned the overstuffed room. Charles Larrabee, a longtime friend of the princes. He pointed to a man in the far back corner—Lute, yet another longtime friend.
Walking three abreast through the semi-silent pub, the trio made their way to the large table reserved for them, their regal confidence sparking the atmosphere.
Daffy watched Prince Gus, thinking she should look away. Not be caught staring. But he was here. She rubbed the tingling chill from her arm. As the men passed their booth, the prince’s gaze met hers and he nodded. Daffy just might implode.
Once they were seated, the pub chatter resumed normal volume and the singer covered another song. Daffy yanked up her jumper sleeves, loosened her scarf, and fanned herself with her hand.
“Are you warm, love?” Thomas flashed her a saucy grin. “From being so close to me.”
“See, I told you. She’s blushing.” Leslie Ann all but shouted as she pointed to Daffy. “That’s how I knew the
prince was in Florida. Daffy blushes—”
“Will you be quiet?” Ella clapped her hand over Leslie Ann’s mouth. “Do you want him to hear you?”
Leslie Ann yanked Ella’s hand away, her eyes narrowed. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“Then stop shouting about blushing.”
“I never shout.”
“Then don’t say everything that wanders into your head.” Under the table, Ella squeezed Daffy’s hand. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, LA.”
“I beg your pardon—”
“Ladies, can we give it a rest?” Thomas nodded toward the royal party. “Les, we know you scooped the prince. Bravo, good for you, and well done. We have other things to talk about tonight.”
With that, he scooted off the bench and stood, his smile a bit wobbly. “Daffodil Daisy Caron—”
“Your middle name is Daisy?” This from Jones. “Were your parents into gardening when you came along?”
“Mum was delirious on pain meds.” Ella supplied the explanation as if she’d been present at her older sister’s birth. “Dad stepped out for some lunch when the nurse arrived with the birth certificate. By the time he returned, the deed was done.”
“Lads, ladies, please…a moment?” Thomas brushed his hand down the side of his trousers. Perspiration dotted his high, smooth brow. What was he up to? “Daffodil Daisy Caron—” He pointed at Jones with a narrowed gaze. “Not a word.” Then he removed something from his pocket. Slowly he lowered to one knee. “Will you marry me?”
“W-what?” She sat back as a cavernous hole seemed to open up in the pub and swallow all the lights and sounds.
“Love, will you marry me?” Thomas opened the ring box to reveal a beautiful, round solitaire. His voice echoed as if calling to her from the other side of a chasm. Marrryyyy…meeee.
A hand gripped her arm. Rick’s voice broke through. “Mate, what are you doing?”
“Daffy?” Thomas lifted the ring higher, his gaze locked on her face. “Will you?”
“Thomas, um…” She closed her eyes, trying to focus as her brief response clung to her dry lips. “I mean, w-what are you… You want to marry me?”
