To Love A Prince (True Blue Royal Book 1)

by Rachel Hauck

  “Fixing the chair. We need to fortify the legs.”

  “I think you were about to tell me how you know so much about my ancestors.”

  “Let’s just say I’m an old man.”

  Gus started to protest then laughed low. Why press the man? “It’s a reason but not a good one.”

  “Time will reveal all, Gus. Time will reveal all. Now, we’re going to use this drill…”

  Gus listened and followed the carpenter’s instruction, drilling into the first old leg so a dowel rod could be inserted for fortification. Then did the same with the second one.

  When the task was completed, Emmanuel set them aside and walked Gus through mending the cracked seat. More putty and clamps.

  “Can I ask you something, Emmanuel?” Gus straightened, gripping the putty knife, eyeing where he’d worked the bonding agent into the wood.

  “Go.”

  “Do you think love is free? That one can choose to love, even if it’s not returned? Did my grandfather the first King Titus, love freely? You seem to know so much. Tell me.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Gus grinned. The old man was quick to turn the tables. “Go.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “A friend suggested I could love Coral, my ex-fiancée, even though she broke my heart. I assume you know her, at least of her.”

  “She ran out on you.” Emmanuel’s gaze was kind.

  “Would you love her, forgive her, if you were me?” Gus stared at his putty knife, then applied more of the compound to the seat rail.

  “Do you love her?”

  “Not like before. I’ve had a whale of a time moving on, but I’ve gotten there. I think. I love what we were supposed to be.” Gus rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “I just don’t want to be anchored any longer to her past actions. Don’t want to be clamped down the rest of my life.” Gus shot a glance at the clamp that once held the chair legs together. Looked positively painful.

  “So you’re asking if the bonding agent of love can repair the crack in your heart?”

  Gus sighed with a low laugh. “That’s one metaphor for it.”

  “Choosing a love that keeps no record of wrong is highly admirable. A better option than love that keeps a tally. You’ll always come out short on that road. While you’re keeping a record of someone’s wrongs, another body is keeping a record of yours. Love as a bonding agent is love as a healing agent.”

  “Then I should love her. As a friend. Forgive her? Even if she doesn’t love me?” Gus applied another scoop of putty. “That will work?”

  “Every time.” Emmanuel declared Gus had puttied enough and pointed to the clamp. “Gently… Tighten the screw. We’ll let it dry a couple of days. We’ll have this chair in royal order by the first of next week.”

  “Just in time for the ball.” Gus worked the clamp until the putty and chair bonded, then wiped away the excess. “Have you ever been hurt by someone you loved, Carpenter, but loved that person anyway?”

  “Indeed, I have.”

  “And? Was it worth it?”

  “Every single time.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Daffy

  The week flew by…and Daffy whispered Thank you at the end of each day. Staging the dresses consumed her time and distracted her thoughts from Thomas, the dilemma of the ring, and a possible October wedding.

  She’d called and texted him a lot this week, trying to get her heart fully on board, sending him pictures of her work to show him another side of herself. But last night’s conversation was less than pleasant. He seemed rather rushed and on edge.

  “Daffy, is something wrong? You’ve texted me ten times today. You’ve called every night.”

  “Just missing you. Can’t I miss you—”

  His soft sigh was sweet. “Of course. I miss you too.”

  But he was at dinner with his boss and a big client, so he rang off as soon as he could. If she’d known he’d had a big dinner, she wouldn’t have called.

  Then there was the prince. The conversation and laughter from their Sunday outing lingered with her. She thought of him far too often. And yes, she felt guilty. But their time together was, well, magical. Wednesday when she thought she heard him on the Grand Gallery, her breathing shallowed and her hands trembled.

  By Thursday morning, she and Lucy staged another eight dresses. The Gallery was a splendid retrospective on Lauchtenland’s royal brides. Daffy took her time yesterday to set up the Princess Louisa, then stationed it to stand out among the others.

  “I wish I knew Taffron Björk.” Lucy stood back and surveyed the gown.

  “Me too. Or owned one of his gowns. But I don’t think any of his gowns remain. What few he made.”

  Daffy snapped a few photos to send to Mum, who was quite pleased and texted later the same day.

  I showed the queen. She said to tell you that you’d done well.

  Daffy sighed and tucked the praise in to her heart.

  However, with only seven gowns to go, plus the Unknown Bride, her time at Hadsby neared an end. Thus, her time with the prince, which truly was as it should be. Each of them getting on with their lives.

  “I want to find something special for the Unknown Bride,” Daffy said as she staged the wedding veil for Princess Clemency, who’d become Lauchtenland’s Queen Victoria. She didn’t reign as long, but she’d steered the small nation through nineteenth-century modernization and left her mark in Port Fressa’s Clemency District.

  “Why don’t we take a break and shop this afternoon?” Lucy said.

  “Good idea. If we can’t find what we want up here, we’ll have to find an alternative. We don’t have time to waste.”

  So they agreed to go after lunch. Speaking of… Cranston met Daffy in the servants’ hall as she entered.

  “Didn’t you say the King Titus was in the prince’s apartment?”

  “I believe he said so, yes.” She picked up a plate, avoiding the butler’s piercing gaze.

  “The maid tells me she’s not seen the chair.”

  “What is the maid doing snooping about the prince’s apartment? She’s to tidy his room, bathroom, and kitchen, not open closet doors.”

  “Why would the Titus be in a closet?”

  “I don’t know. Safekeeping?” She glanced toward the door, hoping Gus would appear. But Hemstead was also missing, which meant the prince was at one of his many engagements this week.

  He’d texted her this morning.

  Chair repair going well. How are the wedding dresses?

  Good. You should come see them.

  I will. Busy diary this week.

  After lunch, Daffy met Lucy on the path outside the servants’ hall. They followed it out the front gate and down to Centre Street.

  The day possessed a healing sun, coaxing the life from nature’s long winter sleep. In a month, the walkway from the palace to the street would be lined with the white blooms of the dogwood trees.

  “Let’s try the shops in Old Hamlet.” Daffy tugged on her gloves as they walked. “If we can’t find anything, we can cross over to New Hamlet. But those gowns will be so modern. I want something timeless and unique.”

  “How about this? Shop Vintage.” Lucy held up the map on her phone, revealing the image of a storefront. “Can’t get a more generic name than Shop Vintage, but maybe they have something special.”

  “Let’s hope they do.”

  Their heels clicked against the cobblestone as they crossed to the other side. “Daff, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” Daffy’s phone chimed with an incoming text. From Leslie Ann. She’d sent a picture of the queen in a stunning blue gown with a romantic, flowing skirt, a deep V in the back, and wide, gauzy straps.

  Daffy stopped walking. The dress. The one the queen caught her wearing all those years ago. Her fingers trembled slightly as she enlarged the photo to inspect the layers of chiffon and organza that composed the skirt and fitted bodice.

 
“What are you looking at?” Lucy angled forward to see Daffy’s screen. “Now that’s a beautiful gown. Let’s find one like that one for the Unknown Bride?”

  A second image pinged in. Another shot of the beautiful princess who grew up to be a queen. She wore the same winning smile as her handsome second born. Daffy could almost feel the joy, the happiness as the then-princess walked toward the photographer, her hand locked with a man off camera.

  Leslie Ann, what are you up to?

  Where’d you find this?

  My secret source. Do you know this dress? Is it part of the RT?

  What secret source? No, not part of RT. I’ve not seen it.

  “Do you think the queen still has that dress?” Lucy raised Daffy’s phone for a better look. “The skirt looks like it’s filled with starlight.”

  “I don’t know—” Images from that day in the queen’s dressing room burst from Daffy’s locked memories.

  She’d hidden there during a game of hide-n-seek with the princes. This blue gown was on the floor. She’d tried it on. And got caught. Then banned.

  LA, where’d you get this photo?

  An old royal reporter. But that’s all I’m saying. This is the Q’s twenty-first birthday. I want this dress! But seriously, do you know it?

  No. Not at all.

  So, Daffy had tried on the gown from the queen’s twenty-first. She’d never known. Was that why she was so angry? Did she spoil her memories? Did the dress relate to happier, carefree times? The queen’s youth? Of first love? Of a life before her father dropped dead of a heart attack making her a queen at thirty-three. Of a time when she was simply the young mother of princes not the mother of a nation.

  Daffy read Leslie Ann’s next text.

  So you’ve never seen this gown?

  No. Who’s the queen with?

  My source says a friend. Thanks for the help.

  Why are you asking? Where’d you get this picture? Are you working on a story?

  Gotta run. Miss ya! Xo

  Daffy sighed and stared between the aged shops toward North Sea Channel. Leslie Ann, you promised.

  “Come on,” Daffy said to Lucy as she tucked her phone away, a sour twist in her gut. “We’re wasting daylight.”

  “You okay?” Lucy said.

  “I’m fine. It’s just my friend, Leslie Ann. Never mind.”

  They turned down Wells Line without another word. Past the Belly of the Beast down to Canal Street toward the oldest Old Hamlet shops. The heady aroma of fresh bread from a little bakery mingled with the salty sea air.

  “Daffy,” Lucy said, low and slow. “Have you been keeping up with things on social media?”

  “Things?” She glanced at her friend. “Like what? The news? No. My personal accounts? Sort of. Why? The internet is spotty here at night and I’m too tired for a page to load. And there’s no time during the day.”

  “I hear you, but I usually check during lunch and dinner. Please correct me if I’m wrong, if there’s something I don’t know, but on Thomas’s profile, there are a lot of posts with your friend Blinky.”

  “Really? I don’t think they’re hanging out more than usual. Though she went with him to Saldings on the Waterfront to check it out for a wedding venue.”

  “Yes, I saw those but, Daffy, they’re like, hanging out. So much so their posts fill my feed. My sister got a puppy two days ago and I just saw her pictures today.” Lucy held up her phone. “Maybe you know, but this is what I see.”

  Daffy swiped through the pictures. Thomas and Blinky at Saldings, thumbs up, smiling, her arm around his neck, his arm about her waist.

  Thomas and Blinky huddled together at Pub Clemency, mugging for the camera.

  Thomas and Blinky in the background of a photo of Rick and Jones holding up a sign for Albert—Happy birthday ole chap. Daffy enlarged the image. Was his hand on her hip?

  She handed back Lucy’s phone. “What are you trying not to say, Lucy?”

  “Come on, you saw his hand on her hip. They look like a couple.” She flashed the photo where Thomas and Blinky lingered in the background. “It looks as if he is going to kiss her. He doesn’t realize he’s been caught on camera.”

  Daffy thumped down Canal Street’s steep incline. “Why would he cheat on me when he just proposed? And you don’t know Blink well, but she’s crazy, exuberant, affectionate. She hugs and kisses people all the time. Sits on the lads’ laps without asking. She’s a flirt! Look at her other social media sites and you’ll see her hanging on lots of guys. But she’s also a loyal friend who’d never betray me.”

  “Here’s another one.” Lucy shoved her phone under Daffy’s nose again. “Blinky’s Insta.”

  Daffy glanced at the shot of Thomas standing on a street corner under a gorgeous seaside sunset, staring toward the horizon. The caption read Friends Forever.

  “So? They’re friends.”

  “One more.” Lucy showed Daffy a dinner scene. Two plates. Two glasses of wine. A candle. Dinner…okay… Daffy looked closer. The city lights in the background were from Thomas’s living room window. That was his dining table.

  She scrolled to the time stamp. Last night. Right after Daffy called and he claimed to be dining with a client.

  “So they had dinner together.” Daffy walked on. “I’ve eaten at the pub with Gus.”

  Lucy tucked her phone into her coat pocket. “Well don’t get me started on him.”

  “Do you have something to say, Lucy?” Daffy pulled up again. The wind slicing up the hill from the channel wrapped her in a dewy chill. “Started on what?”

  “You’re in love with the prince.” Lucy spoke with bold confidence. “It’s all over your face every time he enters the servants’ hall. Plain as day. You blush.”

  Betrayed again by her silent affections. “That doesn’t mean I love him. Please, tell me no one else notices.”

  “Maybe one of the maids, but not the men. Daffy?” Lucy’s voice softened. “Are you in love with him?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Being asked point-blank forced her to be honest “I’m engaged and—”

  “Are you? Maybe in word but not deed.”

  “What does it matter? Gus has sworn off love. We’re just friends. Nothing more. Good friends who are comfortable together. Honest with each other. We could talk all night. He told me something Sunday afternoon he’d never told anyone.” At the bottom of Canal Street, Daffy spotted the Shop Vintage sign and headed that way. “And I confessed to him I wasn’t…” She drew in a deep breath of the salted sea air. “I wasn’t sure about Thomas.”

  “Daffy…really?” Lucy squeezed her hand. “Isn’t it good news he might not be sure about you either?”

  “For him maybe. He’ll have Blinky but I won’t have Gus. Oh, what a mess.” Daffy dabbed the mist from her eyes. “Let’s see if we can find the gown.”

  But Lucy didn’t move. “I feel horrible I brought it up.”

  “You should.”

  “Really? I’m so sorry.” Lucy hurried after Daffy.

  “It’s all right. Forget it. Let’s just do our job and find a gown for the poor Unknown Bride?”

  “For what it’s worth,” Lucy said, “I see how Prince Gus looks at you and—”

  “Don’t say it.” Daffy swung around to her colleague and friend. “Gus and I could never… I’m not a princess. I can’t be a princess. The queen would not allow it.”

  “What do you mean? Not allow it?” Lucy made a face.

  “Never mind. Dress. Shop. Now.” If she started even the smallest explanation, Daffy feared the whole blooming thing would spill out. And she could not risk it. Even with the prince she worried she might fall into a contemplative moment and reveal her secret. What she knew about the queen. But just imagining the shock on his face was enough to buy her silence.

  Yet there were those moments when she wondered. Had she heard right? In eighteen years, there’s been no proof. And she’d been a mere child. Eavesdropping. Surely, she misunderstood.
Twisted the details.

  They arrived at the shop without another word of love and princes. Lucy was bold but respectful and let the topic drop.

  A lone bell attached to a Christmas ribbon clattered against the glass. The broad floor boards creaked beneath their feet, and the shop’s fragrance was timeless, a perfume of generations past.

  “Hello?” Lucy glanced around with a twist on her lips. “Look at this junk.”

  “One man’s junk is another man’s treasure. I know, I know—a cliché, but it’s true.” Daffy kept her voice low. “Luce, you’re a curator for crying out loud. Open your eyes, See the potential.”

  Daffy wandered deeper into the large, open showroom. In the back appeared to be living quarters, as would’ve been the norm when the shop was built three hundred plus years ago.

  To her right were shelves of knickknacks, books, china sets, dolls. On her left, center tables arranged with antique toys, bolts of cloth, old pictures, handkerchiefs, tea towels and washrags.

  Lucy moved through to the opposite side to peruse the racks of dresses, shirts, and slacks. She picked up a pair of scuffed women’s wedges.

  “Who would wear these? They look as if they marched in World War II.”

  “There are people with a gift to see beauty in old things. And we should be two such people.”

  “We’re also trained to recognize junk.” Lucy dropped the shoe to the floor with a thud and wiped her hand on her coat.

  “Hello, hello, I didn’t hear you come in. Welcome. I’m Adelaide.” A tiny, sweet-faced woman with white Brillo-pad hair above sparkling eyes appeared from the back. “May I help you?”

  “Sorry to have disturbed you.” Lucy shot Daffy a pointed look. “We were just going.”

  “Actually, we’re from the Royal Trust and staging royal wedding dresses at Hadsby. We came to see if you had something special to represent the Unknown Bride.”