To Love A Prince (True Blue Royal Book 1)

by Rachel Hauck

  Lucy pointed to the rack of gowns. “But your inventory will not suffice.”

  Adelaide ignored her and focused on Daffy. Rather intently too. “You say the gown is for the royal wedding gown display? The Unknown Bride?” The woman, who seemed to have stepped into some sort of glowing spotlight, popped her hands together. “Good, good, good. I have just the thing. Are you Daffy?”

  “I am. How did you know?”

  “Be right back.” The woman dashed around a corner and returned moments later with a large, pale blue box tied with a white ribbon. “This.” She set the box on the cashier’s counter and stepped back. “This is what you’re looking for.”

  Daffy shot Lucy a glance. Might as well look. Lucy nodded, adding a slight eye roll.

  “Did you know the tradition of the Unknown Bride was to find a bride for a young prince Blue?” Adelaide’s story swirled in the air. “Now I understand it’s to be donated to a lass of lesser fortune. Isn’t that delightful? But in the old days, the Unknown Bride gown was for the girl who’d become a princess.”

  “We thought no one knew the origins.” Lucy had softened but still had one foot out the door.

  “Well, you lose details with each century, don’t you? But I remember when—” She stopped, a winsome smile on her lips. “Listen to me go on. Why don’t you open the box?”

  Daffy reached for the tied ribbon, one eye on Adelaide. “Have we met?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Have you ever been to Perrigwynn Palace?”

  “Not recently, no.”

  “How did you know my name? Did Prince Gus come by here? Mentioned me? Or Ernst?”

  “I’ve not seen the prince. Nor have I had the pleasure of meeting Ernst.”

  “Please open the box so we can go.” Lucy leaned near to whisper. “She gives me the willies.”

  Daffy ignored her. “Then why does it feel as if we’ve met.”

  “Perhaps you know me through Princess Corina.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Daffy swerved to Lucy with her arms wide. See. “When I first joined the trust as Mum’s administrator, before grad school, Princess Corina loaned the Trust a Pissarro painting from her collection for the History of Art Tour. We got to talking and she told me about this wild, angelic woman who helped her become a princess.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Lucy oozed pure skepticism. “This is that woman? She’s having you on, Daffy. Corina became a princess because she’s rich, beautiful, and married a prince.”

  But Adelaide did look a bit angelic. “Are you Princess Corina’s Adelaide? You fit her description perfectly.”

  “I might be. Now open the box.” Adelaide cupped her hand beside her mouth. “This gown was sewn by a local tailor, a nice man, Taffron Björk.”

  Lucy’s laugh bounced around the small shop as she turned a full circle. “Okay, joke’s over. You’ve read up on the Trust. Seen something on social media. Where are the hidden cameras?”

  “There are no cameras.”

  “Adelaide—if that is your real name—Björk has been dead for seventy something years,” Lucy said.

  “Did I say otherwise? Taffron was commissioned to sew this gown for the princess before he died. And now Emmanuel has asked me to give it to you—”

  “Emmanuel? The carpenter?” Daffy paused as she lifted the box lid trying to connect the crazy dots of this encounter. “Why would he want you to give me a dress?”

  “If you want to know, you must ask him. Now, come on, open, please. I’m so excited.”

  Lucy leaned forward as Daffy looked inside to find a blue chiffon-and-organza gown with a fitted bodice, V-cut in the front and back, and a shimmer like the night stars.

  The exact same gown in the picture Leslie Ann sent. The exact same gown Daffy had tried on in the queen’s dressing room when she was ten years old.

  Chapter Twenty

  Gus

  Daffy was a million miles away. Sitting across from him by the Belly of the Beast’s grand fireplace, she was here only in body, not spirit.

  She answered his questions with a single word or a shrug as she hovered over her plate of ribs and parsley potatoes.

  “What’s going on?” he said.

  She raised her gaze from her plate of food. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re quiet.”

  “Oh, sorry.” She forced a smile. “Long day.”

  He’d debated extending her an invitation to dine. Were they getting too close? Tempting the Dalholm spell of love and romance? If rumblings of doubt shook her confidence about the man she’d agreed to marry, he had no business playing the nice-guy friend. Because no matter what, he’d shine in comparison just by being sweet. And being royal. And that wasn’t fair to anyone.

  Besides, Gus had no intention of ending his commitment to bachelorhood anytime soon.

  Yet, there he was on his way out—still sans Hemstead—choosing the front stairs for once instead of the secret passage, when he thought of Daffy and walked through the Grand Gallery, past the parade of wedding gowns to the guest suites, and knocked on the Princess Charlotte door. He’d missed her this week. Wanted to see her. So he promised himself he’d behave. Not flirting. Be friendly, but aloof.

  Seems he didn’t need his little self-speech. They were dining together but somehow separate.

  Ernst hovered and fussed, told a story or two, adding his own boisterous laugh for emphasis, glancing between Gus and Daffy. But she barely cracked a smile.

  In between bites of ribs and potatoes, and gulping from her wine like a parched Viking, she scrolled through photos on her phone.

  Gus leaned to see. “Wedding ideas?”

  “What?” She turned her phone facedown on the table. “No, just, you know, catching up with people.”

  “Funny thing about social media. It can be such a façade. People only posting what they want you to see. Writing what they want you to believe. All smiles and giggles. Until one day when you pass by the profile of an old uni mate to learn his ten-year-old marriage to the love of his life is over. Of course, neither one posts anything honest, letting us know, at some level, what happened and how they came to move on. Instead we see photos of holidays and gatherings without each other. Eventually one of them posts they’re in a new relationship and we shake our heads.”

  “If you’re trying to be cynical, it’s working. If you’re trying to say loving someone can be challenging and difficult, you’re right. If you’re trying to say love is not worth it, then you are wrong.”

  He winced at her soft rebuke. “I only meant—”

  She leaned over her plate and whispered through clenched teeth. “I get it. You’re not going to fall in love. Beat another drum, lad, beat another drum.”

  “I wasn’t trying to make a point about me.” But wasn’t he? “I’m sorry if I came across—”

  “Don’t.” She held up her hands, surrendering. “I’m the one who should apologize. It’s been a weird day. How’s the chair?”

  He tried to keep up with her sudden changes and answered her question. “We’ve fixed the legs and seat-rail. Emmanuel is extremely slow and methodical. And he talks. A lot.”

  “Really?” Daffy sat up straighter, her eyes intent on him. “What does he talk about?”

  “Stuff. He’s full of sage wisdom. And while I can’t really pinpoint any one thing he’s said, other than his intimate knowledge of my ancestors, I feel wiser when we part ways. Refreshed.”

  Even more so than after all his time in Florida. More than any time he could remember, really. The sensation wasn’t so much mental, as it was emotional. Even spiritual.

  The spring in his step, the hum in his heart as he went about his day. The hope… Yes, that was the word. Emmanuel imparted hope. And a chap could never have too much hope.

  “Has he ever said anything about a dress? About a woman named Adelaide?”

  “No. Like I said, I can’t remember anything specific. Just Emmanuel going on about this, yakking abou
t that.” If asked, Gus would admit the old carpenter was becoming a friend. Like Ernst, only with whole sentences. “Why do you ask? Who’s Adelaide and where’s the lass who panicked over my recklessness with the chair?”

  “She’s still here. Just taking a break from it to worry over something else.”

  “Daffy, I can see something is troubling you. If it’s me, then say so. If not, say what it is. Perhaps I can help.”

  Gus ripped open one of the packets of towelettes Ernst kept on the table and passed one to Daffy. “Here, this will help.”

  She smiled softly. “Will it?”

  He was about to give a quippy reply when Hemstead charged into the pub, a mad bull pawing the ground for his prey.

  Oops.

  Gus rose from his chair with a small wave. The man fired visual darts as he chose a table near the front, making a racket with the chair, and resituating the table. Hearty ole Ernst greeted him with enthusiasm and a pint.

  “Do you know this dress?”

  Gus sat back down as Daffy flipped over her phone to show him a beautiful picture of his much younger and clearly celebrating mum. She held a chap’s hand but he was off-screen. Must be with Dad because she looked so in happy and in love.

  “I’ve seen a lot of gowns in family photos, public and private, but never this one. Nor this photo. Where’d you get it? Is it part of the Royal Trust?”

  “No. Leslie Ann sent it to me.”

  “There’s a reliable source.” He shook his head, waving away the mention of the woman. “What does she want with it?”

  “She found it, I think, researching a story she’s doing about your mum or royal weddings. I’m not sure. She wanted to know if the dress was part of the RT.” She placed the phone on the table again. “When your mum, the queen, caught me in her dressing room, I was wearing this dress. She was very upset. Her maid led me downstairs by my ear—”

  “The dress in this picture?” And he could believe that about Mum’s maid, Hilda. She didn’t muck around.

  “Hilda told Mum I’d crossed a boundary, entered the queen’s private quarters without permission. The queen was very upset. Mum gave me the dickens and I felt so bad I went back up to apologize. The butler, Greenly, let me in the apartment. He didn’t know what happened. Said the queen was in her room. So I went down the hall to knock on her door but it was ajar. She was on the phone. Still very upset. I heard everything she said. I didn’t know what she was talking about exactly, but I heard her side of the conversation.” She paused, her eyes clouding, her lips pressed together. “Hilda found me again.”

  “Blimey. Poor you. Where was I?”

  “Still hiding? Playing a video game? I don’t know. Anyway, things became truly ugly. Everyone yelled at me.”

  “What was the conversation? Something of national security? What would that have to do with the dress?”

  Daffy gazed toward the low-flickering fire. “I’m not sure, but was her conversation something of national security?” She peered at Gus. “Yes, I believe so. I truly do.”

  “Like what? Can you remember?” Gus raced through memories for some eighteen-year-old security issue. But he’d been a kid himself. Mum would not have shared government business at the family dinner table.

  “No.” Her answer came swift and low. Somehow, he didn’t believe her.

  “Why’d you hide in Mum’s dressing room? It’s in the heart of her bedroom.”

  “I knew John would never find me there.”

  “Brilliant. John and I never messed with Mum’s things.”

  “I hid against the wall by the door, covered by dresses. Then I heard you screaming and running from him.” She laughed—a sound he’d never tire of hearing—and pressed her hand to her heart. “I held my breath until I thought I’d pass out. My pulse was pounding so hard. When I thought the coast was clear, I started to sneak out. But the queen’s gowns… They are beautiful. That’s when I saw the blue gown on the floor, discarded without care. The crystal chandelier in the dressing room made the dress sparkle. I had to try it on.”

  Gus sat back, listening, looking back through his memories. “And Mum caught you.”

  “She dismissed me with a look. She might as well have strung me up in the castle courtyard.”

  “Mum has a way about her, I’ll grant you.” He raised his pint, as if saluting the queen. “She must, if she’s to be an effective queen. So is this the secret you alluded to in Florida? Nothing more than catching you in a discarded frock? Doesn’t seem like much of a secret.”

  Daffy reached for her wine goblet. “I guess not. I overreacted.”

  “But you heard a phone call.” Gus tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “Seems there’s something you’re trying hard not to say.”

  “The ribs were delicious, weren’t they?”

  “Daffy…”

  Ernst popped by just then with his staccato gusto. “Friends. More?”

  “Not me.” Daffy patted her middle. “Do give Stella my regards. Delicious.”

  “Pudding?”

  Gus avoided puddings. No need to return to his Prince Pudgy days. But the Beast did have a splendid apple tart. When he suggested it, Daffy heartily agreed.

  “I’ll be up a half stone by the time I go home,” she said.

  “But good.” The cherub proprietor tapped his finger on his nose.

  “Ernst.” Gus nodded toward Hemstead. “The man by the door. Serve him whatever he wants and add it to my bill.”

  “Righty-o.”

  “You should really stop running off without him,” Daffy said. “You’re disrespecting his job.”

  “I’m what?” Gus sat up, chest puffed.

  “You’re disrespecting his job. He’s hired to protect you, Gus. But you treat him like the annoying friend from down the road.”

  “I just…” Her rebuke struck home. “Just…don’t want a shadow. Someone always on my flank, watching my every move.”

  “He’s watching your back. Who wouldn’t want someone, wherever he went, on his side? Buck up, chap, and accept what he’s here to do. Stop being a child.”

  Gus snapped his napkin from his lap and wadded it up. Was it too late to cancel the apple tart? He gulped from his pint.

  “I’ll try to do better.”

  “Don’t try. Just do.”

  Another swallow of beer, rather than his pride. “So, what did you do today? I played another round of football with the young five- and six-year-olds in the Youth League this morning.”

  “Got kicked in the shin, I’m sure.”

  “Hard, too.” He laughed. “But they are earnest in their efforts.”

  There was a little girl among the pack who’d so captured Gus’s heart that for the first time, he wondered about being a father. What would it be like? Seems Dalholm was raising all sorts of buried desires.

  “Lucy and I went dress hunting. For the Unknown Bride.” Daffy launched into a story of an old shop above the quay. Shop Vintage. “When this woman with spinning eyes handed me a box—”

  “Spinning eyes?”

  “Yes, with light. And very vibrant. Unique.”

  “The eyes are the window to the soul,” Gus said.

  “She gave Lucy the creeps, but to me she was so sweet. Surreal.” Daffy lowered her voice. “She’s the same woman Princess Corina says helped her when she returned to Brighton Kingdom looking for Prince Stephen.”

  “Princess Corina? How do you know?”

  “The princess described her to me when she visited Perrigwynn during the History of Art tour.”

  “Did this Adelaide move from Brighton Kingdom to Lauchtenland?”

  “I didn’t think to ask her about her personal story. Corina said she never saw Adelaide again after she married Prince Stephen. You’d have to hear her tell the story. It’s wild. Anyway, there I am talking to this Adelaide and—”

  “This magical woman handed you a box.”

  “With this dress inside.” She showed him the photograph again. “I had chi
lls all over. It was creepy yet sort of divine. Then she said Emmanuel told her to give it to me.”

  “Emmanuel? The carpenter?”

  “I guess. Do you know of another one lurking about in Highcrest Mountains?” She shivered and ran her hand down her arm. “The dress is for the Unknown Bride but she kept going on about the tradition being for the next House of Blue princess. I think she was confused.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Though I heard Granny once say the gown for the Unknown Bride gown was to be blue.”

  “For the House of Blue?” Daffy said. “A little on the nose, but I get it.”

  He laughed. “I guess so. Did you put the dress in the gallery?”

  “Not yet. It needed minor tending. But oh, Gus, it’s as beautiful as I remember. As it was in this photograph of the queen.”

  He took her phone and studied the image. “When was this taken?”

  “Her twenty-first birthday.”

  “Can’t be Dad’s hand she’s holding. Mum graduated Yale before she met Dad. Talk about a whirlwind romance. Met, married, and conceived John in like eight months.” He handed back the phone. “Mum was a beauty.”

  “Still is.” Daffy tucked the device away. “Adelaide told us the gown was designed by Taffron Björk, the same designer of the Princess Louisa.”

  “Which means?”

  “Björk died nearly forty years before the queen would wear this gown.”

  “Perhaps the person who had the gown before gave it to Mum? Or she acquired it through, say, one of her designers?”

  “A designer giving the Princess of Lauchtenland another designer’s gown. A dead one to boot? I doubt it.” She looked weary to him. Like more than the dress weirdness bothered her. “Even so, how did the gown end up in a box in a vintage shop?”

  “Mum often gives her gowns to charity or for auctions.”

  “True. Then the person who bought the blue gown donated it out of hand? It doesn’t make sense. Unless the person didn’t understand the dress’s value. Still, I can’t quite piece together why Adelaide gave it to me. Or why Emmanuel had anything to do with it.”

  “I have no idea but I’m starting to think we’ve been tricked. Emmanuel is no ordinary man. No ordinary carpenter.”