Royal Watch

by Stacey Marie Brown

  Dalton’s hand came down on my arm, and my eyes jerked to his serious gaze.

  “You seem to be one with a good head on her shoulders and strength to handle it.” A slight smile parted his mouth. “I do hope it works out for you two. I think you are the best thing for His Highness. No one puts him in his place like you have. I’ve worked for more than one royal family, and I can’t say I’ve ever seen one get dumped before.”

  “Yeah.” I laughed sadly, climbing into the backseat, Landen and Mina scrambling in from the other side, tripping and falling over themselves. “I have no doubt I am the first.”

  There was a reason no one broke up with a prince. It just wasn’t done. I had to be a serious barmy. But I never cared about his title, growing up seeing what it was like to be royal. It was the guy I ended up falling for.

  “Sometimes it’s exactly what someone needs to wake up or see the truth.” Dalton nodded at me. “Good night, Baroness.” He shut the door before I could respond, the car pulling away from the curb and into the night, twinkling with lights.

  My future felt about the same. I had no idea what was ahead of me, but there were sparks of excitement and possibilities.

  Chapter 4

  (Four Months Later)

  “Dad, please listen to me,” I pleaded, a piece of paper waggling between my fingers. It was my last shot. My earlier attempt in the summer had been swiftly shut down, and time to respond was almost gone. “This opportunity is something I’ve dreamt about.”

  “Spencer, we’ve talked about this. I am sorry, but it won’t be possible.” My father’s shoulders dropped, his hand running through his silvering reddish-brown hair as he sat back in his desk chair.

  “Why?” My arms flung out in frustration. “Because his lordship says so?”

  “Spencer…” my father warned, a hand moving down to his cleanly shaven face, rubbing his chin. He was a handsome man in his early fifties, tall and lean, blue eyes so light they were almost opaque, and a soft smile. But lately, it seemed he had aged years, as though weights were pushing down on his shoulders, wrinkling his forehead and making him somber.

  Andrew was quiet, kind, and a peacemaker in contrast to his older brother, Fredrick, who was arrogant, selfish, dominant, and thought his way was the only way. I loved my father but disliked that he had no backbone when it came to Fredrick. He spent so much time trying to appease his older brother, not making any waves, which made everyone but Fredrick miserable.

  It became a sticking point with my parents, but after years of being beaten back, my mother had given up and just accepted that Fredrick ran the show. Their lives. She seemed to have given up on everything but her Vodka Collins.

  “Dad.” I sucked in a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. My father shut down when voices were raised and the yelling started. He was always telling my mother, “We will speak when you are calm,” which usually sent my mother into another tizzy. “This is everything to me. You know since I was a little girl I’ve wanted to be a veterinarian, help with endangered animals. This university is one of the top in the country, and they have admitted me.” I placed my acceptance letter down in front of him, hoping this time he’d actually read it. Lowering myself in a chair on the other side of his large antique desk, my eyes begged for a chance. “Please.”

  His chair squeaked as he leaned forward, grabbing the letter, his gaze rolling over it. I knew exactly what it said, I had read it so many times, excitement leaping around in my chest.

  “This is my future. What I want to do with my life.” Please hear me, please fight for me. “School has already started, but I talked to someone at the admissions, and they are willing to let me register late.”

  Fredrick was old school. I’m talking he acted like he was living in an episode of Downton Abbey where barons, lords, and nobles still held weight and ruled the country from their huge estates. Where women didn’t work and were greatly admired socialites who oversaw the house. Living and breathing tradition, throwing the best dinner parties, making sure everything was proper and reputable.

  Archaic.

  That had died away a long time ago, before Fredrick was even born, but my father and Fredrick were raised like that. It had been outdated even then, but some people just couldn’t let go and evolve with the times.

  “I am so proud of you, Spencer.” My father’s words were soft and even as he laid down the letter. “And I wish that we were just regular people… you could do anything you like.”

  “But we are!” My voice rose, my hands flinging out again.

  “Most would disagree with you.” He flicked his hand to the room, the house. We lived in a slightly smaller estate than my uncle, but both lands were connected by a small lake and rolling hills owned by the Sutton Family. Livestock used to be kept here, but the only things left now were my three favorite horses and two of my dad’s dogs. I couldn’t deny I had grown up with money, on a large estate most would visit on holiday, but it was all an illusion. Father didn’t discuss it with me, but under the veil, it was falling apart. It was far too much money to heat and maintain in this modern world. I knew we weren’t rolling in money, but both my uncle and father never cut corners on anything.

  “The title means nothing anymore. Not in today’s world. And most understand that. Sara, the Earl of Chatfield’s daughter, is going to school to be a graphic designer! I’m not asking to be a stripper or even a waitress, which let me add are respectable jobs—”

  “Spencie.” Strain colored my pet name. I only let my baby sister call me that without cringing. He tilted his head, exasperation reddening his cheeks. We had the same pale skin that displayed every emotion. “You know the answer. Fredrick told you last time he was fine with you volunteering once in a while at organizations or hosting donation dinners. Goodwill among us is always looked upon with admiration, but to be an actual veterinarian? No. That is not possible.” He shook his head, his expression heavy with regret and sorrow. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not possible?” I shook my head, my teeth cracking against each other. “It’s completely possible, Father. I have the acceptance letter to prove it. I’ve worked hard at school. I have the brains, the will, and the passion. It’s what I’ve wanted since I was a little girl. And I know you don’t have a problem with me doing it. The only person, the only thing, hindering my dream is an illusory idea which no one believes in anymore, stopping me from doing something good with my life. Something that makes me happy.”

  My father stirred in his chair, rolling it sideways like he was already leaving this argument. He stared at the empty fireplace, the last bits of summer holding on as the September sun drifted through the curtains of the dark and heavily decorated room. It hadn’t been revamped since the early 1900s.

  “Spencer.” He continued to stare off, his hand rolling into a fist on his desk. I knew I should have stopped, but frustration pushed me to keep fighting.

  “I am nineteen.” My birthday had been a week ago. “I don’t need permission to go to a top university. I mean, this is an immensely prestigious school!”

  “You do if it costs money!” He slammed his rolled hand down on the surface, causing me to jump in my chair. He spun to face me. “Money I provide! So yes, you do need my permission. And your uncle’s!” he barked, his face flushing burgundy. My father rarely let his temper show. “No matter what, you couldn’t attend anyway.”

  “Why?”

  He shook his head, standing up, straightening the papers on his desk. “This conversation is over.”

  “Tell me. Why?” I countered his movement, leaning toward him. “Stop treating me like a little girl. Or as if I’m not allowed to be part of this because I am a girl. I’m the eldest. This is mine someday too.” At least Fredrick was modern enough to allow Wentworth House to go to me and my little sister, Olivia. Landen would inherit the larger Chatstone Manor. We all planned to sell the moment we could.

  “I will not.” He shoved the papers to the side, his anger bursting at the seams.


  “Dad. Please.”

  “Because we can’t afford it,” he snapped, his chest heaving in a deep gulp of air, his eyes landing on me.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He regrouped, peering down at his files. “Go check on your mother; she had a migraine this morning.”

  She always had a headache, mostly brought on by alcohol and the stress she created.

  “Dad,” I said softly.

  “Spencer. Please. I have enough on my plate today.” He gazed at me, looking exhausted. Defeated.

  Biting down on my lip, I nodded, retrieved the letter, and headed for the door.

  “Spencer.” He stopped me, turning my head to look at him. “I really am sorry.”

  “Yeah.” I gripped the door in my hands. “Me too.”

  I stepped out, shutting the door behind me. My heart heavy, I rushed outside, trying to hold back the tears. The breeze wound around my hair as I growled deeply at the blue sky. “Fuck!” I locked the scream down so no one would hear me, but it tore at my throat. Caged. I felt trapped in this life. I knew I had a lot to be grateful for, but it struck me that any so-called “ordinary” family would be thrilled for their daughter to be accepted to this university. Encourage her to follow her dreams. It was only the nobles who would take such an achievement and make it feel like nothing.

  “Spencie!” My younger sister waved to me as she skipped up the walkway from the garden, a flower crown in her long strawberry-blonde hair. She had a darker shade of my father’s eyes.

  Olivia could lose herself in her imagination for hours out in the garden, playing and singing to herself. We were a little more than eight years apart; she had turned ten in June and was a strange mixture of being too old for her age and too immature. She didn’t really fit with girls in her class, not interested in what they were into. She was like this old soul stuck in a body who still loved to play make-believe, talking to flowers and humming happily to herself, lost in her dream world.

  Responsibility had yet to be pinned on her, she was still carefree and starry-eyed. Sometimes I felt like keeping her protected from life as long as I could, but then another part of me knew we were doing her no favors anymore.

  Plopping down on the back steps, I batted back my grief clogging my throat, staring at “Dear Ms. Spencer Helen Sutton, Congratulations! It is our great pleasure to offer you admittance …” My teary vision blurred out the rest, my hand crumpling the note. The admittance lady warned me that my window to accept their offer was closing tomorrow. This was my last chance to change my father’s mind.

  I felt gutted. Everything I had done, all the studying and work I did, had been pointless.

  “Spencie, what’s wrong?” Olivia gently sat next to me, touching my arm, her eyes wide and concerned. She even spoke like some grand lady from a movie. Fredrick adored Olivia, while I was too independent, brash, and strong willed.

  “Nothing.” I forced a smile on my lips, still defaulting to keeping her from the big bad world out there. Who knows, maybe she could be one who just floats through it, fine with her duty as a baroness. She had shown no signs of resisting so far, but that might change the older she got. For some reason, I doubted it. Olivia seemed to drift around untouched by our confined world. She loved this house and was happy to be here all the time. I couldn’t wait to break free.

  “You are sad.” She touched the space between my brows as if she was some spiritualist. “Like your heart is breaking.”

  I huffed, a sorrowful smile on my lips. “It feels like it is.”

  She dropped her hands in her lap, staring at them. “It won’t be like that forever.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “I am sad as well.” She leaned into me.

  “Why?”

  “Because school is starting tomorrow. I hate being there. I want to be outside in my garden.”

  “Funny. You are sad because you’re going to school, and I’m sad because I’m not.” I leaned my cheek on the top of her head. It was warm from soaking in the sun.

  She took my hand in hers. “I don’t know why, but I feel scared.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Everything is going to change.”

  “That’s what is exciting about life. Changing and growing. Learning new things. You’ll be fine.”

  “Oh no, not me.” She popped her head up, her deep gaze piercing into mine. “For you.”

  Snuggled on the window seat in the library, I tried to lose myself in a book, but found myself staring absently out the large window. Green leaves on the tall trees lining our drive swayed and danced, mesmerizing me. A light breeze wafted from the open window. A touch of autumn licked at the air, lightly goosepimpling my bare legs. It felt good. Like I was still alive, and if I shut the window, I would suffocate to death.

  Sighing, I leaned against the built-in bookshelf that was also mirrored on the other side of the window lining the walls. Besides my room, this was the only place that felt like home to me. It was real. Comfortable. Not trying to put on a show and pretend it was something it wasn’t. It was smaller and cozier compared to most of the house, smelling of leather-bound books, peonies from the garden on one side, and in the winter, a warm fireplace. Even as a kid, when I got scared, it wasn’t my parents’ room I ran to, it was here. I would wrap myself in the soft lambswool blanket, curl into either the overstuffed sofa or the wingback chair, and fall asleep.

  Today it was not working. It was no longer easy to abate my worries and fears. The monster under my bed had morphed into the terror of a stagnant life, which I found even more terrifying. Because it was real. Smiling falsely at donation dinners donned in dresses and garments that would be able to provide a year’s worth of care or medication for animals.

  I knew I could probably talk my uncle into letting me go abroad at least once a year for a week to Africa or South America, but it would be for publicity. And without proper training in the field, I would be kept to very easy tasks. I wanted to do real work. Stay for months or years. Researching and going out in the field, fighting poachers, and helping those animals who could not protect themselves.

  I slammed my book closed, giving up on the pretense I was reading it. The house felt quiet and lonely today. Olivia was at school, my mother out with my aunt Lauren, having lunch with other noble wives, talking about some charity dinner. Landen got dragged with my father and Fredrick, assessing our back property. Dad wanted to sell it as we never used it anymore, the sheep having long since been sold, but Fredrick was fighting it. It was territory to him in the sense if he let some go, it showed our standing was weakening. Slipping. That we needed money.

  My father and uncle didn’t have jobs in the normal sense. Most of the money came from trade in the stock markets. They also invested in a few racehorses, but by the way my dad slumped over his desk going over the expenses, I knew things were tighter than normal.

  Because we can’t afford it! My father’s words echoed in my head, weighing heavily on my chest.

  I was stuck in a loop. I wasn’t allowed to go to school to gain skills to get a proper job, to get money. But because I had no money, I couldn’t go against the wishes of my family.

  There was movement down our long driveway, a black car pulling my focus, my lids squinting to see who might be coming. It was far too early for my mother to be returning. She usually stayed at a luncheon until dinner, coming home drunk, claiming a headache, and going straight to bed. The guys took the horses and were in the back of our property. Who would be stopping by? Our estate was more than two hours from the capital city and well off the main road. It wasn’t a convenient “I’ll pop over and say hi” kind of place.

  I wasn’t in the mood to play gracious host, offering tea and biscuits, which is what people would expect of me. A polite trained dog.

  Exhaling with annoyance, I tossed my book onto the bench seat, standing up and straightening my tank, jean shorts, and light cardigan. My hair was down and loose, and I was pretty sure I hadn’t run
a brush through it today.

  “Nara?” I yelled. She was our only housemaid now who was full time and had been with us since I was five. She was a spunky older woman with gray-blonde curly, short hair and a slim figure. Always moving, she had no problem giving her opinion on things. My mother complained about her, but for some reason would not get rid of her, for which I was glad. I think Mother secretly liked her blunt persona. It was nice for once to know what someone was really thinking or feeling.

  Nara’s job was endless in this place; she’d start on one side and get to the other and have to start all over again. Most of the time, she kept the main area clean and greeted guests if no one was here. Her husband, John, was our cook, and he was the one thing my mother and Fredrick both agreed on. She would not cook or even step foot into the kitchen. Baronesses did not do that, I guess. Nara and John lived in a cottage on the property.

  Fredrick and Lauren had at least three maids, two cooks, four gardeners, and a steward. Seriously, I think he believed it was still the early 1900s.

  “Nara?” I called again, wandering into the foyer, peering up the mahogany staircase, wanting to run upstairs and hide.

  “What are you screeching about?” Nara came to the top of the landing, peering down at me.

  “Someone’s coming.” I motioned toward the front door.

  “Yeah? So? What do you want me to do about it?” She placed her hands on her hips.

  “Can you handle them?” I motioned to the door again.

  “Oh sure, why don’t I stop what I am doing, cleaning up after you and scrubbing your mess, so the princess doesn’t have to break a sweat and answer the door.”

  “Not a princess,” I grumbled.

  “You’re sure acting like it.”

  Yeah, fair enough. I was acting like an entitled brat. As brash as Nara could come off, I knew she had a weak spot when it came to me. She had watched me grow up and knew that being the eldest, things would land on me that would never be asked of my sister. She was the kind who grumbled and rolled her eyes while sneaking me a cookie my mother denied me because of my “teenage baby fat” that she considered an issue.