by Aven Ellis
I glance at Christian, who is intently listening to Jillian, his expressive eyes showing me something else is going on in his head. He’s touched by her story, that I know, but he’s also deep in thought.
Jillian continues. “Then one night I was watching the news on the telly, and they did a story on this program. I don’t know why, but something compelled me to write down the website address. A few days later, I looked at it and thought, why not? It would be nice to have another voice in the house besides the ones on TV or from my iPhone. They asked if I was okay with an American, and I was thrilled. Someone completely different! I couldn’t have hand-picked anyone better than Clementine.”
“You’re going to make me cry,” I say, sniffling. “I feel the same way. I’m happy to have you as a part of my life here.”
“We’ve become way too serious,” Jillian says, shaking her head, but I notice her eyes are a bit watery. “We need more wine. Christian, will you be spending the night here?”
I stifle a giggle as Christian appears flustered by the question.
“Um, no, I will be going back home tonight,” he says.
“Well, just so you know, I don’t care if you sleep over. Or stay over and choose not to sleep,” Jillian adds with a devilish grin.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Christian look more embarrassed.
“Um, err … I …”
Jillian laughs. “If you will be staying over, I was going to pour you another glass of wine.”
He smiles. “Well, there’s nothing at home at Kensington Palace except for Lucy, and she’s taken care of when I’m not there.”
“Brilliant. Then you’ll stay. I’ll retrieve that bottle,” Jillian says happily.
“That was so much fun. Jillian may be the coolest woman I’ve ever met,” I say as I return to the bedroom after brushing my teeth, washing my face, and changing into one of Christian’s Arsenal T-shirts, which I’ve claimed for myself.
Christian has stripped down to his boxer-briefs and has climbed into bed. He is typing something into his phone as he sits up against the headboard.
“She’s such an inspirational woman. It’s funny how we’re both at a point of change in our lives. Jillian is moving forward to rebuild hers, and I’m moving forward to start mine.”
Christian doesn’t reply as he continues to read.
“Christian?” I ask, flipping back the duvet and climbing in next to him. “What are you reading?”
“Clem, I think I know my purpose,” Christian says, shifting his attention to me. “It became clear to me as Jillian told her story tonight. I want to help caregivers. Jillian carried all that weight on her own, not taking time for herself except to do errands. I want to do more, to provide relief for caregivers, to create places where they can go and connect with other people in their position. Not only support groups; I want to make something just for them. Perhaps fun outings like a tea or a football match. I was looking up organizations, and I’m going to have my secretary reach out next week and organize some meetings. With the monarchy behind these organizations, we can do something meaningful for people who truly need it.”
“You are an exceptional man, Christian Chadwick,” I say, love surging in my heart for him. “You are going to do remarkable things in your new role. You can impact lives for the better. What a gift you have to give to caregivers who truly need it.”
“I want to do this,” Christian says, his eyes lighting up. “I need to do this. I can’t wait to get going on it.”
I take his hand and draw it to my lips, kissing it softly. “Your work can change the lives of so many people. And I know, without a doubt, you’ll do this brilliantly.”
“I was so angry when father told me I couldn’t go into the army,” Christian says. “Furious. How could he let Xander do it and not me? How could he take that away from me when all I heard from Xander was how awesome it was to have a purpose and be treated like anyone else? But now I’m wondering if maybe that wasn’t meant to be my path.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe I’m meant to serve the country in this role,” Christian says. “Maybe I’m meant to serve on boards and as a patron and do things to help groups that desperately need awareness and funding instead of in the army. As a young royal, I can bring publicity to any event I spotlight. Maybe this is my calling.”
I snuggle in next to him, resting my head on his bare chest and feeling the warmth of his body against my cheek.
“I can see that,” I say softly.
“Me, too,” Christian says, dropping a kiss on the top of my head as he puts his arm around me, cradling me close to him.
I close my eyes as the long day washes over me. I’m ready to sleep with this man’s arms wrapped around me.
Counting every blessing that he’s mine.
Chapter 28
Working Woman
I pick up my black, Knomo brief tote—one of my graduation presents from Christian—and suck in a breath of air. I glance at my reflection in the full-length mirror in my room. I know I won’t be giving tours for a while, but I also know I’ll be doing a lot of walking, shadowing other tour guides. I’ve gone for functional chic—black, wide-legged trousers; a white, flowy blouse; and a black blazer, which I’ll take off to be more casual in the home. I added a bit of myself with my shoes: a pair of pink, jacquard slipper-mules with a print inspired by vintage Japanese fabrics. I love them, and it gives a bit of personality to my outfit.
I’m ready, I tell myself.
Butterflies take off in my stomach as I head down the hall. There are no words to describe how thrilled I am to be able to report to Cheltham House for my first day of work.
As I step into the living room, Jillian is coming in with Bear. I smile as I see her dressed in chic yoga leggings, colorful Puma kicks, and a zip-up hoodie.
“Darling,” she says, her voice serious, “there are hordes of photographers out there.”
My stomach goes to ice.
It’s finally happened. Christian has prepared me for this day.
The day the paparazzi started stalking where I lived.
“Well, at least the walk to the tube isn’t far,” I say, trying to reassure myself.
“Why don’t I drive you?” Jillian offers as she unhooks the leash from Bear’s collar.
I freeze. No, that’s the last thing I want. I don’t want Jillian protecting me from the press. I can’t let any more people in my life protect or shield me from life.
I want to handle this myself.
“Thank you. I appreciate that, but I want to face them.”
“Clementine, I know you have to face them, but this is your first day of work. Do you want to step into your new job frazzled by them? Because they’ll do more than shoot pictures. They will scream awful things at you to try and get a reaction.”
I nod, trying to ignore the sick feeling creeping into my body.
“I know.”
Although I’m secretly hoping the goodwill from Ascot will keep them nice for today, I’m being #delusional.
I bend down and stroke Bear’s head. “You have a wonderful day being spoiled by Ms. Jillian,” I say, stroking his head.
“Oh, no, he spoils me with kisses,” Jillian says, smiling at me.
“I’m happy he has you during the day,” I say. “Bear is such a love; he deserves all of that back.”
“So does his mum,” Jillian says.
“I think I’m well taken care of in that department.”
“Are you sure I can’t drive you?” Jillian asks again, a look of concern flickering across her face.
“No, I’ve got this,” I say, forcing my voice to sound confident when inside I’m terrified. “Okay, I’m off. I’ll be home sometime after five.”
“My turn for dinner tonight,” Jillian says. “I decided to subscribe to one of those cooking box services, so I will no doubt make you something fantastic to eat. Or we will order a pizza. Either way, we win.”
I laugh and op
en the door. “We do,” I say, over my shoulder.
I shut the door behind me to a chorus of shouting.
I bite my lip and walk up to the gate, and as soon as I swing it open, I’m blinded by the flash of cameras and video lights.
“Oh!” I gasp aloud, as I can’t even see now.
“Clever Clemmie, over here!” a man shouts as they close in.
“This way!”
“Can we get a smile, Clementine?”
“Are you going to marry the prince?”
“Are you a publicity stunt, Cunning Clementine?”
I try to take a step forward, but I can’t. They’ve closed in on me, and it’s impossible to move. Panic fills me. How will I make it to the tube station? Will they get on the tube with me?
As the cameras click away, I realize I don’t have my game face on.
I force it into a bright smile and try to walk.
But they are suffocating me.
“Please excuse me. I must get to work,” I say, trying to keep the shake out of my voice.
I’m jostled from behind, hard.
I stumble forward but get no apology from the photog shooting me.
A photographer runs around in front of me. “The American trying to hook a prince? Do you fancy yourself being a duchess someday?”
“Is this to rehabilitate Prince Christian’s recluse image?”
All the air is sucked out of my lungs. I can’t breathe. I feel a panic attack coming on. The media takes advantage, circling around me and taking bites like great white sharks on a feeding frenzy.
And they won’t let go until I’m dead.
“Darling, sorry I’m late, just had to find where I left the keys,” Jillian says, springing up the stairs. She cuts through the crowd with precision and puts her arm around my shoulders, guiding me forward. Her Jaguar is a few steps away, and she gets me to the car in one piece while photographers surround the car, determined to get my picture.
She turns on the car and keeps her eyes straight ahead.
“Smile. Smile like you are the happiest woman in the world to be pursued by these wankers.”
I re-arrange my face as she instructs.
“I want to cry.”
“Of course you do. They are vultures. But I was never going to let you walk down the street alone. Times are different now due to social media.”
Jillian lays on her horn and begins driving forward.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want you to have to protect me,” I say, my voice breaking.
“Clementine. I’m your friend. Friends do things for one another. If I was in the same situation, I know you would help me.”
As we move forward, the photographers race for their cars, wanting to pursue us.
I want to throw up.
“You are being thrown into the fire now, love,” Jillian says softly. “But you will find a way to handle it. That’s the funny thing about life. Sometimes we are tested in ways we never imagined, but we find a way to trod on.”
I know she’s talking about George, which puts my experience in perspective. It’s going to be hideous. I’ll want to cry and be upset, and I’ll probably never be completely used to it, but compared to what Jillian went through with George? Or my surgery?
I can do this.
“Well, I hope they got a shot of my shoes because they are fabulous,” I tease.
Jillian laughs heartily. “That’s my girl. Now where am I going?”
I give her the address of the house, which is located near one of London’s amazing parks.
“Oh, tomorrow we’ll bring Bear. I can take him on a walk after I drop you off.”
“Jillian,” I say, my voice firm, “you do not have to be my chauffeur.”
“Clementine, it’s my pleasure. It gives me something to do. If you had a friend who needed a lift, you’d give her one, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“No buts. Friends do things for friends. It doesn’t mean you can’t do it for yourself, but if it helps you out, let me, okay?”
I exhale. I still don’t like this, but I know I can’t deal with that crush every day on my way to the tube.
“For now,” I say firmly.
“For now,” Jillian says, grinning. “So with that said, what time should I pick you up?”
I give up. “Five, please.”
Jillian navigates her way through London, and soon she pulls up in front of Cheltham House.
“I’ll be here in this spot to pick you up this evening.”
“Thank you,” I say.
I slip out the door, and a few of the moped photographers are stopping to shoot me. I keep my smile plastered on my face but wonder if Felicity and John will want this circus around their estate. I wouldn’t blame them for releasing me, although that idea breaks my heart.
I go to the gate and gaze up at the stunning neoclassical home, which is more beautiful in person than the website can ever portray. My thoughts shift to the treasures locked inside.
I get to work here, I think in absolute amazement, and I ignore the shouts of the paparazzi behind me. I will spend every day surrounded by antiques, and I’ll get to share this passion with every guest who walks in the door.
With that thought tucked in my head, I mentally prepare for my first day at work.
I think I need to pinch myself.
I’m sitting in the part of the house that has been set aside for the offices, and I’m pouring over detailed floor plans of the estate that Felicity gave me. She told me my first week was going to be pure immersion, and my antique-loving heart has never been so excited. Okay, perhaps the feeling is equal to Sandringham and Windsor Castle, but I actually work here, so that gives Cheltham House the edge.
I started off this morning with Eric Bradley, one of the tour guides. He gave me a private tour first, showing me the staterooms that the public can access: the Great Room, the Library, the Dining Room, the Gallery Hall, the Rose Bedroom, Lady Wilimina’s room—she was the third Countess of Westwick—and the Peacock Bedroom.
It was a glorious feast for my eyes. The Peacock room is named after the silk fabrics of the bedding, done in the shades of peacock feathers, and the rich, vibrant, blue taffeta curtains on the eighteenth-century canopy bed. There were exquisite tapestry chairs embroidered with a rose pattern in the Rose Bedroom, and portraits of previous earls and countesses in the Gallery Hall. The tour includes actual Thomas Chippendale furniture and a library with books dating back to the sixteenth century.
Of course, my favorite room was the State Dining Room. I wanted to spend hours in there alone, picking up and examining every piece of china and cutlery on display on the Chippendale dining room table. I wanted to sit in one of the chairs and study the portraits hung around the room, learning the identities of the families that lived here for years before. Painted in robin’s egg blue, and with incredible, white crown molding, it has a gentle feel to it. I took pictures as I went along, unable to believe I was seeing an entire table set with Coalport porcelain plates in the chinoiserie style.
As I went on my tour this morning with Eric, I realized how much I must learn. He’s going to be a hard act to follow. He’s an incredibly gifted storyteller and knew exactly how to pace the tour and keep it moving while still taking the time to reveal the stories that connect the home to the visitors.
The tour ended in the gardens, where I met Clive Lawler, the head gardener, and his grandson, Roman, who works alongside him. Everything is in bloom, and once again, I relished the beautiful English flowers in all their glory.
After I took the tour, Felicity took me into the archive room where more treasures are hidden away, either to be switched out as the seasons change or to be added when a new stateroom is opened to the public. She’s collecting pieces now for a drawing room. I squealed inside with glee when I got to put on gloves and hold the Meissen tea service collection she wants to place in there, one from the 1800s and painted with people. It’s enough to make me want to try
tea again.
The house has a café, so I was able to grab lunch with Felicity while overlooking the gardens. As I ate my salad, I blurted out that the grounds would be a fantastic place for community yoga. Felicity’s eyes lit up. She loved the idea. I was speaking off the top of my head, but I can tell Felicity is eager to have a younger person’s ideas for bringing more people to the stately home.
Of course, that included paparazzi, but Felicity shrugged that off, filing it under “free publicity.”
I can’t wait to tell Christian all about my day. I want to hear how his day in Birmingham went, too. I haven’t pulled out my phone, other than to take pictures, as I don’t believe spending the day looking up pictures of Christian at his engagement makes for a good first impression.
Felicity comes back into the office, smiling brightly.
“I think you can go home now,” she says. “You’ve been thrown a lot of information today. I’m sure your head is about to explode.”
I shake my head. “No, no, I love this more than you could ever know. I held a Meissen teacup today. That alone made me giddy.”
“I completely get you,” Felicity says, adding a conspiratorial tone to her voice. “Because I get giddy holding them, too.”
We both laugh.
“Tomorrow, we’ll go over more of the house stories. Listen to Eric, but I want you to find your own way of telling the details when you do your tours. I’m also planning to go to an auction on Thursday to look for more things for the drawing room, and I’d love for you to come with me.”
Oh! It’s all I can do not to leap out of my chair and hug her.
“I would love that.”
“All right, go on, get your things and go have a nice evening.”
“Thank you, and you enjoy your evening, too.”
