Flossie hands me a glass of champagne. “Here. You look like you need this.”
“Yeah, that was intense. Thanks, Floss.”
“What did he say to you?” asks Alice. She suddenly seems several inches shorter. I look down to see that she’s in bare feet.
“Alice! Where are your shoes?”
“Eh.” She swats her hand through the air as if batting away an insect. “I can’t stand heels.”
“She kicked them off underneath a table,” says David, jerking his thumb toward a white tablecloth nestled into an alcove against the wall. He looks jealous, like he wishes he could do the same with his monkey suit.
“But what did he say?” repeats Alice.
“Not much. We just said hi to each other, and he said thanks for coming.”
“So everything’s back to normal?” asks Flossie.
“It seems so. Normal-ish. At least we’re on speaking terms again.”
Flossie nods. “At least.”
“And Libby?” Alice asks. “You’re all good?”
“We’re all good.”
“Oh, Cousin Mary is here!” says Flossie, spying the Danish crown princess. “I haven’t seen her in months.” She walks over to the princess, who looks excited to see Flossie and embraces her warmly.
“Cousin Mary,” mutters Georgie while looking at me, her eyes comically wide. “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”
“Don’t you see famous people all the time with your dad?”
“Are you kidding me? He won’t let me near a red carpet. He thinks Hollywood is corrosive—that’s why he shipped me off to boarding school. The only celebrity I know is Alan Alda.”
“Who?”
“Exactly.”
“Plus your mum,” I point out.
“Ha! Yeah, like she counts.”
“She’s famous! She totally counts!”
Georgie shrugs. “It’s not like she’s Meryl Streep. But this,” she says, waving her arm around to indicate the room, “now this is real glamour.”
India joins us, linking her arm through mine. “Come with me.” As she propels me down the red carpet toward the far side of the room, we pass David and Victoria Beckham standing underneath a portrait of George I. They look as out of place as the rest of us.
“So,” she says. “You. Edward. Libby. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“No,” I say. “Definitely a little awkward. But mostly fine.”
“I’ll admit it. I’m surprised,” she says.
“By what?”
“Greeting guests with Libby by his side: talk about a bold statement. His parents won’t be chuffed about that.”
“They don’t like Libby?”
India shrugs. “That I don’t know. But I do know his family is big on tradition. Having your new girlfriend standing by your side for a receiving line . . . that is not tradition.”
Flossie comes up behind us. “Are you talking about Libby?”
“Obviously,” I say. We all look back toward my sister, who is now shaking hands with an old guy I’m pretty sure is the Duke of Wellington. Behind her, one of her former classmates from Greene House waits to greet her.
Flossie shakes her head. “I can’t even explain how absolutely bizarre that is.”
“Speaking of bizarre,” I say, “what the hell is Alice doing?”
We all look over at Alice, who is flirting with a waiter who seems desperate to ignore her.
The three of us are still laughing when Flossie lets out a sharp gasp. “They’re here.”
“Who’s here?” I ask, turning around and looking behind us.
India stands up a little straighter. “The King and Queen.”
My eyes widen. Edward’s parents enter the room from the far end, several guards holding open the doors to escort them from their private apartments. I’d always imagined them entering every room to the strains of “God Save the King,” but the musicians in the corner continue softly playing classical music, switching to a song I don’t know. The Queen is resplendent in a floor-length silver beaded gown with a blue sash draped over her shoulders. She’s dripping in jewels, wearing a diamond-and-sapphire tiara and a matching diamond-and-sapphire necklace. Golf ball–sized sapphire earrings hang from her long earlobes, so enormous that they’re visible all the way across the room. The King wears a black tuxedo and white tie, also with a blue sash slung across his shoulders. He has a slew of multicolored medals pinned in a row above his heart, with a cross-shaped medal hanging from his neck under the tie.
I look around to see if everybody is as enthralled as I am. In the center of the room, Edward’s aunt and uncle formally greet the King and Queen, bowing and curtsying as if they’re visiting dignitaries and not their brother- and sister-in-law.
“Prince Michael and Princess Verena are here, too,” I say, pointing at them.
“Oh, I’ve met them loads of times,” Flossie says, looking unimpressed.
We watch as the King and Queen approach Edward, who gives them both a quick bow before the King claps him on the back and hugs him.
I’m watching warily, waiting to see if Edward will introduce Libby to his parents.
“There’s no way,” says Flossie, as if reading my mind. “It’s just not done.”
But we all gasp as Edward turns to Libby, taking her by the hand and leading her a few inches closer to the King and Queen. We’re too far away to hear their conversation, but every eye in the room is trained on them as Libby makes two deep curtsies in rapid succession. The Queen nods, the slightest hint of a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. Libby looks enchanted, her face lighting up.
My sister has just been introduced to the King and Queen as their son’s girlfriend.
I realize that Flossie’s thin fingers are clasping my own hand, her beautiful face registering shock. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she murmurs, her hand still glued to mine. Her mouth is slightly agape. “Blimey. It’s absolutely unprecedented.”
“So what does it mean?”
India answers, looking strangely impressed. “It means Edward has just thrown hundreds of years of tradition out the window.”
“So Libby’s special.”
India looks at me, eyes wide. She nods. “Libby is very special.”
I feel proud of my sister—she’s clearly being treated with respect, and she’s breaking down barriers in a family not exactly known for change. I’m so impressed by her.
And when I realize that I’m not jealous anymore, not even a little bit, it feels like a huge weight has lifted off my shoulders.
A waiter glides by with a tray of champagne and Flossie grabs two glasses, thrusting one into India’s hand and then motioning for another for me.
“Cheers,” Flossie says, clinking her glass against ours. “To Libby. It’s quite a coup.”
After an hour of drinking, dancing, and stuffing our faces with canapés, Edward materializes at the far end of the room, making a speech to thank everybody for coming. He’s been working the room all night, with Libby never more than a couple of feet away from him.
“I especially want to thank my parents for hosting this party. Thank you, Mum and Dad, for allowing us to throw this very quiet shindig here.” Everybody laughs and raises their glasses to the King and the Queen, who smile and incline their heads in acknowledgment.
“I’d also like to thank my girlfriend, Libby,” Edward continues. “Her own birthday is in two days, so it was gracious of her to let me steal her spotlight—as usual. I’m a lucky guy to be celebrating with her by my side.”
Everybody in the room raises their glasses again.
“You okay with all this?” Flossie asks me.
“I’m good. I’m great.”
“I think it’s wild,” Alice says. “Who could have predicted this when Libby transferred here?”
“I predicted it,” Tarquin pipes up. “I told you all Libby was smoking.”
“So you’ve got eyes,” Flossie says. “Congratu-bloody-lation
s.”
“Do you think the castle is haunted?” Alice asks, staring at the ceiling.
We’re all studying a painting near the State Apartments—a scowling monarch in a curly black wig and knee breeches—when I hear Libby’s quiet voice behind me. “Charlotte.”
I turn and she reaches out, squeezing my hand.
“I’m beyond pleased you made it,” she says.
I open my mouth to speak, but am interrupted by a tall girl with protruding eyes and long dirty-blond hair who’s suddenly appeared to chat. Libby makes small talk with her for a few moments. I’m impressed with her calm demeanor. The skittish, nervous edges seem to have been smoothed and polished away. This more mature, less self-conscious version of my sister is going to take some getting used to.
As she dismisses the blond girl, she turns back to me.
“Sorry. Guys, do you mind if I steal my sister away for a minute?”
“Go for it,” India says.
“Not at all! By all means!” says Georgie, flourishing her arms to make a path for us.
Libby grabs me by the hand and leads me down the hall and around the corner.
“There’s a room over here.”
“I think Georgie was prepared to curtsy to you back there,” I giggle. “Should I start calling you Your Highness now, or . . . ?”
“Oh, stop.”
We enter into a huge drawing room with a majestic chandelier hanging from the gilded ceiling. The room is decorated in shades of red and gold, all the sofas and chairs in the same crimson that decorates St. George’s Hall, and the heavy red curtains featuring gold tassels and trim. The lamps are off, the only light visible through the windows from the courtyard below.
Libby walks over to a wood-and-gold table, turning on a small lamp. “Edward brought me here earlier,” she says by way of explanation.
“Okay.” I look around warily, expecting guards to burst into the room and haul us off to the dungeons. Clearly I’ve watched too much TV. “Did you guys stay at the castle last night?”
“Yes! How weird is that? He has a set of apartments, just off his parents’ private quarters. The rooms are beautiful, but really musty. It feels like being in an old hotel that hasn’t been renovated.”
“That’s. So. Weird.”
“Tell me about it,” she says. “There’s so much to catch up on. I’ve missed you so much.”
“Oh. Have you?”
“Yes! Are you serious?”
“I don’t know,” I say, shrugging. “It seems like things have been going pretty well. I’m not surprised you and I haven’t spoken, what with your smart new life.”
She looks hurt. “I know I deserve that.”
I pick up a small golden box on the table, pretending to study it while I wait for her to continue. Of course I’m finally going to forgive her—but I want to make her work for it.
“I know I’ve apologized over and over again, but I’ll keep doing it until you forgive me. I was a jerk. I was insensitive and I didn’t handle things at all well.”
“Mmm,” I say.
“I didn’t want you to think I was trying to steal Edward. I really wasn’t, Charlotte—I didn’t set out to get with him. I hope you know that by now.”
“Mmm,” I say again. “Yes. I think so.” I pause, hoping she’ll keep apologizing.
“I completely went against all my principles and I put my relationship with Edward before my relationship with you. I can’t apologize enough. You’re blood. You should come first, and I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling relief. “That means a lot.”
“The past three months have been bizarre. I’m so happy with Edward. It’s nice to be with somebody who gets me. But I’ve been missing you desperately. So much has happened and it’s killed me I couldn’t share it with you. I’ve been racked with guilt.”
“I feel a little guilty, too,” I say.
“You feel guilty? Why?”
“You know how Mum and Aunt Kat haven’t spoken in years?”
Libby nods.
“I keep thinking about them. I don’t want that to be us.”
“Me, neither.”
“Mum refuses to tell me what happened, but I feel like—it takes two to tango, you know? You know Mum. Even if Aunt Kat was awful to her, it’s never one-sided. And I was kind of a brat at times.”
“I wish I could go back in time and do it differently,” Libby says. “I knew I might be starting to have feelings for Edward, but I didn’t want to hurt you. I pushed them away, and then it all blew up in my face when we kissed and you got ten times as hurt.”
“It did hurt,” I say. “I know that’s silly, since he and I only dated for a couple of months, and we barely ever saw each other. But”—I shrug—“it made me feel silly. I felt like a fool.”
She nods as if telling me to go on.
“And then it was awful. Everybody was like, ‘Buck up! Get over it!’ like nothing had ever happened, but I’m not a robot. It felt like I was being pushed out of the group to make room for your relationship with Edward. It was lonely. It sucked.”
Libby takes my hands in hers. “I am so, so sorry, Charlotte. For everything.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“Now can I be honest?”
“Sure.”
“I know it’s not fair”—she pauses—“but my feelings were hurt, too. I kept reaching out to you, and you kept shooting me down.”
“Is it weird that you saying that makes me feel better?”
“Yes.” She laughs.
“Well, I’m sorry, too. I punished you for too long. As usual, I took things too far.”
“Don’t say that! You felt betrayed. Your reaction makes sense.”
“Well, it’s water under the bridge now. I’m over it.”
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“Moving on. I’m already bored by this conversation. Catch me up to speed on you. I want to hear everything.”
“Well,” she says, “things are going great. I’ve narrowed my university choices down—I’m leaning toward Edinburgh. I have the summer to decide, but my application is due in September.”
“Wait, Edinburgh? You’ve always talked about St. Andrews, like Dad.”
“I know.” She looks embarrassed. “But Edinburgh has an amazing history-of-art program.”
“Edward’s going there, isn’t he?” I say, realization dawning.
She blushes. “Yes.”
“And he wants you to come.”
She nods. “That’s not all.”
“What else?”
She pauses. Her face has turned scarlet. “We, um. We’re . . . we’ve . . .”
“Oh my God, Libby, just say it already!” I laugh.
“We’ve slept together.”
“Eiii!” I squeal, grabbing her hands. “How was it? I can’t believe it. Where were you? When did it happen? How did it happen? Tell me everything!”
She laughs, squeezing my hands. “To answer your questions: nerve-racking but amazing, although Helen almost walked in on us. At Kensington Palace last month after dinner. And I told him I’d never wanted anything more.”
I’m beside myself with excitement. “I can’t believe it. I mean, I can believe it, but . . . wow. This means you’ve had sex before me!”
“Well, it’s not a race,” she says, smiling.
“Okay, so: hot sex life with a gorgeous prince. Check. How’s everything else going with him?”
“Well.” She bites her lip. “I think I’m falling in love. No—I know. I am falling in love. I love him.”
“That’s huge!”
“Yes. Except . . .”
“Except what?”
“It’s hard. Being with him.”
I frown, the wind leaking out of my sails. “Hard? How?”
“I don’t know if you—” She stops, blushing.
“If I what?”
“I was going to say, I don’t know you if went through this when the two of you .
. .”
I nod. “When we were deeply, madly, passionately in love and banging like rabbits twenty-four seven. You can say it.”
She laughs. “When you were dating.”
“At least I didn’t sleep with him.”
“Small favors. But you’re really not mad at me any longer?”
“I’m not mad!”
“Okay. Good,” she says. She exhales, looking visibly relieved. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
“But don’t stop—tell me more. You don’t know if I went through what when the two of us were dating?”
“The family stuff. The pressure. It’s constant. I feel like we’re a team, so when he’s stressed because his dad is getting on his case for some reason or another, I’m stressed. But he has me to talk to about it, and I have nobody. Sometimes I feel like I’m going to be crushed under the weight of it all. You must have seen that piece in the Sun this week.”
I nod. “India showed me.”
“They haven’t run a new photo yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Edward is hugely private—much more than I realized—and he’s terrified of me being hounded by the paparazzi. They’ve already been following us, and I feel like I’m being hunted every time I turn a corner.”
“Vultures.”
“I don’t mean to complain.”
“You’re allowed! God knows you’ve heard me go on and on in the past.”
She looks tentative, fiddling with a tassel on a sofa pillow. “It’s just . . . I have to juggle him with schoolwork and with applying to university. He’s always got a crisis at home. His father is an absolute handful. We have an event to attend every weekend, and I have to act appropriately so I reflect well on him. It might sound fun, but it’s not—it’s bloody exhausting. I feel like I’ve stepped into the lion’s den: there are all these unspoken rules and codes and it’s impossible to navigate.”
“He doesn’t make you feel bad about it, does he?”
“No! He’s incredibly supportive. But I can tell Helen can’t stand me. She’s always making snide little comments when he’s not around about ‘new money’ and ‘suitable girls.’ Nothing I can report back to him without sounding paranoid, but she’s clearly being passive-aggressive. Edward’s a dream, and his cousins are fairly down-to-earth, all things considered. But the people who work for them are nightmares.”
Romancing the Throne Page 24
