by Avery Wilde
Keira rounded on me. “I know nothing of the kind! All I know is what I heard, and when you’re sitting around basically making plans with your mother to marry someone else behind the back of the woman you supposedly care about, then—news flash—you don’t really care!”
I sagged. It was hard to argue against someone who was right, and everything Keira said was true—except that I did care. I cared with all my heart. Unfortunately, I’d done a really stupid thing and made her not trust me. This whole situation was thirty shades of fucked up, and I could see exactly why she was so mad at me.
It was all my fault.
“You’re just upset now because you can’t get what you want,” Keira snapped, little veins pulsing at her temples. “Someone took away your plaything. Your little whore, as your brother said.”
“No!”
“Yes! That’s all I ever was to you!” Tears now streamed down Keira’s face as emotion poured out of her. “You used me! You used me and you left me with…” She seemed to have more to say, but for some reason she bit it back. “I want nothing to do with you.”
With that whispered parting shot, Keira ran out the door, leaving me devastated in her wake, but also confused. However much our time together had been largely focused on sex, we’d also talked a lot, and I’d gotten to know Keira very well. We’d chatted about nearly every subject under the sun, and I found reading her as easy and natural as breathing. I didn’t doubt that she meant every word she’d just yelled at me, but I was also sure that there was something more, something that she was keeping back, which held the real reason for her over-the-top reaction.
I was going to find out just what the hell that reason was….and then I was going to get her back.
Chapter 16
Keira
Working at Wellington Castle was very different to working at Richmond Palace. For starters they were very different places; Richmond was kind of like a country estate that just so happened to be in the center of London, whereas Wellington was on the outskirts of London, just between Heathrow airport and Lego Land. It was a tourist destination, constantly filled with garishly-dressed groups, taking pictures of everything. Its grounds did not bear comparison with those of Richmond. It was still a pretty nice place to live, but I could easily understand why the royal family preferred Richmond and made that their base.
Following my twin discoveries that Andrew was engaged to be married (or arranged to be engaged to be married, or however the hell this ridiculous system worked) and that I was pregnant, my first thought was to quit. But that didn’t appeal to me for a number of reasons.
Firstly, I had a contract, and while I was sure I could get out of it if I explained things, I had no desire whatsoever to explain things. Secondly, I needed the money—if I quit, I would have to get another job anyway, and that would take time and seemed a bit pointless as I already had a job. Thirdly, while I didn’t feel cut out by nature to be a maid, the job did have its perks. There was the access to works of art of course, that I would hardly get in another job, but there was also something I found oddly and unexpectedly appealing about being part of this grand old English tradition. I was hardly a monarchist, but there was something intoxicating about the world and it was fun being around it. Fourthly, and this was perhaps the deciding factor, I was strong, and I would not be driven out of my job by this.
I wouldn’t conveniently disappear as the mothers of royal bastards are supposed to do.
That said, I did want to go somewhere. For all my determination not to be driven away, I also didn’t want to be around Andrew while I was figuring out what the hell to do about my pregnancy. Though I hated myself for the emotion, whenever I thought of him I couldn’t help doing so with tenderness. That tenderness was mixed up with anger and feelings of betrayal, but it was still there. Love didn’t go away overnight because you told it to, or even if the undeserving recipient of your love turned out to be a prick.
When I spoke to Rogers, asking for reassignment to another house, I was discreet as to the actual reasons for my desire to move, but I got the impression that he already knew. Rogers was an astute observer; he’d been in the house for decades and had perhaps seen similar things occur.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he’d asked at the time.
I shook my head.
“You know where I am, Valencia.”
I nodded. “Thank you. If…if anyone asks.”
Rogers had inclined his head and that had been enough for me. He knew who I meant, and I knew that my secret was safe with him.
Even when Andrew tracked me down, I didn’t suspect Rogers. There was something about the man—a lifetime in service perhaps—that radiated trustworthiness and discretion. But, however Andrew had found out, the fact remained that he had, and so I was now in pretty much the same position that I would’ve been if I’d stayed at Richmond. Part of me burned to tell Andrew about the baby, but I wasn’t sure how he’d react and, in all honesty, I didn’t think that any reaction he might have would please me. Of course, he might do the honorable thing and propose to me instead of this Alexandra woman—but I didn’t want a husband who was only with me because he thought it was the right thing to do.
The bottom line was that anything he did would be influenced by his knowledge of the baby’s existence, and I wanted him to make his decisions because of me. And it seemed he’d already made that decision when he decided not to tell me about Princess Alexandra. He had followed me to Wellington Castle, but I was convinced that was simply in pursuit of his lost toy, not through any genuine feelings he had, except perhaps a feeling of desire.
It upset me to even think of Andrew—I wished it didn’t, but it did—and so, when he elected to remain at Wellington for the time being, I did my best to avoid him. In a large castle, that ought to have been easy, but Andrew was determined not to make it so, hunting me down and leaving notes for me. This was further proof of my theory: he was like a little boy who didn’t want a toy unless it was missing, at which point it became important again. As long as I ignored him, he would do everything he could to get me back, but once he had me back, he would most likely return his attentions to his bride-to-be. He hadn’t treated me with the respect I deserved when he had the chance, and it was too late now.
I wasn’t going to be anyone’s damned toy anymore. Never again.
Fortunately, for all Andrew’s attempts to get in touch, I found it relatively easy to keep away from him simply because I was very busy. All the servants were busy right now, preparing for an upcoming state dinner, which would mean multiple, high-profile guests staying at the Castle. It was a somewhat double-edged sword for me, as the preparations kept me occupied and allowed me to avoid Andrew, but the Friday dinner was a reception for the visiting Princess of Sweden, and the weekend would climax with the announcement of her engagement to Prince Andrew.
This wasn’t public knowledge yet, but talk of it was all around the servants. I hated to admit how much the thought upset me, and I’d taken a real dislike to this Swedish princess even though I’d never even met her. Along with the rest of the staff, I’d spent an afternoon receiving detailed instructions on how to greet the princess and treat her with the proper respect due to visiting royalty, but lord, I didn’t want to.
The days passed. Each night I returned to the new apartment where I was now staying (apartments were made available to royal staff, close to whichever of the royal residences they were working at), kicked off my shoes, and told myself that all of this was going to get easier, and that I would stop missing Andrew eventually. The only thing that seemed initially different about this particular night was that I was irritated to discover that I’d left the living room light on, which was strange because I wasn’t sure I’d even turned it on at all earlier this morning.
I’d just closed the door and gone through my usual ritual of kicking off my shoes and slumping into a chair when a voice came from behind me, in the direction of the kitchen.
“Don’t
be alarmed.”
No one in history who’s said the words ‘don’t be alarmed’ has been met by anything other than an alarmed person. If you were in a position to say ‘don’t be alarmed’, then the person to whom you were saying it would inevitably be freaked out because it instantly implied that there was definitely something to be alarmed about, and the person saying it would rather you didn’t scream. Honestly, there are no scarier three words in the English language.
My reaction was typical and entirely appropriate; I yelped in terror and jumped, simultaneously out of my seat and my skin.
“I did say ‘don’t be alarmed’,” Andrew said as he emerged from the kitchen.
“So what? Those are probably the last words heard by the victims of every serial killer! What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”
Of course, technically, the apartment was owned by the royal family and so arguably it was more Andrew’s apartment than mine, but right now that didn’t seem to matter, and Andrew certainly wasn’t about to open it up for debate.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “You wouldn’t answer my calls or my texts and I get the feeling you’re avoiding me at the castle.”
“So the next logical step was breaking and entering?”
Andrew stopped to consider this. “I suppose ‘logical’ might be stretching it a bit, but I didn’t feel like I had any choice—you wouldn’t speak to me.”
“And you couldn’t have just taken the hint?”
“I wanted to speak to you.”
“Oh, I see,” I snapped sarcastically. “His mighty Majesty…”
“Highness.”
“Oh, shut up. His nit-picking Highness Prince Andrew wants to speak to me, and god forbid my feelings on the matter. I’m just a servant after all; I don’t deserve privacy or to have my desires matter at all!”
“It’s not like that,” Andrew said, his eyes darkening.
“In what way is it not like that?”
His face indicated that he was trying to come up with some explanation for his actions that didn’t seem wildly selfish and was really struggling to do it.
“Look,” he finally said, “maybe I am taking advantage of my position a bit by using the master key to get into your apartment. But it seemed the only way to get you to listen to my side of this and…well, if you don’t take advantage of your position when it will do you some good, then what’s the point of having it in the first place? I just want you to hear my side.”
I put my hands on my hips and gave him a defiant glare. “I don’t want to hear your side of the story. I already heard it, and I told you, I think it’s a load of crap. Alexandra is still coming to visit from Sweden, and I hear your mother is still keen on an engagement announcement.”
“Well, I’m not leaving until you hear my side of the story again,” he replied. “Or until you call the police.”
I considered the option. “I’d really like to see the looks on their faces when they discover they’re here to arrest Prince Andrew.”
Andrew smiled at that. “Seriously, it’ll take five minutes and then, if you want, I’ll be out of your life for good and you’ll never have to see me again.”
I made more of a show of thinking this over than was actually necessary. Much as I hated to admit it, it was nice to see him again, and I did need to talk to him at some point to tell him I was pregnant. I didn’t want to be one of those women who kept a baby from a man, no matter what the circumstances.
“Do you want a drink?” I asked.
“No thanks,” Andrew said, relieved that he seemed to have been given permission to stay. “I’d rather have a clear head.”
“All right.” I sat down on my sofa. “Shoot.”
A brief spasm passed across Andrew’s face which suggested that though he’d got what he wanted, he had been in no way prepared for such an occurrence and was now wondering what the hell he was going to say.
“I found out about the whole engagement plan a few months ago,” he began. “It never really seemed…real. You know? Just another bullshit thing my mother came up with. I get handed a schedule every few months saying I’m doing this charity event, this dinner, this ceremony where I have to wear silly robes and wave a sword about. And some of them I do, and some I duck out of, and some just don’t come to pass, and I don’t really think about any of them.”
“You put your own engagement into the category of ‘don’t think about it at all’?” I asked. I’d decided that I’d hear him out and not interrupt, but some things did require clarification.
“In hindsight,” Andrew continued, “that may have been a bit shortsighted. But I have an explanation. I tried to tell you the other day, but you were quite agitated.”
I sighed. “Well, let’s hear it.”
“I honestly never really thought the engagement would happen. I mean, I’ve known Alexandra since we were kids, and I like her well enough I suppose, but I figured it was just one of my mother’s scare tactics. She’s done it before, you know; acted like some wedding was being arranged between me and some aristocrat’s daughter, just to frighten me into settling down. It’s never worked before, and my so-called ‘future fiancées’ always happened to meet someone else within mere weeks of my mother telling me about the alleged future engagement. So it was never real. Just a stupid scare tactic my mother used on me whenever I got in trouble in the gossip columns or something.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So yes, she told me about the upcoming Alexandra engagement thing. But then I met you. And once I met you, her whole plan just faded into insignificance. I never even gave it a moment’s thought until she brought it up again the other day. I figured it would turn out the same as the last few so-called engagement plans—I figured Alexandra would take it about as seriously as I did and meet some other guy, and my mother would forget about the whole thing and leave me be. So when she started talking about it again, I didn’t object; I just sat there and said what she wanted to hear so that I wouldn’t cause a big argument. And that’s what you overheard. Call me a pussy if you like; it’s true, I really acted like one. I’m sorry for that. I should’ve said something to you about it, and I should’ve bloody well told my mother to stop interfering with my life.”
I didn’t say anything for a moment as his words sank in, and he ran a hand through his hair and spoke again. “I know this must be hard to believe, but this is just the way royalty works.”
“What way is that, exactly? As a commoner, I’m still a little confused,” I said, my voice tinged with sarcasm.
“Your life isn’t your own. You’re a symbol and you have to be that symbol, even in your personal life. And that means that your personal life is stage-managed to fit with someone else’s preconceived notions of what it ought to be.” He sat, looking glum. “Maybe that’s why I’ve always kicked against it. Gone my own way and thoroughly pissed people off in the meantime.”
I rolled my eyes. “Are you trying to make me believe that sleeping around and getting hammered makes you some sort of revolutionary?”
I had limited patience with privileged people feeling sorry for themselves.
“I guess that might be stretching a point,” Andrew admitted. “But in my own way…” he paused, obviously trying to order his thoughts, which was actually quite adorable. “You know how all kids rebel against their parents?”
“Sure.”
“Well, my mother is the symbolic embodiment of Great Britain. So to rebel against her—which all kids have to do—I rebel against my country. Or at least the part of it that expects me to follow a preset path my whole life.” He shook his head. “How did this happen?”
“You were born.”
“No, I mean: how did I end up talking about me?” He shook his head again. “I came here with such good intentions: to tell you how great you are and that if you want me out of your life, I’ll go, but if I can be a part of your life in even the smallest way, then I’d be the happiest man on the planet. And I end up talk
ing about myself like I always do. I try, I really do, but there’s just something innately selfish about me.”
I had to smile. He was a bit selfish. But most people were, to a degree—selfishness seemed to be the natural human condition. At least Andrew was honest and self-deprecating about it, and it was nice to hear him talk without guile, without arrogance, and without agenda. For once, he didn’t seem like he was trying to get me back or get me into bed. He just couldn’t bear me hating him over a terrible misunderstanding, and there was something incredibly sweet about that.
My earlier anger faded away as I realized I really had overreacted to the whole situation—though not without reason—and I sat down and took a deep breath. Now was as good a time as any to tell him my news, and I had to tell him before it was too late.
“Andrew, I’m pregnant,” I said.
Before he could say anything in response, I hurriedly continued.
“I guess one of the condoms broke and we didn’t notice, so I know we didn’t plan it, but there it is,” I said. “And maybe the pregnancy hormones have been making me overreact to things, but I really should’ve let you explain your side of the story the other day. I’m sorry. I just…I was so upset because I really…”
My voice trailed off as Andrew stared at me with wide eyes. I wasn’t sure I’d meant to just blurt it all out like that, and I wasn’t sure that this was the best time to say it, but it was out there now. I kept looking at Andrew, wanting to see that first, honest, unguarded response when my words sank in.
