“Thank you, Harold. I hope you have a nice evening.”
He smiled at me, and I read a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. “You’re welcome, miss. Same to you both.”
Once we’d gone inside, I dropped my purse and coat onto a chair. “I’m not going to change to make anyone happy, Nicky. But change—and growth, I hope—are inevitable, no matter what. If I married a farmer from Maine, I’d have to adapt to that lifestyle. I’m going to do the same here.” I slid my arms around his waist and nuzzled his neck. “Any changes I make are forus, not just for you. Whether you know it or not, you’ll change, too.”
He looked down into my face, studying me silently for a moment. “I already have changed. Everything in my world centers on you now, Ky. The sun doesn’t rise for me in the morning unless I’m with you. I would do anything to make you smile, to see your eyes light up. I don’t care what the rest of the universe might see or not see—I know the truth. Youareperfect and without flaw, love, because you complement me so wonderfully. Because we fit together, as though we were made that way.”
I lay my cheek against his chest, reveling in the security of his arms around me. “You’re the only person I want to fit with, Nicky. Any changes I make will only be to make both of us happier, to help me cope with everything I have to learn.” I lifted my head to gaze up at him again, needing to erase any hurt I might have accidentally caused. “I can’t wait for the world to know how much I love you. I have no reservations about that part of announcing the engagement. And the other parts, where I’ll be a princess-in-training ...” I took a deep breath and managed a smile. “Bring it on.”
“HOW MUCH LONGER, DO YOUthink?”
The woman sitting next to me at the long table glanced my way, startled. I’d leaned over to whisper the question into her ear, but maybe that also fell under the heading of ‘Things Royals Don’t Do’. The list was beginning to feel endless.
She cast a cautious look toward the head of the table, where the same woman was droning on and on, before she replied.
“I believe we need to cover your staffing needs and, em, lessons—or rather, conversations about etiquette and behavior, and then launching your engagement calendar. That’s all.” She gave me what I guessed was supposed to be a bracing smile, but my heart sank. All of that sounded as though it was going to take a very long time, and we’d already been sitting here in this Kensington Palace meeting room for over an hour.
I hated meetings at the best of times. My grandfather Handsome always told me that the only thing that came out of meetings were people; he and Honey preferred to have short and casual catch-ups and personal conversations instead, and they tried to use email and texts to convey information and ask questions if at all possible. I recognized the beauty of that system all the more now that I was working in the new London office. I wished that the network of people who ran the business that was the Royal Family also subscribed to Handsome’s theory.
“Ahem.” As if sensing that my attention had wandered far afield, Mrs. Allan, the sharp-eyed woman who seemed to be running the show in conjunction with the suited gentleman next to her, cleared her throat. “Now we should move onto staffing.”
Around the table, people shuffled papers. There was nothing in front of me, so I merely folded my hands again and waited.
“Given your situation, marrying Her Majesty’s grandson, you won’t have extensive needs when it comes to a personal staff. However, we all do agree that you should have a media liaison—a press secretary, if you will—for at least a year, during all the publicity that will rise from the engagement announcement through the wedding itself.”
“That makes sense.” It was a relief to think that I would have someone to help me handle the reporters and photographers.
“Of course, the final decision in whom you hire is yours, but we have a list of recommendations right here.” Mrs. Allen passed a sheet of paper down to me. “All of these candidates are highly qualified and have worked for the Family for a long time. You are welcome to interview them and see who might suit you best.”
I scanned the list, biting my lip. I didn’t know any of them, of course, but even their names looked stuffy and pompous to me.
“You said all of these people work for the Royal Family now?” I frowned, thinking.
“Yes, some of them for several decades.” I was certain that Mrs. Allen meant that to be a positive point, but it had the opposite effect on me.
“Have any of them actually been reporters? Worked in the media at all?”
The man sitting next to Mrs. Allen—I thought his name was Sir Todd or something like that—raised his eyebrows. “I don’t believe so, no.”
“Ah.” I fiddled with the corner of the sheet of paper as an interesting thought occurred to me. “What if I have someone else in mind?”
“Someone else?” Mrs. Allen’s lips curved into a half-smile that I found condescending. “Someone from America?”
“No.” I returned her smile, not looking away from the challenge I read in her eyes. “Someone from the UK. A reporter, actually. Sophie Kent. She covered me last year before I moved to London, and now I’ve noticed that she’s writing columns forThe Lloyd Press. I got to know her pretty well back in the US, and I think she’d be very good at this job. She’s fair-minded, and since she’s part of the press corps, I imagine they’d respond to her better than they would to someone who’s always been an insider.” I paused a beat. “So to speak.”
“Ms. Duncan.” Mrs. Allen tilted her head, and this time, her smile was clearly patronizing. “While I’m sure you have good intentions, the fact is that we’re not looking for someone to make the press respond better. We don’t need someone who will be cozy with the enemy. You want someone who will serveyou, not have any conflicting loyalties when it comes to the reporters.”
I bristled but managed to hold myself in check. “My intentions are to have someone working with me—for me—whom I can trust and to whom I can relate. I can’t tell ages from the list of names here, but if some of them have been working for the Palace for decades, I’ve got to guess that most are middle-aged or beyond.”
Sir Todd Whoever nodded. “They are all seasoned and professional, yes. That’s meant to be a positive, Ms. Duncan.”
I shrugged. “Maybe it’s meant to be that, but I would like someone closer to my own age. Someone who knows both sides of the coin. Sophie Kent was both fair and professional—” I added emphasis to that last word—“when she covered me. She went out of her way to be kind when others were not. She seems to have a good reputation with her fellow journalists, too.” I cocked my head, too, and pasted on a smile, hoping they could all see I wasn’t backing down. “I’m not like other women who’ve married into the Royal Family, so it makes sense for me to do things my own way, as much as I can. I will do my best to follow the rules, and I’ll always be respectful. But I’d like to offer this position to Sophie Kent.”
“Ms. Kent might not be interested,” put in one of the underlings. “She might want to stick to her side of the road, when it comes to being part of the press. And what if all of this backfires on you, and the other reporters resent her for jumping sides? Then you’ll have a real problem.”
“You’re right. Sophie might not want to change her career path,” I conceded. “I don’t talk to her, so I’m not sure about it—this idea just popped into my head. But I’d like to at least broach the subject to her. Make her an offer. If she says no, then I’ll take another look at your list.” I tapped the paper. “As far as the other reporters resenting her, I think it’s far more likely that they would resent being handled by someone who’s never known what it’s like to be one of them.”
“But that’s how it’s always been done,” pointed out Mrs. Allen. “They are used to that. This would be an entirely new situation.”
