“Hold on, Mads. That’s the beauty of broadcasting live.” Hyacinth held up a blue piece of paper. “The King’s Office released a statement this afternoon, confirming Prince Stephen is not romantically linked with Corina Del Rey.” She sat back with a face and posture that said she didn’t believe a word of it.
“Oh, ladies, please, move on. What about your bloke Clive Boston?” Stephen talked to the TV. Talked to his heart. “Last week you couldn’t get enough of him.”
“Hy, you don’t believe it?” Madeline reached for the paper. “I mean it’s official, from the King’s Office.”
“I think they’re just trying to get us off their scent.”
“Ooh, you think there’s a scent?” Madeline leaned toward Hy, releasing the paper to float through the air. The audience applauded, agreeing.
“There’s a scent all right. And it’s wearing American perfume.”
Hyacinth and Madeline launched into a debate about their prince, the most eligible bachelor in Brighton, probably the world, and, ladies, they were losing him to an American.
They already had one American princess in the palace.
Stephen steamed, rising to his feet, talking to the telly. “It’s none of your business.”
Then they lit up the Twitter universe. “What do you think, ladies? Should the Prince of Brighton marry a Brightonian girl?”
Stephen shoved out of his chair. He needed to pace. Never mind his swelling ankle.
“Here’s a good idea . . . a tweet from Rebekah911,” Madeline said. “ ‘Bring him back on the show and ask him.’ ”
The audience gave a rousing cheer.
Stephen popped the air with his fist. “Never, Maddie, never.”
On that note, the study door opened and Nathaniel entered, dressed in black tie. “Talking to the telly again?”
“Madeline and Hyacinth are deciding my love life on national television. What’s this about the King’s Office issuing a statement?”
“We were flooded with inquiries this morning.” Nathaniel smoothed his hand down the silk front of his tuxedo.
“Ignore them.”
“You know that only goes so far.”
Stephen sat down hard into the chaise chair.
“I loathe this.” He motioned to the tea cart. Did Nathaniel want a cup? “Every time she turns around she’s getting rejected.”
“I didn’t know you cared.”
“Good grief, Nathaniel, of course I care.”
“I see. I was confused by the five and a half years of silence.”
Stephen shot his brother a dark visual dagger. “Is this why you dragged yourself over here? In a tuxedo? To talk about my failings?” He motioned to his brother’s formal attire. “Where are you off to?”
“Bluffwood.” On the north tip of the island, an hour’s flight away, the stone-and-beam palace was used largely for state functions, celebrations, hosting parties and charities. “The Foundation for Education honoring Mum with a ball is tonight. We’re wheels up in an hour. Anyway, I came to see how it went last night. From the photographs it looked as if you were getting on with Corina.” Nathaniel moved to the tea cart and poured himself a cup.
“We got on well enough.” The passion of the kiss boomeranged on him, buzzing over Stephen’s lips
“The film is getting rave reviews. Did you like it? Susanna and I have a private screening this weekend.”
“It was grand. On a blockbuster scale.”
“How did you leave things with Cor—”
