Emmanuel inspected the chair’s legs. “We can’t use gray cedar since the tree is extinct, but ordinary cedar will do.”
“How did it break?” Gus leaned to see what the carpenter saw.
“You sat in it,” Daffy reminded him.
“I mean,whydid it break?”
“Time. Even the old gray cedar becomes fragile. If it hadn’t been you, Gus, the next person to sit in this chair would’ve come crashing down.”
Gus gave Daffy an “I told you so face.”
She smirked.Whatever.
Emmanuel set out a plan for the repair. Fix the legs with rod and glue—whatever that meant—and reattach to the seat base. He spoke with assured authority, so Daffy was more than satisfied theKing Tituswas in good hands.
“Well, I should go,” she said. “Stand watch at the castle. I’ll take the cart.”
“I’ll drive you.” Gus walked her to the door. “Emmanuel, I’ll be right back.” He grabbed Daffy’s arm and leaned close. “He’s weird, right? Acting like he knew King Titus. Saying I was like him.”
“Who cares? He has a solid plan to fix the chair. Also, you can’t drive me and leave him alone with the chair. We trust him because of Ernst. But do we want to leave a priceless chair with him? I think not.” She spied the keys in the ignition and sat behind the wheel. “Let me know how it’s going.”
“I’ll text you to come get me.”
“Can’t.” She offered him a small smile. “I’m going up to the lodge.”
“How will I get back?”
“Walk. It’s only a kilometer or two. Looks like our carpenter doesn’t have a motor.”
“He probably flew here. With his wings.” Gus glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll borrow a horse from the mews. The groom can retrieve my trusty steed later. John sent up a dozen for the ball weekend. I am a prince, you know, and princes ride horses.”
“You really do read fairy tales, don’t you?” She patted his chest. “Text me.”
“Have fun at the lodge. Tell Thomas I said hello.”
“I will.” Their eyes met and her smile faded. Then she pressed the gas, and the cart fired over the cold, white ground toward Hadsby.
Chapter Fifteen
Daffy
Lunch at the lodge was scrumptious. Roasted lamb, garlic potatoes, asparagus with a hollandaise sauce, and warm, sticky toffee pudding.
Now reclining in the lounge by a roaring fire, a fresh snow falling, Daffy curled next to Thomas, her elbow brushing his, relaxing, letting the burdens of the past week fall away.
Forget Gus and the chair. She was with her fiancé. Her friends. She’d never taken the time—had the chance, really—to relish being a bride-to-be. To enjoy the idea of Thomas being her man for the rest of her life.
Her phone buzzed from its perch on the large coffee table. Thomas reached for it while talking football with Rick.
It was Lucy raving about her massage and oh, they needed to find a gown for theUnknown Bride.
Daffy replied.
Check. Let’s look this week. But let’s make headway on the existing gowns first.
If need be, theUnknown Bridecould be fitted with a gown from Mum’s closet. Although, according to tradition, the dress should be special, symbolizing all future brides. Representing the hope of love. Preferably, the gown needed a story.
Daffy wasn’t sure when the tradition started, but somewhere through the generations, a special frock was staged during an upcoming royal wedding. Perhaps to give hope to the young lasses longing for a match. Maybe as a way to celebrate the future princess. In the twentieth century, the dress, whatever color or fashion, started going to a deserving woman. It was the equivalent of a royal medal.
