— @StefwithanF on Instagram
“Justice Ministry Indicts Three Environmental Agency Officials in Reingard Case”
— the News Leader headline
“Is it possible the queen is losing her touch? Has this Guillain-Barré disease confused her? Muddled her thinking? If Queen Catherine, the queen of diplomacy, couldn’t convince MP Fickle to join her team, and the prince has not yet officially taken his oath to be our next legal sovereign, we may be seeing a historic shift in Lauchtenland’s society.”
— Stone Brubaker on the Morning Show
Chapter Twenty-eight
John
Mid-September arrived with brisk breezes, and John embraced the anesthesia of the cold, North Sea air.
He also buried himself in work. Besides his patronages and handling the queen’s business, covering her schedule, he also joined the High Court on a case involving privacy rights.
Last night he reviewed the case in preparation for opening arguments.
But this morning as he read memos and correspondence, sorting out a few issues to be taken to Her Majesty, he battled weariness. Was any of this worth it? Had the time come for the House of Blue to fade into history? Maybe MP Fickle and his ilk were right. What need did modern society have for aristocracy and royals?
He also battled loneliness. It wasn’t a new sensation for him. He felt it often when he was in school and at uni, always so keenly aware he wasn’t just “one of the boys.”
But he never felt lonely in Hearts Bend. Around Gemma.
He missed the life he should have by now—one with a wife and a family. Of course, they’d be embroiled in scandal.
Days would pass without even wondering about his son or daughter. Then he’d see Daffy and wonder. He desperately wanted to be a father.
John shifted his shoulders, shrugging off his contemplations. They were making him anxious.
“Count your blessings instead, mate.”
He had good friends and a loving family. Shelter, food, clothing.
Though Hamish Fickle was becoming more of a nuisance. He took every opportunity to remind the people of John’s weaknesses. He challenged John’s character and judgment. This week he mocked the queen and her magnanimous effort to understand him, join forces.
Mum said it best. Fickle was a little man with a big mouth. If he really wanted political change, then he’d get off the talk shows and into the political ring. He’d engage in debates and share ideas with his colleagues. Maybe he’d even listen more than he’d talk.
His father-in-law was also becoming a nuisance. After his arrest, Lord Cletus Cunningham was released on his own recognizance. But instead of going away quietly, he’d implicated his own deceased daughter in the case.
“I was a fool to follow her blindly. But I trusted her. I was under the impression I was fighting for the people of the Midlands. I was also told Eloise Ltd. had backed out of the land deal.”
Lord Cunningham was undeserving of his title and his position.
However, there was good news in his world. Mum was on a slow mend, and Dad took extra care to ensure her rest. She worked a few hours four days a week and insisted they maintain their Sunday evening family dinner table.
On Friday nights, John met his mates at Clemency Pub for a pint and a lot of “What’s up with you?” conversation. They never asked about Holland or Gemma. He was grateful.
A few nights ago, he’d dined with Sydney Templeton. Larrabee had mentioned she’d asked about him and during a quiet, lonely evening he rang her without debating the idea for hours.
She was lovely and charming, educated, very beautiful, hailing from the right pedigree for a man ascending the throne. She’d make a stellar future queen.
They dined at Rico’s on Queen’s Avenue. Their conversation was intelligent and lively. But when all was said and done, she did not fascinate him.
She was not the woman he’d cut open his chest for and hand her his heart. She was not Gemma.
Which created a whole other conundrum. He was truly in love with Gemma Stone.
