“Is Trent part of the reason you wouldn’t go to Scottie yourself?” Edric released her hand as he perched on the edge of her desk and gazed down at her with nothing but tenderness in his gray-blue eyes.
“I don’t think so, no. Trent I could handle. But Scottie, after all these years, rejecting me as I deserved, would still be crushing. Besides, I want to beat this cold or virus, whatever seems to be plaguing me.”
“Darling, go to bed. I’ll tell Mason to clear your diary.”
She was too weary to fight him. Leaning on his arm, she returned to apartment 1A. “Can you ask Pablo for some tea?”
Edric rang for the butler, giving him instructions, then returned to Catherine. “I want to call the doctor. This has gone on too long.”
When she reclined on the couch, he slipped off her shoes and rubbed her feet. She winced with each touch, but it seemed to relieve the prickly pain.
“Thank you,” she whispered. But her gratitude was about more than his foot massage.
It was for loving her.
For over thirty years she hid the fact she’d had a daughter. After Trent, and well, the whole ordeal, she was so broken she thought she’d never love again. Then she met Edric at a small garden party and he made falling in love easy. Fun. And when she handed him her heart, she wanted his love and trust in return. To appear as the woman of integrity she purported to be.
What if confessing everything about Trent and Scottie made her look less in his vivid eyes? So she never told him about her daughter.
“Pablo will tend you, darling, I must be off. I’ve another meeting this morning. See you at dinner.” Edric kissed her cheek and on his way out asked Pablo to attend Her Majesty carefully.
Catherine tried to nap after her tea but almost felt too weak to sleep. The July sunlight warming the window cheered her so she kicked off the covers and traipsed slowly to the window and glanced down at the palace gardens.
They were a beautiful array of colorful flowers blooming from beds of dark dirt all hemmed in by fastidiously trimmed green grass. She ached to go for a walk, to be out of doors.
In the distance, movement caught her eye. She squinted through a bit of sunlight to see a man in a long, woolen anorak and a wide-brimmed hat under the shade of the King’s tree. A woolen coat? In this summer heat? Catherine pressed for a closer look then jerked back. What washedoing here?
Emmanuel.
Chapter Ten
Gemma
While the coffee brewed, Gemma cleared the kitchen table, not bothering to make excuse of her mess—what was the point?—and exposed the poppy red Formica and chrome, a tribute to days gone by.
“When I was at uni, my mates and I frequented a pub that had blue Formica tables along the wall. The rest was plaster and wood from the eighteenth century, but those tables were a tip to the modern era.” He stooped down, looking underneath. “Where’d you get this?”
“Came with the house. If you’re looking for gum, I have never-been-chewed pieces in my bag.”
John raised up with an expression that made her laugh. “I was checking out the maker.”
“Give me a sec to wipe down the table.” Gemma snatched a paper towel from the roll on the wall and the Formula 409 from under the sink to wipe the table. “This place just has no storage.”
“You should’ve seen Gus’s room when we were growing up. Clothes and toys everywhere. No sooner would a maid clean and straighten, he’d have it all out again.”
“Did you have a lot of maids and nannies growing up?” Gemma tossed away the paper towels, stored the cleaner under the sink, then searched the cupboards for Granny’s china.
“Two nannies before school. Maids worked for the palace, so they didn’t impact my world as much. My parents were involved, not leaving all our care to others. We ate breakfast and dinner together. Tuesday and Thursday nights were family night unless there was some state function. We traveled with them every summer. They both took off work during the holidays. It was quite normal, I think.”
“For living in a palace and wearing a crown, having protection officers.” He’d sent Gunner home once they arrived here. A command the man didn’t seem to like. Now, where are those cups?
“We all have our burdens to bear,” John said with a bit of sarcasm. “What about your parents?”
“Ah, Mac and Mauve. Where to begin?” Found them. Only two cups and saucers remained after a fire several decades ago. Granny gave these remnants to Gemma when she moved into the house.
“It was Grandpa’s and my wedding china.”
Gemma set the table with the cups and saucers, a fork and spoon, then sniffed the milk in the fridge—still good—and collected a couple of napkins. “I don’t believe I have any sugar.”
