My admiration over the manor turns sour. “My home,” I echo and feel no warm resonance in my heart.
“Not exactly,” Thorne says, tone edged with a hint of irritation. “As far as I know, a separate property will be purchased for the two of you by your parents.”
Stars above, my mind has been so wrapped up in simply breaking my family’s curse, I haven’t given much thought to what comes after. I’ve bargained to marry a man I’m about to meet. If all goes to plan, we’ll be wed in less than two weeks. After that…
I’ll have to live with him.
As his wife.
I suppress a shudder and focus on the more pleasant aspects of my bargain with Thorne. My parents awakening. Their throne kept safe. Their trust in me restored.
The coach rolls to a stop at the end of the circular drive. A middle-aged human woman rushes down the stairs, looking mildly flustered. From her plain yet neat state of dress, I assume she’s a high-ranking servant.
Our footman descends the coach and opens the doors for us. Mr. Blackwood exits first and stands outside the door with his gloved hand extended. I stare at it for a few beats before I realize he expects me to take it. I suppose that’s the gentlemanly thing to do for appearance’s sake. I place my palm loosely over his, grateful for the lace gloves I wear, and step from the coach. He releases my hand as soon as my feet touch the ground, then approaches the woman. Minka and Mr. Boris exit next and take their places just behind me.
“Mrs. Donahue, it’s lovely to see you again,” Thorne says in a startlingly kind voice. “May I present Her Highness, Princess Rosaline Briar. Highness, Mrs. Donahue is the housekeeper at Sandalwood Manor.”
She gives me an awkward curtsy, a grimace on her lips in place of a smile. “I must admit, Your Highness, we weren’t expecting you.”
“You weren’t? I…I was scheduled to arrive two days ago.” I glance at Thorne for affirmation, but his brows are knit together.
“That’s just it,” the housekeeper says. “When you didn’t arrive, we assumed you weren’t coming at all. We haven’t heard any word since Mr. Blackwood departed to fetch you.”
“I’ll take the blame for that,” Thorne says. “We ran into several unforeseen delays. I was so preoccupied that I didn’t think to write.”
Mrs. Donahue wrings her hands as she glances from him to me. “I’m afraid Lord Phillips isn’t here to receive you, Your Highness. He’s out of town on Human Representative business until next week.”
“What about Lady Phillips and Monty?” Thorne asks. “Lord Phillips wouldn’t have left without ensuring a proper host was left in his place, and Monty was supposed to be here to meet his fiancée.”
“My lady and her son are both here, but I daresay neither are expecting the princess either.”
“A single day’s delay shouldn’t have been enough to convince them she wasn’t coming at all.”
Mrs. Donahue lowers her voice and speaks only to him. “You know how the situation has been, Mr. Blackwood. This is only the latest of delays.”
“Well, she’s here now. You may take her to her room to ready herself to be received by Mr. Phillips. Is my guest room available? I’ll be staying until the wedding.”
Her lips stretch into another grimace. “It will take some time to ready your rooms. Mr. Phillips is hosting an impromptu garden party, and there are several guests staying over.”
Thorne curses under his breath. “Monty, you stone-headed fool.”
“I will arrange the best rooms for you at once,” Mrs. Donahue says. “In the meantime, you may wait in the parlor. Unless you’d prefer to join the party.”
Thorne’s gaze turns to me, and I realize he’s allowing me to make the choice.
“Garden parties are lovely,” Minka whispers beside me. “They usually host a wide variety of delicious beverages.”
At the same time, Mr. Boris says, “A party with strangers is no place for a princess.”
While he might be right, meeting my fiancé in public sounds preferable to a private introduction in the parlor. “We’ll join the party.”
Mrs. Donahue gives me an anxious smile, then escorts us inside the house. Minka accompanies me while Mr. Boris stays behind to deliver my bags to my room. The inside of the manor is just as lovely as the outside, with rich mahogany wainscoting, stylish furniture, and walls papered in cream-and-silver damask. The housekeeper leads us past a grand foyer, then into a bright solarium filled with potted orchids. Beyond it sprawls a sunlit lawn crowded with guests. Sounds of raucous laughter and giddy voices ring through the tall glass windows that line the room.
“Stones, I hate Monty’s garden parties,” Thorne says under his breath.
Mrs. Donahue reaches the door that leads outside but pulls up short. She whirls around with a too-wide smile. “I think it’s best you wait in the parlor after all. I shouldn’t spring a guest upon Mr. Phillips so suddenly.”
Thorne groans while I narrow my eyes. The housekeeper steps toward us, ushering us back, but I cast a glance over her shoulder at the scene beyond. The guests appear human and around my age or slightly older. Men and women mingle with ease, their attire elegant yet relaxed. While the women wear day dresses and hold lace parasols, they laugh unrestrained, wineglasses full to the brim. The men wear fine suits, but many have their cravats loose or jackets discarded, top hats perched crookedly on their heads.
