Scottie glanced back at Michael.She’d have to tell him.Themspaid Mrs.Johansdotter to lie.That was more than a drunken music-concert mob getting out of control.
That was strategic.Calculated.And downright frightening.
* * *
“Though she’s an American, Scottie O’Shay, aka, Lady Royal, looked beautiful today on the castle steps.I noticed the queen reaching for her several times.Also, did anyone see how the crowds gathered round her?She couldn’t take a step without fifty people moving with her.”
— @LoyalRoyalBlog
* * *
“Queen Catherine the Second stunned today in her pink suit with matching heels and hat.Her daughter, the newly-styled Lady Royal, wore a blue coatdress with matching heels and hat.Her clutch was designed by Eloise Ltd, which has already sold out.Retail power has arrived with Lady Royal, who as we know, has some notoriety as a men’s fashion designer.She displayed her excellent eye for women’s fashion as well.My guess is Choko played a part in her Garden Party attire.Her coatdress and hat were from Elnora.Her shoes?The one and only Christian Louboutin.”
— Sharon Lee Hayes, fashion segment on
Tuppence Corbyn & Friends
* * *
“‘Stone, Lady Royal spoke intimately with Mrs.Johansdotter, whom she saved from sailing over the Dalholm quay.When asked what they spoke on, Mrs.Johansdotter declined comment.Perhaps they’ve come to an understanding about that night.’”
— Melissa Faris, Royal Reporter, the Morning Show
Chapter Eight
Michael
The word stuck with him all weekend.Thems.Who would give Mrs.Johansdotter money to lie about Lady Royal?
He’d not put it past theMorning Show’shigher-ups to pay for lies.Between Stone’s declining ratings and the network’s lust for money, integrity was an expendable.
Michael passed the information up the chain to Gunner, who reported it to Nordvagt Yard, Lauchtenland’s version of America’s FBI and Britain’s Scotland Yard.
Even though the case was not his, he’d spent the morning digging around social media and other sources for a hint of who paid the money.The RECO sort often posted clues on socials, thinking they were being clever and cloaked.
He hadn’t seen much of Scottie since the Garden Party.They had a short outing with Her Majesty Tuesday morning.Brunch with the local lord and his wife.
Wednesday afternoon, she’d Zoomed with her team at O’Shay, working through a manufacturing issue.After which, she called to say she was going for a walk.He met her in the kitchen, where she grabbed a handful of fresh strawberries and headed across the castle grounds.Michael followed several yards behind, giving her space.
Thursday evening, as he surfaced from Hadsby’s Operations Room for a spot of tea, Mum rang.She talked.He listened, drinking tea and eyeing a slice of chocolate cake.
“How hard can it be, Mick?”Mum was in fighting form tonight.“Your grandparents’ sixty-fifth wedding anniversary is this weekend, and we’d like confirmation that you’re attending this monumental occasion.Put aside your disgust for me and show up.”
“Mum, I have to clear everything with HMSD.I’m on duty.I don’t get a day off.Think of me as deployed.”
“Working to protect an American?I’m sorry, Mick, I support the Crown but not you missing your grandparents’ anniversary.I’ll see you there.”
She rang off, which didn’t surprise him.It had been her thing since the day she walked out on Dad—thus, on Michael and Evan.
Michael fixed another cuppa, then sat in the servants’ hall, enjoying every bite of cake, the sweetness almost erasing the bitterness from the conversation with Mum.When he finished, he set his plate in the industrial dishwasher and looked out the long, deep windows toward the cliffs and the ancient stone portico overlooking Whistlecrag Bluff.
The gold, purple, and orange hues of the evening coated the grounds still cultivated for the Garden Party.In the front and sides of the castle, squared hedges and hundreds of flowerbeds framed the green lawn.But his favorite part of the castle grounds was the field of wild lavender.
He squinted, leaning close to the glass, peeking between a thread of light and shadow.Scottie—her silhouette leaning against a pillar and gazing toward the open sea.
Retrieving a tall mug from the cupboard, he filled it with tea warming in the kettle and headed out.
“The wind coming up through the crag is cold,” he said, handing her the mug as he sat beside her on the dry, cracked cement of the old world—lime, sand, and water.
