He thanked her for accompanying him to the party.She replied she was grateful to tag along.
Neither one mentioned the hand holding.In some way, it seemed too surreal to speak of in the cab of a Range Rover.Whatever was happening between them fit in the annals of a summer love, of a passion fleeting on the heels of going back to school, all tied up in a thanks-for-the-memories kind of way.
Between the music and late hour, along with the hum of the road, she’d drifted to sleep, thinking she’d never felt so comfortable.Once at Hadsby, Michael parked in the motor garage and escorted her to the Grand Staircase, where he said goodnight and disappeared toward the staff stairwell.
She tried to get more engagement details from Dad on Sunday, but their calls were brief as he was in New Orleans meeting Remi’s family then hustling back to Hearts Bend to tour a reception venue.
“We’re thinking of an October wedding,” he’d said.
“October?Five months from now October?”
“Yes.”Dad had answered with a small laugh.“We’re not getting younger, Scottie.We want to tie the knot, start our lives together.By the way, I want you to be my best woman.What do you say?”
“Of course.You and me, not three.”But their little saying didn’t apply anymore, did it?
Now she teared up, remembering, fearing she was losing him.For missing out on this part of his life where love was at the helm.
Yet wasn’t her time in Lauchtenland with Kate a similar way of love?How selfish of her to explore new paths while expecting Dad to sit aside and do nothing.He put a pin in his love life while raising her.Yet seeing him pull the pin out left her a bit breathless.
Then there was the reality of Kate.She battled pain and fatigue, leaving Scottie to attend her royal tasks on her own.Kate was in bed when Scottie stopped at her apartment on her way to the faire.
This past week revealed how much Kate really needed Scottie in this season.She often reached for her hand, leaned on her for conversation or to secretly sweeten her tea or retrieve a slice of cake.At the banker’s tea, she gave Kate’s speech and remembered to collect every offered bouquet of flowers.
“I’ve learned to take the flowers home,” Scottie told one woman.“Her Majesty personally arranges them in colorful vases and sets them around the castle.”
“So Hadsby is perfumed with the flowers of the people.”
“Why, yes,” Scottie said.“I believe it is.”
“We’re here,” Michael said as the driver of the dark-windowed Range Rover slowly maneuvered through the gathering crowd.“Lennox and Schueler are behind us.”He gently touched Scottie’s arm.“Wait for me, Lady Royal.I’ll come round.A crowd is already gathering.”Michael popped open his door before the car had completely stopped.
“Here we go,” she whispered to herself as she exited the car, waving while oddly, strangely, feeling as if she’d been here a hundred times.
Down the narrow cobblestone of Ribbons Avenue, the crowd pressed close.Michael boxed her in on one side, Lennox on the other, with Schueler behind.
“Stop where you want, Scottie.”Michael’s voice was low and protective.“But if I say move, move.”
Okay, but did she stop at one or all?If she skipped a stall or a shop, would the headlines be “Lady Royal Dissed Midlands Faire Vendor”?This was nerve-wracking.
Spying a stall with young women selling handmade knitted and crocheted throws, scarves, and sweaters, she raved over their work, encouraged them to keep going, then hovered into a large group selfie.As she departed, a pretty redhead handed her a finely knitted gold crown on blue backing.
“Your crown, Lady Royal.”Her cheeks reddened as she curtsied.“I made it for you.”
Scottie reached her arm around the girl’s shoulders, then held the crown on top of her head.“How do I look?”
The girls, probably ranging from eighteen to twenty-five, cheered, smiling.“Beautiful, Lady Royal.”
“I like them,” she said to Michael as they headed on down the lane, and she tucked the crown into the clutch Choko had jammed into her hands on the way out.“Can I give them a Royal Warrant?”She looked over at Michael.
“Not sure they could meet any sort of demand, but talk to Her Majesty.”
And so it went.All afternoon.Shaking hands.Sampling savory and sweet foods.Then Scottie paused at a stall manned by a fiftyish woman suffering from a disability that prevented her from engaging in real conversation.She kept curtsying and offering Scottie her cookies, saying over and over, “My dog’s name is Fred.I feed him the best.We go on walks.”She’d reach down to pet the ole boy that was no longer there.
“Fred is very lucky,” Scottie said as she purchased a dozen cookies, paying twice the quid demanded.
“She’s had a stroke,” a woman said, coming from around the back of the stall.“But she loves the faire.I’m Sheba, her daughter.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing.Our mothers are precious and—” Scottie clipped her words.The kingdom knew Queen Catherine was ailing but not how much.
