“Me?” Baker laughs sarcastically. “Yeah right. You’ve seen the state of my kit. I can’t even perform well enough during a regular inspection to earn enough points to become a Boxman when we’re at Horse Guards. There’s no way I’d ever humiliate myself and enter the Princess Alice Cup.”
“Never say never,” McMillian teases.
Suddenly, one of the soldiers in a red riding helmet spots us and alerts the others. They abruptly stop talking and snap to attention.
I hold up my hand and offer ahalf wave. “Hello.”
“Ma’am,” they answer nearly in unison, dipping their heads toward me.
“It’s nice to meet you all. I hope the prep for the competition today wasn’t too rough.”
“No, ma’am,” they answer.
Hmm, getting them to relax might be a bit tricker than I thought. What would my brother do? He’d crack a joke.
“Are you looking forward to having some more free time now that this is all over? Or just being done with the constant polishing?” I ask.
That elicits a laugh from everyone. The ice has started to melt.
Later that evening,I’m back in the comfort of my flat. As much as I would’ve loved to spend the night in Windsor, I have to be at work at six a.m. Working in the stables may only be a part-time job I do on the weekends, but it’s something I take seriously. I hate being late, and if I can help it, I try to never call out. I was hired to work. Not to show up whenever it suits me. I may be a princess, but I’m also a highly dependable worker.
Knock. Knock.
Odd. Who would be stopping by so late? Padding over to the door, I open it a crack and peer out. “Art!”
“Ma’am.” He inclines his head, his cheeks flushing a light pink.
My eyes widen. I have an avocado face mask on, my hair is still damp from a shower, and I’m dressed in a ratty old T-shirt of my brother’s and a pair of plaid pajama shorts. Fantastic. Well, Bruce has seen me like this before. Now I suppose it’s Art’s turn. I’m not ashamed of being comfortable in my own home, but I do feel a bit like Elphaba fromWickedwith the green skin.
Crossing my arms against my chest, I lean against the door frame and ask, “What can I do for you?”
“It’s eight p.m.”
I cock my head to the side. Okay. Is he checking up on me? Did Papa put him up to it?
“This morning, you requested for the security office to send someone up around this time,” he says.
“I did?” Just then, my chocolate-and-white springer spaniel barks and comes bounding excitedly from the bathroom to the door, still damp from her bath. Her coarse fur brushes my bare legs as she stops directly in front of us. I spy a gleam in her eye and shout, “Lillian, no!” But it’s too late.
She shakes. Fur and water droplets go flying, landing on Art and me. Lillian barks gleefully. “I’m so sorry!” If my face weren’t covered in a mask, he’d notice it’s burning bright-red. Art’s trousers are coated in white dog hair, as if he’s rolled around on the ground.
He stares for a moment, then shrugs. Kneeling down, he offers his hand to Lillian. She sniffs it, and promptly lies down on the ground, exposing her belly. “Your dog is just being a dog. My next stop is my flat. I’ll just change when I get home.”
I release a breath.
“What’s her name?” He glances up between belly scratches.
“Lillian.”
“Cheers, Miss Lillian. I’m Art. It’s nice to meet you.”
I watch as my hyper spaniel totally relaxes as if she’s bewitched by Art. He seems to know exactly all the right places to scratch. Who knew he was such a dog charmer!
That’s when I remember and slap my palm on my forehead, covering it in clay. “I forgot. I did ask for someone. I’d planned to take Lillian for a walk after dinner.”
Art uprights himself, brushing his hands off on his trousers. “Is that what you still plan to do?”
Lillian’s tail wags rapidly. She’s stirred up by her new friend. If I have any hope of going to bed early tonight, a walk is a must. “Only if you don’t mind.”
