Page 8 of Her Royal Houseguest

‘You are in robes. Stop proving how unfit you are,’ Deva retorted in the same language. But when the duke’s eyes narrowed at the exchange, Deva explained it in English.

‘My brother admires the endless bounty of the world.’ That was an appropriate thing to say about a monk.

‘As do we all,’ the duke agreed. ‘I’m sure you will be impressed with England’s bounty. We have the fairest in the world.’

Deva glanced at his brother, wondering if he understood the English word better. ‘Fair’ meant equal. What man bragged that his country had equal bounty? Did the English think themselves smaller than Siam? That would be appropriate, but none of the English had shown themselves to be humble. It must be a misunderstanding, so he answered as honestly as he could.

‘I look forward to learning more.’

‘We have time. Prinny has set your formal reception for a week from now. It will be such a grand affair. My wife will be so pleased. There will be a ball in your honour and…’ The man continued on, describing a palace party to come. Deva knew how important ceremonies were at home, so he did his best to understand. Eventually, the confusion on his face penetrated his host’s rambling.

‘This must sound overwhelming. Never fear, my daughter will explain it to you. I’ll keep Prinny apprised of your needs. You can rely on me to speak with the prince and my daughter will see that you handle the social rounds.’

Vaji perked up at the word ‘daughter’ and Deva made a mental note to remind Vaji that he was a celibate monk and that, technically, that included flirting. His brother was supposed to be working on his moral character. Instead, he’d spent the entire trip sampling all the richness the world had to offer.

But that could not include their host’s daughter.

The carriage slowed. Looking out the window, he saw large buildings and green lawns. By Siamese palace standards, the homes were plain. Stone set in a symmetrical style without gold ornamentation or bright colors. Boxes built like fortresses, no doubt reflecting their martial leanings. Nevertheless, the duke’s home appeared large enough to house everyone in the Siamese delegation, which sadly had dwindled down to himself, his brother and the abbot.

Thanks to disease and a bad storm, it was a miracle any of them had survived to make it here.

‘What a lovely home,’ Deva said.

Silently, he prayed he didn’t feel choked in such an enclosed space. He’d thought living on a ship was bad, but at least he’d been able to walk on deck. This box would be like living below deck all the time. How did they stand it?

Nevertheless, he stepped out of the carriage and took a deep breath. The London air was wretched, filled with smoke and foul odours, but it was nicer here. He could see that a carriage had arrived ahead of them, no doubt sending servants scurrying to accommodate them. Behind them followed the next carriage with the abbot, the head monk who had blessed their delegation. Any luggage that had survived would arrive later from the ship.

For now, Deva awaited the next step in the process. His host escorted him up the walkway where a servant greeted them in the English way. He bowed from the waist—not far—then straightened up to look him in the eye.

Deva bristled, though he knew it was irrational. This man knew he was a prince and yet he dared stand tall and meet his gaze? In Siam, he would have his head cut off for such impudence.

But he was not in Siam, so Deva kept his gaze aloof before looking for a bench on which to sit and remove his shoes. There was nothing. Just an open path up to the door. But this was the home of a duke. Surely, he had some way to clean his feet.

He turned to his host. ‘Where is the place for shoes and the washing of feet?’

He didn’t say it in a critical way. He merely wanted to show respect to the house with appropriate hygiene.

But clearly this was not the British way.

The duke looked at him with a shocked expression.

‘You want to wash your feet?’

‘You wear shoes inside your home?’

He shouldn’t speak so bluntly. After all, he’d had an inkling of this since they had remained shod as they entered the prince’s palace. But he’d assumed the reception hall was a place where people of all ilk were accepted, so it would not have been clean to walk barefoot in such a place. He had not thought this of the duke’s home.

The English were barbarians who did not understand. He would have to educate them.

‘I apologise,’ Deva said. ‘That is not our custom. It is unclean to bring dirt into a man’s home. I did not wish to offer insult.’

‘Oh. Um. No insult at all.’ The duke looked up, his expression abruptly filling with relief. ‘Let me introduce you to my daughter. Anna! Anna, come make your curtsey.’

Out here? In the doorway?

A woman stepped forwards. She was tall and pretty by English standards. Brown hair curled and piled high, light brown eyes that he found disconcertingly appealing and milky skin that pinked sweetly.

Yes, quite lovely.