“Agnes …”

  “Drew …” I reply.

  He takes my hand again and pulls me toward the palace. “I think it’s time we call it a night, don’t you?”

  “Definitely.” Why am I being so surly? I don’t want anything of a personal nature to happen between me and Drew. Not only is he bedding a married woman, but he’s still dating someone he once thought of as a candidate for his heart.

  It doesn’t matter that he and Chantelle are only pretending. It doesn’t matter because he’s already made it more than clear he’s not interested in some fairy-tale romance.

  I’m not his Cinderella, and he’s not my Prince Charming.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Queen Charlotte

  “Miss Bain,” Queen Charlotte says while standing behind her son’s lady friend.

  Chantelle turns around and startles when she sees who’s talking to her. “Your Majesty.” She falls into an immediate curtsy.

  “You seem to have forgotten part of your dress,” the queen says quietly enough so as not to be overheard by other guests.

  Straightening her legs back to a standing position, Chantelle replies, “Andrew picked this dress out himself.”

  “I don’t think so,” Charlotte counters. “The ensemble you’re parading around in would in no way appeal to Drew. He has a very keen sense of decorum.”

  “I don’t mean to be contrary,” Chantelle says. “But your son’s sense of propriety may not be as antiquated as you think.”

  “Excuse me?” Charlotte challenges.

  Endeavoring for a humbler tone, Chantelle says, “I’m sure you saw the photos in the newspaper of him and his secretary.”

  “I see all the pictures,” the queen assures her. “And I assume I’ll see many of them of you tomorrow dressed like a common sex worker.”

  “This isn’t the Victorian age, ma’am. Women are allowed to show some skin,” Chantelle says with an edge.

  “Not women who date my son. I believe you not only received the rules before your first encounter, but you also signed them. There is a dress code that we all take very seriously.”

  Dropping into an abbreviated curtsy, Chantelle offers, “I’m sorry if I offended you in any way, Your Majesty.” Then she turns and walks away.

  Alfred approaches his wife with a look of concern etched across his face. “That didn’t look like it went very well.”

  “Of all the insolent things, that stupid chit walked away from me.” Charlotte declares, “I do not want Drew to see her again.”

  “But he’s already engaged her help in trying to throw the press off the trail of his having any involvement with Agnes.”

  “But I want him to be involved with Agnes,” Charlotte maintains. “She’s elegant, and beautiful, and well behaved. I’m starting to take it personally that Drew is keeping his distance from her.”

  “How in the world can you take that personally? It has nothing to do with you,” Alfred asks.

  “By declaring that he’s too good for Agnes, I feel like he’s insinuating I wasn’t good enough for you. Agnes’s parents are much more elevated in society than mine ever were.”

  “Darling,” the king drapes his arms across his wife’s shoulders, “Drew is simply endeavoring to take the path of least resistance. We can’t really blame him for that.”

  “Can’t we?” the queen demands. “We raised a houseful of independent thinkers, and while that has brought the spotlight down on us negatively at times, that shouldn’t matter. What matters is the loving example of marriage that we set for our children. The whole idea that Drew would rather go out with that woman”—she points in the direction that Chantelle retreated—“instead of Agnes, I do take that very personally.”

  Prince Andrew

  I don’t know what came over me tonight. For one thing, I’m not sure one kiss with Agnes would be enough. For another, it would only complicate our relationship. Our professional relationship.

  After dropping her off at her apartment, I lie in bed with my mind churning through the events of the day. I do not like the feeling of being out of control, and today’s lunch with Chantelle definitely left me reeling.

  At two a.m., I move on to feeling horrible about letting Agnes continue to think that Felicity and I are romantically involved. No wonder she didn’t let me kiss her. She must think I’m a real lothario—which, of course, was my intent.

  Somewhere around three, I finally doze off. At seven my alarm rings. As I roll over in bed, I rack my brain trying to remember if I have anything on the calendar this morning, but nothing comes to mind. Opening my laptop to look at the schedule that Agnes has set up for me, I happily discover I don’t have an engagement until two o’clock. I turn off my alarm and fall back asleep.

  A loud banging on my door jolts me awake. When it doesn’t stop, I throw my feet over the edge of the mattress to answer it. My mother storms in, looking like she’s about to declare war.

  “Why are you still in your nightclothes?” she demands.

  “I went to bed late, Mum. I don’t need to be up for a couple more hours.” I step out of her way as she charges across my parlor to the sofa.

  “Then I suppose you haven’t seen this morning’s paper?” She shoves it at me.

  “I stayed in all night, so I can’t imagine what has you in such a fury.”

  “Take a gander at the front page. Not the society section, either. The front page.”

  I look down at three pictures that take up half of the news’s real estate. One is of Chantelle gushing to the press about us before lunch. There’s also one of both of us leaving the restaurant looking like we’ve just had the fight of the century. The third is of Chantelle talking with my mother at the Halloways’ ball. “Oh, dear,” I finally utter when the tightness in my throat loosens enough for sound to get through.

  “Is that all you have to say? Chantelle is breaking every rule that has been painstakingly set regarding the behavior of the women you spend time with. I suppose today she’ll hire a skywriter to share her feelings publicly.”

  “I’ll speak with her,” I tell my mum. “I’m sorry about all of this. I’d only thought to find a way to divert the press away from me and Agnes. I could not have imagined Chantelle would behave so unexpectedly.”

  “I want you to end things with her today,” my mum says.

  “I can’t do that.” Her angry expression has me quickly adding, “Chantelle knows that she’s doing me a favor. And”—I really hate to tell her this part—“the only reason she’s pretending to still see me is because I told her she could break up with me when the time is right.”

  “Why would a woman ever break up with you?” My mum stands up and starts pacing. When I don’t answer, she turns in my direction and demands, “I think you’d better read the article.” Then she walks out my front door.

  After turning the coffee pot on to perk a fresh cup, I sit down and open the paper.

  The headline reads: What’s Going On With Our Prince?

  We’re used to seeing our future king wine and dine a variety of women. Until now, all of those ladies seem to have behaved in a very proper manner.

  Yesterday at the trendy restaurant Farnsworth, Chantelle Bain went off script. Not only did she speak to the press—which has been a big no-no for royal escorts—but she intimated that she and Prince Andrew were in love.

  Yet, when they left the restaurant—on their fourth date—they looked as if they positively loathed each other. We remind you that we haven’t seen a woman at the prince’s side past three encounters since the “Doesn’t Have a Clue Drew” days that immediately followed his university years.

  Are Drew and Chantelle really an item? And if so, why? One source close to the prince suggested that Chantelle might be pregnant. We have not been able to confirm or deny such a rumor, nor do we want to spread idle gossip, but it would certainly be a solid reason that the pair remain united. If there is a royal bun in the oven, nuptials will certainly be forthcoming.

  I crumple up the paper and throw it across the room. Like hell they don’t want to spread idle gossip. The press is like a nest of boa constrictors. They’ll squeeze you until you explode in order to get the dirt they’re after.

  After a moment of deep breathing, I retrieve the paper and continue to read.

  We can’t help but speculate about the true nature of Andrew and Chantelle’s alliance, especially after the pictures recently taken of the prince with another woman. The lady he so lovingly cradled in his arms in the loo at Duval has been identified as one Agnes Dupuis, Prince Andrew’s very own secretary.

  Is history repeating itself and the future king of our country is looking for a wife outside of his class?

  I release a growl so menacing, I sound like a rabid animal. The world is full of real news. Why do these vultures care about my personal life so much?

  Queen Charlotte does not look overly pleased to be talking to Miss Bain at the Earl and Countess of Halloway’s ball last night. In fact, Her Royal Highness appears downright offended by the presence of Miss Bain. If we were to guess, we might assume that had something to do with Chantelle’s gown. Or the lack thereof.

  On a final note, our newsroom has been flooded with questions regarding the prince’s beautiful secretary. Miss Dupuis, if you’re reading this, won’t you consider giving the prince a chance at your heart?

  Dear God, this is tabloid journalism at its worst. How dare they try to recruit Agnes to their side?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Amelia

  “Check out the front page of this morning’s newspaper,” Jacqui says as Amelia sits down to breakfast.

  “Where is Georges this morning?” Amelia asks while taking her seat.

  “He left early to pick up my bulb order at the nursery. We’re going to spend the day planting spring flowers.”

  “I envy all the time you have with him,” Amelia says while picking up the morning news. Gasping, she declares, “Oh, dear. It looks like the prince is more invested in Chantelle Bain than we’d thought.”

  “Keep reading.”

  Amelia’s face contorts into a variety of expressions. When she’s done, she pushes the paper aside.

  “So, what do you think?” Jacqui wants to know. Instead of waiting for Amelia’s response, she adds, “I can’t imagine Chantelle will be in the picture for long. Charlotte certainly doesn’t look pleased.”

  Putting her napkin in her lap, Amelia says, “The paper seems to be supporting Andrew’s attentions toward Agnes.”

  “Of course, they’ll soon lose interest in her as they’re never going to see her while she’s being hidden away. We need to consult Charlotte,” Jacqui decides before handing her friend a basket of muffins.

  “I was hoping to go to the palace today to visit with Agnes. Maybe you could join me.”

  “I would love that. Charlotte and I schemed for weeks to get Bree and Grady together. As Drew is much more rigid than my son, I’m assuming it could take a good deal longer to seal his connection with Agnes.”

  After breaking her muffin in half, Amelia declares, “I feel like we’re pushing them together. Maybe we should just wait and see if they find a romantic connection on their own.”

  “The prince will never give in to his baser desires if we don’t get involved.”

  “Yes, but I don’t want him toying with Agnes’s heart, either,” Amelia says.

  “Love is a gamble,” Jacqui says. “Not only does it require a good deal of faith, but a cast iron stomach, as well.” Pouring a cup of tea for her friend, she adds, “Hurry up and eat. I’ll give Charlotte a call to let her know we’re on our way.”

  Agnes

  I waited until ten o’clock before I realized Drew wasn’t going to join me for breakfast this morning. As nervous as I am to see him after last night’s near-kiss, I’m totally disappointed he didn’t even stop by to say good morning.

  All that lies ahead of me is another day of boredom. Searching the bookshelf in the parlor, I discover several viable titles that might occupy my time. After reading the first several pages of three of them, I realize I don’t have the ability to focus.

  Instead, I spend the entire morning reliving that moment with Drew in the garden. What would have happened if I’d let him kiss me? Would it have really been so bad?

  Yes, it would have been bad, my conscience yells. You were smart! Good for you!

  But what if it was the most perfect kiss ever?

  Your heart could have been broken. How could that have been better? Damn the voices in my head.

  I hardly think I’d fall in love with Drew after only one kiss. After all, the man has spent more than a month acting like an ogre. The kiss would have had to have magical powers to make me forget everything he’s put me through since I started working for him.

  By lunch time, I’m so stir crazy I’m ready to climb the walls. I hurry to greet the knock on the door, but there’s no kitchen maid on the other side.

  “Mum, Mrs. Basset, what are you doing here?” Once they push past me, I see they’re not alone. “Your Highness.” I drop into a curtsy in front of the queen.

  “Agnes, darling, how are you doing?” my mother wants to know.

  “Not well,” I tell her honestly. “I’m so bored I could spit.”

  “That’s a rather vulgar term,” Mum chastises me while giving the queen the side eye as though offering her apology for my common mouth.

  “I’m sorry for being rude,” I tell my guests. Indicating the seating area in the parlor, I say, “Please come in and have a seat.”

  When everyone is situated, I offer, “I can put on a pot of tea if you’d like.”

  “We’ve decided to stay for lunch if that suits you,” the queen answers. “I told the kitchen to send our meal up here.”

  So much for whether it suits me. But instead of being churlish, I smile. “That sounds lovely, thank you. I’m grateful for your company.”

  “What are you doing to fill your time?” Mrs. Basset asks.

  “Absolutely nothing,” I tell her. “I’d hoped to keep working for Dre … that is, Prince Andrew, but I’ve been told everyone thinks I’m in St. Tropez.”

  “I could bring you something from home to read,” my mother offers.

  “I can’t seem to concentrate on reading,” I tell her.

  “What are your hobbies, dear?” the queen wants to know.

  “I don’t really have any,” I answer. “When I’m not working, I like to spend time developing my business plan for my own agency. Other than that, I like to go for long walks, I occasionally play tennis, and I enjoy going to the movies.”

  “Are your friends going to wonder where you are?” the queen asks.

  “My friends are used to going weeks and weeks without seeing me,” I tell her. “I’ve gotten a few messages, but most of those have been regarding the photo of me and Prince Andrew in the paper. I’ve assured everyone that nothing is going on between the two of us, and I’m enjoying some time away.”

  “Do they believe you?” my mum asks. “That Shelton girl has always been a bit too nosy for her own good.”

  Taking a sip from my coffee mug, I tell her, “So far, so good.”

  “So essentially, you need something to do, or you’ll throw yourself out the window.” Queen Charlotte adequately sums up my current state.

  “In a nutshell,” I tell her. “Is there anything I can help you with?” The queen has an entire staff of her own, so I know this is unlikely, but anything is worth a shot.

  “We thought you might like to assist our efforts in organizing the Foliage Festival,” Mrs. Basset says. “Your mother has already volunteered her services.”

  “How can I help?” While I’ve not spent any real time working on fundraisers, I can organize anything within an inch of its life.

  “We thought you could contact a small list of vendors and offer them a booth at a reduced fee,” Queen Charlotte says. “The economy has been such that some of our regulars don’t feel they can afford the cost of participation this year. Of course, they would have to agree not to share the terms of their involvement.”

  “I’m in,” I declare loudly. “Are the telephones all working in this part of the palace yet?” I have yet to try my landline.

  “Simpson assured me this morning that they’re all up and running. Oh, and Drew has his new mobile,” the queen adds as an afterthought.

  My heart practically drops into my stomach. If not for that picture in the newspaper, I’d be going home today. Fearing the answer, I can’t help but enquire, “Does that mean I can return home?”

  “Absolutely not,” my mum says. “Dear, our front lawn is crawling with paparazzi.”

  “Which is now the reason you’re here,” Mrs. Basset clarifies.

  With a loud sigh, I announce, “I’ll do whatever you all need me to do regarding this Foliage Festival, but if I’m stuck here much longer, I’ll need something else to keep me busy.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Queen Charlotte says. “I have a load of things to keep you occupied. I’ll have some of my projects brought up to you right away.”

  While I can’t imagine she has any work that’s not already being attended to, I don’t mention that. I need every bit of distraction I can get my hands on.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Queen Charlotte

  “Poor Agnes seems beside herself,” Charlotte tells her friends after leaving Agnes’s apartment.

  “My daughter does not like to sit around idly,” Amelia says.

  “Don’t worry,” Charlotte says. “I plan to keep her very busy.”

  “But we don’t want her so busy that she doesn’t have time to spend with Andrew,” Jacqui adds before asking, “How do we even know they’re going to spend any time together?”

  “I told Drew that he had to take Agnes out on her nightly excursions around the grounds,” Charlotte says.