Agnes

  After leaving the queen, I head back up to my apartment and wait for whomever is supposed to bring ball gowns for me to try on. What an odd turn of events. I’ve gone from being Drew’s secretary and being insulted by his fake girlfriend to being made redundant. Now I’m getting ready to go to a ball with the queen. My horoscope gave no indication it would be such an eventful day.

  I pick up my pace as I get to the hallway that leads to my apartment. What in the world will I say to Drew if I run into him? How will he react when he learns that I work for his mother now?

  Even though I know I should stay clear of his domain, I suddenly feel physically drawn toward his door. It’s like I’m being pulled by an invisible wire, or, you know, I’m possessed. My feet move with a mind of their own until I’m gently touching his doorknob. It must be my imagination, but I could swear that I feel the energy of him.

  I’m mad enough that I want to beat Drew’s door down and give him a piece of my mind, but what I really want is for him to take me in his arms and tell me that our kiss meant everything to him. Like it did to me. No one shares an exchange like we did casually. There was heat, and angst, and more yearning than I’ve ever felt in my lifetime. There’s no way he could have been unaffected.

  I have to force myself not to knock. In my current emotional state, there’s no telling what I’d say to him, but it certainly wouldn’t be anything that would broker peace. Hopefully I can go two more weeks living across the hall without any nasty run-ins. Fingers crossed, knock on wood, and throw a llama over my shoulder … The last is from an old Malquarian fairy tale. To my knowledge, no real person has ever tried it because, hello, a llama?

  Once I’m securely in my apartment, I draw a bath while I wait for the wardrobe people to bring gowns for me. Filling the tub with a grapefruit-scented soap, I watch as the foamy white suds begin to build. Once it looks like a cloud floating above the rim, I turn off the water and get undressed.

  Stepping in, I sit down and let the heat draw out the tension from my shoulders. I lean back and scoot down so that my ears are under the surface. I could stay here for the rest of the day. Maybe a couple of days.

  My mind begins to concoct a sort of travelogue of the past twelve hours. I tick off one exchange after another until I get to the ill-fated luncheon. To say that I loathe Chantelle would be a vast understatement. I find her reprehensible and entitled. Who calls someone a servant to their face? We’re not starring in Downton Abbey. Yet maybe to her, we are. It could be that our paths are so different she really does think of me as some kind of menial laborer.

  My eyes pop open as I push myself up to a sitting position. If that’s so, then Drew must think that of me, as well. But how is that possible? I know he says that he can’t marry a woman who’s not from the aristocracy, but his own mother was the daughter of a florist. Does he think my renowned surgeon father is less than that?

  I know Drew said the queen went through hell trying to earn the respect of the country as well as her in-laws, but that was over forty years ago. Times have changed. One of the British royals recently married a divorced actress, for Pete’s sake.

  Someone needs to tell Drew that this is not the Stone Age.

  As soon as I’m toweled off and wearing my robe, the doorbell rings. I suppose there’s no point getting dressed now when I’m only going to take my clothes off to try on gowns. Opening the front door, I’m faced with a stern-looking older woman and a younger man who’s wheeling a cart with three dresses on it. “Come in,” I tell them while stepping aside.

  The woman crosses the threshold first. “My name is Gertrude. I’m the queen’s dresser.”

  “Welcome, Gertrude.” Then I smile at the man. “And who are you?” I ask.

  “He’s of no consequence,” Gertrude says. “He’s just here to run errands should I need something.”

  Ignoring her, I once again ask him, “And what is your name?”

  I hear Gertrude scoff under her breath as he answers, “Name’s Henry, miss.” He performs an awkward bow.

  “May I offer either of you a cup of tea or bottle of water before we get started?” My mother drilled good manners into me at a young age, and regardless of a person’s station, if you walk into my home, even my temporary home, I’m going to treat you like a guest.

  “We’re fine, miss,” Gertrude says. She turns to the clothing rack and starts to remove the covers from the dresses. “Her Majesty has asked me to show you the gowns in order of her preference, but ultimately, we’ll have to use the one that needs the least amount of alteration.”

  The first dress she unsheathes causes me to inhale sharply. It’s a crimson-red strapless concoction with a giant sculpted flower on one shoulder. The skirt is full but the slit that reaches almost to the waist takes away any illusion that it’s conservative. There’s another flower at the apex of that opening. Holy hell, it’s stunning.

  “Is something wrong?” Gertrude wants to know.

  “I wouldn’t say wrong, but are you sure this is the queen’s favorite of the dresses?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “It’s just … you know, it’s … It will draw a lot of attention.”

  “And?” Come on Gertrude, work with me here.

  “I’m attending the ball as the queen’s companion, not as a guest in my own right. I don’t think I should stand out this much.”

  “Her Majesty insists,” Gertrude says. “And surely she knows what’s best.”

  I can’t help but wonder if Her Majesty has lost her mind. While I have never been to a royal ball, I’m certain the protocol is not to try to outshine everyone there unless, of course, you’re the royalty attending.

  I hesitantly take the dress from Gertrude and walk into my bedroom. Laying it on the bed, I take off my robe and begin to put it on. It feels heavenly on my skin, caressing me like it was made from rose petals. The silk is so lightweight, I’m amazed it holds its architectural design so well.

  Walking over to the full-length mirror against the wall, I look at myself and literally gasp out loud. I’m freaking gorgeous. Gertrude walks into the room and proceeds to zip up the back of the dress for me. As the fabric comes together it cinches at my waist, managing to give the illusion of curves that I don’t really have.

  “This one fits you like a glove,” the dresser says. “I’ll take the others away and leave you to your evening preparations.”

  “Shouldn’t I at least try them on?” Warning bells are ringing in my head that I should not wear this dress in public.

  “No.” Gertrude has the bedside manner of a German prison guard.

  “But …”

  “This is the gown the queen wishes for you to wear.” She unzips me before turning around to walk out of my room.

  I spend what remains of the afternoon in a blind panic. I’m about to attend my first outing with the queen in an outfit as shocking as if I’d decided to wear a string bikini and a spotlight.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Queen Charlotte

  “She balked something fierce, ma’am,” Gertrude informs the queen as soon as she walks into her chambers.

  Laughing delightedly, Charlotte asks, “How did she look in it?”

  “Like she was a queen herself.” Shaking her head in seeming awe, Gertrude adds, “There won’t be a set of eyes in the whole ballroom that won’t be glued to her.”

  “Excellent.” Sitting at her desk, Charlotte pulls out a slip of paper and writes:

  Agnes Dear,

  I’m having a quick bite to eat with the king before we go our separate ways. Therefore, I will need you to meet me at the ball. Your escort will pick you up at your apartment at 8:30.

  Many thanks,

  Charlotte R

  Pulling out another slip of paper, she writes:

  Drew Darling,

  I have a guest joining me this evening and I need you to accompany her to the Legacy Ball. She’s staying in the apartment across the hall from yours. Don’t worry, I’ll take her off your hands right away so you can dance the night away with Chantelle. You two make such a lovely couple.

  Xo,

  Mum

  Folding the notes carefully, Charlotte hands them to Gertrude. “Please make sure these are taken to Agnes and to my son, posthaste.”

  As her dresser leaves the room, Charlotte smiles like a child on Christmas morning. Rubbing her hands together, she says, “They’ll never know what’s hit them.”

  Prince Andrew

  Today has been nothing short of excruciating. More than anything, I want to call Agnes to make sure she’s okay. And even though I know that would be the height of folly, I find myself staring at the phone with alarming frequency.

  Knowing that someone else has already been installed in her suite makes me feel worse. In my eyes, those rooms will forever be hers.

  I eat my supper in leisure before getting ready for tonight’s gala. I would rather be doing practically anything than going to a formal affair—especially one that will further cement the world’s impression that Chantelle and I are becoming closer. But there’s no getting out of it now.

  For the life of me, I can’t make heads or tails out of my mother switching camps and telling me I should consider Chantelle for my queen. It makes no sense. Unless, of course, she really is convinced I’m gay and wishes for me to make a marriage of convenience.

  After putting on my tuxedo, I take a final look in the mirror and decide that I look well enough. Leaving my apartment, I stare across the hall at Agnes’s suite and am filled with a deep melancholy.

  Taking the several steps that lead me to the door, I remind myself that I’m not picking up Agnes. That I will never be calling on her again. A weight the size of a bowling ball settles on my chest.

  Lifting my hand to the door, I knock sharply three times before stepping back. After several moments, the door bursts open in a rush. I’m left speechless.

  “Andrew, what are you doing here?” Agnes exclaims while holding her dress at the back. OMG, that dress looks like pure sin on her. I hate that she’s started calling me Andrew again. I know it’s because she’s mad at me, which she has every right to be, but it still stings.

  “What am I doing here? I think the question is, what are you doing here?” I step toward her so quickly she stumbles to get out of my way.

  I watch as her expression turns from shock to haughty arrogance. “I’m joining your mother at the Legacy Ball this evening.”

  “Why?” I demand in a manner that can only be construed as impatient.

  “Because she asked me to,” Agnes says. She takes another step backward and stumbles again.

  “Why would she do that?” I mean, seriously, why would she do that?

  “Because your father is unable to join her, and she doesn’t like to go to these things alone.”

  “Is that what she told you? My mother goes out alone all the time. This is the first I’ve heard of any social anxiety.”

  “I have no reason to lie to you, Andrew. Now what are you doing here?”

  “Apparently, I’m here to take you to my mother.”

  “At the ball?” she practically yells.

  “It would appear so.” While I yearned to see Agnes again, the reality of it is bad. So very bad.

  “I can’t go yet,” she practically whispers.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not … that is to say … I’m waiting for someone.”

  “You’re waiting for me,” I tell her.

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m waiting for a maid to come up and zip my dress for me.”

  “Turn around,” I order. “I’ll do it.”

  She looks unnerved at the prospect, but she eventually turns around so her back is facing me. My mouth goes as dry as the Sahara Desert. White skin so pale and silky smooth in contrast to the vibrancy of her dress—it’s more than I can handle. Not only do I want to touch her, but I need to touch her.

  Taking a tentative step forward, I reach out until we’re nearly connected. With my hand hovering above her, she demands, “What’s taking you so long? I thought you said we had to go.”

  As though in a daze, I gently place my three middle fingers at the base of her neck and slowly let them drag down the length of her skin. Tiny bumps of excitement burst forth along the path. “Agnes …”

  She’s standing as still as a statue. She doesn’t answer me. Wrapping my hands around her waist, I turn her around so she’s facing me, but she doesn’t look at me. Instead, her eyes are glued to my neck. “Agnes,” I say more firmly.

  Ever so slowly, she lifts her chin upward and I lose all sense of myself. Lowering my mouth to hers, I manage to utter, “If you want to stop me, you’d better do so quickly.”

  She doesn’t say a thing, but her actions speak volumes. Raising her arms, she wraps them around my neck and pulls me toward her. It’s all the invitation I need.

  Settling my mouth on hers, I slowly and tenderly begin to explore. I inhale her essence as my hands reach around to touch her bare back once more. I want this woman more than I’ve wanted anything in my life, and I’m about to lose all control.

  Deepening our kiss, I invade her mouth until our breath is one. If I were dying this connection would be enough to keep me alive. It’s full of energy and passion, and dare I say love? That thought catapults me to my senses in the cruelest way.

  “Drew?” Agnes sounds worried, hurt even.

  “Agnes, I can’t marry you.”

  Tears fill her eyes. “Who said I wanted to marry you?”

  “What I mean to say is that I don’t want to hurt you by toying with you. You deserve better.”

  Her shoulders square like she’s preparing for battle. “I deserve only the best,” she says before turning around. “Now, please zip me up so I’m not late meeting your mother.”

  “You’re beautiful,” I whisper in her ear as I pull the zipper up her dress. “And I’m sorry.”

  She walks away from me and picks her purse up off the sideboard. “What are you sorry about?”

  “I’m sorry that I can’t pursue a relationship with you,” I tell her.

  “You’re sorry that I’m so lowly born,” she retaliates.

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Andrew, you don’t have to say the words for them to be true. It’s clear you’d rather be with someone from the aristocracy, so let’s get you to her, shall we?”

  I feel like someone is shooting arrows right into my body. Sharp pain stabs at me. “It’s not what I want, it’s what has to be.”

  She strides toward the door ahead of me before stopping in her tracks. “You have more freedom and more choices available to you than any other person on this planet. Nothing exists that is beyond your grasp.”

  And with that, she walks out into the hall, leaving me in her dust.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Amelia

  Amelia unloads the dishwasher while loudly slamming kitchen cabinets behind her. She’s making so much noise she doesn’t hear her husband walk into the room. “Amelia,” Ralph says.

  Startled, she drops the wine glass in her hand. “What are you doing here?” she demands hotly. “I thought you were on a date.”

  “I wasn’t on a date. I was having a drink with a colleague.”

  “A beautiful young colleague.”

  Nodding his head slowly, Ralph answers, “Yes. But it wasn’t a date.”

  “Is this something you do often?” Amelia walks away from the broken glass surrounding her.

  “You know it’s not.” Ralph follows slowly behind her.

  “How in the world would I know that?” Amelia spins around, balling up her fists like she’s going to punch him. “All I know is what you tell me.” Before he has a chance to respond, she adds, “You might go out on dates every night that you tell me you’re stuck late at the hospital.”

  “I’m often late at the hospital and as I told you, I wasn’t on a date. I do not date. I’m a happily married man.”

  “You’re happy? With me? A woman you don’t respect?” Amelia eyes an African violet plant sitting on the counter. Reaching out for it, she picks it up and hurls it at the floor. After it smashes, she demands, “I suppose you respect that young woman because she has a job?”

  Gently, Ralph reaches for his wife’s hand and takes it in his own. He pulls her until her feet move with his. Once they’re in the parlor, he sits down, tugging her until she joins him. “Amelia, I was not on a date. I am not dating anyone. I love and respect you.”

  Scoffing, she says, “That’s not the impression you gave the other night when you said our daughter was too smart to stay at home to take care of a man.”

  “That’s not what I said. I said that Agnes has always wanted more. I didn’t mean what you and I have isn’t enough. It’s wonderful, it’s everything to me, as I hope it is to you. All I meant is that Agnes has been driven to make her mark on the business world since she was a young girl. She’s her own person, and she needs to do what she needs to do.”

  “Then why didn’t you say that?” Amelia asks as the heat of her emotions starts to dwindle.

  “You told me to leave you alone. You were so mad, I thought it best to do as you said. And then you moved out. I didn’t know what to think about that.”

  “Did you try to find me?” Amelia demands.

  “I didn’t because I didn’t think you wanted to be found.”

  Eyeing her husband closely, Amelia says, “I want to believe you.”

  “Then believe me. I’ve never lied to you.”

  “I need to feel appreciated, Ralph. The foundation of our marriage has shaken for me, and I don’t feel safe anymore.”

  Taking her hands in his, he says, “I’ll do whatever it takes to get back in your good graces, Amelia. All I can say right now is that you are my world and that I wouldn’t want to live without you. I couldn’t live without you.”

  Agnes

  What is wrong with Drew? How can he not see that I’m a perfectly acceptable woman for him to date? When he kissed me, I thought he’d finally come to his senses, but no. He was happy to progress with a physical relationship, but he made it perfectly clear that I wasn’t acceptable for more.