The younger princess waved her hand. “Of course not. The protection officers wouldn’t let me go if they weren’t in touch with the Viscount—he and his wife are our hosts.”
“I don’t want people staring at me and whispering,” I confessed. “I don’t think I’m quite in the mood to have a stiff upper lip yet.”
Daisy laughed. “Kyra, I assure you, no one there will even think about whispering. The sort of thing you’re talking about doesn’t occur to this crowd as a problem. They’re good people. Accepting. Non-judgmental.”
As if she sensed me wavering, she went in for the kill. “The house where they’re having the party is old. It’s historical—actually, the owner is in the middle of working out all the restorations right now. He’ll even give us a tour if you show the slightest bit of interest in things that are ancient and musty.”
Alex added, “Viscount Weymouth is a lovely man, Kyra. You’ll like him. And his wife is quite nice, too.”
“Say you’ll go with me,” Daisy begged. “I won’t be able to enjoy myself if I’m worried about you sitting alone in the cottage all weekend, and Alex is going to Paris on a romantic weekend with Jake. Neither of us will be able to have a good time if you stay home while we’re off having fun.”
I had to admit that the thought of the weekend stretching before me, lonely and empty, was not a fun prospect. With just the slightest bit of trepidation, I gave in.
“All right, all right, I’ll go. Geez, you two and the guilt trips.” I shook my head. “You’re worse than my mom.”
“It’s only because we love you, Ky.” Daisy jumped up and came over to hug me. “Now, go home and pack. I’ll be around to pick you up by three.”
I hesitated. “Do I need to clear this with security and the palace?”
“No.” Daisy grinned. “It’s not official. It’s just fun. I’ll let them know at the Palace office. Your security officer will come along, too. We’ll be very safe and so low-key that we’ll be positively boring.” She drew an X over her heart. “I promise.”
Of all the very British things that I’d done since linking my life to a member of its Royal Family, attending a house party felt like the most English of them all. As someone who’d grown up reading historical romances set during the Regency period, I had very specific images in my mind about what a grand house party would be like. And as we motored onto the estate that Friday evening, I wasn’t disappointed: the long, curved drive was canopied by massive trees, and the manor house loomed grandly. But inside, somehow the home managed to be cozy and warm instead of lofty and off-putting.
The Viscount and his wife welcomed us with what seemed to be genuine gladness, not blinking when they saw their extra guest. I knew that Daisy had called ahead to let them know that she would be bringing me, but still, it was gratifying to feel so wanted. The couple was, I judged, ten years or so older than Daisy, in their early to mid-thirties. The Viscount opened the door himself, wearing old jeans and a sweater that had seen better days, while his wife wore a more traditional tweed skirt and twin set.
“Welcome, ladies. How wonderful to see you both!” After performing the required curtsies, she hugged Daisy and offered me her hand. “I’m Margot Hammond. Lovely to meet you at last.”
“Thank you for having me at the last minute.” I smiled. “Your home is amazing.”
“Oh, thank you.” She waved one hand around. “It’s all in progress, as my husband says. Progress means that once we finish one section, another needs fixing. But that’s the way with old homes, isn’t it?”
“Now aren’t you glad you came?” Daisy’s voice had a little bit of the I-told-you-so element, and I was tempted to demonstrate for her the same dance that I’d shown Nicky a few days before.
Now I stood at the window of the room we were sharing and gazed out onto the gardens below. Even in autumn’s grayness, the ornamental shrubbery and trees held a certain beauty. I could only imagine how exquisite they must have been in spring time, with the extraordinary splashes of color. I turned from the window and sighed.
“Well, it’s better than sitting alone at the cottage brooding. Although I’m going to warn you that I may not be the best company. I hope that no one here finds me boring.”
Daisy laughed. “I told you before that no one is judgmental in this crowd, and I meant it. There aren’t expectations of witty conversation or knowledge of issues or anything like that. We’re all just ourselves, which is why I feel as though I can fit it in here with these friends. I fit here better than I can anywhere else.”
I walked across the room to give my sister-in-law a quick hug. “Daisy, you fit in everywhere,” I told her. “I’ve never known anyone with such a big heart and a loving spirit. Everyone adores you.”
She glanced at me wryly. “Sometimes in my family I feel like the cocker spaniel of the group. A lot of fun, maybe, but not much substance.”
I sat down on the edge of my bed and regarded her thoughtfully. “Family roles are difficult,” I admitted. “Sometimes it’s hard for people to see us beyond who we were when we were eight or fourteen or even twenty. It takes time to show the people who love us that we can grow. That we can change.”
Daisy nodded. “That’s it exactly. So often I feel as though I’m still the little sister Alex and Nicky can’t quite take seriously. I know that if I want them to see me as a grown-up, I need to start doing all the boring, mundane things that they do. But I would hate that life. I wish that there was a way to do something serious and important, and yet still have fun.”
I laughed. “I think you just described the frustration that we all feel, growing up and deciding how to spend our lives. Welcome to the club, Daisy.”
“You seem to love what you do,” she objected. “And your life doesn’t seem quite so boring as the others.”
“Thank you… I think.” I chuckled.
“You’re welcome. Although I don’t think I’m cut out for sitting in an office for hours on end. It would make me want to strangle myself. Or strangle the person who came in and told me what I needed to do next.” She closed the small suitcase that she had been emptying and shoved it into a closet before turning to me, her eyes bright.
“All right. Enough of the serious talk. Let’s go downstairs. Everyone’s meeting for cocktails in the lounge, and I don’t want to miss out on that. Neither do you—trust me.”
By Saturday evening, I was both more relaxed and more frustrated. As far as I could, I had enjoyed everything we had done this weekend: the long walks through the fields and forests with groups of women and men who were friendly and unassuming, plenty of interesting conversations, and food that was plentiful and delicious. It was just as Daisy had promised me; everyone I’d met was genuinely kind, and no one had so much as glanced at me with pity or speculation. No one had mentioned the pictures of my husband that were probably still making the rounds on the tabloids.
