“Your Majesty, Your Royal Highnesses, and Lady Ferguson, Mrs.. Abigail Forrest and Miss Eloise Mills,” the man called.
I wasn't sure what to do. I stared at Her Majesty, her husband, and her son. I was unfamiliar with the other woman. I followed Abi's lead, bowing. Finally, my days toiling miserably at finishing school paid off. The Queen invited us for tea, which we took advantage of.
As the blonde, the Duchess of Lauderdale, introduced us, I took in the full display of the opulent room. It smelled of cinnamon. Despite everyone’s visible discomfort, the roaring fire seemed a nice distraction.
And was that... a baby?I observed the Prince bopping an infant on his knee. In her chubby fist, the baby held a tea biscuit. She smiled at me gleefully.Who the hell was this baby?
“Oh, ignore her,” the Duchess said. “This is my godchild. Her one mother is working on a project while the other is recovering from a movie shoot and remains overrun with older siblings.”
“My great niece,” the Queen said.
That was Leah Roughy's child?Leah was a bonafide star and by all tabloid accounts, the Queen's favorite niece.
While I took it in, I noted the Prince’s silence. He'd been solely focused on his charge. Perhaps he appreciated the distraction, but I saw this as a savvy strategy to project that he was a nice guy who was wronged.
“Would you like some coffee?” The Queen asked.
“No, I am quite fine,” Abi answered.
An awkward pause descended as someone cleared their throat. It took me a moment to realize Her Majesty awaited my response. I looked to Abi, concerned she was just being polite.
“She will always take coffee!” Abi laughed. “She’s American.”
I blushed and nodded.
“Well, go on. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it. I do not mince words.” She said, “Duncan, go help Miss Mills. Show her where everything is.”
He peered at his mother, confused. I supposed a footman could have directed me. They lurked in every shadow. This was a punishment.
“Fine,” Duncan sighed. “This way, Miss Mills.”
I followed him to a buffet laid out in back of the room. As he balanced the baby on one hip, he pointed out the assemblage ofbiscuits, pastries, and accompaniments. Everything was placed with great precision and held in or on a fabulous silver dish or plate.
As they talked, he whispered, “Just grab whatever. It’s not some sort of test.”
“A test?”
He chuckled. “Of manners or fit or what have you. As you’re American—like my grandmother and like Lady Ferguson—you will get an instant pass.”
I set my jaw as he handed the child a biscuit.
“Oh, what, would you rather be put through the wringer as a newbie. I, personally, don’t trust outsiders, but we are apparently so desperate you’re being thrown headfirst into the fire, love. Be grateful you have a bit of plot armor.”
“It is Miss Mills.” I dumped cream first, then poured from the silver coffee carafe.
“What?”
“Don’t call me love,” I corrected. “Your Royal Highness, it is Miss Mills.”
He looked surprised at the correction, but a cheeky grin crossed his face. His eyes didn’t leave mine as he took another biscuit from the buffet.
“Thank you, I’m fine, sir,” I lifted the saucer beneath my teacup.
I left, uneasy as his eyes followed.
“Yes, Miss Mills.” Duncan waited for me to pass.
I returned to my seat, startled by the feeling that his eyes never quite left me.
