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Now she felt as if she were juggling a hundred or more emotions and feelings, while trying to find her old favourite: cold. That way she would be able to see objectively what they were dealing with.
She turned to her computer and tried to access the files of photos taken on the anniversary of Claude’s death.
Limited Access.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked as she gritted her teeth.
‘I have to go upstairs to access the archives.’
Her security clearance at the palace allowed for little more than a schoolgirl doing a project; it was easier to go online along with the general population. She found a couple of shots of that day: the Queen looked her usual poised and elegant self, though the black jewels in her diadem sparkled far more vividly than her tired eyes; Princess Jasmine, Julius’s older sister in a rare public appearance, was hidden behind a black veil and holding her daughter Arabella’s hand, and the King...he was austere and sombre. But then, from what she had gleaned he’d always been austere and sombre, as well as scathing, where his youngest was concerned.
As for Julius... He stood on ceremony, but behind those dark eyes, who knew what went on?
Sometimes, lately, Beatrice felt as if she did, just a little.
Most of the time, lately, she wanted to.
Wanted to know.
Yet now, seeing a photo of him taken just a few weeks ago caused her to frown, and she looked over to where he stood. He’d lost weight in the weeks she’d been here. Not a lot. It was almost indiscernible. But he certainly had.
There was also a new tension to his features that hadn’t been present even on that sombre anniversary.
She looked back to the photo and found herself nibbling on her bottom lip as she thought.
Was the soon-to-be groom having pre-selection jitters? Certainly he hadn’t signed the Document of Intent that would kick things off, and even she could feel the pressure building from the palace for him to do so. Or was he just antsy from being forced to leave his normal life behind?
Julius broke into her thoughts. ‘It was careless,’ he admitted. ‘I was just...’
‘Just?’
‘I suppose the term would beletting off steam.’
‘I get it,’ Beatrice said.
Last night, as she’d wept, it had felt as if a valve had been released—just a touch. She’d quickly turned it back to closed. Only it felt as if she hadn’t quite managed to secure that valve, because the steam seemed to be hissing out despite her attempts to shut it off completely.
‘I don’t dance, of course, but—’
‘You don’t dance?’
‘No.’
‘At all?’ He sounded surprised.
‘No, but what I meant...’ Whatdidshe mean? She didn’t dance. ‘I’m saying that I understand that we all have our outlets.’
Beatrice’s outlets were studying languages and embroidery...
Julius peeled his broad shoulders from the wall and came and took a seat on the other side of her desk. He looked at her as he stretched out his legs.
‘Why don’t you dance, Beatrice?’ He remained curious.
Can we get back to the photos, please?she wanted to beg, but Julius seemed intrigued by her little slip.
‘I was never taught,’ she snapped. ‘Were you?’
‘Absolutely.’ He nodded. ‘We had lessons in the ballroom...’
