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‘Beatrice, all the staff will be there,’ Jordan pushed. ‘I’m going to try and get there.’
‘You only fly in that morning,’ Beatrice pointed out. ‘Surely you’ll be exhausted?’
‘A little... But Princess Jasmine is the royal patron and it would be nice to give her some support.’
Beatrice was tight-lipped. Perhaps if the rules weren’t so rigid here then it would be Princess Jasmine who was off to Oman and South East Asia, rather than giving a speech at a flower festival.
That wasn’t really what was upsetting Beatrice, though. It was the fact that she was starting to be invited to things, yet soon she’d be gone.
‘Beatrice, I know you’re a temp, but it would be nice if you could makesomeeffort to be sociable.’
Beatrice gritted her teeth and resisted reminding Jordan that they weren’t all devoted to the palace. That it was their prince’s being so actively ‘sociable’ that was causing all their headaches right now.
‘Beatrice...’ Jordan spoke more nicely now. ‘I really think you should try and get there. Honestly, the colours...’
‘What colours?’
Beatrice stiffened at the sound of his voice.
He invited himself into any conversation with such ease! How did he do that?
‘I’m trying to get Beatrice to join us at the Flower Festival.’
‘Don’t do it.’ He shook his head. ‘Not with your allergies.’
Jordan changed the subject. ‘Beatrice wants you to do a photoshoot in the stables.’
‘No,’ he flatly refused.
‘It’s a really good journalist,’ Beatrice said, ‘and I think—’
He ignored her and took a bottle of Limoncello from a small freezer.
Jordan gave a nod. ‘Just a small one.’
‘Beatrice?’ he politely offered.
‘No, thank you.’
His grey tinge had gone and there was no trace of the storm that had hit him this afternoon. He didn’t have a Limoncello either, but poured one for Jordan, and then the two of them went and sat on their oh-so-cosy seats and went through his schedule for the upcoming trip as Beatrice tried not to listen.
‘You’ll need a gift for the daughter,’ Jordan said.
‘Oh, no.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m serious. Otherwise I’ll end up with two brides.’
Apparently there was a poem he had to learn in Romeyka, and, no, he hadn’t managed to look at it yet.
Actually, it all sounded completely exhausting, Beatrice thought, watching footage of the family on the balcony after Claude’s funeral as she tried not to listen in. A night in his mother’s hometown, then two nights in Oman, and then on to South East Asia and then back—all in the space of a week.
‘Back in time for the Flower Festival,’ Jordan said to him, although Beatrice rather felt it was aimed at her.
‘Please...’ he scoffed, and Beatrice found she was suppressing a smile. ‘I’ll be in no mood for company by then.’
Diary closed, Jordan stood. ‘Have you heard from Tobias, sir?’
‘I have,’ Julius said. ‘How about you?’
‘Yes,’ Jordan said. ‘I’ve been sworn to silence.’
