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And then she opened the official card.
It was very bland, but then Julius chose to be bland when he did not want others to know his feelings. It was cream, with his insignia on it, and inside there was a typed message thanking her for her service. And his signature.
She checked the back of the card.
Surely a teeny little smile or something...?
She peered into the envelope.
‘There’s no money in there,’ Jordan said, smiling.
‘Pity!’ she quipped.
And that was it.
‘You’ll need this for the shuttle bus,’ Jordan said, as she handed her a temporary pass after everyone had wandered off. ‘And I’m really sorry to have to do this but—’
‘It’s fine.’
Jordan went through her bag, and it was perhaps just as well she’d known she would, or she might have pinched the top of his whisky decanter, or something equally dreadful.
There was no little peacock lurking in there, either.
‘It’s been a pleasure, Beatrice,’ Jordan told her.
‘It’s been interesting!’ Beatrice smiled. ‘Wish the Prince well for me.’
That was all she could do.
Followed by a hug and a wave as she walked away.
Really, she’d barely been there any time at all, and yet it hurt so much to leave.
More than it ever had to leave anywhere.
Even when she had left the convent at eleven it had only been one person she’d wept for.
Now it was for love, and people, and her little home on the marina, and lakes and swans...
But there would be no final lingering there—no frantic check for the lost cygnet. Because a flash of silver caught her eye. Jasmine was coming out of the rose garden and walking towards the lake.
Beatrice changed direction and walked down the tree-lined avenue, but she kept wanting to turn and look at this woman who wanted a quiet life. And who could blame her?
Not Beatrice.
Who could blame Julius for protecting someone he loved and honouring a promise?
Clearly, you’re not, she had sneered at him when he had spoken of the King.
What a horrible woman she was. And what a wonderful king he would be.
She had just wanted some time. And his father wanted a weddingnow.
His father... Who had stood there weeping...
Perhaps he thought a wedding might somehow bring back his son, rectify things... Might pull Julius into line.
Good luck, she thought. Because even at their first meeting—before all of this—Beatrice had known he was his own man. No prodigal son returning with his head down was he... Julius had returned ready for duty.
