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Spencer informed me that he had to fulfill an obligation of his father’s and wanted me to accompany him. I initially assumed it would be some legal matter related to the will or estate.
But I was wrong.
It was a Garden Party at Buckingham Palace.
Luckily, I’d brought a refined and elegant sheath dress in the perfect shade of cream to match my skin tone. One of Carson’s designs. The dress had long lace sleeves and a hem that reached mid-calf, along with matching shoes and a handbag. I took some time to style my hair to match the fanciest hat I’d ever owned, and I was confident that not even Spencer’s grandmother could have found fault with my appearance.
When I entered the main room of Spencer’s flat, he was sitting on the couch, focused on his phone. For a moment, I thought he might be reading the reviews about Tomma, but I was relieved when he looked up and said, “Our car will be here in a minute.” He stood up and offered me his arm, saying, “You look lovely.” I thanked him and complimented his suit, and we left for the party.
Being on the “wrong” side of the road always threw me off, so it took me a moment to realize we had arrived. The driver opened the door, and Spencer got out first, then offered me his hand to help me from the car. I tried not to stare as we walked towards Buckingham Palace. I had seen castles in Scotland, but there was something unique about a palace where royalty still lived.
We arrived a little early, which seemed to be the norm rather than the “fashionably late” trend. This allowed us to follow the crowd as they made their way into the back gardens. Despite it being February, the gardens were still a breathtaking sight.
The space was massive, with a perfectly manicured lawn, a large pond in the distance, and garden beds waiting for spring to arrive. The trees were bare, but I always found beauty in the starkness of nature.
We followed the path to where several large canopies had been set up. As I continued, I noticed that there were heaters, raising the temperature to a comfortable level for outdoor events. They were designed so cleverly that they blended seamlessly into the surroundings.
“Baron Spencer York! Trenton Hemmingford from The Daily Telegraph. May I have a moment of your time?”
I expected Spencer to decline and move on, but he surprised me by saying, “Yes, of course.”
“First, let me offer my heartfelt condolences on your loss,” Trenton said.
Spencer stiffened, but he maintained his polite and false smile. “Thank you.”
“As I’m sure you’re aware, there have been rumors about this young lady and her relationship to you,” Trenton said, flashing a set of white teeth. “We know her as London McCrae, the lead in your American production. May I ask why she’s here with you?”
“London is my girlfriend,” Spencer said calmly. “She’s here to support me during this difficult time.”
“And how are you finding London, London?” Trenton’s eyes twinkled as if he had made a clever comment.
“It’s lovely,” I replied truthfully.
“How long will you be staying?” Trenton asked, looking back and forth between Spencer and me. “I’m sure you’re eager to get back on stage.”
“Nothing is set in stone at the moment,” Spencer answered, and Trenton nodded.
After we finished answering more questions, Spencer said, “I’ll be talking to a few reporters, but you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”
“Thank you,” I said, squeezing his arm. “I’m fine.”
He nodded, then turned his attention to an elderly couple who I recognized from the funeral.
“London, I’d like to introduce you to Lord and Lady Fitzpatrick,” Spencer said, inclining his head to each. “Sir, Madam, this is London McCrae, my girlfriend.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Lady Fitzpatrick said warmly.
“Likewise,” I replied.
The trio began chatting about something related to Lady Fitzpatrick being a baroness, but I couldn’t keep up with the unfamiliar terms. They weren’t intentionally excluding me from the conversation, but I hated feeling like a third wheel.
When we moved on, another reporter from The Independent approached us, and I was feeling silly standing at Spencer’s side, smiling and looking pretty, unable to contribute to the conversation. But I reminded myself that I was here for Spencer, not for myself.
Growing up wealthy and having a Scottish father, I thought Spencer and I wouldn’t have much separating us. I didn’t know he would inherit a title, but even if I had, I didn’t think it would have hit me until now. Few Americans can understand what it means to be part of the English nobility.
And Spencer fit in perfectly. I now realized that he was born for this to be a part of this world. And it was clear from the way he carried himself and spoke all day.
“I must say, I’m a bit surprised your grandmother didn’t accompany you today,” the Earl of Pembroke said. “She was a regular attendee at events with your father.”
