Page 110 of Thrones We Steal

She cocks an eyebrow at me like she’s questioning my sanity. “I told you I’d help and that’s what I’m doing.”

In my defense, when I called her to ask her advice on planting hydrangeas, I thought she’d give me a few tips over the phone and that would be that. Instead, she told me she’d be right over and has adamantly rejected all of my subtle and not-so-subtle hints that she take a break ever since.

I roll my eyes in amusement and cover the roots of the plant in the hole with loamy black soil. We’re planting a new border around the Sunken Garden. I’m determined to bring it back to its former glory. It seemed like a good way to heal a broken heart last night at two a.m. In this heat however, I’m having second thoughts.

Yesterday, after I regained my composure, Mr. Weston and I discussed the evidence which proved my sole right to the throne. He assured me he would see to it that the right steps were taken. Since King William is already planning to hand his crown to Henry and me in a month’s time, and Henry already signed away any right to it himself, he doesn’t foresee much delay.

The annulment papers remain untouched in their folder on my desk.

“This was a ridiculous idea,” I say.

Adelaide gives me a sharp look. “Talk to me, poppet. You are a bundle of nerves.”

“I’m fine. Just hot.” The thing with Adelaide is, you can never hide anything from her. No matter how hard I try, she always calls—

“Bullshit.”

I look at her and blow out my breath, damp tendrils of hair floating away from my face before drifting back to stick to my sweaty temples. “You’re too canny for your own good.”

“Dear, no one says ‘canny.’ Not even me and I’m old.”

I shake my head and place another bush in the fresh hole she just dug. “You just want me to tell you you’re not old.”

She cocks a brow.

“Which you’re not,” I add.

“Good girl. Now tell me the real reason we are planting hydrangeas in Satan’s boiler room.”

God, am I that obvious? I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. There’s no use denying it, not with Adelaide. “I’ve lost everything.”

“I’m going to presume that’s a rhetorical statement.”

I pull the gardening gloves from my sweaty hands and drop them to the ground, before fumbling for my phone and the photo I took of the painting of Philip. She removes her own gloves and pushes the reading glasses around her neck onto her nose. She takes it from me, whispering “Good god” as she does. Her eyes flash up to meet mine. “Is this …?”

“Queen Helena’s lover.”

“He’s a dead ringer for our darling prince. I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure where to put my money.” She hands my phone back and smirks. “Not that I’d ever bet against you, my dear.”

I scoff at her obnoxious lie. Adelaide would put her money on whoever she thought had the greatest chance of success, relationships be damned.

“I pride myself on my incredible intellect, but even I’m failing to see how this means you’ve lost anything, let alone everything,” she says.

“I’ve been trying to prove my sole right to the throne. But now that the proof is here, I feel … sad.”

“Well, I’m just an old lady, but I’m going to take a gander and say it has nothing to do with finding proof and everything to do with a deliciously attractive man. Who, if I were twenty years younger, I would most certainly fight you for.”

“No one says ‘gander.’” I pull my gloves back on and lift another bush from its container. I break up the root ball before placing it in the hole.

“I can say whatever the hell I want, young lady. Now tell me what the problem is.”

My shrug dislodges a cascade of sweat down my back. “He filed for divorce. After finding the picture. And then kissed my sister. Oh, and I broke up with Beck. Again.”

“Crikey. I’m impressed you’re planting flowers. I’d be tearing them out right now.”

“I tend to avoid destroying things, with the exception of my future.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, which we both know is unlikely, but weren’t you planning to distract yourself with Beck?”

---