Page 103 of Samhain

Ivy left the next morning in a tearful goodbye with promises of Christmas on her lips. I’d do everything in my power to make it happen. Then with my tail firmly between my legs, I dragged myself to Kensington where Sandra waited for me with her arms crossed and an eyebrow halfway up her forehead.

“She’s been expecting you,” she said.

“Yeah, I’ll bet she has,” I murmured.

Technically, my grandfather was the regent. He was the one who had inherited the throne from his father, and so on. But they’d been married since they were fifteen and had long ago decided to split up the duties in a manner befitting 1942. She would handle the family, the house, and the matronly tasks. In turn, he would handle the Commonwealth. It was what had made the English crown work for many centuries.

My stomach twisted as we made our way to my grandmother’s sitting room, my hand trembling on the railing as I climbed the carpeted stairs, the scent of Ivy’s perfume lingering in my nose.

I can do this.

Be strong.

I wasn’t the same person I was when I went running out of here.

I know that.

When we reached the door, the attendant knocked twice and waited for Gran to ring her bell before opening the entry and walking inside.

“Her Royal Highness, the Princess Miriam, duchess of Aberdeen?—”

“Get in here this instant.” My grandmother cut him off, quite out of character for a woman of her stature and grace. My knees shook as I walked inside. She sat in her favorite lavender chair with one of her Corgis across her lap, stroking a wrinkled hand between its ears. “Where have you been?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but she shook her head to silence me. Her question was rhetorical. Knowing her, she had implanted a tracking chip in the back of my brain when I was a child. She knew where I was without my needing to say so.

Her attendants left us alone together, the door closing with a deafening snick.

“So long as you are Duchess of Aberdeen, you will never hang up on me again.”

Fair enough. Even if she wasn’t the queen of England, it was still a rude thing to do to someone.

“Apologies, Gran,” I said. “I was in the middle of something.”

She pursed her thin, dry lips and placed her dog on the floor before reaching for the tea on the table next to her. Then those haunting eyes raked over me, looking for imperfections, looking for cracks she could use to her advantage. But I’d been extra careful to dress myself appropriately this morning—calf-length dress, sensible kitten heels, wool blazer. I looked like a modest member of the royal court.

“You left before an event to go to Washington, DC and spend several weeks with Ivy Washington and Alexei Fairfax.”

I cleared my throat and linked my hands behind my back. No sense in denying it. She already knew.

“Why?” she asked.

“They’re old friends from college,” I said. “I missed them dearly, and Ivy needed my help.”

“With?” Gran raised her eyebrows, expecting a proper response.

“That’s none of your concern.”

She didn’t like that answer. Deafening silence hung between us while she sipped her tea, a clear sign of her disapproval.

“You’re my granddaughter by blood, my daughter by law.” She tried to soften her tone despite the words dripping with disappointment. “Everything about you is my concern.”

“I’m twenty-four, Grandmother,” I said. “Well past the age of adulthood. You gave me a duchy before I was married.”

“Because I wanted you to bloom,” she said, clearly exasperated by my insolence. “Not cause more scandal.”

“No one saw me.” I’d made absolutely sure of that.

She took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “What to do with you, Miriam? What to do, indeed?”

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