Page 28 of Keep Her from Them

My forehead furrowed. “Is there something wrong with him or the family?”

Sir Reginald recoiled. “No, there is not, and you should not suggest such a thing. Are you suggesting I interrupt His Majesty’s vital solitude to discuss balancing your calendar?”

Typically, the royal family took the entire summer off. King Philip, my cousin, and his wife and children, their fourth child only six months old, were sunning themselves on a yacht in the Caribbean.

My dad, brother to Philip’s deceased father, had always taken two months off as well. Not that Dad did any royal engagements anymore. After my mother left him, he’d suffered a stroke and mostly stayed behind closed doors.

I clamped my jaw. “No, and I’m not trying to shirk my duties, I’m just asking to change a few things this week.”

“King Philip prefers the royal family to be visible throughout the year. His reputation as a hard worker is of vital importance, as much as his desire to be a man of the people. If you are not out there representing his interests, we would need to consider an alternative.”

“An alternative to me?”

Sir Reginald smiled, the effect deeply unpleasant. “You aren’t the only representative of your branch of the family. Should I commence my enquiry?”

A chill slunk through me.

I’d asked for a small change, and he threatened the peaceful life my father lived. In the spring, I’d finished my master’s degree, and although my dream had been to spend every free minute painting, I had accepted a request from my cousin, via Sir Reginald, to become part of his royal calendar to cover the gap while he was away. I’d always been photographed anyway, so it made sense to get paid for it. Or, rather, my father was paid as head of our household. The only other member of our branch of the family, as Sir Reginald put it.

I’d received a two-week schedule and had wanted to do well at it. Yet that job, as such, came at a price. After my father’s stroke, his removing himself from public view meant that he was no longer working for the royal family. The king, again via Sir Reginald, had made noises about reducing the money that was going his way.

Dad didn’t need much. His home, Lancaster House, belonged to the Crown, but he held the lease. Maintaining the huge, draughty building, paying our living costs, and managing his staff, including security, were his only priorities now he didn’t have my tuition fees. Was he privileged? Yes. Had he had any alternatives as brother to the king? No. Not that he’d ever found. And now he was unwell, he could do even less. Certainly not attend sporting events and garden parties.

I’d stepped in, and with snake-like precision, Sir Reginald had homed in on Dad as my weakness.

With a stiffened spine, I gave Sir Reginald a single shake of my head. “No. I understand perfectly. Please forget I asked.”

“I shall enjoy reading the headlines later.”

The secretary rose and left me without another word.

I flopped back on the antique sofa and closed my eyes. My phone buzzed. I found it in my dress pocket and checked the screen.

Riss: I will be with you in a few minutes, ma’am.

I tapped out a reply, telling the security guard where I was, then thumbed over to the conversation with Dori. Late last night, he’d sent a picture of himself in some club, neon paint daubed on his bare chest and some elaborate drink in his hand.

I called him. He picked up after several rings, a grunt my greeting.

“I think I hate my life.”

“Is it spoiled brat day already? It comes around so fast.”

I groaned. “You can talk. I tried to change my schedule, and it was like I’d gone full treason.”

Material rustled, as if I’d woken him and he was still in bed. “Darling girl, talk to Daddy.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Did you just refer to yourself in the third person, and as ‘Daddy’? Don’t be revolting.”

“I wasn’t referring to me. Your actual father. You’re stressed out at work. He’s been through it all. Surely the old boy would be able to help?”

I sighed. My father’s viewpoint was increasingly hostile to the family he’d grown up in. A chat with him usually ended up dwelling on the brother he’d lost too early, the wife who’d been driven away, and the daughter he wanted out of it. But that could never happen, and I’d never tell him why.

“No, I’m currently avoiding him as he hates me being here. Not that he could do anything as that isn’t where my problem lies.”

“Then where does it originate?”

“With the bodyguard.” I winced, but the words were out there.

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