Page 26 of Royally Wed
CHAPTER
SEVEN
As a member of the British monarchy, Amelia was required to make appearances at various charity events. This tradition had been going on ever since the British public got smart and figured out that the royals needed to earn their keep. As Edward had so recently reminded Amelia, the monarchy itself was supported by public funds. Someone had to pay for all the palaces, castles, andcrown jewels, and Amelia was all too aware that burden had never fallen upon her own family members. Supporting charities was a way to set things right.
These duties, known as “engagements,” were a way of giving back to the British people and therefore extremely important. It was part of the royal job description, although Amelia wouldn’t go so far as to call being a princesswork. Cutting afew ribbons and making hospital visits while wearing a tiara wasn’t the worst gig in the world. She was keenly aware of how good she had it—the whole arranged marriage thing notwithstanding.
Amelia’s first official engagement had been when she was just four years old. She’d attended an Easter-egg hunt in HydePark for children of armed-forces personnel. The scene was idyllic, like something outof a storybook. There were toddlers wearing frilly Easter clothes and carrying woven baskets filled with brightly colored eggs. The park’s rose garden was in full bloom. Amelia had a vague recollection of a pony ride along Rotten Row.
And then everything had come to a screeching halt when she’d pulled the hem of her dress up over her head to show off her new eyelet-trimmed bloomers—the ones withthe big letterAdecorating her bottom in pink monogrammed script. She’d been so enchanted with those bloomers. It had seemed like such a shame to keep them hidden under her petticoat all day long.
The photographers went wild, of course. On Easter Monday, Amelia’s photograph was on the front page of theDaily Mail, theSun, and theDaily Mirror—the Unholy Trinity, as Edward called them—as wellas a fair number of tabloids across the pond.Peoplemagazine had dubbed her Princess Naughty.
Much to her mother’s mortification, the nickname stuck.
Now, twenty-two years after that fateful Easter-egg hunt, Princess Naughty had racked up thousands upon thousands of engagements. There had been a few missteps along the way, but she’d managed not to repeat the panty-flashing incident.
Todaywas a light day, with only one official appearance on her calendar. She’d originally been booked for three, but Amelia had gotten a text from her private secretary the night before notifying her that her schedule was being rearranged.All the chaos surrounding the wedding meant the number of reporters following her every move had multiplied tenfold. Simply getting from one place to another wasa major ordeal when a fleet of paparazzi was trailing behind your Range Rover as it crisscrossed London.
Amelia smoothed down the front of her prim A-line dress as the vehicle slowed to a stop in front of its destination. One of her security officers opened the door of the car and Amelia was greeted with the frenzied sound of dozens, if not thousands, of camera shutters clicking away at hyperspeed.She kept her knees pressed as tightly together as possible as she disembarked, ever-vigilant not to repeat the bloomer-flashing misstep.
“Ready, Your Royal Highness?” her security guard asked. Ben, this time. Her team had grown so large, she never knew who to expect.
“Absolutely.” Amelia flashed a smile at the cameras.
She’d been looking forward to today. Spending a few hours visiting homelessteens would definitely get her mind off the drama of her impending nuptials and the fact that Eleanor hadn’t answered a single text message she’d sent in the past twelve hours.
Amelia was sick of checking her phone for a response. She’d gone so far as to bury it in her handbag to stop herself from scrolling through her texts in case she’d missed a notification. But she couldn’t forget the lookof disappointment on Eleanor’s face when they’d parted ways at the Ritz.
Her run-in this morning with the cello-playing hottie nextdoor had been a welcome respite, although she never would have admitted as much to him. Nor would anyoneeverknow she thought of him as the hottie next door. Particularly since she shouldn’t be thinking about himat all. Or kissing him!
What was his problem withdogs, anyway? More the point, why was Willow so fascinated with the man?
An image of a shirtless Asher flitted through Amelia’s consciousness, and her mouth grew dry. Maybe she understood the fascination more than she wanted to admit.
You’re engaged, remember?
But goodness, that had been some kiss.
Amelia took a deep breath and concentrated on making her way down the path her security teamhad formed through the throng gathered outside the building. She glanced up, expecting to see the entrance to the drug rehabilitation center she visited once a month or the homeless shelter where she was a patron. Both had been on her schedule for today, but thanks to her diversion with the canine-wary Mr. Reed—correction: Asher—she hadn’t had time to study her revised agenda. So it came as a totalsurprise when she realized she was at a preschool.
She slowed to a stop and glanced up at Ben. “Battersea Nursery School? Is this is a mistake?”
“No, Your Royal Highness. This is where we were directed to bring you. There was a change in your schedule. Didn’t anyone notify you?”
“Yes.” She nodded, thinking of the printed itinerary on her desk that she hadn’t even given a cursory glance.Damnyou, Asher Reed. “I thought my engagements had beenreduced, not changed entirely.”
Ben shot a nervous glance at the school’s front door and no doubt wondered if Princess Naughty was going to bolt. “I’m simply following orders, Your Royal Highness.”
Amelia forced her lips into a reassuring smile. “Of course. I’ll check with my secretary later today on the change. Lead on.”
Amelia had neverbeen sent to visit small children before. Ever. Her engagements typically involved at-risk youth or mental-health awareness campaigns. She was also a patron of the English National Ballet, which she adored.
But schoolchildren? No.
She’d never even set foot inside a preschool. Not even when she’d been a toddler herself. Like generations of royal princesses before her, she’d been tutored privatelyat the palace until she’d been old enough to attend secondary school. She wasn’t even sure what to say to a four-year-old.
This was much more her sister-in-law Jane’s territory. Jane actuallyhadchildren. Two boys and a girl, all born within five years of her marriage to Edward. Such an aggressive birthing schedule would probably be considered madness for anyone but the future queen of England.Or possibly the star of one of those reality television shows that chronicled the lives of mothers with a dozen offspring.
