Page 35 of The English Queen

“Mother, I did not ask your opinion on matters,” Louis said. “She’s been through enough. I’ve barely seen her.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

Louis was downright offended by his mother’s line of rhetoric. “Not hers! Her mother is dying.”

“No one rushed in to help you when—”

“Mother, no. What did I want when Dad was dying? For people to rush to help me. For people to have helped.”

“Your feelings for her cloud your judgement and you rush around after her like a lovesick puppy.”

Louis took a deep breath, “Mama, if I did have immense feelings for Bethany, why would I marry her? She should cloud my judgement. I am beholden to her. She will be my spouse. It isn’t harming my work to go to London for the weekend. An inconvenience, maybe, but I’m alright. It’s not only about her. I have deep empathy for her brother. He’s in a shitty position, Mama. Robbie has four young children. I would much rather help him and his family right now then complain about travel.”

Elise stood, arms crossed. “Your father never would have—”

“Well, I want to. I want to be there for her. It’s a done deal. I’m leaving after this event.”

“Which she should have been attending—”

“Her mother is dying. Have a bit of compassion for her!”

“I do. She’s a young thing. She’s about to marry and become a queen. It isn’t easy.”

“And she’s been pretty reliable, has she not? She does it for me, Mama. She doesn’t do it for her own gratification. The least I can do for her right now is to be supportive. She’d take a bullet for any of us. I’m convinced. That’s how she was raised. That’s who she is. The least you could do was not say anything if you have nothing nice to say.”

“She expects—”

“I offered. She didn’t ask. Now, I have to run.”

Louis left to attend a reception. He hated to attend without Beth. Beth made everything easier. She took the pressure off. He would be fine. He spent time in the car and on the plane recharging his social batteries. Beth was so much better at being “on” for ages. He’d never be that person. Louis arrived in London at about 2 AM, despite protests that was too late. She had all but pled with him to show up.

He carried his own bag in, irritating Margaux’s staff. However, he found it easier than creeping in with an entourage. It was already hard enough showing up with a motorcade. Louis crept into the room where Beth slept, curled in a ball as she was known to do, her blonde waves fell behind her like a waterfall. She looked downright peaceful. Louis tried to climb in bed with her as quietly as possible but failed. She stirred.

“What is happening?” she sat up nervously.

“Bolleke, it’s just me,” Louis said. “I was trying not to wake you.”

She looked at the door, confused, before turning to him in a daze.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m on edge. Hi,” Beth said eventually.

“Hi. Go back to sleep.”

“Well, now I can’t. Now that you’re here.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Because it’s been about a week,” Beth kissed Louis.

She went from a state of momentary panic to throwing herself at him. Beth was a rollercoaster.

“Beth, I’m, tired. And you should sleep—”

“You actually want to sleep? Why not do whatever you want to me right this second? I won’t tell you no.”

It was hard to argue with Beth any old day–let alone now.

“God, you can be so tiresome and infuriating, Beth,” Louis said, kissing her back.

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