Page 119 of Duchess Material

She smiled and blushed. “I am Private Secretary to the Princess of Wales.”

“And if you could write an honest job title for yourself, what would it be?”

“If I had a proper job title it would be Fixer of Things and Herder of Cats. And I can say that because my boss got me a big-name placard that says it. It’s bedazzled, even.”

Natalie burst out laughing. She had.

“I sense your employer knows what you are up to.”

Lucy snickered and confirmed. “She does, yeah.”

“What brought you to be the Fixer of Things and Herder of Cats?”

“Uh… I applied to an internship at university. I was a rep with the student union. The Queen came to visit us and encouraged me to apply to an internship. I did. I thought it was crazy. I was an American living in London, a world apart, and there was no way. I was called into an interview with June Osei, The Queen’s Private Secretary and the time, and half a dozen other people. It was super intimidating, but I must not have screwed up too badly. They called me a few days later. And, a year after that, I started working as a gopher, basically. I promoted to an assistant and then worked in the press office and finally was a junior private secretary to Her Majesty before the Princess poached me. And I’ve been working for her ever since.”

“And you like it?”

“Love it. It’s great. The family is wonderful. I’m never bored. I get to meet amazing people. I never dreamed my life would go this way.”

“What brought you to London?” Winston poured more whisky.

“Don’t top me up, Tony. God.”

“What, darling? You are being fun.”

“I am behaving, okay? Uh… what brought me here. I got accepted to UCL and jumped. I grew up in the south Chicago suburbs. Snore. As an Anglophile, I jumped at the chance.”

“Did you get what you thought you would?”

“You know, it’s funny. I told myself that I would get a British boyfriend because I find British accents divine—which is cute because that’s something Americans think exists.”

“British accents?”

“Yes. Your accent is downright English but any American listening would call it British.”

“You offend my ancestors, Lucy.”

“Sorry, you’re Scottish and you speak like an Englishman. Your ancestors will now roll in their graves. No, your accent is darling. But, in general, I really had this vision of Brits that was so ridiculous and based on outdated information.”

“Such as?”

“No one told me that Chicago was a hundred times tidier than London. No one told me that old buildings were fifty percent charming and fifty percent freezing all the time.”

“Why we sleep with dogs in the bed, right?”

“Yes, naturally.”

“British men were all you dreamed we’d be?”

“Not quite. Things get lost in translation at times.”

“Such as? I think we are a well-oiled machine, darling.”

“That’s sweet,” Lucy giggled. “Oh, I do love you. No. Sometimes, I just cannot figure it out. There is a word you won’t understand.”

“Such as?”

“Really,” Lucy replied.

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