Royals (Royals #1)(32)
“I like Ellie,” he says, which I notice isn’t really an answer, but I let it go for now, turning my attention back to the track in front of us.
“So how did you end up a Royal Wrecker?” I ask. “Because, honestly, you don’t seem all that wreckish.”
“Is that a compliment?” he asks, and I shrug.
Taking a deep breath, Miles rests his arms on the top fence rail as well. “I met Seb at school. Gregorstoun.”
“That scary boarding school up north where Alex went. Ellie’s mentioned it. Isn’t it all up at six a.m. and freezing showers and gruel?”
Miles grimaces just a little, reaching up to push his hair back. “That’s the place. Scottish princes have gone there since the 1800s. And,” he adds, giving the lower fence rail a kick with the tip of his shoe, “the Montgomery sons as well.”
When I just raise my eyebrows, waiting for Miles to go on, he says, “We’re like Sherbet. Courtiers, really. Titled, usually a big house or three somewhere in the family, some of us rich, some of us skint. And we all have families that have been tangled up with the royal family for generations. Sherbet’s dad? Nearly married Alex and Seb’s mum. Her parents ended up sending her off to Paris to get her away from him, in the hopes that she’d fall for someone more suitable to be a prince consort. Which she did. Not sure Sherbet’s dad’s ever gotten over it. He was looking forward to that crown.”
I wrinkle my nose. “So what, he was more upset about not getting to be a prince than he was about not marrying the woman he loved?”
It’s Miles’s turn to snort. “Not sure if he did love her, to be honest. Love is never a big part of royal matches.”
The silence that falls between us is definitely of the awkward variety, and Miles frowns, puzzled, until he suddenly remembers who he’s talking to, I guess.
“Not anymore, though, of course. Alex is absolutely mad about Eleanor; anyone can see that.”
They can, actually, so I don’t think he’s just trying to kiss up, but still, it’s another reminder that this world Ellie is stepping into is completely different from anything we know. What kind of family doesn’t have their first real marriage for love until the twenty-first century?
Clearing his throat, Miles moves back from the fence. “So,” he says, “was that the sort of ‘tea’ you were hoping for?”
“It was lukewarm at best, but better than learning about the history of horse racing,” I reply, and there it is again, that little moment when I think Miles might actually smile.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he nods toward the royal box. “The race is about to start. We should head up.”
I know I can’t put it off any longer, so I nod, too, but I don’t take his arm this time, just trail behind him as we reach the stands. I can feel eyes on me the whole way, but I try to pretend I’m Ellie, sailing through it all without a care.
There are only a few steps up to the box, and I use them to take deep breaths, preparing myself to be the picture of respectability.
And come face-to-face with Big Bird Head herself, standing right by Alex and Ellie, both of whom are wearing the expressions I’ve only seen in pictures where they’re visiting hospitals and cemeteries.
Oh no.
Oh nononononono.
Ellie turns. “Daisy,” she says, giving me a tight smile. “May I present you to the Duchess of Argyll?” Her smile hardens. “Alex’s aunt.”
Chapter 16
“To be fair, her hat did look like Big Bird’s arse.”
I snatch the paper back from Dad, swatting it with him as I do. We’re all in a parlor at Holyroodhouse, the Baird family palace in Edinburgh. We’ve been given our own suite of rooms, complete with two other parlors and three bedrooms, although we’re only using two of them. Ellie is still staying in her apartment in the city, but no more hotel for us. We’re being officially wedged into royal life.
Or we will be if all the headlines don’t lead to my banishment.
I know yesterday was a disaster, and while I apologized profusely to the Duchess of Argyll, there was no doubt that I’d been a major screwup. I’d spent last night reading the file Glynnis had made me, hoping that in the future, if I decided to run my mouth, I wouldn’t end up insulting one of Ellie’s future relatives.
Dad picks up another paper and turns it to face me. There, on the front page, is a huge picture from the race, blurry but brightly colored, my green hat and red hair especially standing out, as does the duchess’s yellow feathered hat. “FOR THE BIRDS!” the headline blares, then right under that, “ELLIE’S LITTLE SIS GIVES THE DISDAINFUL DUCHESS WHAT FOR!”
I glance over at Ellie, who leans forward from her spot next to me on the sofa, blond hair falling over her shoulders. I haven’t mentioned to El that I only said what I said defending her, mostly because I don’t want her to know that Alex’s aunt doesn’t like her. I mean, she probably already knows, but if she doesn’t, I don’t want to be the one to tell her.
“Glynnis is going to die,” she mutters, and I feel my face heat up as I study the photograph. You can’t really read the expression on my face due to the low-quality shot, but I’m standing there with my hand on my hip, something I don’t even remember doing, and the duchess is so ramrod straight, she looks like she might snap in half.