Majesty (American Royals, #2)(80)
She was so relieved to have cleared the air with Beatrice. But even being reconciled with her sister—they’d spent the weekend together, catching up on all the months they’d lost—wasn’t enough to distract her from thoughts of Marshall.
Sam hadn’t seen him since last week’s trip to Orange. When he’d texted, she’d replied with vague, one-word answers. Sam knew that Beatrice had said to go for it, but Beatrice hadn’t seen the way Marshall and Kelsey were tangled together on the dance floor.
It had all played out exactly as Sam had predicted. Seeing Marshall with a princess had made Kelsey decide that she wanted him back.
For once, Sam took no joy in being proven right.
When she reached the stables, Sam hurried through the exhibition hall—filled with replicas of old carriages, coachmen’s uniforms, even a wooden pony that children could practice saddling—and into the riding ring, which was surrounded by a row of spectators’ seats. It smelled of leather and dust and, underneath, the animal musk of horses.
The first thing Sam noticed was the golden state coach, spread out in the middle of the arena in all its blinding glory.
Eight bay geldings stood harnessed before it, enormous white plumes fixed to their foreheads. A postilion in crimson livery was talking to Sam’s mother, who was reviewing something, probably the parade route, with Robert Standish. Teddy had wandered behind them to approach one of the horses in the carriage lineup.
He held out a sugar cube, and the horse eagerly licked it from the palm of his hand. It nipped at his clothes in search of more treats, but Teddy just laughed. Sam watched as he greeted each of the horses with low, soothing noises, stroking their necks so that their ears pricked forward in lazy delight.
This, she realized, was what Teddy did best. There was a steadiness to him, an intent fixity of purpose that calmed everyone around him. He was the sort of person you wanted to lean on in a crisis. He’ll be a good king consort, she decided.
He looked up at her and smiled, the familiar, dimpled smile that used to make her go weak at the knees. Except now when she saw it, Sam felt nothing at all.
She jumped down into the ring, and a puff of light brown dust rose from beneath her sneakers.
At Sam’s arrival, Robert looked at his watch and heaved a sigh. “Apparently Her Majesty is running late. So, Your Royal Highness, you’ll have to fill in for your sister. Why don’t you and His Lordship get into the state coach.”
Teddy started forward, but Sam stayed where she was. “Get into the coach? Why?”
“The coachmen will take you around the grounds a few times, to simulate Beatrice and Teddy’s procession through the capital. We just want to make sure everything is in good working order,” he explained. “This is the first time the carriage has been used in twelve years.”
It hadn’t been used, Sam realized, since her father’s coronation.
She didn’t bother pointing out that this carriage was so heavy, the weight of one young woman wouldn’t make a difference. Robert clearly wanted a dress rehearsal, and right now she lacked the patience to argue with him.
Sam and Teddy started forward. The carriage was enormous, made of leather and wood but gilded all over so that, from a distance, it looked like solid gold. Sculptures were carved into the sides: a chorus of gods trumpeting in victory, eagles with their wings unfolded.
“No worries, Eaton, I’ll go with Sam,” said a voice behind her, as Marshall stepped forward to open the carriage door.
He was wearing jeans and a crew-neck shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. Sam’s heart lurched at how nonchalantly gorgeous he looked.
“Hey, Marshall. I didn’t know you were coming,” she said, with admirable disinterest.
“I thought I’d stop by. When the footman said you were at the stables, I caught a ride on one of the tourist carts. I learned so much,” he went on, eyes twinkling. “Did you know that your house has two thousand one hundred and eighty-eight windows, but only three of them still have the original glass?”
Normally Sam would have snorted in amusement at hearing the palace called a house. But her mind had whirled cruelly back to last weekend, and she said nothing.
“Lord Davis!” Robert exclaimed. “Do you ride?”
“Yeah, I went to junior polo camp with all the other fancy lads,” Marshall said sardonically.
The chamberlain nodded. “Excellent. I was wondering if you’d like to ride in the wedding procession, as part of Her Majesty’s advance guard? Traditionally it’s composed of six young noblemen, and—”
“Whatever, I’ll do it.” Marshall turned to Samantha, gesturing that he could help her up. “Shall we?”
Sam brushed past his outstretched hand and vaulted into the carriage alone.
The interior was very small; they had to sit facing each other, so close that they were almost bumping knees. Sam blinked, adjusting to the sudden dimness.
Neither of them spoke as, with agonizing slowness, the carriage jerked forward.
She felt Marshall’s dark eyes on hers, questioning. After a few more beats of silence, he jerked on a leather strap hanging from the carriage’s ceiling. “What’s this?”
“An old hat cord.” At his look, she explained. “It was for men to hang their top hat on, in case they were so tall it didn’t fit.”
“Of course, a hat cord.” Marshall wrapped his wrist around it and tugged himself forward, doing a pull-up. She ignored him.