The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(126)
What have I done?
We’re driven through the archways to the rear entrance of the palace to avoid the prying eyes of the crowds out front, and when I’m helped from the car, I look to the sky, seeing helicopters circling the airspace, more cameras giving the world the pictures and footage they’re hungry for. We’re center stage. The most anticipated production.
An arm is placed around my shoulders, and I’m hurried into the palace. I don’t realize it’s Josh who has hold of me until I’m through the doors and the buzz of talking dies, my father’s advisors falling silent and gawking at my companion like the impostor they believe he is. Looks of judgment, eyes full of shock. It all has me finding Josh’s hand and holding it like my life depends on it as Sir Don and David Sampson stare on. They look like they have just arrived back at Claringdon themselves, still in their coats. “You weren’t on the flight.” I say quietly.
“His Highness left rather abruptly.” The spite in David’s words cut me in two, and I look away, silence falling.
“Your Highness.” Davenport is the first to break the uncomfortable quiet, moving in and bowing his head in respect. “My deepest condolences.”
His offer of sympathy is another confirmation that I am not in a horrific dream. “My mother?”
“The Queen Consort is in the Claret Lounge, ma’am. She’s awaiting your arrival.”
I cast my eyes across to David and Sir Don. They’re statues, judging me. It’s not intentional, but I again let my gaze drop to the glimmering marble floor, shame getting the better of me. They know this is entirely my fault.
I move toward the lounge in a haze of desolation, bracing myself to face my mother. Josh is by my side, his thumb working circles over my skin where our hands are held. The doors to the lounge are closed, though the grief within the room is so strong it’s seeping through the thick wood and sinking into my skin. I reach for the handle and pull back when another hand finds it first. Flicking my eyes upward, I find Davenport with his signature cold, stoic expression. “I believe Mr. Jameson would like a cup of tea,” he tells me as diplomatically as he can, and I look at Josh, knowing he will have caught the Major’s not-so subtle hint.
Josh throws a mild scowl toward Davenport before he centers his attention on me, taking both of my hands and turning into me. “You need to be with your family,” he says, and I open my mouth to object, needing him with me. Needing him to stay close and catch me when I fall, because I know I will. But he places a soft finger over my lips, hushing me. “I won’t go anywhere.”
Maybe so, but that won’t stop them from making him go. I scope my surroundings for Damon, locating him only a few feet away, behind David and Sir Don. He gives me a mild smile and a thumbs up, his way of telling me Josh will be safe while I am gone. I believe him. I nod and draw breath, as Josh dips and pushes his lips to my cheek. “I love you,” he whispers quietly, only for me to hear, and I nod when he leaves me to hold myself up.
Once Josh is gone, Davenport opens the door, and the grief that was being partly contained within the four walls of the Claret Lounge spills out, so potent it could take me from my feet. I hear Helen first, her sobs uncontrolled and loud. And I see my mother sitting on one of the couches, staring ahead at nothing, while Uncle Phillip helps Aunt Victoria pour tea, no maids or footmen in sight. Uncle Stephan is here too, looking grave standing by the fireplace, his wife by his side, and Matilda is in a chair by the window, her face damp and blotchy. She’s the first one to notice me, her eyes lifting, her face softening. Then the door shuts behind me and the rest of the room all look up. All eyes on me. I swallow and step forward on unstable legs, as my mother struggles to her feet with the help of Uncle Stephan who rushes to help her. I’ve never seen the Queen Consort looking anything less than pristine. Now, she looks washed out. Weak. Vulnerable.
I try to keep my emotions contained, if only to appear strong for my mother, but it all wants out and there is nothing I can do to fight it back. I choke, going to my mother’s open arms and burying myself there, hiding, feeling her warmth, our trembling bodies merging and shaking us to our very centers. “I’m so sorry,” I sob into her neck, wetting her skin with my relentless flow of tears. She says nothing, no words of comfort and no reassurance, and despite the fact she’s holding me, it tears me apart.
I gently break away to find her face, and when I do, she holds my cheek, thoughtful and quiet. I clench her hand, silently begging that she won’t hold me responsible. When she finally speaks, it’s with the softest tone she is famous for, though I hate what she says. “Where have you been?”
I shake my head, remorse churning my insides. She doesn’t know? “I’m here now.”
“Lucky us,” Uncle Phillip mutters, claiming the attention of everyone in the room, including me. His eyes, full of disdain, are firmly rooted on me. “If you had not scarpered to Scotland, the King would not have either. We wouldn’t all be standing here, the family devastated, the country shocked.” He flings a deranged arm in the air, snorting his disgust. “I hope you’re happy. Your insolence has lost us our King.”
I feel my mother’s hand squeeze mine, though she doesn’t retaliate, and I shrink, knowing I deserve his wrath.
“My husband is dead because of you,” Helen wails, and I close my eyes, Mother’s hand tightening further still. “All you had to do was marry, you spoilt, self-important little bitch.”