The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(47)

“What’s that?” I ask, just as Kim appears from the corridor that leads to my staff offices. She has her bulging diary in her arms and a pen in her mouth as she talks on her mobile.

“Your father has been requested to unveil a new monument in his honor in Madrid.”

I sag, knowing what is coming. “That’s lovely.” This tribute has been in the making for years, Spain’s display of union with England through the marriage of my mother to the King.

“Rather unfair that my husband gets paid homage in my motherland, and I get nothing, don’t you think?” She chuckles, and I smile, knowing she could not care less. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. He’s unable to attend the unveiling as it collides with an existing royal engagement. Spain can’t change the date due to a public holiday, and your father can’t withdraw from his commitment. So it has been decided that you should represent him.”

I groan under my breath, wandering through to the lounge with Kim following me. “What about you, Mother?”

“I will be with your father in the British Virgin Islands.”

“And John?” I fall to the couch and give Kim eyes to suggest she should help me out. She shrugs, because when my staff receive instructions from the top, they obey.

“He’s scaling back his royal duties, what with Helen’s condition,” Mother says.

Condition? She’s pregnant, for goodness sake. “Eddie?” I put forward my last card, with no hope of it being played.

“Adeline, darling, Edward has been serving the country for months. It would be unfair for us to expect him to fulfil royal engagements so soon after his return.”

And then there’s me, with nothing better to do than smile, look pretty, and gush about my family to all who will listen. I have one use. Obey when ordered. “When is it?”

“Kim has the details.”

I scowl at Kim for no other reason than I need someone to note my displeasure. “I’ll be sure to talk to her.”

“Good evening, dear.”

“Good evening, Mother.” I hang up and hang my head. “So I am going to Madrid.”

“It’s one week, Adeline. Look at it as a holiday.”

“A holiday?” I laugh as Olive slides a tray of tea onto the table before me. “Thank you, Olive. I’ll serve,” I say, sitting forward and pouring myself a cup, as well as Kim. I push it across the table to her. “You and I both know there will be no chance of a holiday. Besides,” I grumble, “royals are only allowed to sun themselves in England, which, of course, limits their exposure to the sun a great deal. When am I to leave?”

“Next month. I’ll collate your itinerary.” Kim makes a few notes in her diary. “The gallery opening this Friday.”

“What about it?”

“Your outfit.”

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“No need to. Victoria Beckham’s people are sending over her new collection.”

I smile. Well, that’s made Friday more appealing. “Fabulous. When are they arriving?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Great.” I clap my hands, my mood lifting. “Is that all?”

“For now.” She stands and gathers her things. “You’re in residence this evening?”

“Why are you asking it as a question when you control my diary?” I flick her a sardonic grin.

“Just checking that you’re not planning on going rogue on me.”

“Damon is off this evening, so if I do want to go rogue, I will have to grow wings and fly myself out of here. Besides, where is there to go?” I grab my phone and call my cousin. “Matilda,” I sing when she answers.

“I’m not talking to you.”

I pout, feeling only marginally guilty for leaving her to endure the delightful afternoon tea without me. “Will you talk to a bottle of Mo?t?”

“I may be swayed.”

“Good. This evening we are drinking Mo?t and perusing the glossies.” As I declare our plans to Matilda, a pile of this week’s glossies land on the table in front of me, courtesy of Kim. “Be here by seven?”

“And how do you propose I get there?” she asks. “Unlike yourself, one does not get the luxury of a personal driver. The King’s private duchy doesn’t stretch that far, or rather he won’t let it. So I have to share my driver with the rest of the family, and Mother and Father are out this evening at a charity gala.”

“Oh. How inconvenient.”

“Rather,” she mutters.

“Then I will have Damon collect you. From Farringdon Hall?”

“Marvelous.”

“One problem.”

“What’s that?”

“He’s technically off duty this evening, so he won’t be able to drive you home.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll grab a cab.” She snorts a burst of laughter, as do I, because no royal gets a cab. Well, that’s not technically true. I did it once. I smile at the memory, remembering the last time Selfridges was closed to the public for me to shop. I saw freedom through the glass-bolted doors as I waited for my staff to collect my many purchases, and it was too much to resist. I wandered out into the night-time air, hailed a cab, and I let the lovely cockney man drive me home. He was constantly peeking in the rearview mirror, a frown embedded into his crabby forehead. He would shake his flat-capped head every now and then, and I would smile, because he was clearly wondering if it was a joke. It wasn’t. Neither was the fact that I had no cash when we arrived home. The paps had a field day, and the kickback from Claringdon Palace was ridiculously over the top. The King was livid. Damon was livid. The public, however, loved it. And I rather enjoyed my little jaunt around London in a black cab. I’d never been in one before. Just for a little while that night, I was like any other regular person. Free. My stifling existence was forgotten in that perfect hour when I saw London through new eyes while safe in the back of the cab.