The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(57)
“My title symbolizes status, darling. Do not mistake it for power.” Mother peeks up at me as she trails a pretty silver teaspoon over the rim of her china cup. “I will be staying out of the way of your father today.”
“They have blown it out of proportion.”
“Of course they have. That is what the press does.” She brings her teacup to her lips and sips. “Our relationship with the media is a fragile bond, darling. We must not put a strain on it. We feed them morsels to pacify them. We don’t give them a banquet to feast on.”
Taking my knife, I smear a small bit of butter across my toast and nibble on the edge, talking myself down. There is nothing I can say or do to make them see reason, because there is no reason to be had. We are royals. We comply with tradition and expectation.
“We were discussing baby names.” Mother places her cup down gently and starts to fiddle with the pearls around her delicate neck.
I laugh a little. “Discussing? Why?” We all know what that child will be called if it is a boy, and we also know what it will be called if it is a girl. I am named after my father’s mother, and my two preceding names are that of my mother and maternal grandmother. Adeline Catherine Luisa Lockhart. Therefore, should John and Helen’s baby be a boy, it will be named after his grandfather, Alfred, with John and Harold preceding. A girl will be Catherine Helen Elizabeth. Everyone knows that, even the public. Why are we wasting time discussing it?
Mother gives me a tired look but says no more on the matter. We finish our breakfast chit-chatting about my engagement at the gallery this evening, Mother taking an interest in my dress as usual. One thing my mother and I have in common, as well as our Spanish looks, is our passion for lovely clothes. Although poor mother is more restricted than I am when it comes to breaking the rules of royal attire, her neat frame always hidden in the expected formal skirt suit and matching headpiece or hat.
We say our goodbyes with the usual formal kiss, and I finally head toward the stables. I spend the afternoon bonding with Spearmint, the absence of Sabina acute. I hope she’s okay. I hate to think of Sabina lost in grief. I finally pluck up the courage to call Haydon while riding Stan down the bridal path, Damon trailing me in the Land Rover. “I am so sorry to hear about your grandfather,” I say with true sympathy. He was a good man. “How is Sabina?”
“You know my grandmother. As strong as those horses she trains every day. I had to stop her from going to the stables this morning.”
I smile. “And you? How are you, Haydon?”
“I’d be better if my damn father would show his face. He left an hour after Granddad passed, and we haven’t seen him since.”
It’s at this point it occurs to me that Haydon clearly hasn’t seen the papers yet. Should I tell him? I bite my lip, contemplating my best move. I’m sure telling Haydon that his father has been at the palace all morning dealing with a silly crisis would not be a move well played. Nothing should take priority over his duty to be with his mother and son. “Was he okay?” I ask tentatively.
“Not really.”
Silence falls. There’s really not much I can say to that. “Haydon, listen, there is a story in the paper today. I need you to—”
“I’ve seen it.”
I pull Stan to a gradual stop. “Oh. I see.”
“We all know the papers dress things up.”
I frown at thin air, caught off guard. “Yes, they do,” I reply, sounding unsure. So that’s it, then? “Please do let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”
“Thank you, Adeline. I will.” Haydon hangs up, and I slowly spin my phone in my hand, a little confused by that conversation. He turned up at Kellington the night of my party, and I know he was checking up on me. He may not have found Josh Jameson in my suite whipping me with a belt, but he knew something was going on, and the papers have confirmed it, even if they’re reporting a morsel of a story and detailing the wrong man. Princess Adeline kissing a soldier is nothing compared to Princess Adeline tied up and being thrashed by Hollywood actor extraordinaire Josh Jameson. Haydon’s happy to let the kiss slide?
“Heading back, ma’am?” Damon asks, pulling up next to me, his bent arm resting out of the open window.
“Yes, I believe I’ve had enough for today.” I turn Stan and give him a kick, letting him canter back to the stables. The feel of the wind in my hair would usually have me smiling, but today I can’t appreciate it. Something just feels … off.
IT DOESN’T MATTER THAT EACH time I’m standing here, I’m wearing a different dress. Or my shoes are different. Or my hair and makeup have changed. I still only see a hollow woman. I wince as Jenny pulls and sweeps the front of my hair over my ear, pinning it in place securely before spraying my low chignon with lashings of hairspray.
“Lips?” she asks, looking at my red Jimmy Choos.
“Red.” I know I should go for something more subtle and girlie, more acceptable for a royal engagement. But the defiance in me refuses to mismatch my lips from my shoes to please the Monarchy. It’s red. The shoes are red. Slutty, scandalous red. I open my mouth as Jenny lines my lips and fills them in with the perfect red to match my shoes. Standing back from the mirror, I take in my form. The welts on my wrists are faded now, hardly noticeable, although still detectable if you look very closely. “I’ll do.” I accept my red clutch and let Jenny put the finishing touches on my makeup. “Thank you.”