Chapter 7
Seven
The second press briefing in December didn’t go the way Lauren had planned.
Well, the actual session itself was fine. It was the moments after that were a disaster.
“Lauren,” Adam from the Daily Dispatch said after she had wrapped up a briefing that included new details on the royals’ upcoming Christmas trip to Balmoral. “Is
there really any point in us coming here if you aren’t going to confirm anything?”
“As I have told you a dozen times, Adam,” Lauren said without even lifting her head, “I am happy to discuss the working lives
of the royal family and matters relating to the institution, but personal lives are, and have always been, something that
we are not in the habit of commenting on. Questions about a prince’s hairline are a waste of everyone’s time.”
“That’s not what I wanted to ask you about,” Adam said, his voice sounding smug, which was never a good sign, and when Lauren
turned around, he looked even more pleased with himself.
Lauren sighed.
Since her first day at the Palace, Lauren had grown to dread the weekends.
Or more specifically, the tabloid stories that were scheduled to run on a Sunday.
For the British press, the Lord’s day was somehow reserved for their most scandalous and lurid tabloid nonsense.
Most of them were ridiculous—a royal bought a new car, didn’t apply for planning permission before building a pool house, the horror—but over the years it had also been when some of the monarchy’s biggest scandals were laid bare to the world, like the time
a very married Prince of Strathearn was photographed dining with an Australian lingerie model during a “lads” surfing trip,
or the Duke of Cumberland was caught secretly selling gifts from dignitaries on 1stDibs. Lauren usually took turns manning
the stream of weekend media inquiries from outlets around the world with Harriet, but not knowing what was happening on Harriet’s
watch made her nervous.
Not as nervous as the Dispatch reporter was making her right now, though.
“We’re hearing word about the Duke of Exeter and some pretty serious debts, possibly even an imminent bankruptcy filing,”
Adam said.
Lauren went cold.
“I’m sure the British taxpayers would be thrilled to learn that they’re funding his escape from bankruptcy. That is why he’s
back. yes? How is he paying them off if he’s not earning?”
Lauren hoped her face looked as calm as she didn’t feel. “And do you have any actual reporting? Because rumors do not really
count for much.”
“Working on it.” Adam smiled. “Just giving you a heads-up, that’s all.”
“Always appreciated,” Lauren said breezily, then made sure to spend a few extra minutes chatting with some of the other reporters and gathering her things before leaving the room.
She went straight into Eugene’s office. “We might have a problem,” she said. “Tell the duke that we need to meet in my office.”
Eugene, who had been on the phone, hung up mid-sentence. “What’s the matter?”
“Not here. My office. It’s about his”—she lowered her voice to almost a whisper—“finances.”
“Give me five,” Eugene said as he stood up and grabbed his phone and laptop. Lauren sat at her desk frantically searching
online and on social media for anything new on the Duke of Exeter, scrolling for anything that could confirm Adam’s suspicions.
She could breathe a little easier once she saw the same stories that she always saw about the duke—the horseback-riding memes,
sightings of him cycling around London, ducking into Waitrose, nothing of consequence.
“This had better be a real emergency,” Eugene said. “Because I just made the duke practically sprint here.”
The French doors to Lauren’s office suddenly swung open, and the duke stood in the doorway, his cheeks flushed from the mid-December
air. “Sorry, forgot to knock again.” He smiled, shutting the door behind him as he stepped into the room. “What’s going on?”
Lauren shut her laptop and stood up to lean against her desk. “The royal editor at the Daily Dispatch approached me after the press conference today and asked about the duke’s finances. More specifically, debts. He’s gathering
reporting.”
“Ah,” Eugene said, putting his clasped hands on top of his head like a hat.
“Exactly,” Lauren said. “He doesn’t seem to have anything concrete yet, I think he’s just sniffing around. But it’s coming.”
“This isn’t really anyone’s business, certainly not the press,” the duke said, raising his voice a bit.
“These are not personal debts. I’ve done nothing illegal, nothing immoral.
My business, which I put blood, sweat, and tears into, faced unforeseen difficulties when we lost a major client.
And despite what people may assume, I don’t have unlimited resources.
So, like any other business owner, I went to the banks for help, so I could keep my staff—who I cared deeply about—employed, to keep the one thing I had to my name going . . .”
“With respect, that is precisely the problem,” Eugene said, his tone measured but firm. “You are not just any business owner, nor are you simply another person who has fallen on hard times. Your status—your entire existence within
this institution—is predicated on the belief that you represent something greater. Stability. Tradition. Continuity. The public
does not want to see their royals struggling as they do. They want to believe in the permanence of the Crown, in its ability
to rise above ordinary misfortune. If you admit to being ‘just like anyone else,’ you risk proving them right when they ask
why they should continue to support you at all.”
“So, what, I’m expected to sit back and watch some scumbag hack try to humiliate me with their twist on it? Another life failure
to be mocked over?” the duke said, looking deflated. “Aren’t you going to try to stop this?”
“But it’s the truth, one can’t stop the truth from running,” Eugene responded. “With all due respect, this is not a story
about the heir or even a spare. I suggest you let them write whatever they want to write and take comfort in the fact it will
blow over in the blink of an eye.”
“Oh, thank you, Eugene, for making me feel like I’m the commodity that I apparently am,” the duke said. “So just so I’m clear,
you’re saying that because I don’t happen to be higher up the family food chain, I don’t deserve the same protection the others
get.”
“Okay, please, both of you, could you sit down? You’re making me nervous by pacing around like that,” Lauren said, pointing at two stiff-backed chairs in front of her desk.
“I realize you have your opinions, but I’m the one, in fact, running the comms department at the Palace, so I’ll take it from here. ”
Both men plonked down into the chairs. The duke had the faintest tan line on the finger where his wedding ring used to be,
Lauren noticed, which made her wonder if he had continued wearing it long after his divorce was finalized. Just the thought
made her feel a little bit more sympathetic toward him.
“Until we see evidence that the Dispatch even has actual reporting to run a story, we’re not doing anything just yet,” Lauren said. “Right now you’re scheduled to
make your first public appearance at Balmoral on Christmas Day. That’s the plan we’ve set in motion, and that’s the plan we’ll
continue to execute.
“If Adam had something, he would have said so. The fact he was trying to weasel intel out of me shows he has very little to
go off. The man is not as smart as he thinks. All we need to do for now is make sure we’re not caught unaware.”
The duke stared at her, quietly fuming. “So you’d rather not be on top of this?”
“I am on top of this,” Lauren said. “But Eugene’s right. Nobody wants you to be human, they need to see you as, as a responsible
working member of the royal family, taking an incredibly important job seriously and being here for the right reason.” She
thought of their conversation back in the car after the children’s hospital, the duke saying, “Well, I am a person” and looking surprised by the idea that he would be seen as anything but that.
“I’ll make sure to keep all of you informed if I hear anything else,” Lauren continued. “And I wanted to tell you as soon as possible just in case this turns into a bigger situation than it currently is, but for now, we just get on with things as normal and stay focused on Balmoral.”
“I knew this was a mistake,” the duke seethed. “I knew it. There’s not a drop of goddamn honesty or compassion anywhere in this place.”
“Look, I’m on your side,” Lauren told him. “And I am being honest with you. But this isn’t a decision that you get to make
on your own. It’s also part of my job.”
“And mine,” Eugene added, and Lauren resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“Fine,” the duke said. “But do me a favor: Next time you want to bring me into an ‘urgent’ conversation about my own life,
please don’t.” He left as abruptly as he arrived, although careful to not slam the door, his well-honed manners still in effect
as it quietly clicked shut.
“If it runs after Balmoral, we’ll have a little more wiggle room,” Lauren said to Eugene, then sighed. “Did I just manage
to upset the only royal I’m allowed to speak to?”
“Yes, but you did your job,” Eugene said as he stood up. “Well done.”
Lauren did a double take at the compliment. “Um, thank you.”
“Just don’t mess it up,” he added as he reached for his buzzing phone.
“That’s more like it,” Lauren said. “Always a pleasure.”
After he left, she went to lock her French doors—she wasn’t looking to have someone else burst through them—when she saw the
duke walking across the grounds, hands shoved into his coat pockets, his head down, looking small and glum, just a regular
human—a person.
Lauren had a little insight into that.