Chapter 4 #2
“When you were sixteen and Kate wanted to send you a gown she’d once worn, I knew then the dam had cracked.
She’d never reached out before.” Dad sat back with ease as Nova headed down a hill.
“So, what’s your plan?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Work from Lauchtenland? Do you really want to be Lady Royal Blue?”
“I’ve talked with Matteo and the team. I’ll make it all formal next week.
Jack can handle the marketing without me.
There’s always email and Zoom if I’m needed, but I want to be present for Kate.
I want to explore Lauchtenland.” Scottie tightened her grip on Dart’s reins.
“Matteo can steer the winter line through the final phases once I approve the designs. I’ll check the tech packs when I get back. There’s time.”
“When do you leave?” There was a calm resolve in Dad’s voice.
“End of April. She’d like me there before the May eighth Garden Party.”
“Then let’s cancel the movie and finalize this plan of yours over dinner. The board won’t like this, but—”
“Why not? What does it matter to them? You’ll still be here. You’re the CEO.”
“Just be back before the July board meeting.”
Nearing the barn, Scottie voiced her last argument for her decision.
“You know this isn’t about you or the company.
Not even entirely about Kate. This is about me learning who I am.
Until now, I’ve only had half a story. If you’d married when I was little and that woman adopted me, raised me, called me her daughter, we’d not be having this conversation.
Mom would’ve been my mom. But you didn’t, and my guess is deep down you knew this day would come.
You wanted me to know Catherine Blue was my mother. ”
His jaw flexed, just once, which meant he heard her but didn’t like it. “Why don’t you tend the horses while I run into town for the steaks.”
“Dad,” she said. “I promise I’ll come home the same girl I am now.”
“Let’s see if that girl can finally beat her old man in a race.” He pressed Nova into a run. Dart, with a reluctant trot-to-run, raced home, giving Scottie everything he had.
That’s what she planned to do with her time with Kate—give it everything she had, then come home the same girl who’d left.
* * *
“By order of Her Majesty, Queen Catherine the Second, Letters Patent have been issued and sealed by the Ancient Cypher of Titus granting Scottie O’Shay the style of Lady Royal on this day, the 30th of April, thus affording the rights and privileges thereof the Houses of Blue and Lauchtenland.”
— The Chamber Office of Her Majesty, the Queen
* * *
“We’re blooming overrun by Americans. Do we need another snooty rich lass with a title?
Didn’t the Yanks fight a war to throw off the yoke of oligarchy and aristocracy?
Why are we allowing them to make it fashionable again?
Every North Sea Island Nation has an American under a crown.
Go home, Lady Royal. MP Fickle for Prime Minister! ”
— @RECOPartyMan2000 on
* * *
“On the heels of the queen’s Letters Patent, Hamish Fickle presented the Royal Reduction Act in parliament, intending to limit the size and power of the royal family.
‘Why are the citizens of Lauchtenland still paying tribute to the House of Blue a thousand years later?’ Fickle said.
‘We don’t need their protection. In fact, we protect them.
Of course, we adore our queen. The House of Blue is our constitution representing our history and culture.
But there’s no need to bow and curtsy. We’re not a big nation but we are influential.
Let’s lead the way for our North Sea Island neighbors to fully embrace the power of the people in the twenty-first century. ’”
— Clark Wilson, The News Leader
* * *
Michael
Her Majesty’s daughter had arrived. The dark Range Rover pulled round Hadsby’s meticulously cared for circular drive and stopped by the speckled portico steps.
“Here we go, lads and lasses.” Michael exited the security office through the servants’ hall to rouse the staff. “Grand Foyer, please. Greet her as Lady Royal but do not curtsy or bow. She’s an American.”
“She is Her Majesty’s daughter.” Cranston, Hadsby’s butler, had been in conflict with Michael about the status of the recently dubbed Lady Royal Blue, Scottie O’Shay.
Cranston wanted to treat her like a legitimate member of the House of Blue. Michael insisted she be treated in the manner of any government official or visiting dignitary.
“With respect, Cranston, I believe I have Her Majesty’s mind on the matter.” The queen, who’d been visited by her physician this morning, was asleep but eager to greet her daughter for afternoon tea. She’d personally rung him several times admonishing him to “Not overwhelm her with our world.”
Our world? Yes, of course, the world of royals and security.
As a Cross man, Michael was familiar with royal security and royal duty.
Yet the attempt on Prince John’s life during the North Sea Island Nations’ Summit lingered with him.
How had he let it happen? How had he not seen the assailant?
The investigation may have cleared him, but he’d not cleared himself.
He had a chance to erase that event by protecting Lady Royal.
He determined not to make a pig’s ear out of it.
Then there was the moment Mum cornered him at Evan and Tracy’s after Finn’s football match.
“It’s time you come work for Pratt. I need your tactical training and thinking in our exec room. You’ve done your Cross duty. You’ve served the Crown. You’re forty years old, Mick. Time to join Pratt, settle down, and have a family. Poor Finn, Mindy, and Linus have no cousins.”
Evan had defended him. “Mum, have a care. He’s still mourning Purnell.” Such a good brother and mate.
“I loved Purnell, you know that, but she’s not coming back.”
Over the past few weeks Mum had texted Michael a possible job description, opportunities, and a pay packet. Nearly four times what he made in HMSD. Before bonus.
Yet as he stepped into Hadsby’s Grand Foyer, his only focus was the queen’s daughter.
Cranston, dressed in a dark gray suit with a waistcoat, starched white shirt, and dark blue tie, stood with his shoulders back, chin up.
The four footmen, dressed in red coats and dark slacks, white shirts, and gray ties, lined the Grand Staircase.
Hadsby’s Head of Household, Somba, wore a blue skirt and a vest with a white blouse underneath.
The hem of her vest was trimmed in blue silk.
Choko Danes, Scottie’s lady’s maid—rather stylist, as they were called these days—wore black slacks and jacket with a fitted white blouse.
Chef George, representing the kitchen staff, stood at attention in his chef whites.
There were others, of course. The household maids and kitchen staff, the gardeners and technicians, plus the castle’s security detail. However, the lot in the foyer would interact with Lady Royal daily.
“You all look smart,” Michael said with a nod of approval, reaching for the door just as Scottie stepped onto the portico, framed beneath one of the arcade arches.
The crisp wind blowing up from Whistlecrag Bluff, filled with the salt and scent of the sea, tossed her long, blonde hair with brunette undertones about her face, and for the briefest moment, time and sound stood still. She was stunning.
He’d seen pictures of her, studied her life, work, and education. She was the confident men’s fashion designer with a get-out-of-my-way spark in her eyes.
Yet in this moment, those observing eyes carried a flicker of vulnerability that tugged at him.
Should he step forward, put an arm around her, reassure her everything would be all right?
On reflex, Michael pressed his hand against the little hitch in his chest—something he’d not experienced since delicate, porcelain Purnell.
Clad in travel clothes of jeans, trainers, and an orange University of Tennessee hoodie, she caught his eye and smiled, moving toward him with a weary elegance, her gaze drifting over Hadsby’s weathered stone.
She pressed her hand against one of the ancient pillars as though testing its worth.
Her presence was both common and regal, an American mirror of Her Majesty.
Even with Scottie’s reserved hesitations, Michael saw the iron in her core. This assignment was going to be nothing like he’d imagined.
“Lady Royal Blue.” He stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Welcome back to Hadsby Castle. I’m Michael Cross, your equerry and protection officer.”
“Yes, I know. Kate sent me details about you. Impressive.” Kate? She addressed Her Majesty as Kate? No one employed her nickname—not friends, not family—in front of staff or her security detail.
When her hand clasped his, he forgot all about protocol or even where he was standing.
“It’s good to be back.” Scottie pulled her hand free. “I forgot how much I love the fragrance of Hadsby. It smells wild and watery, like the gardens and the woods, like stone and sea.” She peered at Michael. “Should we go in?”
“Yes, indeed. Your staff awaits you.” He gathered himself to follow her inside, pulling from the way she captured him with a glance and the poetic way she spoke of Hadsby. None of it seemed to overwhelm her, but she somehow overwhelmed him.
Cranston greeted her first, bowing. “Welcome back, Lady Royal Blue. You remember the senior staff?”
“How could I forget? We played pickleball two Christmases ago in the ball room.” Down the line, Scottie shook hands, her words bowed ever so slightly with the American southern accent. “How’re y’all doing?”
He’d been wrong about any vulnerability. She’d arrived with her confidence fully intact. But of course. She was an international businesswoman who’d traveled the world, been on the American morning talkies, and made People Magazine’s “Women of Fortune” feature.