Chapter 7 #2
“Thank you.” With a final glance at Michael, Scottie started down the stairs. “Got to pick an outfit for the Garden Party, but if you’re lucky, I’ll show you the secret passageway before I go home.”
“Be still my heart,” Michael said, hand slapped to his chest.
But as he watched her go, he resisted the urge to chase after her. “Go home, Lady Royal, now. Please.”
What could they do to her in eight weeks? Plenty.
Lady Royal, if you only knew.
* * *
Scottie
If she’d known she’d walk into the Garden Party under a cloud of scandal and scuttlebutt, she’d never have run off that night by herself.
Over the past three days, the quay incident had become its own legend. Memes and AI fakes of Scottie saving Mrs. Johansdotter flooded pro-royal feeds. The anti-monarch side pushed fabrications of Scottie inciting the mob and shoving mother and child over the edge.
Talk shows debated over it, replaying one grungy, dark clip after another, worse than sports commentators reviewing plays after a game.
Dad texted then called. “What’s going on? Penny keeps forwarding posts. Did someone try to push you from the Dalholm quay? That’s got to be a hundred feet.”
“More like forty, Dad, depending on the tide.”
“Scottie, if you want to come home—”
“Hello, who are you and what happened to my ‘never quit’ father? I’m fine.
” She ran down the details with her dad just like she would at O’Shay, keeping to the main points.
Avoiding emotional rabbit trails. “I’m staying,” she concluded.
“Kate needs me.” In the end, that was all that mattered. Her mother needed her.
The final days up to the Garden Party were a struggle. Wednesday, Kate could barely drink her tea. Even so, she insisted Scottie walk with her to the old portico by Whistlecrag Bluff. She had to turn back before they left the castle’s shadow. That evening, Scottie dined alone while Kate slept.
She resolved to be diligent at Friday’s Garden Party—to stay close to Kate. She’d promised John and Gus, who phoned often to check on their mother. The appeal of being a part of their inner circle—of being a sibling—was intoxicating.
Aunt Arabella and Sir William, their daughter, Rachel, and several cousins were coming to the party. The queen and her half-royal daughter could not manage three thousand guests alone.
So, with a dose of courage and a taste of trepidation, on the eighth of May Scottie dressed for her official debut as Lady Royal Blue, daughter of the Queen of Lauchtenland. at the Hadsby Castle Garden Party.
“Miss, which clutch do you prefer?” Choko set five designer clutches on the dressing-room island. “Might I recommend the gold?”
Scottie considered, then nodded. The gold, with matching hardware, suited her outfit. It was by a local designer in the Midlands. Eloise Bright of Eloise Ltd.
“She’s very hip with the young people,” Choko said. “I believe she’ll be at the Garden Party.”
Scottie wasn’t a “clutch” girl, but she’d listened to Kate’s lesson on using the small bag to avoid unwanted handshakes—or as a barrier. Even to communicate to Michael if she felt trapped.
She wore a bespoke dark-blue coatdress over a white dress, with matching hat and shoes. Luigi, the hairstylist Choko insisted do Scottie’s hair for the day, swept her hair into an intricate updo.
“I feel like I’m heading to a Golden Age of Hollywood premiere,” Scottie said.
“Oh, to have been on those red carpets.” Choko sighed. “Glorious days for women’s fashion. You’ll make quite an impression, Lady Royal. Her Majesty is eager to show you to the world—especially after this week.”
“Do you think she’s worried about me?” Scottie asked. This was a different universe from a segment on Good Morning America or New York Fashion Week. “Does she think I won’t impress?”
“No, miss. She wants the world to see what she sees. To love you as she does.”
“Choko, I don’t think even the queen can make people love me like she does.” Sweet thought, though. “However, I’ll do my best not to embarrass her further.”
“You’ve not embarrassed her. Mrs. Johansdotter has embarrassed herself. You are quite charming, miss. I’ve styled many a lady. They don’t hold a candle to you.”
Scottie regarded Choko for a moment, unsure how to respond. “Thank you,” she said in a whisper, squeezing the woman’s hand and tucking her words into her heart.
For the Garden Party, she’d already discussed protocol with Kate and Michael. How to shake hands, how to steer the conversation, how to move on to the next guests. The Kongelig Herrer would form the guests into lines so she would know exactly where to go.
Scottie suggested responding to the quay stories, if asked, with the truth. Michael and Kate had replied in unison, “No!” She was to avoid it altogether.
“Don’t feed the lions,” Michael had said. “Let them starve. Any comment reads as defensive. Sometimes you win by appearing to lose.”
Choko placed the gold clutch in Scottie’s hand, detailing the contents of a handkerchief, sanitizer, lip balm, blotting papers, and a compact, and then turned her toward the full-length mirror.
“Stunning, miss. And I’m not saying that because you’re a princess.”
“I’m not a princess, Choko.”
“Aren’t you? Lady Royal Blue for now and one day you’ll be Princess Scottie. You’re here to win your crown.”
“Win my crown? Is that thing? No, at the end of this, after the Rose Ball, I’m heading home. I’m here to help the queen until the princes and Edric return.”
She felt like a stuck record when commenting on her status. Lady Royal was more than enough of a title. More than she’d ever need.
“As you say, Lady Royal. Cranston texted. They’re waiting.” Choko slipped out through the interior closet door leading to the servants’ stairs.
When Scottie entered the Queen’s Library, conversation stopped. Sir William, in morning coat and top hat, nodded, warmly adding, “You’ll do, Lady Royal.”
Then everyone talked at once, punctuated with cheek kisses as they introduced the cousins: the Duke and Duchess of Clemency, Roman and Birgitte.
“Don’t we make a splendid set of royal Blues,” Arabella said, eyeing Scottie. “Do I see Choko’s hand?”
“Of course, Mum,” Princess Rachel said. “Scottie, did you know Aunt Catherine stole Choko from Coral Winthrop?”
“She left my son at the altar in front of millions,” Kate said, beautiful and bright—for now—with a humor in her voice. “That’s the least I could do.”
Scottie had barely followed Prince Gus’s story—how an American cosmetics heiress abandoned him on their wedding day—then months later, she learned, along with the world, that the “pitiful prince” was her half-brother.
“We must go to Pub Clemency sometime, cousin.” Princess Rachel looped her arm through Scottie’s. The pub was a favorite haunt of the royal princes. “It’s time we had more girl cousins at the pub. Gus and Daffy’s little one is darling, but not exactly pub ready.”
“I should say not,” Arabella said. “Scottie, come to us for dinner. Bring Kate. She’s not been in ages.”
“Later, after the spring season. Now, we should go down.” Kate led the way through the door.
When Cranston met them in the foyer, Kate squeezed Scottie’s hand. “Here we go. You’ll do splendidly.”
Uniformed officers lined Hadsby’s long, wide porch, which had been built during the reign of one King Titus or another.
It stretched across the front of the castle, a grand expanse of granite and marble, the steps leading down to the lush green lawn where Garden Party guests gathered beneath fluttering royal standards and a bright North Seas sky.
Tents with an array of tea, cakes, sandwiches, and fruit were stationed at the four corners. A royal orchestra quintet played on the front walk, as well as on the back portico, with the North Sea breeze adding a faint dissonance.
Scottie scanned the row of uniformed security, finding Michael, composed and regal. Without changing his expression, he stepped out to join her, falling in a few paces behind. He was here. Near. Her welcomed shadow. Something in Lauchtenland that felt uniquely hers.
Guests gathered to sing as the orchestra played the national anthem, “One Nation for Thee.” Then the Kongelig Herrer—the Royal Gentlemen—shaped the crowd into orderly lines.
“We’re always the A line,” Kate said, taking Scottie’s arm as they crossed the lawn. Their Kongelig Herrer read from a discreet note over the queen’s shoulder.
“This is Mr. and Mrs. Cornwall. He’s the new director of the youth centre. She was recently Teacher of the Year.”
The couple bowed and curtsied, speaking quickly in Dalholm shorthand.
“Yer Majesty, Lady Royal. Honored. Please. Thanks.”
“As are we,” Kate said. “Thank you for your work with Dalholm’s youth. Tell me, Mrs. Cornwall, how did you get into teaching?”
They spoke briefly, then moved on—everything proper, polite. Halfway down the line, Scottie spotted Mrs. Johansdotter in a yellow dress with a fascinator perched on stiff curls. Beside her stood a portly gentleman tugging his waistcoat and fanning his face with his top hat.
“Excuse me.” Scottie stepped from the queen’s conversation and approached. “I’m so glad you could come, Mrs. Johansdotter.” She offered her hand. “How are you and your daughter?”
Mrs. Johansdotter stepped back. “We came. See queen, miss.”
“Of course—yes, she’s eager to meet you.” The line compressed, guests edging closer. Scottie subtly reached for Michael. “I’m so sorry about that night on the quay. I shouldn’t have gone out alone.”
The woman made a stern face as if holding in her “You got that right” reply. “Me, daughter. Fine.”
“Nightmares,” the husband added. “Screams.”
Michael leaned in. “Ask how she likes the party.”
Right. “Have you tried the cakes in the dessert tent?”
“Long line.” Mr. Johansdotter cast a look of longing in that direction then straightened. “No—here for Her Maj.”
The crowd parted as the queen and the Royal Gentlemen stopped before them.
“Mr. and Mrs. Johansdotter,” Kate said. “Welcome to Hadsby. How are you finding things today?”
Mr. Johansdotter bowed repeatedly, awe softening his expression. Mrs. Johansdotter curtsied more than once. Kate expertly directed their short conversation before moving on. That’s when Mrs. Johansdotter caught Scottie’s hand.
“Didn’t want…to say it,” she whispered. “Made me.”
“Who made you?”
“Thems. TV. Paid money. Needed.”
“To say I caused the mob—and that’s why you were pushed?”
She nodded, eyes wide. “Sorry, Yer Lady.”
“It’s okay. Thank you for telling me.” Scottie glanced toward her mother, now greeting another couple. Mr. Johansdotter had already slipped toward the cake tent. “I shouldn’t have been down there alone.”
“Still.” Agnus Johansdotter squeezed her arm. “You—thems don’t like. Want gone.” She leaned back, wary. “Careful, Yer Lady.”
“Who wants me gone?” The RECO people? A handful of loud citizens?
“Thems,” she repeated. “All I know.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Johansdotter. Very much.”
“No, Yer Lady. Thank you. Me life—you saved.” Her eyes glistened. “Me daughter.” She hugged Scottie quickly then backed away as one of the Royal Gentlemen approached.
Scottie glanced back at Michael. She’d have to tell him. Thems paid Mrs. Johansdotter to lie. That was more than a drunken music-concert mob getting out of control.
That was strategic. Calculated. And downright frightening.
* * *
“Though she’s an American, Scottie O’Shay, aka, Lady Royal, looked beautiful today on the castle steps. I noticed the queen reaching for her several times. Also, did anyone see how the crowds gathered round her? She couldn’t take a step without fifty people moving with her.”
— @LoyalRoyalBlog
* * *
“Queen Catherine the Second stunned today in her pink suit with matching heels and hat. Her daughter, the newly-styled Lady Royal, wore a blue coatdress with matching heels and hat. Her clutch was designed by Eloise Ltd, which has already sold out. Retail power has arrived with Lady Royal, who as we know, has some notoriety as a men’s fashion designer.
She displayed her excellent eye for women’s fashion as well.
My guess is Choko played a part in her Garden Party attire.
Her coatdress and hat were from Elnora. Her shoes? The one and only Christian Louboutin.”
— Sharon Lee Hayes, fashion segment on
Tuppence Corbyn & Friends
* * *
“‘Stone, Lady Royal spoke intimately with Mrs. Johansdotter, whom she saved from sailing over the Dalholm quay. When asked what they spoke on, Mrs. Johansdotter declined comment. Perhaps they’ve come to an understanding about that night.’”
— Melissa Faris, Royal Reporter, the Morning Show