Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Michael
It was a bonny day for the Pratt family gathering, because even the Lauchtenland skies, ruled by the tempest churning of the North Sea, wouldn’t dare rain on Granny and Granddad’s celebration.
When Michael finally phoned in his RSVP plus one, the event coordinator said the guest list topped out at three hundred.
Good. His grandparents deserved to be honored.
Sixty-five years of marriage was a stellar achievement, never mind they were two of the humblest people he’d ever known.
Their daughter, however, had fallen far, far away from their tree.
“Final chance to back out,” Michael said, glancing at Scottie as he parked the motor on the lower grounds of Presswick Manor, an ancient and beautiful estate perched on the cliffs of the Branford-on-the-Reserve area of Port Fressa.
“Back out? No way, dude. I’m here.” Scottie grabbed the gold Eloise Ltd. clutch she’d carried at the Garden Party and adjusted her hat. “Are you sure I’m not overdressed?”
Choko had fitted her out for a high-society wedding. “Back home, a celebration like this would be in someone’s open field or barn with a guitar circle and line dancing. I’d be in shorts and a T-shirt, wearing cowboy boots, ready for an evening in a hot barn.”
“You’ll be the loveliest woman here tonight.” Michael walked around to open her door, a lift in his chest when her long, slender legs stepped out, her perfumed presence following. Easy, chap. Walls up.
“However,” he added, “the ties and cummerbunds will come off once everyone’s good and snockered—and most likely thrown over the edge of Poplar Cliff along with hats and heels.”
“Another night for my memoir.”
“Wait until I’m dead, please.”
With that, they started up the concrete and pebbled drive, passing a car park of luxury motors and men in dark suits discreetly moving through the shadows. The security was tight tonight.
Up the final incline, Michael nearly reached for Scottie’s hand but pulled back just in time. Reflex. From his days with Purnell. He was always reaching for her hand. For her.
He hadn’t seen most of the extended family since Purnell’s funeral.
With Scottie on his arm, perhaps they’d refrain from asking how he was getting on.
How he was healing. They’d not dare ask if Lady Royal was his new love interest. Well, except Mum.
She’d bowl such a question straight down the lane.
The night on the portico when they talked, he’d refrained from saying too much about good ole mum. Scottie could make her own assessment. Why smear her with his palpable contempt?
“Kate said your grandmother was a lady-in-waiting to her mother.”
“Yes, they were good friends. She may have been one of the few outside the family and Privy Council to know about you. Queen Rosemunde confided in her.”
“And your grandfather?”
“A brilliant businessman. He ushered Pratt Printing into the twenty-first century. When he retired, he served in parliament for fifteen years and later joined Her Majesty’s council for technology and modernization.
Both my grandparents remain politically connected, which means all sorts will be here tonight, including the head of the rakish RECO party, MP Hamish Fickle. ”
“MP Fickle. Isn’t he from the Midlands?” she said. “I read about him in the paper. Kate left it on our tea table. I’d like to talk to him about Eloise Ltd.”
“Not tonight, Scottie. There’s no telling how he’ll spin a conversation in the press tomorrow. He lives for the talkies and his social media account. As it is, you’ll be posted across the internet before the first hour of the party.”
They reached Granny’s signature hedge framing a carpet of green grass. The manor, to his right, was of golden red brick, trimmed in ivy and anchored with green shrubs and gold and red flowers, with royal blue woven in.
“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” he murmured.
“For me or you?” She grabbed his arm. “Come on, I’ll be on my best Lady Royal behavior.” She stopped. “Michael, will they wonder why you brought me? Will they think I’m your date, as in date date?”
“If they do, they’d be wise to keep it to themselves.”
Just his luck, Mum was the first to greet them. “As I live and breathe! You came. I said I’d not believe it until I saw your face.” She squeezed his arm and kissed his cheek. “Lady Royal, it’s an honor to have you with us.”
Mum was no fan of the House of Blue because she’d always considered them competition for her husband’s (now ex-husband’s) attention and for her sons.
But thirty years after she left, anyone and everyone with a position was a friend to Jeanette Pratt.
To be fair, the way she welcomed Scottie sounded genuine, if not a bit sweet.
“Lady Royal,” Michael said, “my mother, Jeanette Pratt.”
Scottie offered her hand. “Thank you for allowing me to attend.”
“Of course, of course. I saw you had a bit of a rough start for the spring season, what with the business with the woman falling over the quay.”
“Any one of us would’ve tried to save Mrs. Johansdotter and her daughter.”
“Yes, but it was you, wasn’t it?”
“Well, I did give her a push,” Scottie said. “It was the least I could do.”
Mum stepped back, slack-jawed, then managed a rough laugh. Michael had never felt prouder. Touché, Scottie O’Shay.
“Let’s go meet Granny and Granddad.” Michael placed a hand on Scottie’s back. “Nice to see you, Mum.”
Check. He’d seen his mother, and now the rest of the evening was his.
They found his grandparents in a large tent strung with lights and filled with music, guests milling to and fro. The couple sat in velvet-covered mahogany chairs atop a small platform, king and queen of their little kingdom. Granny stood when she spotted him.
“My dear lad, you came. Your granddad and I have missed you.” She embraced and kissed him, then held his shoulders, beaming. “We’re so looking forward to you joining Pratt Printing one day. Your mother assures us—”
“Granny, may I introduce Lady Royal Blue, Queen Catherine’s daughter.”
“I am well aware of Lady Royal Blue.” Granny clasped her hands in her lap and peered down her nose. “I do hope you enjoy your evening and, um, your soon return to America.”
Granddad received Scottie in a more congenial manner. “We’re honored to have you at our celebration.”
“It’s an honor to be here. Congratulations on your anniversary.”
“Thank you,” he said, with a nod toward his wife. “Pay no attention to Michael’s grandmother. She’s old school when it comes to the House of Blue, even in these modern times. She was a confidant of Queen Rosemunde, your grandmother, when you were born.”
“I’m sitting right here. I can hear you, darling.” Granny glanced at Scottie. “Your presence is most welcome. We are honored.”
“Thank you, Granny,” Michael said. “And to be clear, I’m not joining Pratt anytime soon.”
“I asked her not to mention Pratt tonight,” Granddad said with one of his trademark smiles at Granny.
“But she’s on your mother’s bandwagon, anxious for you to come aboard.
You will. When the time is right.” With that, Granddad stood and taking Granny’s hand, they wandered off to join a circle of friends.
“What time might that be?” Michael muttered. “When I’ve lost my mind? When the world’s on the verge of collapse?” He snagged two flutes of champagne from a black-tie server. He handed one of the bubblies to her. “To families.”
She laughed softly and he tried to memorize the sound. “To families.”
“There you are, Mick.” Michael turned to find Evan and Tracy approaching, along with several friends and family members, all thrilled to meet Lady Royal. Especially Tracy.
They’d just finished introductions when Finn came flying out of the evening shadows, throwing himself against Michael. “You’re here! You’re here!”
With one arm, Michael lifted him up and spun him around. “Don’t you look nice in your suit and tie.”
“Dad made me.” Finn’s face, very much like his father’s at that age, was alight with excitement. “Can we play football later? The lads are made up you’re here. Will you show them the scissor kick, please?”
“I don’t know, old chap. We’re at Granddad and Granny’s party.”
“But all the cousins are here. Besides, we never see you.”
Michael bent to Finn’s ear. “Later, when the grown-ups have had too much punch.”
With a wide grin, his nephew shot him two thumbs-up and darted toward the cousins—a conglomerate of grandchildren, nieces, and nephews—and friends, dressed like miniature adults. If that didn’t bring back a memory or two…
“When Evan and I were young, we’d—” He was speaking to Scottie, but she was gone. “Scottie?” He tapped Evan on the shoulder. “Where’d Lady Royal get off to?”
Scanning the crowd, his affection for the little cousins and childhood memories gave way to adrenaline. Moving through the party with controlled motion, chuffed she’d disappeared, he ran through de-escalation scenarios and determined avenues of escape. Then he heard her voice.
“Do you feel your cause is just?” she was saying in her warm Tennessee accent, surrounded by a thick crowd of men and women.
“I do, Lady Royal. Your interest surprises me.” MP Hamish Fickle’s rhythmic Midlands’ accent cut through the air. “The RECO party now holds eleven seats in the House of Commons. We’re gaining influence and—”
Michael broke into the circle of men in white-tie tuxedos and women playing coy under wide-brimmed hats, which included his mother.
“And two lords in the Senate have moved in the RECO direction,” Mum added.
“Indeed,” said Fickle, with a sloppy grin. In his mid-thirties, the good-looking Member of Parliament with a quick mind was becoming a thorn to the House of Blue. And his political influence was just getting started. “Lord Bexley and Lord Innis. Wise men, I’d say.”
“Isn’t that to their own demise? If the House of Blue goes, so will the aristocracy,” Scottie said, holding the attention of those around her. “What would be your purpose for abolishing the monarchy?”