Chapter 22 #2
Clemmie barely had time to take in the admiring glances and waves from the gathered onlookers. She smiled and lifted a hand in response. The steady clip-clop of the horses’ hooves echoed against the grand facades lining the street.
Her grip tightened on her clutch as the enormity of what lay ahead truly settled in. The carriage turned gracefully onto a wider street, where wrought-iron lampposts stood in neat rows along the pavement.
Then, suddenly, it came into view. Eldenbridge Palace.
Clemmie gasped softly, as the famous palace appeared before her.
The gilded wrought-iron gates, with their intricate design and regal crests, shimmered in the sunlight, a symbol of timeless elegance.
Beyond them, the palace itself stood proud and majestic.
The long, sweeping driveway leading to the grand entrance was lined with perfectly clipped hedges, and uniformed guards stood at attention, their red tunics and bearskin hats striking against the stately backdrop.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Clemmie whispered, her voice barely audible over the rumble of the carriage wheels.
Oliver turned to her. ‘It is. But not as beautiful as you look right now.’
She glanced at him, her cheeks flushing, and couldn’t help but laugh nervously. ‘You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?’
‘Only when I mean it,’ he replied.
She playfully bumped her shoulder against his.
As the carriage approached the gates, Clemmie felt a fresh wave of nerves wash over her. She clutched Oliver’s arm slightly tighter. ‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ she said softly. ‘I keep thinking I’ll wake up and realise it was all a dream.’
Oliver reached over, his hand covering hers. ‘It’s not a dream. This is real and you’re here because you deserve to be.’
The carriage slowed as it reached the security gate.
‘We need to leave the carriage here.’
Clemmie was helped down and walked alongside Oliver towards the gates, where a uniformed officer stepped forward to greet them.
He checked their invitations, then nodded and stepped back, signalling for the gates to be opened.
They creaked softly as they swung inward, revealing the full magnificence of the palace grounds.
As they walked through the gates, she slipped her hand into Oliver’s.
‘Queen Charlotte awaits,’ said Oliver.
When they emerged into the palace gardens, the scene before them was nothing short of glorious.
Ladies in elegant dresses and vibrant hats moved gracefully across the grounds, their laughter mingling with the soft hum of polite conversation.
Gentlemen in tailored suits and morning coats nodded and exchanged pleasantries.
They followed the path around the side of the palace, walking beside its towering stone walls.
It was more stunning than Clemmie had ever imagined.
The grounds stretched endlessly, a lush expanse of perfectly manicured lawns interspersed with winding paths, fountains, a rose garden and vibrant flowerbeds.
A pavilion on the right provided shade for a few guests, while others strolled at a leisurely pace towards the heart of the garden.
To their left, from a grand marquee came the lively sound of a military band.
Abba’s ‘Dancing Queen’ drifted across the lawn, bringing a smile to Clemmie’s face.
It was unexpectedly charming to hear such a cheerful tune in such a formal setting.
‘This is … extraordinary,’ she murmured, her eyes wide.
‘It is,’ Oliver agreed. ‘Wait until you see the rest. The gardens here are legendary.’
They moved further into the grounds, where a lake added to the tranquil atmosphere.
Clemmie marvelled at the sheer scale of it all, the lake’s mirrored surface reflecting the deep blue sky, the rose gardens bursting with blooms of every shade.
Guests strolled along the pathways, some pausing to admire the flowers, others simply enjoying the serene beauty of their surroundings.
As they approached the marquee, the delicious scent of freshly baked scones and delicate pastries wafted through the air.
A long line of elegant tables stretched out beneath the marquee’s shelter, each laden with an array of afternoon tea delights.
Uniformed attendants moved gracefully among the guests, serving tea, coffee and soft drinks with quiet efficiency.
Clemmie’s eyes widened at the sight of the spread. Finger sandwiches, neatly trimmed and filled with cucumber, smoked salmon or egg mayonnaise, sat alongside plates of golden scones with clotted cream and jam. Tiny cakes and pastries, each a work of art, tempted guests with their delicate designs.
‘I’m actually speechless,’ Clemmie said, her mouth watering as she accepted a small plate from one of the attendants. ‘Everything looks so perfect.’
‘It’s a tradition,’ Oliver said with a smile. ‘They’ve been doing this for generations.’
Clemmie quickly scanned the area. ‘Oliver, there’s no torte. I thought the royal kitchen were baking my torte to be served to all the guests as the garden party? What if they’ve forgotten or they’ve changed their mind?’
‘Don’t worry, they will be doing a special presentation for it later on.’
Clemmie’s hands flew straight to her beating chest. ‘I wish Granny was here to see all this.’
‘Cucumber sandwich?’ he asked.
Clemmie laughed. ‘Of course!’
Nibbling cucumber sandwiches they strolled towards the main lawn where uniformed attendants were handing out ice-creams. Clemmie took one, its cool sweetness a welcome treat in the afternoon sun.
She and Oliver found a shaded bench near the rose garden and sat for a moment, soaking up the atmosphere and watching the ebb and flow of the elegantly dressed crowd.
‘What do you think so far?’ Oliver asked.
Clemmie smiled, gazing at the lake in the distance where swans glided gracefully across the water. ‘It’s all just magical. Imagine actually living here.’ She looked over towards the palace.
Oliver’s expression softened as he pointed towards a lady standing beneath the shade of a nearby tree.
She wore an exquisite lavender suit with subtle embroidery along the edges, a matching hat adorned with delicate feathers perched elegantly on her silver hair.
Her posture was straight, her every movement poised, as though she had been born to inhabit such a setting.
‘Come on.’ He grabbed her hand. ‘I need to introduce you to Lady Rosalind.’
Lady Rosalind turned, her face lighting up the second she spotted him. She extended her arms towards him and he stepped forward and embraced her tightly, a movement that spoke of years of affection and familiarity.
‘My dear boy,’ she said, her voice low and melodious, carrying the unmistakable tone of someone used to addressing rooms filled with people. ‘It’s been far too long.’
‘You look as radiant as ever,’ Oliver replied with an easy charm that made Clemmie smile.
Lady Rosalind chuckled, then turned her attention to Clemmie. ‘This must be Clemmie,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’
Clemmie felt her cheeks flush. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Lady Rosalind,’ she said, offering her hand.
Lady Rosalind waved it away and pulled her into a gentle hug instead, her embrace unexpectedly warm.
‘Congratulations on winning The Royal Baking Competition,’ she said, stepping back but still holding Clemmie’s hands.
‘That torte of yours has been the talk of the royal kitchen. We can’t wait to taste it. ’
Clemmie’s blush deepened. ‘Oh, thank you. It’s all been such a whirlwind.’
‘Well, enjoy every moment of it, my dear,’ Lady Rosalind said, her smile encouraging.
Before Clemmie could respond, another woman joined them, her presence just as commanding. She wore a classic cream dress with pearls around her neck. Her silver hair was styled perfectly, and her eyes sparkled with delight as she looked at Oliver.
‘Ah, Granny,’ Oliver said, stepping forward to kiss her cheek. ‘I knew you couldn’t be far away.’
‘Granny?’ Clemmie exclaimed, turning to him in surprise. ‘You didn’t tell me you had family here!’
The woman laughed, her voice rich and full of life. ‘This one is as slippery as they come,’ she said, her tone affectionate as she gestured towards Oliver. ‘Always keeping his royal connections close to his chest.’
Oliver grinned. ‘I like to keep a little mystery. Granny, this is Clemmie, and Clemmie, my granny, Bunny.’
Just at that moment, there was a sudden shift in the energy of the crowd and a ripple of anticipation swept through the guests.
Guards in traditional uniforms, complete with bearskin hats, marched onto the lawn, forming two long lines that created a clear path through the centre of the gathering. Clemmie’s pulse quickened.
‘They’re coming,’ Oliver murmured, his voice calm but tinged with excitement.
The band began to play the national anthem and the Royal Family began to emerge from the palace.
Clemmie recognised Queen Charlotte immediately.
She was resplendent in a soft pastel ensemble that perfectly complemented her regal bearing and gracious demeanour.
She made her way down the line, pausing to speak with guests, her genuine interest evident in every interaction.
Beside her were other members of the Royal Family, their elegant attire and approachable manners adding to the magic of the moment.
Clemmie and Oliver moved closer, positioning themselves near the front of the line.
As Queen Charlotte approached, Clemmie’s nerves surged.
The Queen stopped just a few feet away to chat with a couple dressed in matching shades of blue, and Clemmie couldn’t help but marvel at how relaxed and personable she seemed.
‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ Clemmie whispered to Oliver, her cheeks flushed. ‘I feel so nervous.’
Oliver squeezed her hand gently. ‘You’re going to be fine,’ he murmured. ‘It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve met her.’
The Queen turned towards them, her gaze alighting on Oliver with recognition. A smile spread across her face as she extended her hand. Oliver bowed slightly, then took her hand, shaking it briefly but with evident respect.
‘Your Majesty,’ Oliver said, his voice steady.
‘Oliver,’ the Queen replied, her smile widening. ‘It’s always a pleasure to see you.’ Then, with a playful glint in her eye, she added, ‘No doubt Lady Rosalind and your grandmother are sneaking the sherry from the drinks tent. I’m envious.’
Clemmie chuckled, the Queen’s unexpected humour catching her off guard.
Oliver grinned. ‘I’ll be sure to keep an eye on them.’
The Queen’s gaze shifted to Clemmie, her expression softening further. Clemmie curtsied.
‘Clemmie, we meet again.’ The Queen leaned forward. ‘No pink heart pyjamas today?’ she said with a chuckle.
Immediately put at ease, Clemmie relaxed. ‘Not today, Your Majesty.’
‘I’ve heard all about your Café on the Coast on Puffin Island.
’ The Queen’s smile grew as she extended her hand to Clemmie, who quickly but nervously shook it.
‘Congratulations, Clemmie, on winning The Royal Baking Competition,’ the Queen said.
‘Your torte was quite the triumph. My royal bakers are preparing your recipe as we speak. Soon, everyone at the garden party will have the chance to taste it.’
‘Thank you, ma’am. I’m truly honoured.’
‘I believe a cookbook is in preparation as well?’ the Queen continued.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Clemmie replied, her voice wobbling slightly from nerves.
‘Well, I shall look forward to it,’ the Queen said. ‘I would like a signed copy, personally.’
Clemmie’s heart raced. ‘Of course, ma’am. I’d be delighted. Do I … do I just send it to the palace?’
The Queen’s smile turned amused as she nodded. ‘I’m sure it will reach me,’ she said, her tone gentle. ‘Congratulations again. I hope you enjoy the rest of the day.’
With that, she moved on, the interaction leaving Clemmie both breathless and starstruck.
Clemmie turned to Oliver, her cheeks glowing. ‘Did I make a complete idiot of myself?’ she asked, half-dreading his answer.
Oliver laughed, his eyes full of affection. ‘Not at all. You were wonderful and she liked you, I could tell.’
Clemmie let out a breath of relief, then followed Oliver’s gaze towards the drinks tent. Sure enough, Lady Rosalind and Oliver’s grandmother stood huddled together, laughing and gesturing animatedly. They looked as though they were sharing some grand secret, and Clemmie smiled at the sight.
‘She’s right about them, isn’t she?’ Clemmie said, nudging Oliver playfully.
He nodded, his expression fond. ‘Oh, absolutely. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re undoubtedly up to no good.’
‘How does your grandmother know the Queen?’
‘She was her seamstress for many years,’ Oliver said casually, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.
Clemmie blinked, stunned. ‘And you only thought to tell me that now?’
Oliver grinned. ‘It’s not something you drop into everyday conversation.’
Clemmie shook her head, laughing. ‘You live in another world.’
Before Oliver could respond, Lady Rosalind’s voice cut through the hum of the crowd as she approached them with a smile and a glass of prosecco in each hand.
‘Thanks very much,’ said Clemmie, taking one of the glasses. ‘This is just an amazing day.’ She took a sip and glanced over at the royals before her gaze shifted and she froze.
Walking towards them, amidst the sea of elegance and poise, was someone Clemmie had never expected to see here. Fiona Fairweather.
Clemmie’s heart skipped a beat. Fiona was dressed to impress, her outfit striking but somehow too bold for the refined setting.
Her hat was an elaborate concoction of bright feathers, and her dress, though undeniably expensive, seemed to scream for attention rather than match the understated elegance of the event.
‘What on earth is she doing here?’ Clemmie murmured, her voice laced with disbelief. ‘How did she get an invite? She didn’t even win the competition!’
Fiona was now just a few steps away, her eyes scanning the crowd before landing squarely on Clemmie and Oliver.
A sly smile spread across her face as she approached, her confidence unmistakable.
Clemmie felt a knot of unease form in her stomach.
The day had been perfect, almost too perfect, and now, with Fiona’s sudden appearance, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to disrupt the magic of it all.
‘Clemmie, let me introduce you to someone,’ said Lady Rosalind, who had suddenly appeared at Fiona’s side. ‘My granddaughter Fiona.’
Clemmie’s mouth fell open before she hastily shut it. She would have to do everything in her power to stay composed.