Page 37 of Rivals
Stephen Davis bowed stiffly, his back ramrod-straight. “It’s an honor, Your Royal Highness.”
He didn’t ask her to call him by a grandparent name, and Sam knew better than to suggest he call her Sam.
Marshall’s parents greeted her a bit more warmly, but Sam told herself that was because they knew her better, not because Marshall’s grandfather disapproved of her.
When they all sat down to dinner, Sam was disappointed to see that she’d been seated as far from Marshall as possible. At least she was next to Rory. They began passing dishes around the table: biscuits and butter, green beans, and an enormous Pyrex filled with something vaguely beige and sloppy-looking. No one said what it was. As Sam scooped some onto her plate, she felt Marshall’s grandmother watching her.
“This looks delicious. I love chicken,” Sam said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
Next to her, she felt Rory swallowing silent laughter.
“This isn’t chicken casserole; it’s grouse,” the duchess explained. “Stephen and I hunt these ourselves, when we go shooting up in the valley. The grouse are becoming a real problem up there, overbreeding, forcing out the natural wildlife.”
“Well, I can’t wait to try it.” Sam forced herself to take a bite of the casserole, though it looked alarmingly like dog food. Somehow it managed to be too salty and bland at the same time.
“Be careful how you bite into it. There might still be some shot in there,” the duchess added placidly. “I wouldn’t want you breaking a tooth.”
As Sam was still grappling with this alarming possibility, the duke turned to her. “Samantha, how is the League of Kings conference going so far?”
Marshall’s parents, who’d been asking Rory about her professors, fell silent. An expectant hush extended over the table as everyone glanced at Sam.
She didn’t want to admit that the conference had been something of a letdown—that the heirs probably didn’t need to be there at all. Their presence was purely ceremonial, their lectures designed to keep them busy, with topics like “Financial Markets in an International Context” and “Labor and Infrastructure: A Symbiotic Relationship.” Sam had already dozed off on two occasions.
“It’s been informative,” she said diplomatically. “Mainly I’m grateful that I get to be in Orange for a whole month and spend time with Marshall. I don’t know if any of you watched, but he did a fantastic job at the opening ceremonies,” she added. “It’s no easy feat, keeping the Orb of State balanced on a velvet pillow, but Marshall managed it.”
Marshall shrugged. “At least I looked better than the Duke of Virginia, galloping down the great hall.”
“He didn’tgallop,” Sam admonished, a smile tugging at her mouth. Ambrose Madisonhadseemed a little ridiculous, especially since he was such a heavy man and on such a heavy horse.
“If he’d galloped, the whole thing would have been even better.” Marshall’s eyes danced. “Can I trade roles with him? I’d rather be the guy on horseback than the guy with the Orb of State.”
“Marshall,” his grandfather cut in, “I hope you’re not distracting the princess from her duties.”
Sam hurried to answer. “Of course not, Your Grace. If anything, Marshall is making things easier on me.”
“Still, perhaps it’s best that he give you a bit of distance. I know how important your presence at the conference is. After all, the whole purpose is to forge connections with your fellow monarchs and heirs.”
Sam bristled. Was the duke implying that she’d been playing hooky in order to skip around town with his grandson?
“I’ve spent a lot of time with Princess Louise, actually,” Sam fibbed. “She’s hosting a reception soon, and Marshall and I are going.”
Really, Sam had only spoken to Louise in passing—and from what Beatrice had said, it sounded like Louise was throwing more of a house party than a networking event—but Sam figured a bit of exaggeration wouldn’t hurt anyone.
The table dissolved into several conversations at once.Marshall and his grandfather debated how bad this year’s drought would be, Sam asked Rory in more detail about her classes, and Marshall’s mother and grandmother wondered if they could get someone they disliked kicked out of their church choir.
“Monica just doesn’t have anyrange,” Marshall’s mother was saying. “I mean, even Marshall or Rory could sing better than she does.”
“You can sing?” Sam asked Rory, who laughed.
“No, that’s the point: neither of us has a shred of musical talent. Marshall was so bad he actually got cut from an elementary-school skit.”
“I wasn’t cut!” Marshall protested, jumping into their discussion. “I was just demoted from the chorus, since I was so woefully off-key. I played a tree.”
“A tree,” Sam repeated, fighting very hard not to laugh.
“I had to wear green and stand there with my arms lifted.”
“And he couldn’t even manage that! He let his arms fall partway through,” Rory exclaimed.
