Page 97 of Reign
“I’m okay. I love Daphne, it’s just…” He sighed. “I never told you this, but when we first got engaged, we had our reasons.”
Sam nodded. “Because Beatrice was in a coma, and no one knew if she would ever wake up.”
“And Daphne thought she was pregnant.”
Sam nearly choked on her beer. “Wait,what?”
“She wasn’t pregnant,” Jeff said. “It was just a false alarm. But by the time we figured it out, we had already made the announcement, and…”
Sam flashed back to what Anju had said when she met Sam at the airport, that she couldn’t deal with another pregnancy right now. If only Sam had been perceptive enough to recognize it as a remark about Daphne and Jeff. Except—what could she have done to help, anyway?
Her heart ached for her brother. No wonder he’d lashed out at her when she came back from Hawaii; he was dealingwith some very adult issues, at a much younger age than he should.
“Jeff.” She spoke in a stern tone, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Do you not want to get married tomorrow?”
Jeff shook his head. “I love Daphne.”
That wasn’t an answer to her question, though, was it?
“We should be getting back.” Jeff started toward the door, and Sam knew this topic of discussion was closed. She wasn’t sure how worried she should be.
“By the way,” he added, “do you want to be in the wedding tomorrow? We had a bridesmaid dress made for you.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, apparently they had your measurements already?” Jeff posed it like a question. “I don’t really know how that stuff works.”
Sam grinned. “Of course. I’d love to.”
She knew it would never be the same as when they were children, back when she and Jeff used to know each other’s minds without speaking, when it felt like they were two halves of the same person. Back when they had worn matching outfits, had shared the same goals and likes and dislikes and fears. Haddreamedthe same things.
Now their differences far outweighed their similarities. Jeff was about to be married and Sam’s relationship was in turmoil; Jeff was royal and Sam had been cast out; Jeff was stable and Sam was…no longer adrift, but still searching for the right landing spot.
But as long as they could still find common ground, they would be fine.
Beatrice hadn’t expected Ambrose Madison to be at the rehearsal dinner, but here he was, casting snide smiles at her from across the room. His wife and children had come, too: Gabriella was in Daphne’s year at school, but Beatrice couldn’t understand why her brother, James, had been included. Beatrice had never liked either of them, especially James, who always stared at her in a way that was both condescending and objectifying at once.
When she’d asked her mother why the Madisons were here, Adelaide had just looked at her oddly and said, “The Duke of Virginia is a member of the Old Guard and your Queen’s Champion. Of course we included his family.”
Some Queen’s Champion, eager to kick her off the throne.
From his pleased smirk, Beatrice had the sickening realization that Madison had gotten the votes. His bill to remove her would pass. She wished she coulddosomething, go make a speech or lobby more supporters or, better yet, slap the duke across his selfish face, but of course she couldn’t. She had to just keep on smiling and exchanging pleasantries as if her life weren’t about to be wrenched apart, her future decided by a Congress that had shown no love for her family lately.
A chime echoed through the room, and everyone began to take their seats for dinner. Beatrice started toward the head of the table—even at someone else’s wedding, the monarch presided over the meal—but paused when she saw Anna Ramirez.
“Your Majesty!” The Duchess of Texas came forward eagerly, lowering her voice. “I have news.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve done a little straw poll leading up to next month’s vote, and you’re in the clear. Apparently you’ve done quite a bit of campaigning lately,” the duchess added approvingly.
Beatrice’s heart picked up speed. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be. The Dukes of Roanoke and Montana have both been advocating for you, and did you know the Duke of Orange has quietly lobbied on your behalf, too?”
Marshall’s grandfather? Beatrice never would have guessed. Perhaps he regretted coauthoring the bill that had stripped Sam of her HRH.
“I don’t think Madison knows,” Beatrice murmured.
