Page 94 of The Heir Apparent
“I’ll have the staff take these to the cobbler as well,” she said.
The needle-like heel on the right shoe was now hopelessly askew. Vikki looked at me as I sat at the bottom of the steps like a broken-down doll in my couture and ugg boots. She smiled at me sadly.
“I don’t think you’re ready to be up this high, do you?”
“No,” I said. “Not yet. Maybe soon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
15 November 2023
My phone buzzed in my lap and I reached for my napkin so I could surreptitiously look at the screen.
All okay?James had written.
Mary had told me before the Edinburgh Agricultural Society luncheon that if she caught me playing with my phone again, she was going to confiscate it. I typed quickly before anyone saw:All fine. Will call you later.
I slipped my phone back into my lap and engaged the man next to me in conversation. His Charolais bull had been declared the pedigree champion at the last Spring Show, but he was worried about his chances next year. I seemed to be constantly in Scotland these days, visiting aged care homes and art exhibitions and agriculture shows and shaking hands with MPs and schoolchildren.
Granny and Stewart had begun discussing plans for an investiture ceremony in Edinburgh the next summer. She would announce that I had decided to wear the crown during her televised Christmas address. No one bothered to ask me if I intended to stay. The fact that I had lasted this long was taken as confirmation that I would.
But first I needed to secure the Scottish coronet. I had been looking at photos of Papa’s own investiture when he wastwenty-two.How young he looked, I thought. Young and doomed. He had designed his coronet for the ceremony—a sparsely decorated modern brushed-gold headpiece that sat slightly off-kilter on his head, no matter how much he adjusted it. I had no idea if it would make its way to me next. Richard was spending as much time in Scotland as I was, his office finding every excuse possible to send him northward.
When the luncheon was done, Mary pulled me aside. “A bit of a problem, ma’am. Have you looked outside lately?”
“No, I’ve been looking at photos of bulls and their giant balls.”
“Yes, well, there’s a storm. It was meant to blow out over the North Sea by now, but it hasn’t. All flights are cancelled because of the winds.”
“Okay.” I shrugged. “So, we stay here tonight?”
“Unfortunately, yes. But we may struggle to find suitable accommodation.”
I walked over to the window of the city chambers so I could look outside. The red flowers in the window box were blown sideways by the wind. A violent spatter of rain landed on the glass. I realised that if I was going to do this, now might be my only chance.
“Why don’t we just go to the estate? We’re an hour away. I’m sure the Queen won’t mind.”
Mary was already tapping on her phone. “I’ll clear it with Stewart now.”
With the palace’s approval, our trio of Range Rovers headed inland. The billowing winds made the cars shudder on the road and our windscreen wipers worked frenziedly against the onslaught of rain. An hour later, we were pulling through the castle gates. I had absolutely no desire to be there again, to walk the halls I had walked with Jack a few months earlier. I asked for my things to be placed in the bedroom Louis had favoured so I wouldn’t have to see mine and remember how I’d sneaked Jack in late one night. That had been the last time. His eyes were shining in the firelight, and he’d sunk to his knees and pressedhis sandpaper cheek against my abdomen while I threaded my fingers through his hair.
We still hadn’t spoken since that last awful day. The only way I could keep going forward was to never let my mind go back there.
Downstairs, I sent Mary and the others to the staff quarters for the night and then lingered in the drawing room for ten minutes, giving them time to cross the lawn and get settled. I rarely hid things from Mary. For nearly a year, she had sat beside me in town cars, waited by the sinks while I peed in the stall, held my purse when I shook an endless row of hands. But this was one mission I needed to complete alone. Once I was sure she would be settled for the night, I pulled my coat and boots back on and asked for a car to be brought around.
As I stepped out into the wild storm, Rita opened the car door for me.
“Where to, ma’am?” she asked. She had to shout over the keening wind to be heard.
“I’d like to go see my stepmother at Candacraig.”
We drove down the narrow country road under an ashen sky. I had been to Candacraig House precisely twice before. It had been a wedding gift for Papa from his grandmother, who told him every married man needed a place of his own. He retreated there often, especially during summer holidays, and forbade us visiting. Like everything that was Papa’s, it was elegantly appointed. Not a single tartan print or antler trophy had made its way inside.
The servant who answered the door looked stunned to see me, but she took my drenched raincoat and showed me to a drawing room. I sat on the cream linen sofa closest to the fire, craning my neck as I took in as many details as possible. A few of Papa’s lithographs hung on the walls. One of his beloved orchids stood on a table, a spray bottle by its side. On the mantel was a framed photograph of Annabelle and Papa on the front steps of the house. In it, Papa was laughing with abandon, and I realised I’d never seen him look so happy.
“Your Highness,” came a voice behind me.
I turned to watch her come into the room. She was dressed in jeans and a cardigan, with fuzzy pink slippers on her feet.
