Malice at the Palace (The Royal Spyness Series Book 9)
By: Rhys Bowen
How charming she was, I thought, and I hoped fervently that Prince George could really learn to behave himself and to love her as she deserved. I tried to picture myself if I had agreed to marry Prince Siegfried, moving to a strange country with unfamiliar customs and a groom who would never love me. And I thought how lucky I was that I had found Darcy.
It was certainly less alarming to arrive at Buckingham Palace in a suitable Daimler motorcar and to drive past the guards, into the palace forecourt, through the arch and up to the main entrance. We were escorted up the stairs and into the Music Room, where the king and queen, together with the Duke and Duchess of York, were awaiting us. There was no sign of the Prince of Wales or the bridegroom. The queen came forward to meet us.
“Marina. Welcome, my dear. How very good to see you looking so well. And Georgiana too. Such a pleasure.”
Marina was kissed on both cheeks. I curtsied. Marina then kissed the king and was introduced to the duke and duchess.
“I must apologize for my sons,” the queen said, looking around with obvious displeasure. “The king is extremely punctual and my sons appear to be more Continental in their approach to time. The Prince of Wales did tell me that he feared he would not be able to join us on this occasion, but your future husband was with us only a short time ago and went home to change into his dinner jacket. I can’t think what could be delaying him.”
“No sense of duty, this younger generation,” the king growled.
“Oh, come now, Papa. We are here on time,” the Duchess of York said with her sweet smile. I noticed the duke said nothing. He was always afraid of revealing his stammer in public and was very shy among strangers.
“You two are the salt of the earth,” the queen replied.
“If only the boy would get over that blasted speech impediment,” the king said. “It’s only a matter of practice.”
“I d-d-d-do try, Father,” the duke said.
There was an awkward silence. Mercifully champagne was served. Nibbles were brought around and finally, when the king was clearly beginning to fume, Prince George came running up the staircase, out of breath and straightening his bow tie as he ran.
“Awfully sorry to be so late, Mama,” he said. “The motorcar was involved in a minor prang. Nothing serious. Nobody hurt, but it delayed us.”
“An accident on the way? Surely you only had to come a few yards from St. James’s, didn’t you? You could have walked,” the king said testily.
“Actually I had to pop over to the new place to check on something the decorator wanted me to see, and as I said, no harm, no foul.”
“You’re here now, George. That’s all that matters. And now that you are here, your father has something to tell you.” The queen looked expectantly at the king, who cleared his throat.
“This is the time in your life when you take on responsibility, my boy,” he said. “Until now you’ve had free rein to enjoy yourself when you were not out and about with the navy. From now on we expect you and your bride to be active members of the royal family, to take on royal duties, and to be a credit to our good name and to our ancestors. So I plan to make you Duke and Duchess of Kent.”
“Gosh, thanks awfully, Father.” He looked across at Marina. “Do you hear that, my dear? You’re to be Duchess of Kent.”
Marina was standing next to me. “Isn’t that a step down from princess?” she whispered with the hint of a grin.
“These titles come with property and income, I believe,” I whispered back. “Most royal sons are made dukes.”
“Ah.” She nodded.
The gong was sounded. Prince George took Marina’s arm to escort her in to dinner. I followed behind, unescorted. I suppose the Prince of Wales would have made up even numbers, as he wouldn’t have dared to bring Mrs. Simpson with him. Dinner passed smoothly but without the Prince of Wales putting in an appearance, which clearly vexed his mother. When we were driven back to Kensington Palace, Princess Marina seemed in good spirits and satisfied with her lot.
“The queen was kinder to me than I expected,” she said. “And I could tell that the king liked me too.”
“Who could not like you?” I asked.
She squeezed my hand. “You’re so sweet, Georgiana. Will you have to marry someone the family finds for you, or will you be able to make your own choice?”
“Hopefully the latter,” I said. “They tried to hitch me up with Prince Siegfried of Romania.”
She gave a peal of laughter. “Me too. Isn’t he awful? And do you know what I found out? He likes other men. Can you imagine how horrid that would be?”
Should I tell her? I wondered, then decided against it. After all, her future bridegroom George was also reputed to have had affairs with unsuitable women. He was an equal opportunity offender. And maybe he’d shape up and become a model husband. He certainly seemed fond of Marina, the way he looked at her.
It was not raining for once as the car drew up outside Kensington Palace, but a large puddle had formed outside the entrance to our apartment. “I’ll stop a little farther down, Your Royal Highness,” the chauffeur said, “so that you don’t get your feet wet. There’s a raised pavement beside the house where you can walk back.”