she has done as the patron of so many charitable causes. She always looks the same, with her sheath dresses in a monochrome palette. Always polished, of course, but the same. Really, I don’t recall seeing any bad press about her until Clementine and Liz emerged on the royal scene and became massively popular new favourites in the royal family.
Curiously, at that point, stories began to emerge about Queen Antonia being jealous of the younger women, with their fresh approaches not only to fashion but to dealing with the public and royal protocol as well. Now, I know you can’t believe everything you read, but somewhere amongst all these stories must be a shred of truth.
And the shred could be a very jealous woman not happy with the steps forward that Liz and Clementine have taken the monarchy. A queen who would prefer to see them fail than concede they might be right, a queen who does not want to move from the path she has created in her time at Buckingham Palace.
I pause what I’m doing. I think about Liz and Clementine and how I’ve seen them dragged through the press. And Clementine—even though the odds of her ever becoming queen are about zero—had to give up her job once she became engaged to Christian. After all, women in the House of Chadwick do not have careers outside of being a duchess or future queen and performing the endless duties that come along with those roles.
I glance down at the tray in front of me, filled with biscuits. This is the work that has me getting out of bed every day at four-thirty in the morning. The work that lets me be creative and tinker with textures and flavours and colours. The work that I love so much and that brings joy to other people.
A sudden knot appears at the bottom of my stomach, one that is hard and cold and painful. I try to draw a breath of air, but I can’t fight the sudden squeezing on my chest. I can’t help it. I shouldn’t leap this far ahead, as Lord knows we might find we don’t suit in a few weeks and go our separate ways, but my heart knows better.
I like Xander Wales.
I really like Xander Wales.
And damn it, if he were anyone other than the Prince of Wales, the future king of the United Kingdom, I wouldn’t care about how much I liked him. I’d follow my feelings and explore a relationship with him with nothing but excitement and eagerness to see where things went. If we worked, if we became serious and things at that point—way, way, way down the line—led to a proposal, then that would be beautiful and amazing, an intertwining of two lives to make a loving partnership.
But a proposal from Prince Alexander would end a life I love.
My heart begins beating erratically as the full picture becomes painfully clear in my head. I’d have to leave this behind. How is that fair, in this day and age, to ask a woman to quit a job merely because of who she is married to? How is that modern? How does that reflect society in today’s world? It’s five thousand steps backwards, that’s what.
Clementine had to give up everything to marry Christian. Worse, now she is completely dependent upon him financially. I grow sicker at that thought. How can she stand that? I would hate not having my own money. Oh, God, does she actually have to ask Christian for money? Get purchases approved by people at Kensington Palace?
I recoil at the thought. I have always striven to be independent. Mum claims I have from the time I was a toddler. She always said I was feisty and stubborn and hated whenever someone tried to help me do something. From tying my shoes or learning maths to styling my hair, I didn’t want my mum to help me. I had to be in control. I had to do it myself.
I still like doing things myself.
And I could lose all of this if I go down a path with Xander.
How can someone who has made me feel things I’ve never felt in my life also be the person who could take away the core pieces of myself I hold so dear?
Yet I knew all of this before I went to his cottage last night, and I still went.