Barnes rounded the corner with a ring of keys in his hand. “And that’s enough of that,” Agatha said, standing and brushing off her skirt. “No sense in dwelling on the past with so much happening in the present.”
At long last, Richard had been forced to include me at a Conclave, and I had the Dutch to thank: My participation in December’s state dinner was critical, and he could no longer ice me out for sport. He was begrudging about it, making a big show of thanking Barnes for the extra effort required to make a sixth dossier, but it counted.
Eleanor had put this event on the docket the day after our wedding to, as Richard often reminded us, “wash out the stain from that debacle as quickly as possible.” They’d concocted a barely plausible historical hook—an anniversary of a tulip that was named after William of Orange, the Dutch English king who, in the manner of so many of Nick’s male relatives, died after his horse tripped in a mole hole. The truth was much simpler: The Dutch wouldn’t make this hard. King Hendrik-Alexander and Queen Lucretia—the press whimsically referred to them as Hax and Lax, and therefore so did everyone else—were low pressure, congenial, and happy to do Eleanor a solid during her time of PR need. And Prince Dick had been waiting to take the reins for a lifetime, so he refused to cancel this, regardless of whether anyone felt weird about ceremonial folderol while the monarch lay unconscious.
He opened the Conclave by distributing to each of us a ream of papers so thick, the staple barely poked through the other side.
“It is imperative that this go off without a hitch,” he said. “The public and the press need to be confident that the changeover will be seamless, if indeed any permanent transfer of power is en route.”
Only Richard would call death a “permanent transfer of power.” I took a bite of my scone instead of my tongue, and resisted the urge to spit it out; it was awful, just as Freddie had always complained. I met his eyes across the table. His expression said, I told you so.
“May I ask a question?” I said, half raising my hand. “What exactly happens at a state dinner?”
Richard regarded me like a very stupid child. “Dinner happens,” he said.
“And tiaras happen,” said Lady Elizabeth. She had gone from “filling in for Edwin” to “taking Edwin’s place,” to the relief of everyone (including Edwin).
“On that topic, the public always laps up pageantry, and we could use some favorable, frivolous press,” Richard said. “Accordingly, Rebecca, we’ll be loaning you the Lover’s Knot tiara.”
The Lover’s Knot was famously Emma’s. She’d worn it in her official portrait, so even though her illness meant she hadn’t donned it herself in a quarter century, the public had seen it about a million times in the papers and on racks of cheap postcards. It was her most iconic accessory as the Princess of Wales.
“Dickie, don’t you think that’s extreme?” Agatha said. “You don’t even like her!”
“She’s sitting right here,” Nick said.
“I don’t have to like her to see the symbolism,” Richard said. “She will ascend to Emma’s position someday. This will be viewed as a clear endorsement.”
I put a steadying hand on Nick’s leg. “I will try to do it justice.”
“I think it’s a very smart move, Father,” Freddie piped up.
Nick made a noise next to me that was not useful. I flicked his thigh.
“As the de facto heir, Nicholas will handle certain ceremonial duties that once fell to me, such as walking the Dutch king through the morning inspection at Horse Guards,” Richard barreled on. “He will then ride over with Queen Lucretia.” He looked at his notes. “Frederick, you’ll be escorting Princess Daphne.”
Freddie made a face. “But she’s so boring,” he said.
“She’s just shy,” Nick said.
“Is she the one who got kidnapped?” Elizabeth asked.
“You’d think a person who got kidnapped might be more interesting,” Freddie said.
“Have a heart,” Nick said. “She was trapped in a car for six hours while held at knifepoint.”
“It was only a speed-skate blade,” Freddie protested.
“You try to tell the difference with a blindfold on,” Nick snapped back.
“Wouldn’t I be of more use with the queen?” Freddie pushed. “She and I know each other better than she knows Nick. We had a very long chat at his rehearsal dinner.”
“I could go with Daphne,” I suggested. “It’ll look good for Freddie and Nick to be working together. And if she’s so shy, I might be less…intimidating to her than Freddie, right off the bat.”
Richard drummed his fingers on the meeting’s sixty-seven-page agenda. I felt my phone buzz in my lap and snuck a look. It was Freddie.
Intimidating?!!
I’m trying to help, I pecked back.
“That would be acceptable,” Richard concluded. “Frederick, you will therefore escort her at dinner, where you will be charming and courteous. Unintimidatingly.” He waited a beat. “Daphne is an important assignment. She is the crown princess, after all. The catch of Europe, some might say.”
Freddie raised an eyebrow. As Richard moved on to other logistical details, my phone buzzed again.
Is my father pimping me out?
I grinned and looked up at Freddie, who smirked back at me.
“Bex?” Nick said. My head swung over to find that he and Richard were waiting on me to say something. “You can do that, yes?”
“Um, of course,” I said. “I’d love to.”
“Did you even hear what I said?” Richard looked cross.
“Yesssss,” I said unconvincingly, hoping I hadn’t just agreed to sing the Dutch national anthem in
