Page 107

Raphael’s gaze travelled over the eighteenth-century stately home, constructed by an ancestor in the romantic style of much older buildings. “No wonder your da likes it here.”
“It has everything he needs, including a dungeon he regularly threatens to lock people away in.”
Someone cleared their throat, and my father’s manservant regarded us from the doorway.
Perkins bowed his head. “Your Royal Highness. Sir, welcome to Lancaster House.”
He made way for us to enter the cooler interior. Dad liked things kitsch and had had the house done out in the family tartan. That plus the deer heads and abundance of weaponry on the walls made it a true Scottish retreat. One he hadn’t left in a long time.
With the door firmly closed behind us, Perkins, who was nearing eighty if he was a day, straightened his lapels and gave us a critical but professional once-over. “Ma’am, you’ll find your father with Mrs d’Farnacee in the East breakfast room. He’s waiting for ye. Sir, if I may.”
He stepped to a tall cupboard and flipped through hangers until he extracted a tartan jacket, handing it to Raphael.
My boyfriend, because I was running with that now, slipped it on. “Perfect fit. Thank ye. Please call me Raphael.”
Perkins bobbed his head. “Very good, sir. I’m sure you’ll find His Royal Highness more amenable to a young man already dressed in his colours.” His eyes twinkled, and he indicated for us to follow.
If I’d been alone, Perkins would still have taken me to my father. Things were done a certain way at Lancaster House and had been so for decades. That familiarity gave a small degree of reassurance though did nothing to replace my worry.
Through the house, we climbed a flight of stairs, and outside a pair of tall double doors, Perkins halted and knocked. Dadcalled out an answer, and Perkins marched in, the sound of laughter and conversation finding us in the hall.
Raphael dropped my hand and swallowed, staring straight forward but not moving.
I nudged his shoulder with mine. “Breathe.”
“Never met a girlfriend’s parent before.”
“So, we’re dating then?”
He jerked his gaze to mine. “Of course we are. Aren’t we? I can’t believe I’m asking that in a palace to a princess.”
I preened. “Now who’s nervous?”
“He’s your father. Wait, do I bow?”
“At the neck, and call him Your Royal Highness the first time you address him and then sir after. And yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”
His heated gaze touched mine, but we could do nothing to celebrate the moment. Not now. Later, I’d make him ask me again when I had the chance to show how it made me feel.
Perkins announced us. “Her Royal Highness Princess Alexandra and her companion Raphael Gordonson.”
“Alexandra,” Dad boomed. “Come in, child.”
Raphael straightened his shoulders, and we entered the bright breakfast room. At a small table in front of open French doors, my father set down his teacup and watched our approach, his dark-blue smoking jacket wrapped tight around him despite the warm day. At his side, Sarah d’Farnacee rose gracefully and curtsied to me, her cloud of blonde hair and make-up perfect as always and her smile soft.
I greeted them both, noting that Raphael sketched a perfect bow. It had never occurred to me until now that it could be seen as strange that we did this, but my father preserved all manners of respect, and I’d been taught to from as early as I could remember. As always, Raphael rolled with the punches.
“A pleasure to meet ye, Your Royal Highness, Mrs d’Farnacee,” he said.
My father made a small shooing gesture to Sarah, and she rounded the table to stand in front of Raphael. “Mr Gordonson. I find myself in need of a strong young man to assist me down to the patio. Would you mind?”
Raphael shot me a surprised eyebrow rise but offered his arm to Sarah, then escorted her out of the French doors and down the stairs, their footsteps disappearing.
My father watched them go. I waited for his judgement.
“Smart young man. I take it you bringing him to me and Perkins stuffing him into our tartan is of significance?”
I was too nervous to sit, so held the back of a sturdy and ornate dining chair. “Yes, Papa.”