Page 6 of American Royalty

Chapter Two

“Growing up, it was very clear that I was a member of a royal family with a potential function later on. The question was: when and how and if?”

—Pavlos, Crown Prince of Greece

Buckingham Palace

London, England

The moment His Royal Highness Prince Jameson Alastair Richard Lloyd, the Duke of Wessex, crossed the threshold into the intimate sitting chamber, he was inundated by an inexplicable feeling of sadness. His gaze flew around the area until it settled on a hanging oil portrait of a distant relative he recognized.

Oh, this room.

Though it looked luxe and ornate—with the walls and picture frame moldings painted a buttery yellow, silk draperies covering the floor-to-ceiling windows, and gleaming antique pieces dotted throughout the space—he’d secretly dubbed the room the Den of Despondency. He’d come here after the helicopter crash that killedhis father, Prince Richard, when Jameson was seventeen. It was also where he’d learned his grandfather, Prince John, had passed away. For some reason, certain members of the royal family chose this room to deliver bad news. Maybe they believed the sunny color would counteract the melancholy.

It didn’t.

Coming to the palace always did this. Reminded him of his loss. Of what his father’s behavior had cost the monarchy. Of what Jameson was failing to do.

He ran a finger along the collar of his crisp white dress shirt, seeking some give in the fabric. The dark suit was tailored to perfection and came from one of the most established shops on Savile Row, but he disliked dressing so formally. He always had. It was one of the benefits of being a college professor of philosophy, with an emphasis on environmental theories. His usual uniform consisted of trousers, jumpers, and trainers.

But his grandmother, the queen, had summoned him to Buckingham Palace. Dressing casually wasn’t an option.

As if on cue, the door opened and a footman announced, “Her Majesty the Queen.”

Jameson flicked his gaze upward. Who else would it be? This was one ofherprivate sitting rooms. But the cheeky thought didn’t stop him from rising to his feet and standing tall with his chest out and shoulders back, just as his mother had taught him.

Muscle memory.

Queen Marina II strode into the chamber, her bearing as regal as you’d expect from her title. Only of average height, she always seemed taller, her trim figure striking in a mint green dress that fell just beneath her knees, her silver hair styled in puffy curls around her angular face.

“Lovely to see you, Jameson.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said, bending over her hand.

He never thought of her as his grandmother. Only as the queen. He’d always chafed at the formality present in their interactions.

Unlike the easy camaraderie he’d shared with his grandfather.

When he straightened, she eyed him from the top of his wavy dark hair to the tips of his John Lobb oxfords.

“You’re much taller since I last saw you.”

Unlikely. He’d stopped growing over ten years ago and he’d seen the queen as recently as last May at the christening of the newest member of the royal family.

But all he said was “Maybe it’s the shoes.”

“Maybe,” she conceded. “I know the spring term begins next week, so I appreciate you coming into London on such short notice.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, when the queen calls...”

She dipped her head, fully aware that he couldn’t refuse her request to see him.

“I only have a few minutes. I’m meeting with several newly appointed ambassadors down in the Audience Room today,” she said, perching on the edge of an ornate yellow armchair.

Once she was seated, Jameson settled in the matching chair opposite her. The fact that there was no tea service bolstered her assertion that this was meant to be a quick visit.

His hand tightened into a fist on his thigh. A two-hour drive to get here for a fifteen-minute conversation? Why not? At least he was missing only meetings instead of lectures. He hated missing lectures. Fortunately, he wasn’t summoned often. He’d listen patiently to whatever the queen wanted to tell him and then head back to the safe anonymity of his ivory tower.