Aunt Margaret, the king’s older sister, had been the wildest and most controversial member of the royal family. At least until Samantha came along.
Sam adored her aunt Margaret. They had always been two of a kind, because unlike Sam’s father, Margaret knew precisely what it felt like to be the unimportant Washington. And it must have been even more painful for her, because she was older than Sam’s dad, and had to watch her younger brother pass her in the order of succession.
That was how it had always been for the princesses of America: the closest they ever got to the throne was at the moment of their birth. Because eventually, no matter how long it took, a boy would follow—and the boys had always taken precedence. Those princesses had stood by, silently watching as their place in the hierarchy slipped ever further, as they were demoted in importance with the birth of each successive male. Until Beatrice.
If the law had changed in Aunt Margaret’s time, instead of a generation later, she would have been the first queen regnant instead of Beatrice.
Sam suspected that the law changed because of Aunt Margaret. Because Sam’s grandfather knew how smart Margaret was, how much potential she had—and watched as she grew bitter and hard-edged, falling in with a reckless, bohemian set, deliberately distancing herself from the royal family. Maybe King Edward III had regretted what happened with his oldest child, and wanted to ensure that history didn’t repeat its mistakes on Beatrice.
The security guards melted away as Sam and her father reached the palace. Its white stones soared above them, a glorious second-floor balustrade spanning the air above the Marble Courtyard. Arriving via the front drive, one had a deceptive impression that the palace was symmetrical, but from the back entrance its unevenness was glaring.
Sam reached up to retie her hair. She wondered what Teddy was doing right now. Was he dwelling on their kiss the way she was?
“Dad, what do you know about the Eatons?”
“Why do you ask?”
The king’s eyes lit on hers, and for a moment Sam felt certain that he knew Teddy was the reason she’d missed the knighthood ceremony.
“I met Teddy last night, and was curious,” she offered, striving to sound casual.
“You’ve met Teddy before, actually. You don’t remember?” Her dad didn’t seem surprised when Sam shook her head. “Well, you were both quite young. Teddy served as a pageboy at my coronation.”
“Oh,” Sam breathed. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Royal pages—the children who served as attendants at ceremonial events like coronations and weddings—were always drawn from the aristocracy.
“We’ve known the Eatons a long time,” her father explained. It was clear that a long time meant for several centuries. “The Dowager Duchess—Teddy’s grandmother Ruth—was once a lady-in-waiting to your grandmother. And of course the current duke used to serve as one of my equerries, before his father passed away.”
“You were friends with Teddy’s dad?”
The king smiled wistfully at some memory. “We used to get into so much trouble, breaking into the wine cellar and hosting parties at Walthorpe. The Eatons’ ducal mansion,” he added, in answer to Sam’s questioning look. “It’s probably hosted more royal visits than any other private home in America.”
“I wonder why he doesn’t come to court,” Sam mused aloud. She would definitely have noticed a guy like Teddy if she’d seen him before last night. Most aristocratic families made a point of spending at least part of the year in the capital. No matter how vast or luxurious their estates at home, they all possessed some kind of pied-à-terre in Washington, for the occasions when they needed to be at court.
“Well, last night he came to meet Beatrice.”
Before Samantha could ask her dad what he meant, they had crossed into the warmth of the back hallway. A few doors down was the security control room; farther, the glow of the kitchens. Already the great beehive of the palace was buzzing to life around them.
Beatrice stood just inside the entrance, seeming flustered. She was dressed for running in a long-sleeved top and black athletic pants, her hair pulled into a sleek high ponytail. “Sorry, Dad, I didn’t mean to—oh,” she breathed, seeing Samantha, and registering their sweaty appearance. “You’re up early.”
“Jet lag.” Sam didn’t bother being offended by the implication, that Beatrice assumed Sam was too lazy to be awake at this hour.
“It’s okay, Beatrice. It was an eventful evening; you deserved to sleep in,” the king assured her.
Sam saw her sister visibly blanch at his words. “Eventful? Not really.”
Now it was the king’s turn to look puzzled. “You didn’t like anyone you met?”
“Oh. Right.” There were spots of color high on Beatrice’s cheeks. Samantha glanced back and forth from her sister to their father, wondering what on earth they were talking about. The newly minted knights?
“No, I mean yes, I did like some of them.” Beatrice swallowed. “Actually, I invited Theodore Eaton to the theater with us.”
“That’s wonderful,” the king exclaimed, just as Samantha blurted out, “You asked Teddy on a date?”
“How do you know Teddy?” Beatrice asked slowly.
The king beamed at Beatrice, oblivious. “Samantha was just telling me how she chatted with Teddy last night. That was smart of you, enlisting your sister’s help. It’s always good to get a second opinion from someone you trust.” With that, he started toward the staircase. “Don’t forget that we’re meeting later, Beatrice, to prepare for next week’s private audiences.”