Lucy had to keep chastising herself for her childish excitement. A princess was not anything completely extraordinary, after all. Plenty of people were princesses, especially in Europe, where one was a princess if they were a king's cousin, niece, or great-granddaughter. Under such a loose definition, even Antoinette might be considered a princess by European standards.

And yet there was still something thrilling about the idea of a princess being in their midst, about that world being something that existed outside of books and songs...

She could not help but wonder whether nearly everyone else actually did live in some fairytale world, and she was simply one of the unfortunate ones who had to suffer to give everyone else their Happily Ever After.

It felt as though everywhere she looked there were people living the sort of life described in her books. They believed in marriage and love and happy endings. They followed their dreams and married their perfect partners. Of course not everyone had such great luck. But it seemed as though only a few were unlucky enough to suffer the fate she feared. And every time her scepticism mounted, something fantastical would happen to taunt her, to tease her with the possibility of an ideal, fairytale ending.

Princes and princesses, what next? Giants? Toads and frogs that turn into handsome young men? Witches?

She rolled her eyes. Lucy had thought that modern society had moved beyond such magical thinking, such superstition. And yet when it came to high society, everyone still seemed to think there was an aura of magic around it. That royalty was more than just people, that marrying up would spontaneously fix your problems, that a title was all one needed in life.

Lucy could not picture life a class below her own, of course. But nevertheless she could still look up a class and realize they still had problems, just like she did. Nothing was fixed just because you got married, or had a bit more money. The quest for happiness was a wild goose chase.

Antoinette had invited her to tea with the Princess, but Lucy had weighed her options and decided her mother would probably rather she spent the time with Lord Jones. Or not. She wasn't sure anymore. It would probably be wiser not to tell Lady Fitzgerald about the situation.

Instead, she made her way home just in time to get changed for tea with Andrew, and set off with her parents. Lord Jones's house was quite splendid. It did not have the woman's touch which Lucy's home, or Antoinette's home did. But, unlike Lady Fitzgerald, who could not stop remarking on the lack of finery, Lucy thought that the more masculine, simple look of the home was rather charming. She would have been more concerned if a bachelor like him spent all afternoon arranging roses like her mother did.

Although she did not want to let it show externally, for fear her parents got the wrong impression, Lucy was oddly excited to be spending some more time with Andrew. He always had a refreshing outlook on things, always had something interesting to say, was always prepared to speak his mind when others bit their tongues.

“Have you heard of the arrival of the Prince and Princess?” Lady Fitzgerald asked. “Dutch, I think they are, or German, or something of the sort.”

Lord Fitzgerald nodded. “Indeed, German, I do believe. And both single too, apparently. I have heard that people from all across the country are coming to visit them, even to catch a glimpse of them.

“Yes, I have heard,” he said quietly. “A lot of bother about nothing, if you ask me.”

Lady Fitzgerald appeared personally insulted by Lord Jones's remark. She wrinkled her nose. “Well, it is not every day that one has the chance to meet a princess.”

Andrew shrugged. “I suppose that someone's title does not matter that much to me. They are just people—there are thousands like them on the planet. Nothing special.”

“Well, I suppose if you were invited to see them you would think differently,” Lady Fitzgerald replied.

“Oh, I have been,” Andrew said, “but I decided I would rather stick to my commitment and have tea with my friends.”

Lucy could tell that her mother was torn between feeling flattered and feeling confused and insulted. On the one hand, Lord Jones was saying he had chosen them over literal royalty. On the other hand, he was saying he completely eschewed the social mores of their class. Lady Fitzgerald just smiled politely and sipped her tea.

Lucy then knew she could not let her mother find out about the invitation. Lady Fitzgerald would not say anything to Lord Jones, either out of politeness, or because she believed he was the only man she could persuade Lucy to marry. But if she found out that Lucy herself had also rejected the opportunity to mingle with royalty just to have tea with Lord Jones.

After a few cakes and sandwiches, Lucy and Andrew withdrew to a settee at the corner of the room with their cups of tea, within view, but out of earshot of her parents.

“Are you just saying all this to sound controversial and rebellious?” she asked tentatively.

“All what?” Andrew asked, sipping his tea.

Lucy shrugged. “About how princes and princesses are just normal people,” she said.

“I do genuinely believe it,” Andrew insisted, “although I do also find it highly entertaining to see your parents fretting about what I do and do not do with my time.”

“And you really rejected an invitation to see them... so you could have tea with me?” she asked, blushing a little despite her best efforts.

He nodded. “Of course. I know you. I know you are good conversation, and pleasant company. I do not know them. How could I choose a stranger over a friend?” As he said this he gently rested his hand on hers.

“But that stranger is an unmarried princess,” Lucy insisted, removing her hand away from his. “Do you not hope that perhaps she could look beyond her status and marry you? Is that not every man's dream, to have a perfect wife and be supported by her family?”

Andrew chuckled. “Who could ever think another human to be perfect?” he contested. “No, no, the money I would get from her parents would be a fee, a salary to reward me for enduring her, princess or not. And I am not sure even a princess has enough money and is pleasant enough to make marriage worth my efforts.”

Lucy sighed and nodded. “I completely understand,” she replied. But her heart sank a little at the thought that Andrew, one of the few men who would make marriage worthwhile, was committed to never marrying.

Lucy was committed to never marrying as well, of course. But if there were a man worth marrying, he would be Lord Jones. And so many young women were choosing to marry, or forced to marry, and wound up with the sort of gullible young man who would make their lives miserable. Then again, these women were just as gullible, surely? Only a gullible fool would allow themselves to marry in the first place.

Or maybe that was the trick? Maybe gullible people married gullible people? And, in that case... surely cynics would marry cynics? She locked eyes with Lord Jones. He smiled softly. She blushed.

No. No, this was not an option. She looked away.

Fortunately, before anything else could be said or take place, her parents saved her. “Lucy, we must get going. We have to be in town for seven, and home by eight in time to get changed for dinner,” her mother explained.

“By eight? Will dinner be early tonight?” Lucy asked, standing up and straightening her skirts.

“Oh, we are going to see the Princess this dinner time,” her mother said in the sort of nonchalant way which suggested she was decidedly exploding with excitement on the inside.

Lucy followed her mother's gaze to Lord Jones's face. Clearly Lady Fitzgerald expected him to be jealous, or to make some bitter or angry remark. He just nodded. “I hope you have a fantastic time.”

Lady Fitzgerald sulked the entire rest of the way into town. She had apparently wanted to either invite Lord Jones, or to confront him for being jealous. When he was neither interested in going, nor bitter, she was not sure how to react.

“I simply... I cannot fathom why he would be so careless about royalty,” Lady Fitzgerald said.

Lucy nodded. “Antoinette says that European royalty is sometimes more like being an Earl, or a Duke, though,” she remarked.

“Even so, higher standing than a Baron. I mean... what would anyone think if they were to hear that?” Lady Fitzgerald sighed.

“I suppose he only does it to make people angry,” Lucy remarked.

“A juvenile attitude,” Lady Fitzgerald insisted. “I am not sure we ought to consider him a prospect after all. He has much learning to do before he is ready to marry. Now, you on the other hand are as ready as a young lady ever is. And we shall be meeting a prince, so you will need you to look your best. A haircut is in order, and new shoes.”

She shuddered. This sounded dreadful. Her mother, trying to set her up with a prince? “I am not sure a prince would consider a girl like me,” Lucy said, trying to escape from this preposterous idea.

“Oh, no, as you said, in rank they are more like a Duke. And if Dukes marry the daughters of Barons all the time, you should have no problem with this prince,” her mother tried to reassure her.

“But he is from another country, we would have nothing in common,” Lucy insisted.

“High-class taste is all a man and a woman need to have in common before marriage, you will be fine,” her mother countered.

Lucy shook her head. “And what if Andrew is right? What if they are pompous because of their status?”

“My sweet child,” Lord Fitzgerald insisted, “do not listen to what that man has to say, he is simply jealous of royalty.”

Lucy sighed and followed her mother into the hairdresser. She had only recently had a trim, and was not quite sure what her mother intended her to do. Lady Fitzgerald was leafing through some beautiful sketches of various short hairdos.

“Say, do you know if any of these are currently popular in Europe?” she asked the hairdresser. “Germany, perhaps? I think a worldlier style would suit Lucy...”

“I don't suppose it has anything to do with you wishing for me to marry a foreign prince?” Lucy asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Lady Fitzgerald blushed a deep red. “Now, Lucy, don't be stubborn. We need you to look your very best when you meet them. You are a young, pretty, very eligible young woman, and if you look the part you may be considered.” She paused. “Or at least they may introduce you to some other royals, which would get you a step closer to becoming royalty yourself.”

Lucy sighed in frustration. “I seriously do not believe a prince would marry someone such as myself, that is all.”

Her mother sat down beside her and waved the hairdresser away. “Lucy, you need to understand this now, but you will marry. No matter what you do or say, you have to. And your father and I will ensure this happens no matter what.”

Lucy shook her head. “And I will,” she lied. “But I do not want to marry too suddenly, in case it is someone deceiving me.”

“And if you are concerned that a man may be deceiving you for our money, what better way of preventing this than by marrying a prince, a man with far more money than we could ever dream of?” her mother insisted.

“But then what reason does he have to marry me?” she asked.

“Men do not only marry for wealth and power. They marry for love, for beauty, for children. You are young, and beautiful, and if only you made a little effort you would be charming again. Even a prince would be glad to marry you,” Lady Fitzgerald explained.

Lucy pursed her lips. “But I am sure there are plenty of pretty, educated, charming, young women who are also princesses, or of similar status. Why would he choose someone like me over someone... more like himself?”

“Nonsense, I am sure you have as good a chance as anyone else,” her mother insisted.

Lucy wanted to keep pressing. But what could she do or say to put her mother off? Nothing she could think of would be enough without being too far. The thought struck her that perhaps that was just how committed her parents were to this idea. They would stop at nothing to marry her, and if she actually stood between them and their chosen husband for her, they would think she was insane.

She watched as the hairdresser began to delicately trim her hair, careful not to shorten it too much more than it already was, preparing it in one of the styles her mother had chosen. Lucy herself had not even seen the style, the cutting had just begun suddenly. Glancing at the book, Lucy winced. None of them looked much good. She preferred the rough, masculine cut she was wearing. But her mother would hear none of it.

They thought they knew best. They thought they understood her wants and needs. They thought they could help her and make her life better, if only she obeyed them to the letter. If she only accepted their choice of men, of clothes, of friends, of parties, of haircuts, then she would be happy and fulfilled. They would never understand her.

It was not a simple phase. It was not a fancy. She was genuinely going to avoid getting married, at any cost. But she had to continue to play along. Because, in their eyes, rejecting marriage was infantile, if not insane. She just needed to carry on as they wanted her to, but manage to avoid marriage, until she was not at any risk.

And yet she now saw that if she carried on fighting their wishes, they would just push further and further into the absurd. From boys of her age and status, to older men, and now they were pursuing a prince. Like men were some flavour of sweet that if she just tried the right one she would be seduced forever and be content to commit herself to one.

There would be no getting through to them, of course, but this stood to be her most humiliating public appearance to date.