“No. Absolutely not.”

“But why?” Bianca’s whine skittered down my back like nails on a chalkboard.

“Because you are here to work, not date.”

“It’s just lunch,” she whined again.

“I don’t care,” I said, reaching the end of my tether. “You are supposed to be working for me, Bianca, not gallivanting around the Palace with every Tom, Dick and Harry you meet.”

“Prince Harry’s here?” Her eyes got big and I had to bite my tongue not to yell at her for being such an imbecile. Seriously, how could the two of us even be sisters?

“No, he is not,” I was able to say calmly.

“But he will be, right? All the big Royal Families are going to be at the wedding?”

I growled under my breath. Why did I even suggest to Father that he send Bianca here? He hadn’t wanted her to come, he hadn’t wanted me to come and work at the Palace, but I hadn't given him much choice. I thought it would be good for her to get some real world experience, I never dreamed that it would end up giving me an ulcer.

My tablet dinged with an incoming message and I scanned it, an idea lighting up my brain.

“Bianca,” I said, “I have a special job for you.”

She turned to me and her eyes narrowed. “What kind of job?”

“Oh, maybe not,” I said, dismissively, “Maybe you’re not up to it.”

“You always do this,” she huffed, crossing her arms, “You never think I can do anything.”

I had to hide my smile as I looked back down at my tablet. “It’s just, well, it’s an important job. A request from the Queen.”

Her eyes popped and her arms dropped to her side, “The Queen wants me to do a special job?”

I nodded slowly. “There is a VIP reception tonight,” I said, “It’s small and intimate and the Queen wants everything to be perfect.”

Bianca nodded enthusiastically. “Is it something to do with her hair or gown—”

I shook my head. There was no way I would let Bianca anywhere near the Queen’s hair or clothes, that would just be asking for trouble. “No, but it is something very dear to her heart.”

“Tell me,” she said and I knew I had her hooked.

“Table settings,” I said dramatically. “The Queen wants you to help with the table settings.”

Bianca screwed up her face, “Table settings?”

“You know how good you are with arranging flowers and making things look pretty,” I said, encouragingly. “Papa’s table always looked perfect whenever you set it, not to mention the way you rearranged the furniture in the sitting room at home.”

She nodded, thinking. “I do have a knack for decor,” she said.

“Exactly,” I said, “And tonight is so important for the Queen. She just wants everything to be perfect for her guests and I think you would be perfect for the job.”

I was laying it on a bit thick, but if I could get her out of the room for a few hours then maybe I could get some work done. And she really couldn’t do any damage with the job I was giving her, polishing the silver flatware would keep her busy with very little chance of screwing up.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” she said like she was bestowing a great favour on me.

I shot off a quick reply to the message and walked towards the door, turning back to her when I realised she hadn’t followed me.

“Well, come on,” I said.

She turned on her heel and met me at the door. We walked side by side down the corridor to the elevator and then took it to the lower levels of the Palace. This was the engine room, where all the magic happened. Maids in pristine uniforms scurried past us as I led Bianca towards the Undercroft where we stored the many and varied cutlery, crockery and other serving ware, essentially a dish room.

It was a long hall with a vaulted ceiling, the sides of which were lined with cabinetry. There were different dinner sets for different functions, some for everyday use, some with the crest for formal occasions and enough plates, bowls and the like to serve a banquet of two hundred. Each dinner set had a matching set of flatware - knives, forks, spoons, teaspoons, dessertspoons, soup spoons, pate knives, cake forks… and the list went on. There were also crystal wine glasses by the pallet, not to mention water glasses, tumblers, highballs, martini glasses etc. Down the centre of the room was a long table and before every formal dinner, the relevant dinner set, flatware and glasses were laid out to be hand polished to a high shine.

Tonight’s dinner was relatively small with just fifty people in attendance, but that meant that there were fifty complete place settings to get ready - and not just a dinner plate, a bowl and a side plate. The menu tonight was eight courses and each course had a plate and a set of flatware, times fifty.

There were normally more than enough staff to cover the duties that went into a formal dinner, but with the wedding so close, many of those staff had been appropriated to other duties, leaving the serving staff short handed. Hence the message I had received requesting additional hands. I led Bianca over to Sergé, the Majordomo and introduced her.

“Sergé, this is my sister Bianca. She has very graciously offered her services to you.”

Sergé grinned and Bianca’s eyes widened in fear. He was a short man, bald, thin and with perfect posture. His uniform was spotless and pressed to perfection and he expected nothing less of those who worked under him. He also had a reputation for being somewhat tough, especially on staff who liked to slacken off.

“Welcome Bianca,” he said, his strong French accent pronouncing her name lyrically, completely at odds with his demeanour and reputation. “Ms Montague will get you set up and give you your assignment.”

I left Bianca in their capable hands, finally allowing the smile to break across my face as I waved to her over my shoulder. Peace at last.

I rounded the corner and ran smack into a large, solid man. The smile still on my face and apology on my lips, I looked up, straight into the fiery green eyes of Dominique.

I had been distracted by the smile on her face. In the nearly eleven months that we had been working together, I don’t think I had ever seen Priscilla smile. It transformed her. I could acknowledge that she was striking with her thick red hair and fair complexion, pretty even when she wasn’t scowling, but seeing her smile, a real, genuine smile, not one for a photograph or politeness’ sake, elevated her to stunning and it had caught me off-guard.

And then she’d run into me.

I could smell her shampoo, her head coming to just above my chin, the top of her head brushing under the end of my nose. It was something floral and delicate and subtle. Her body was soft where it touched mine, although she didn’t carry an ounce of extra weight. She was just… feminine in a way I’d never noticed before. Natural curves, delicate skin and big blue eyes, the colour of well-worn denim. Eyes that held a hint of mischief, another thing I would never have associated with the Lady Priscilla Beaumonde that I had come to know.

Her crimson painted lips dropped open in a delicate ‘o’ as she raised her head and realised it was me. Our eyes caught and held and for the briefest moment there was an awareness, something beyond our normal day-to-day interactions. But it was fleeting and she stepped back, struggling to keep her face a blank mask, but not quite succeeding. She was still standing close to me, despite the step back. We were no longer touching but it wouldn’t take much—

“Lord Chancellor,” she said, her voice a touch lower and huskier than normal. That was intriguing.

“Lady Priscilla,” I replied, holding her gaze, wanting to see, again, that look that had been there just a moment ago.

She dropped her eyes and took a breath and I could see her steeling herself against me. It was a disappointment.

“I was just—” she looked up at me again and her composure slipped, just slightly. No one else would probably have noticed, but I had become an expert at reading her. “Offering the services of my sister to the Majordomo.”

I raised an eyebrow, liking the way she was a little off-kilter. Normally the woman was as ice cold as the skating pond on the Palace grounds in the middle of winter, but for the first time I was witnessing a crack in the ice.

I didn’t say anything, content to see where this would go. We had been working closely together, but she always held herself so aloof and apart. Not that I wanted to get cosy with her, we were colleagues after all. But it would be nice to perhaps have a less hostile working environment, one where I didn’t get frostbite from spending too much time in her vicinity.

“They’re a little short staffed,” she said, softer, almost a whisper.

My mind raced as to how I could prolong this interaction. “I was actually coming to find you,” I said. I hadn’t been, but it seemed like a good excuse.

“Oh?” she asked and I saw the fluttering of her pulse at the side of her throat. Was it going faster now?

I nodded, fascinated with this completely unexpected woman standing before me. “I thought maybe we could have that meeting—”

Damn. I said the wrong thing. She took another step back, rearranging her features into the familiar displeased-school-ma’am that I usually saw. The moment had passed and we were back to our regularly scheduled programming. Enter the Ice Queen.

“I have some time now,” she said, “Should we go to your office.”

I nodded. Too disappointed in the turn of events to speak. We walked together, silently, back to the elevator and up to the floor where my office was. I held the door for her as she stepped off the elevator and walked in front of me down the hall. She was wearing a skirt suit - a straight, dark skirt that finished just below her knees with a small kick split in the back that gave just a glimpse of the skin behind her knee and the beginning of her thigh. I jerked my eyes higher, noticing the ram-rod straight posture clothed in a matching tailored suit coat. Her hair was in one of it’s customary chignons without a hair out of place. I don’t know how she did it, how she tamed that red hair so that it looked almost conservative. It was darker than her sister’s, but no less subdued. Richer, if I had to put a finer point on it. Her sister’s colour was eye-catching in a flashy sort of way - attention seeking and in your face - but Priscilla’s hair colour was all class like a 1950’s glamour starlet.

She paused at my closed door, turning to wait for me. Those red lips called to me and I dropped my eyes, noticing the red high-heeled pumps that she wore. Seriously. I had never noticed anything about her fashion choices before today and I desperately hoped that it was an anomaly.

I stepped up beside her and input the four digit security code on the lock of my door, pushing it open. She had to duck under my arm to enter as I held the door for her and her body brushed mine as she passed. I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath, which was entirely the wrong thing to do because now my nostrils were filled with her floral scent. I took a moment before following her into the outer office, striding across the room to beat her to my private office door and again inputing a code to unlock it. This time I walked in first, manners be damned. I couldn’t afford the distraction and I needed to pull myself together so that we could get though this meeting without me doing something ridiculously inappropriate.

It was a bit of a surprise though, my reaction. I hadn’t felt that spark of… well, I don’t even know what to call it. But it was a spark of something, something more than the usual, dangerous sparks that I got from Priscilla. No, the spark of, well attraction, I guess, that was one I hadn’t felt since Adélise and there was no way I was going to think about that. Not now, not ever.

“I have to wear this?” I looked down at the grey maid’s uniform and crisp white pinafore, humiliated.

“While you are working down here, yes,” Ms Montague told me in no uncertain terms.

Old Monty was a large woman, her own uniform a dark grey to distinguish her as above the rest of the plebs and no pinny. It stretched precariously across her amble bosom and I feared for the buttons that valiantly tried to keep her blouse together.

“But, I’m just here to—”

“You’re here to work, Miss Beaumonde,” she said, cutting me off.

I really hated that I couldn’t have the title of Lady like my sister, that was reserved for the eldest female child in the family. The only way I would get the styling of Lady was if I married a Lord and I couldn’t even begin to search for my Prince Charming until my shrew of a sister found hers.

“But—”

“No buts.”

Why didn’t this woman understand that I had been specially requested by the Queen to design and style her dinner table for tonight’s banquet? I was not merely a servant.

“Sit here,” Monty said. She would probably snap my neck like a twig if I called her that to her face. “Here is your cloth and here is your allotment.”

I looked down at the table in front of me to see a pile of silver knives. Lots and lots of them.

“What am I meant to do with this?” I held up the rag.

“You’re here to polish the silver, Miss Beaumonde, so I suggest you get to it.”

“What?!” I screeched, jumping to my feet.

“Sit down.” Monty said, her voice low and dangerous. I sat. “I do not have time to put up with your petty grievances. Your sister brought you down here to help get the silver ready for tonights dinner. Everyone else is working diligently, except you Miss Beaumonde. If you think this task is beneath you, I will find another—”

“Yes,” I said, slapping the rag down on the table and standing, “I think that would be best.”

Monty looked at me, her eyes narrowed and I shrunk back a little. She was like a Rottweiler, snapping jaws and evil eyes. I thought maybe I should just sit down again and polish the knives in front of me, they looked easy enough and shouldn’t take too long. I began to lower myself back to my seat when she grabbed my elbow.

“Come with me,” she said, jerking me roughly out of my seat. I had never been handled so indelicately and I opened my mouth to protest but then shut it again when she shot a look at me over her shoulder.

She deposited me in front of a long bench with two large sinks, one filled with soapy water, the other with clear water, and a tall, silver, industrial looking machine on one end with a long conveyer belt that disappeared under a hood on the other end of the bench.

“Seeing as though you can’t polish silver,” she said, pushing me to stand in front of one of the sinks, “Then perhaps washing the glasses will be more to your liking.”

I looked to the side of the bench to see a row of stacked pallets that contained a myriad of glasses.

I have to hand wash all those?” I asked, looking at her in horror.

She nodded and smiled an evil smile. “They go into the dishwasher,” she pointed to the large silver box thing, “Then you rinse them in this and then rinse them in that and then they go into the dryer before coming out the other end to be polished.”

“If you don’t mind,” I said, politely and with my winningest smile, “I’ll just go back and polish the silver.”

She shook her head and pointed to the glasses. “You’ve been reassigned. You have an hour.”

“An hour?” I screeched again, I couldn’t help it.

“I’ll have someone come and load the dishwasher for you.”

I stood, stunned as I looked at all the work in front of me. I had never even washed a dish before, we had servants to do that at home and besides, Papa wouldn’t want me to do such menial labour.

“Hello again,” a very male voice said from behind me.

I whipped around to see Louis, decked out in his own servant’s garb.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, mystified.

“Dom sent me to the salt mines to make up for a slight faux pas on my part.”

“My sister tricked me into coming down here,” I said petulantly.

“Ah,” he said with a nod, “But it has all turned out well.” He grinned at me and I melted a little.

“How so?” I asked, “I have all this to do.” I waved my hand at the stacks of glasses.

“Yes,” he said, looking at me, a sparkle in his eye, “But we get to do it together.”

“Oh,” I said, a little breathless.

So maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible after all, not if I got to spend it with Louis. It may not be an intimate lunch in the glass conservatory, but we were alone and Priscilla wasn’t here to chaperone me. I smiled shyly at him and then turned to the task at hand. Maybe if we got this done quickly, there would be time for us to sneak off somewhere more private without anyone the wiser.

“So tell me, Louis,” I said, “How fast do you think we can get this done?”

I looked up at him through my lashes in what I hoped was a coquettish manner.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” he asked with the raise of a single dark eyebrow.

“I was hoping you could, I don’t know,” I said with a shrug, “Show me around.”

He smiled at me and it warmed me all over. “I think we can knock this over in no time,” he said, with a wink.

“Excellent,” I replied.