Angus started the day by confronting his mother’s total dissatisfaction with him—not that this came as a surprise—which was expressed by her total silence when she entered the breakfast room and was maintained as they ate. A great stretch of unending silence along with dark glares at him which he knew would soon become annoying questions, complaints, and demands.

As always, her hair was combed in a striking, fashionable stormy way around her face and she was dressed in what he supposed was the height of fashion—if he bothered to follow it. Her black leather suit emphasized her slim waist and fit body.

When he was a child, she had seemed imposing, like some faraway forbidden castle, looming over the horizon. When he came home for holidays, she had kept her distance and coldness. Every word they exchanged since Angus had been crowned king, had been polite, affable, and so unexceptionable. She might have read his school reports; he might have read about her in the tabloids.

When he was a child, all he wanted was for her to notice him.

Now, he had no more expectations of her. She could no longer disappoint him.

He closed his newspaper and signaled for the footman to replenish his cup with more coffee.

His mother sharpened her gaze on him and, if looks could burn, the thick snow lining the Lektenstaten mountains would have been reduced to nothing more than a melted puddle.

“So, you are betrothed,” she said, after the footman had filled Angus’s cup and retreated to the far corner of the room.

Angus set down his cup and inclined his head at her. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“So, this is your plan, is it?” She pierced the sausage with such ferocity, there could be no doubt that Angus had gotten under his mother’s skin—as he’d always invariably managed to do. “To return home with a common laborer in tow? After all of the time and effort I’ve gone to find you a suitable bride befitting your status and position. You shun them all in favor of a shit shoveling, working-class peasant from London?”

He should not have been surprised by the words, by the condescending moniker, and yet, he was. And despite loathing his mother’s words—and the woman herself—he had to admit there was something rather refreshing—and thoroughly satisfying—about having his mother speak them aloud. She made no effort to disguise her arrogance and contempt for regular people for a change. “Mind your words, Ma’am. You’re referring to my fiancée.”

“She is uncouth, unwashed. A dog, lapping milk from the king’s bowl.”

He slammed one hand onto the table, the force of it sending the plates rattling.

His mother’s attention flew to him.

“Call her that again and I will not be responsible for what I do.”

She certainly had not been prepared for that.

“You have responsibilities to this family, to your country.” She took a deep breath, maintaining eye contact with him to impart how serious she was. “As such, I’m not begging, Angus Augustus. Why, I am not even politely asking, because, frankly, that is too far beneath me. I am—”

“Oh, yes,” he drawled, interrupting her. “Politely asking is the stuff of the masses and it hardly befits the distinguished position of a Dowager Princess.”

She gave a pleased nod. “Precisely.”

God! Could a person be born this blindly self-absorbed? Or is it something learned? Fortunately, where the Braxton-Lenox’s were concerned, it was not a trait that traveled through their blood.

“As such,”—she patted her white hair—“I am telling you to get rid of her.”

“You are telling me? To…get rid of Siobhan?” he asked dryly. “How positively medieval of you, Ma’am.”

“Medieval,” she snapped, surging forward in a shocking break from her usual composure. “And what would you call it when nearly a millennia of history and legacy is threatened by your failure to produce an heir?”

“All things in due time, Mother.”

“If you die without an heir, or worse, if you get that…that woman pregnant—” Little blooms of pink touched her cheeks and she drew herself up straighter. “It’ll be a disaster.”

A more honorable son would have taken mercy. But he’d long been without it where his mother was concerned. For all that the woman sitting before him was his mother, she was a stranger. “Well, it’s unfortunate for you then that she is already carrying.”

A shriek strangled itself in Catriona’s throat. “You become more like your father every day.”

His temper rose and he nearly sprang to his feet at that, but Angus would not give her the pleasure of seeing the effect her words had on him. Calmly, he folded his napkin and rose to his feet, etching a purposely small, mocking bow. “You’ll have to excuse me, Ma’am, but as you yourself stated, I have duties to my country. And as far as the one duty you’re most concerned with, I took care of that by not bothering to use a condom with Siobhan. I thought you’d be pleased.”

There had been a time when he’d wanted her to care for him. He’d wanted it desperately and had made excuse after excuse for her sending him away.

But she had made painfully clear his excuses were just that: excuses.

Now he couldn’t care less if she moved to London—or to Hell—and never spoke a single word to him again.

* * *

Siobhan was awake before Kerr and a maid came in to settle breakfast in her sitting room before her first lesson with Ewan.

It was only while she was getting dressed and chose to investigate further that the truth finally sank in on her: the dressing-room closets contained only her clothes and a door in her vast bedroom connected with his.

She knocked on the communicating door in her bedroom and waited, shifting from one foot to the other.

When there was no answer she opened it, and saw yet another terrifyingly large and imposing bedroom containing huge ornate furniture that looked as if it had been designed a good few centuries ago.

It seemed all the more intimidating when set against its backdrop of gilded, paneled walls.

Maybe I should have been prepared for Angus’s absence. She breathed in deep and looked around wondering what she should do now, when a knock sounded on her bedroom door and Fiona walked in. “Oh, good, you’re up. Angus has asked me to take you shopping—”

“Where is he?” Siobhan asked.

His cousin looked surprised by the question. “At the bank, of course.”

“Of course.” Her soft mouth tightened because she refused to give way to the feeling he had abandoned her. After all, she wasn’t a child and she might be in a strange environment, but she would soon get used to it. She would manage fine without him. By the looks of it, she didn’t have much choice. “I don’t need to buy any more clothes.”

“He told me to tell you to buy a dress for the party tonight.”

Siobhan’s head was already spinning. “What party?”

Fiona went to the high-tech computer on the desk and after a few clicks, showed her a timetable filled with lunches, dinners, parties, charities visits, and who knew what else. “You’ll need clothes for all those.”

“But I can’t go now.” Siobhan groaned. “Ewan is coming for his lesson.”

“Ewan?” Fiona opened her eyes. “I will meet you at one o’clock here then.”

Stunned Siobhan watched as the younger girl made a hasty retreat as if the devil was in her heels. God. What now?

* * *

Siobhan’s spirits had taken quite a beating after one hour with Ewan Courtland and his lessons on table manners. And according to him, they had only begun.

Ewan had given her a list of frowned-upon words and she had learned she could say loo or lavatory but never toilet, napkin, nor serviette. Lounge room or front room was a sitting room or drawing room. And it would be drawing room only if the house also had a sitting room.

Never in her life had she ever worried about what she could—and more important, could not—converse with others. Allergies should be alerted to her hosts but topics on illness were prohibited. And, God forbid, bodily functions should never—ever! —be mentioned or discussed.

On a happy note, she would not have to worry about answering unwanted questions or going to parties if she was feeling ill.

“A proper lady of our fair country knows all the titles and names of the prominent families. After all, one must know who to turn to in a time of need.”

Siobhan frowned as she watched Ewan pace the length of the study, his back ramrod straight. It was a bit after five in the afternoon and her stomach was already rumbling with the promise of dinner soon. “Did you say titles and names?”

He stopped to look at her, his stern expression giving nothing to his true nature. “Ja. Titles, names. As the king’s fiancée and a…well, an outsider, you could do to learn who is in your realm of influence.”

Names and titles. How difficult can this be? “Alright,” she said, not wishing to argue about it. “What and who are they?”

“First and foremost, the Duchess of Eichhörnchen. If Her Grace takes you under her wing, not even the Dowager Princess would dare shun you,” Ewan told her in a somewhat conspiratorial whisper. “Now say it: Eichhörnchen.”

“I…Ihornchin?” In his voice, it sounded strong, refined; in hers, it was laughable at best.

“Nein, nein. Eich-hörn-chen.”

“Eirhormchen.”

Ewan pinched the bridge of his nose. “You must pronounce it just as I do.”

Siobhan shook her head. “Unless you are going to implant your voice box in my body, I will never pronounce it like you do. Can’t I just pretend I’m mute?”

Ewan stared at her open-mouthed for a second and, to her surprise, burst into laughter. “You are not like the others that have been around the king, are you?”

She smiled. “That is an understatement.”

They shared a smile and she saw some of his stern qualities thaw before her eyes. “Perhaps we will work on your greeting then. Your German accent will come with time.”

Siobhan tapped her finger against her lips. “Perhaps I could give them all nicknames, like Hörn. I might even start a new trend.”

Ewan nearly spit out the water he was sipping, the light in his eyes friendly and brimming with laughter. “You, my dear, are going to shake things up around here.”

Siobhan sighed. “That’s what I am afraid of.”

By the time the lunch hour approached, Siobhan had amassed quite a list of things she should and shouldn’t do, and a pile of books she should read on etiquette and lineage.

“That’s it for today.” With a delicate sigh, Ewan sank gracefully into an armchair—which had Siobhan making another note in her notebook—and opened his leather covered agenda. “Tomorrow, we’ll begin working on your posture and walking.”

Siobhan immediately straightened herself in the chair, earning another smile from the man.

“The royal optician will measure you for contact lenses and I’ll schedule a haircut, manicure, and pedicure with the royal hairdresser.”

Royal hairdresser? “God! I don’t have to wear my hair like Catriona’s, do I?”

“The Dowager Princess’s”—he corrected her without even looking up from what he was scribbling in his agenda— “hairstyle is quite alluring. But, nein, you can choose your own style. In fact, you won’t give Marie much work. All you need is a…bit of polish.”

“Thank God,” she muttered.

“And we are going to schedule a session for the engagement photographs and we could start overseeing the wedding preparations.” He stopped writing and lifted his eyes to stare at her. “You do know how to waltz, right?”

“No,” Siobhan groaned.

“Royalty doesn’t groan.” Ewan clutched his tongue twice when she was about to let out a huff. “Also, no huffs or puffs. Moodiness won’t win you any favors.”

She gave him a bland smile. I wonder what will…

* * *

As soon as Ewan was out of Siobhan’s rooms, Fiona was back in, not without making certain Ewan was really not there.

Throughout the tour of the palace, Fiona kept up a steady conversation. Siobhan’s head spun through most of it, but she tried to focus when people’s names were mentioned.

Fiona chattered all the way downstairs about where they were going to go shopping, while Siobhan scanned her lavish surroundings with all the apprehension of an ordinary person suddenly waking up to find themselves lost in a royal palace.

But the instant her insecurity was ready to rise, she crushed it flat and refused to acknowledge those feelings. Angus’s palace was where she was going to bring her baby up and the last thing her child needed was a mother who lacked self-esteem.

As they reached the foot of the stairs the butler addressed her in English, to her relief. “The Dowager Princess would like a word with you before you go out, miss.”

Fiona showed Siobhan into an elegant room where Catriona and her sister-in-law, Aileen, awaited her, but instead of following her in, she retreated and closed the door, leaving the three of them alone.

“Siobhan…” Angus’s mother greeted her with an acerbic smile. “Angus asked me to have a word with you about the household arrangements. He doesn’t think you’ll be up to taking charge immediately, so I agreed to continue the job until you feel able.”

“Okay,” she said, uncertain. Faced with that vote of no confidence from her fiancé while at the same time not knowing exactly what she was supposed to do, Siobhan felt cornered.

“Angus expects his home to run like clockwork. Dealing with the staff and the catering for a house as large as this one is a complex task,” Catriona pointed out. “Innes had the benefit of growing up in a similar home and knew exactly what was required.”

With a bright smile that refused to betray an ounce of nervous tension, Siobhan lifted her chin. “I’m sure I’ll rise to the challenge.”

“I’m impressed by your confidence.”

Fed up with the woman’s subtle put-downs, Siobhan lifted her head high. “I can understand your son’s sudden engagement has come as a shock to you and I have no wish to be on bad terms with you. But this is my home now and I intend to adjust—”

“But you will never be the wife whom my nephew needs,” Aileen exclaimed with a contemptuous sound of disgust. “You will never belong here as Innes did. A waitress!”

“Aileen is right. You’ll only be an embarrassment to my son.” Catriona fluffed her extravagant white hair and, as if she were commenting on the weather, said, “We know you threw yourself at Angus from the first moment you saw him.”

“Where on earth did you get that idea from?” Siobhan cut in, anger betraying her determination to stay firmly in control no matter the provocation.

“One of my oldest friends was at the Forsythe wedding,” Aileen answered. “She witnessed your first meeting with Angus Augustus and saw you for what you are—a scheming, gold-digging little tramp!”

“Don’t stress yourself, Aileen,” Catriona patted her sister-in-law’s hand. “Angus will soon tire of her.”

Cut to the bone by the older women’s verbal abuse, Siobhan went rigid. “Your friend is delusional, my lady, and—”

“Your Royal Highness is the correct form, Miss Faulkner,” interrupted Aileen.

Siobhan could feel the heat crawl over her neck and face. It was not from shame, but anger. “Well, ma’am, since I am a waitress, I wouldn’t know such lowness in a person could also be a highness, could I?”

She turned and stomped out of the room, banging the door behind her for good measure, and passing her arm through Fiona’s, she said, “Come on. I have a sudden itch to spend some royal pain-in-the-ass’s money.”

A stunned footman opened the door to her and bowed.

If Angus’s mother and aunt thought Siobhan Faulkner was going to bend or be made into a laughing stock, they were very, very wrong.

* * *

When Fiona asked what happened with Catriona, Siobhan said that she’d talk about it later. For now, she wanted to enjoy the fresh air blowing around her in Fiona’s convertible. Fiona parked on a small square surrounded by banks, on which Lekten Royal Bank was the main building, and took her to a small, almost hidden restaurant in tiny transversal. The chef was delighted to serve them and, when Siobhan requested something light, he prepared a wonderful vegetarian meal—a cheesy pasta dish with apple sauce—even though it wasn't on the menu, and served it himself in a gorgeous copper pan.

When it came to shopping, Fiona knew what she was doing—and everyone in Lekten knew her.

She took Siobhan to the most expensive shops on the main street—not that there were much shops to choose from—where all the sales assistants fussed over them, offering only the very best, and then she took Siobhan to a very exclusive place, where the clothes cost more than a few month’s rent. Who on earth thought that designer jeans should cost so much? Still, Fiona forced her to try on a few things and Siobhan quietly chose bigger sizes than normal, knowing that she didn’t have long before her own clothes would no longer fit her properly.

Siobhan stared at her image in the mirror as she put her clothes back on. Her belly was starting to show, just a little round bump, but her beautiful C-sized breasts were now in serious need of new bras. If this keeps going, I will be a size G when this baby is born.

“Do you need anything else?”

She almost said no, but her tingling and super-sensitive breasts needed better support. “Underwear.”

“Of course.” Fiona giggled with a knowing smile. “I know just the place.”

The sale attendant rang up the purchases and grinned when Siobhan extended the brand new Black American Express Angus had left for her on her bedside table.

And then Fiona took Siobhan to a lingerie shop, one that had more lace than Siobhan had ever seen. Most of the items there were meant to entice, and while she would have loved to buy a thing or two for her drawer, Siobhan knew it would be a waste of money right now. “Hmm, Fiona?”

Fiona giggled as she held up a lace teddy, fiery red in color and missing the complete back half. “This will drive Angus mad.”

She pulled Fiona inside the changing room, away from the prying eyes and ears of the other customers. “Look, can you keep a secret?”

Fiona looked a bit uneasy, as if she had never been asked that question before. “I-I guess.”

“Promise?”

Fiona nodded.

“I need pregnancy underwear.”

“Preg—”

“Shhh!” She put a hand over Fiona’s mouth. “No one knows! This must remain a secret.”

Fiona nodded and Siobhan let her hand fall. “Not even Angus knows?”

“Of course, he knows.” Siobhan rolled her eyes at Fiona. “But I need your help. That palace is a pit of snakes.”

“That Ewan—Gah—the man is—”

“He’s not so bad,” Siobhan replied, thinking of the lessons she had been forced to undertake with Ewan a few hours ago. “Once you get to know him.”

Fiona shuddered. “If you say so. He hit my hand with a spoon one time when I reached across a table to grab a roll. Can you imagine?”

Siobhan chuckled. She could imagine it. “So, I can trust you with this?”

“Oh,” Fiona said, her eyes growing soft as she looked at Siobhan’s stomach. “Of course. How exciting! I’m sure Angus is thrilled. I will do whatever you need me to and your secret is safe with me.”

Siobhan gave her a quick hug, glad that she had gained another ally in the house. It was hard enough to be ripped away from everything she knew and being thrust into this sort of spotlight, while pregnant of all things. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Fiona gave her a soft smile, returning her hug.

“It’s good to have a friend.”

“Kerr is also an excellent butler and he’s been serving our family for decades. All you need to do is ask his help.” Fiona squeezed Siobhan’s hand and offered her a friendly smile. “Don’t let yourself be intimidated by Mother and Aunt Catriona.”

They giggled and discretely picked out more appropriate undergarments for Siobhan’s condition, Fiona even purchasing them herself so that it would not raise any suspicion. Unable to help herself, Siobhan purchased the red teddy for later, knowing that the color would be as intense as the heat in Angus’s eyes when he saw her in it.

“I’m starving,” Siobhan remarked as they exited the store. “Can we get a snack?”

Fiona linked arms with her, guiding her to a small coffee shop around the corner. “They have the best pastries here.”

The women sat at one of the cozy bistro tables and the waiter put their pastries along with their coffee on the table. Siobhan nearly devoured the two she had picked out in a matter of minutes. Fiona chatted the entire time, taking only a pause for a sip of her coffee and soon their conversation turned to the family.

“Mother blames Uncle Augustus for lowering himself to marrying Aunt Catriona.” Fiona sighed. “Not that she did much better herself, but you know…it’s easier to speak badly of others and Mother has always found a handy person to blame. All of us struggled as a result but I’ve made my peace with it—we are a completely dysfunctional family that, God forbid, should get help.”

Siobhan silently agreed.

With a sad grimace, Fiona told her what she knew of her uncle and aunt’s dysfunctional marriage and a bit about Angus’s past. With a grin, she finished, “I am so happy Angus has found love for a change.”

Siobhan forced a happy smile onto her lips. “So am I.”

But has he found love? I’ll be happy too, if he does.