CHAPTER
FIVE
“Asher? Hello?”
Asher blinked, and redirected his attention away from the duke and back to Serena. Except it was no longer just Serena standing in front of him. Jeremy now stood next to her with his arm draped over her shoulders, carefully watching Asher.
“You disappeared there for a minute,” Serena said, once again looking at him as if he were a hermit who’d only recently ventured out into civilization. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine.” Asher gave them a tight smile. “Just a little distracted. It’s not every day we get to mingle with royalty.”
We. He’d said we.
He’d meant it collectively, referring to the orchestra in its entirety. But Serena and Jeremy assumed otherwise. Jeremy’s gaze shifted awkwardly to the floor, while Serena’s face went red.
Asher suppressed an eye roll. Don’t flatter yourself.
“I should probably head on in and get situated.” He gestured toward the auditorium, and again his gaze snagged on the duke, still lingering by the entryway.
What was he doing at rehearsal, anyway?
“Wait, Asher. I’d like to have a word with you before practice begins,” Jeremy said.
Asher’s hand tightened around the handle of his cello case. “Isn’t that what we just did?”
“We need to speak in private.” Jeremy nodded toward the door situated behind the spot where the duke and his entourage were standing.
Serena excused herself, but first shot a sympathetic look in Asher’s direction.
He didn’t want her pity. He didn’t want sympathy from anyone. He was fine. One hundred percent A-okay. Aside from his mild case of stage fright, obviously. But that was nothing. He could handle it. He just needed to get back onstage, and it’d all come back to him.
“If you insist.” Asher shrugged one shoulder, feigning nonchalance.
Jeremy strode across the lobby toward the closed door, and Asher followed. The duke looked even older up close. His female companion seemed to be about the same age, and wore a name badge that read Lady Wilhelmina Wentworth, Patron, Cadogan Hall. He wondered if Princess Amelia knew this Lady Wentworth. Then he remembered he had more important things to worry about.
Like saving his career.
“Asher.” Jeremy closed the door behind him, shutting them inside a remarkably small space that seemed to be a storage room of some sort.
Asher nodded. “Maestro.”
Jeremy might be an ass, but he was still Asher’s conductor. As ridiculous as the notion seemed, a modicum of respect was required.
“It’s good to see you working again.” Jeremy raked a hand through his hair, then pushed his glasses more firmly in place on the bridge of his nose. It was the same little ritual of gestures he usually went through immediately before he picked up his baton.
Asher said nothing. He didn’t want to be there. Not in England, not in Cadogan Hall, and certainly not shoved into a small, stuffy room with Jeremy March. The royal wedding gig was a necessity. He’d rather be anywhere else, frankly, and he wasn’t going to lie about it.
Jeremy’s smile faded. “I’ve been concerned about you. We all have.”
“No need. I’m fine,” he said flatly. A muscle in his jaw twitched.
“You left the Philharmonic midseason.” Jeremy tugged at the collar of his dress shirt. He seemed uncomfortable to be having this conversation. That made two of them. “And there’s the matter of the canceled concerts . . .”
“Your point being?” Asher lifted a brow.
Just get on with it, already.
He wasn’t going to make excuses. They both knew why he’d dropped out of sight.
Jeremy exhaled a weighty sigh. “You haven’t performed in quite some time.”
“I was on sabbatical.”
“I get that.” Jeremy nodded. “We all need a break from time to time.”
A break? Was he serious? Asher had the sudden urge to punch him in the face. He was finished being polite. “Shouldn’t we be rehearsing? Why don’t you stop beating around the bush and tell me why you’ve called me in here?”
“Look, I’m sorry I have to ask you about this.” Jeremy sighed again. “I assure you, this entire situation is as awkward for me as it is for you.”
Asher highly doubted that. He crossed his arms and waited for whatever question was coming.
Jeremy shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and leaned in awkwardly. “Are you up to this? Can you play?”
Asher’s answer was swift and unequivocal. “Absolutely.”
Jeremy finally managed to meet his gaze. “You’re sure?”
Asher had never been less sure of anything in his life. “I haven’t forgotten how to play, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Good. This wedding is important. The BBC estimates the television audience will top half a billion.”
Half a billion. That seemed completely insane. Then again, Asher knew the princess. Sort of. There was no denying she had a certain appeal, especially when she was wearing that silky kimono of hers.
He cleared his throat. “If you’re so worried about my playing, why am I here? You could have chosen anyone.”
“I did, actually. When it became clear that Yo-Yo Ma would be unable to perform, the royal family asked me to recommend alternate cellists. I gave them a list of five names.” Jeremy’s gaze flitted nowhere in particular.
The implication was clear. Asher’s name had been nowhere on that list.
Jeremy gave him a hard smile. “They wanted you. The queen heard you play two years ago when you were a guest of the London Philharmonic. You made quite an impression. When I heard they’d reached out to you and you’d accepted, I was surprised.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, maestro. But here I am.” Asher shrugged. It was getting harder and harder not to indulge his wholly inappropriate whim to pummel Jeremy on the spot. Probably because he was right to doubt Asher’s ability to perform. He wasn’t up for the task, and he knew it.
They both did.
“If this is going to be a problem, you need to tell me. Right now. Tomorrow will be too late. The wedding is days away. We’ll never get a replacement if you can’t handle it,” Jeremy said.
“I can handle it.” Asher said through gritted teeth.
He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The walls of the tiny room felt like they were closing in on him.
He’d never been much of a liar.
AMELIA HAD LEARNED A long time ago that wearing a tiara wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, especially when said tiara was one of the family heirlooms that had been around since Queen Victoria’s day.
The older crowns were crafted mostly of genuine jewels and platinum. They were the real deal, which meant they were far heavier than they looked. It mostly felt like walking around with a glittering, sparkly brick anchored to your head. After an hour, Amelia usually developed a raging migraine. Plus, there just seemed to be something inherently wrong about sporting a piece of jewelry valuable enough to feed a small country for a year. On the few occasions she’d worn something from the family’s collection of crown jewels, Amelia had felt like an imposter.
Her mother, on the other hand, could probably walk into a prison cell rocking Queen Mary’s tiara from 1893 with total confidence. So naturally, she expected Amelia to turn up on her wedding day bejeweled to the tune of a few million pounds.
A Mr. Smith from the House of Garrard, the company that had served as the crown jewelers for the monarchy for over one hundred and fifty years, had dragged almost the entire collection to the palace. A half dozen armed guards had accompanied him and now flanked the perimeter of the queen’s sitting room. The heavy conference table sagged beneath the weight of eight tiaras, which had been polished to glittering perfection.
Amelia needed sunglasses. “Is this really necessary? Can’t I just stick with a veil?”
Her mother’s lips curved into a patient smile, which meant she was feeling the exact opposite. “A tiara is a necessity. Have you forgotten who you are, Amelia?”
She hadn’t, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. “I get that, but can’t I wear something more modern? A nice, dainty diadem, maybe?”
The queen all but shuddered in horror and pulled Amelia to the side of the room, away from Mr. Smith and the men whom she’d begun to think of as the diamonds’ bodyguards. “Darling, this isn’t a game. You’re not playing dress-up. You’ll wear one of the historical pieces from the vault because the Becketts and the rest of Britain need to be reminded that your family belongs on the throne.”
“Do we really, though? What if the rumors are true? What if your grandfather wasn’t actually an Amcott?”
Amelia had never been brave enough to pose the question out loud. Probably because she knew no one in the family wanted to know the answer.
According to the Becketts—specifically Holden’s older brother, Gregory—Amelia’s great-grandfather, King Albert, was illegitimate. They’d managed to somehow unearth diaries from King Albert’s mother, who’d only married into the family and wasn’t an Amcott herself. The diaries implied that her lover, a commoner, could be Albert’s real father. If her worries were true, the man who’d sat on the throne for two decades hadn’t rightfully inherited the monarchy.
“The Amcotts have ruled this country for centuries, and we’re not going anywhere,” the queen said. “Never forget that, Amelia.”
“I know, but what if they go public and Parliament decides to exhume King Albert’s body? A simple DNA test would solve this whole mystery.” Amelia’s gaze flitted to the tiaras. “We could be doing all of this for nothing.”
“We’re not. And they won’t go public. Holden’s brother has given his word that if you and Holden marry, the family will be satisfied. The Becketts will be closer to the throne than ever before. They know that going public with the diary would be a risk. They definitely won’t endanger their chance after we give them the fairy-tale wedding of the century.” The queen gave her a knowing smile. “Being a monarch is more than simply being born to rule. Public opinion matters. The people know the Amcotts. They love us, for the most part.”
Amelia swallowed. Her mother didn’t need to elaborate. Amelia knew good and well that a number of her public-relations disasters had been responsible for any ill feelings about the monarchy.
“This whole ugly business will be behind us after the wedding. The Amcotts will rule. And Holden adores you. You know that.” The queen nodded. Case closed.
Holden adores me.
Wouldn’t it be convenient if Amelia adored him back?
Her mother sashayed back to the table and its extravagant display. “Where were we? Ah, yes. I think we’ve narrowed it down to the Burmese Ruby Tiara and the Cambridge Lover’s Knot. What do you think, Mr. Smith?”
Of course she’d asked the jeweler for his opinion rather than Amelia’s. Why did she even need to be there?
Chin up, you’re saving the family.
She’d waited her entire life to matter. Now was her chance.
“Good morning, everyone.” Amelia’s eldest brother, Edward, strolled into the room.
He carried himself with the confidence that came with being heir to the throne. He always had. When Amelia was a little girl, she’d practically worshipped him. She’d constantly trailed behind him through the palace, hoping some of his luster would rub off on her. Somehow, despite all the attention that had been showered upon him since the moment he’d graced the earth with his presence, he was actually a good guy. He’d make a great king one day.
And now I’m part of making sure he’ll sit on the throne.
“Edward!” The queen’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.
Even the corgis took notice of his arrival. They pranced at his feet like he’d invented dog biscuits. As usual, Willow was the only holdout. She opened one eye, yawned, then resumed her nap on the tartan dog bed by the fireplace.
The queen didn’t seem to notice. “You’ve brought your orders and medals for Mr. Smith to take care of?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Edward held up an attaché case. Amelia’s brother had so many military medals and honorary orders that he literally had to carry them around in a piece of luggage.
Their mother nodded. “Perfect. He’ll get them all polished and ready for the ceremony.”
“I certainly will, sir.” Mr. Smith took the briefcase and handed it to one of the guards.
Edward moved to give Amelia a hug. “Good morning, sis.”
“Morning.” Amelia lowered her voice, and steered him toward a quiet corner by the fireplace. Willow growled at the unwelcome intrusion. “What are you doing here? You didn’t have to bring those over personally. Dad and Oliver had a page deliver theirs.”
Edward shrugged one shoulder, but somehow managed to make it look regal. “I was in the neighborhood.”
“Sure you were.”
“There’s an investiture in the throne room in just a bit. Mum asked me to join.” Of course she had. “You look awfully pensive. I figured you’d have fun with this sort of thing.” He waved a hand toward the tiaras.
“Um, sure.” She nodded. “I’m just distracted. My calendar is pretty full today.”
Sure, that’s the big distraction this morning. Your calendar.
An image of Asher Reed’s shirtless physique planted itself right at the forefront of her thoughts. How did someone who played the cello for a living end up looking like that? It was mind-boggling.
It was also none of her concern whatsoever.
She glanced at Edward and found him watching her intently. “What is it?”
He raised a brow, and for a moment looked so much like their mother that it was unsettling. “I just saw some interesting news involving your friend.”
Amelia froze. Swallowed.
Her friend?
Interesting news?
Asher had gone to the press. She knew he couldn’t be trusted. God, how could she have been so foolish? Her crying jag was probably on the front page of the tabloids. Either that, or their little pajama party was all over the Internet.
She should have made sure he’d signed that nondisclosure agreement on the spot. “He’s not my friend. I assure you.”
Edward’s brow furrowed. “I’m talking about Renata.”
Renata, the former Duchess of Silva. Of course.
A wave of relief hit Amelia so hard that she swayed a little on her feet. “Renata. Right. She’s been stripped of her title. Terrible, isn’t it?”
She took a deep breath and willed her heartbeat to return to normal. Edward had scared the life out of her, which should serve as an important reminder the next time she had the ridiculous urge to barge into Mr. Reed’s room.
Scratch that. There wouldn’t be a next time. Willow could devour him for all she cared.
“Terrible indeed, although I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. And now . . .” Edward gave her a sideways glance. “Wait a minute. You thought I was talking about someone else, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I distinctly heard you say he. Who did you think I meant?” Edward’s smile faded.
She was busted. “No one. Stop looking at me like that.”
Her brother exhaled a weary sigh. “God, Amelia. Tell me you haven’t managed to get yourself into some kind of trouble?”
He didn’t tack again onto the end of his question, but he may as well have. It was heavily implied.
“I most certainly have not, but thanks for your vote of confidence.” Amelia glared at him.
She could have simply told Edward about Asher. She would’ve had to leave out the part about their encounter at Westminster Abbey, but the incident with Willow earlier would have been a reasonable explanation for having him on her mind. She could’ve at least mentioned there was an American musician staying in the palace.
She didn’t want to think about why she chose to keep his presence to herself.
Edward shook his head. “Sorry. All this wedding business has got me on edge. I saw Gregory Beckett at a luncheon yesterday, and he mentioned the diary. Right there in front of everyone. ”
“What?” Amelia gaped at him. “He can’t do that.”
“He did.” Edward released a tense exhale. “He didn’t disclose any of its contents, obviously. If he had, the wedding would be off. My guess is that he’s letting people know the diary exists in the event the wedding gets called off and he’s forced to use it.”
“It’s not going to be called off.” Amelia wished she felt as defiant as she sounded.
“I know it won’t. I trust you, sis. The wedding will go off without a hitch.” He glanced at their mother, who looked as though she’d decided on the Cambridge Lover’s Knot.
The tiara had nineteen precious Asian pearls and more diamonds than Amelia could count. It was lovely, really. On any other occasion, she would have arm wrestled for the opportunity to wear it.
She sighed. “This will all be over before we know it.”
And then what?
She’d be Holden’s wife.
“You know what you’re doing means the world to her, don’t you?” Edward cast a meaningful glance at the queen. “She’ll never say it, but it does. You’ve made her very proud.”
Amelia hated the lump that sprang instantly to her throat. She was a grown adult. She wished she didn’t sometimes still feel like a little girl, desperate for her mum’s attention.
She wished a lot of things at the moment.
“I’m not sure you’re right about that,” Amelia said.
“Trust me. Every one of us is fully aware that you’re saving the day.” His mouth curved into a half-grin. “Plus it’s a win-win, isn’t it? Holden worships you.”
So I hear.
Was it odd that she hadn’t seen much of her fiancé since the engagement had been announced? Probably. But honestly, she’d been doing everything in her power to avoid any face-to-face interaction. It still didn’t feel right.
But she definitely didn’t want to get into a conversation with her brother about how the thought of kissing Holden made her nauseous. So she changed the subject. “You never finished telling me about Renata. Has there been another disaster?”
“You could say so.” Edward let out a laugh. “According to the tabloids, she’s going to be a contestant on next season’s Celebrity Big Brother.”
He couldn’t be serious. Renata wasn’t a duchess anymore, but reality television? Really? “Oh. My. God. Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Afraid not.” Her brother shook his head. “At least she’ll have someplace to live.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Just because she won’t have a title anymore doesn’t mean she’ll be poor.”
Edward absently fiddled with the prince of Wales signet ring he always wore on his left hand. A nervous habit. “Think again. No title means no income. Did you really expect the Spanish government to keep paying her expenses after she made a sex tape?”
He had a point. “No, obviously. But what about her family? She’s got three brothers. It’s not as though she has nowhere to go.”
“From what I hear, she’s been left out to dry. In a few months, after everything dies down, she could probably move in with one of them. But in the meantime, no one wants to risk it. The Spanish people would frown upon Renata living in any of the royal family’s palaces or homes. It’d bring the Spanish monarchy to its knees.” He gave Amelia a grim smile. “She’s out.”
Amelia swallowed. Hard. “Wow. I hadn’t realized how bad things were.”
Edward lifted a brow. “Come on, Amelia. You know as well as anybody that public opinion matters. Every monarchy is only one scandal away from being abolished.”
Renata had crossed a line—a line which Amelia had never gone anywhere near. But still. It was sobering to think how quickly life could change.
She glanced at the glittering tiaras lined up on the table, at the room’s heavily gilded ceiling, and the priceless works of art hanging on the damask walls. Vermeer. Michelangelo. Rubens. What would the Amcotts be without all of this? Without the palace, the bodyguards, the structure that came with being royal. Without the crown?
Amelia could hardly fathom it. Her brothers would be fine. They’d both served in the military. Edward and Oliver could easily support themselves and their families. Never becoming king would be a blow to Edward, considering he’d spent a lifetime preparing for the responsibility. But he’d survive.
Amelia wasn’t even worried about herself. She’d find her way somehow.
But her parents would be lost, especially her mother. Queens don’t just stop being royal. With few exceptions, a queen’s rule only ended when she died.
If the Amcotts were ever unseated, what would her mum do? Become a contestant on Celebrity Big Brother?
Absolutely not.
Amelia’s gaze flitted to her mother. Gingerly, she picked up the tiara she’d selected for Amelia and cradled it in her hands. She handled it with the reverence of someone who’d devoted her entire life to crown and country.
“Monarchies rise and fall according to the will of the people,” Edward said.
Not this one, Amelia thought. Not if I can help it.