Royal Protocol by Christine Flynn Page B

this evening.” Mentally envisioning her photocopy of Mrs. Ferth’s calendar, Gwen paced toward the window. “Tomorrow morning is the opening of the new Queen Marissa Library in Sterling. We could ask Princess Meredith to represent her mother, but she is asdistressed about her father and brother as the queen. It might be best to ask Lady Colwood if she will represent Her Majesty. The speech is already written. All she has to do is read it.”
    “What about the tour of the gardens she was to give afterward?”
    “If this weather continues, I doubt anyone will mind if it’s canceled.”
    Pushing back one of the filmy curtains, Gwen toyed with the top button of her jacket as she looked out at the gray. Rain still fell, merging sky and sea in shades of pewter and slate.
    “What does she have the day after?” she asked, wondering how much time Harrison had spent out on those turbulent waters. He commanded the navy. To reach that position, he could well have spent an accumulation of years out there, riding the waves, fighting the elements.
    “A meeting with the royal chef to confirm the menu for the dinner Saturday evening. An appointment with her couturier for the final fitting of her gown. The symphony, followed by a reception for the guest violinist.”
    “I’ll take the meeting with the chef. The rest we’ll take as it comes.” She let the curtain fall. Her idea of adventure was a short sail around the harbor. The only time she’d been beyond the breakwater of the cove was to fly over it. “Hopefully, by then they will have found the prince and the king will be showing some improvement.”
    “Do you really think that will be?”
    Tightening her hold on the button, she faced the concern in the dedicated secretary’s angular face. “I can’t honestly say I know what to think,” she murmured, wishing she possessed the bold confidence of the man she’dleft a little over half an hour ago. She doubted he ever questioned himself, ever felt uncertainty or fear.
    “I just know we have a lot to do in the next several days,” she concluded with a sigh.
    “Where would Her Majesty like me to begin?”
    “By calling Admiral Monteque.” Her hand fell. “Her Majesty wishes to see him here at his earliest convenience.”

Chapter Five
    G wen was a worrier. She always had been. She stewed over details. Fretted over decisions. As a child, she’d feared constantly that she wouldn’t do well enough in school, that she wouldn’t be ladylike enough to suit her parents, that she might break one of her father’s rules about decorum or her mother’s about appearances. She’d lived her life in embassies and cut her teeth on protocol. Appearance was everything.
    She had also spent much of her youth wishing she had the guts to go wading in the Trevi Fountain or climb onto the memorial in Trafalgar Square.
    Had she done that, however, her mother would have had apoplexy. And her father would probably have sent her off to live with Tibetan nuns. Having no desire to ruin her mother’s health or live in seclusion, she’d remained the dutiful daughter—until she’d met and married a man who’d made her realize that she didn’t have to beperfect for someone to care about her. Not that she had ever even come close. But Alex Corbin had, among so many other things, given her the courage to break the familial chains.
    She was still working on getting up the nerve to climb a statue.
    And she still worried. Only, now she worried about her friends and her family. At the moment her concern was for the queen and the queen’s daughters. The three princesses had arrived nearly an hour ago, and promptly disappeared into their mother’s salon.
    From the chair behind Mrs. Ferth’s desk, she hung up the phone and fished around with her foot for her shoe. She had just canceled her own appointment with the Marlestone Library Restoration Committee that afternoon and rescheduled a meeting with the cellarmaster.
    The afternoon had passed in a