Unsure whether to be horrified or grateful, Brooke could see protesting was foolish so she thanked Olivia. Then she followed a maid through the palace in a journey from the royal family’s private wing to the rooms set aside for guest use. After five minutes of walking Brooke knew she’d never find her way back to Olivia’s office and hoped someone would be sent to fetch her for dinner. If her presence in the palace was forgotten and she starved to death, how long would it take before her body was discovered? She lost count how many doors they passed before the maid stopped and gestured for Brooke to enter a room.
“Thank you.”
The instant Brooke stepped into the bedroom she’d been given, she fell instantly in love. The wallpaper was a gold-and-white floral design while the curtains and bedding were a pale blue green that made her think of an Ameraucana chicken egg. In addition to a bed and a writing desk, the room held a settee and a small table flanked by chairs against the wall between two enormous windows. The room had enough furniture to comfortably seat the students in her class on Italian Renaissance poetry.
On the bench at the foot of her bed sat her well-worn luggage. To say it looked shabby among the opulent furnishings was an understatement.
“Can I unpack that for you, Dr. Davis?” The maid who’d brought Brooke here had followed her into the room.
“I’ve been traveling for quite a few days already and most of what’s in here is dirty.”
Brooke sensed that she would scandalize the maid by inquiring if there was a laundry machine she could use.
“I’ll sort through everything and have it back to you by evening.”
Brooke dug through the bag and pulled out her toiletries and the notebook she always kept close by to write down the things that popped into her head. Her mother was fond of saying you never knew when inspiration would strike and some of Brooke’s best ideas came when she was in the shower or grabbing a bite to eat.
Once the maid had left, Brooke picked up her cell phone and checked the time in California. At four o’clock in Sherdana it would be 7:00 a.m. in LA. Theresa would be halfway to work. Brooke dialed.
When Theresa answered, Brooke said, “Guess where I am now...”
* * *
Nic hadn’t been in the palace more than fifteen minutes before his mother’s private secretary tracked him down in the billiards room where he and Gabriel were drinking Scotch and catching up. The room had four enormous paintings depicting pivotal scenes in Sherdana’s history, including the ratification of the 1749 constitution that was creating such chaos in Nic’s personal life.
“Good afternoon, Your Highnesses.” A petite woman in her midfifties stood just inside the door with her hands clasped at her waist.
Gwen had come to work for the queen as her personal assistant not long before the three princes had been born and more often than not, regarded the triplets as errant children rather than remarkable men.
“Hello, Gweny.”
“None of that.”
Nic crossed the room to kiss her cheek. “I missed you.”
Her gaze grew even sterner, although a hint of softness developed near the edges of her lips. “You missed tea.”
“I needed something a little stronger.” Nic held up his mostly empty crystal tumbler.
“The queen expected you to attend her as soon as you arrived in the palace. She’s in the rose garden. You’d better go immediately.” Gwen’s tone was a whip, driving him from the room.
Knowing better than to dawdle, Nic went straight outside and found his mother in her favorite part of the garden. Thanks to the queen’s unwavering devotion, the half acre flourished with a mixture of difficult-to-find antique rose varieties as well as some that had been recently engineered to produce an unusual color or enhanced fragrance.
“It’s about time you got around to saying hello,” the queen declared, peering at him from beneath the wide brim of her sun hat.
“Good afternoon, Mother.” Nic kissed the cheek his mother offered him and fell into step beside her. He didn’t bother to offer her an explanation of what he’d been doing. She had no tolerance for excuses. “The roses look beautiful.”
“I understand you brought a girl home with you. She’s the sister of your California friend.” She paused only briefly before continuing, obviously not expecting Nic to confirm what she’d said. “What is your relationship to her?”
“We’re friends.”
“Don’t treat me like an idiot. I need to know if she’s going to present a problem.”
“No.” At least not to anyone but him.
“Does she understand that you have come home to find a wife?”