Both looked up at me as I walked in and I had the uncanny feeling of having walked into a trap.
“Father, mother. You summoned me?” I made myself comfortable in an armchair and smoothed my shirt and pants before looking up at them.
My father had the bearing of a monarch from years past, King Richard came to mind when I looked at him. He still had all of his hair and sported a rather healthy beard, both with a tinge of equal parts red and grey threaded throughout the brown. My mother also held herself with a type of poise that seemed inherent in those of royal birth. A true red-head, she lightened it with subtle blonde highlights and wore it much in the fashion of Margaret Thatcher held in place with enough hairspray to threaten the ozone layer.
My father got up from his desk and walked over to join us on the sofas. This must be serious if they were going to double-team me.
“Have you spoken to the Queen today?” my father asked.
“No, why?” I was suspicious. I know my father had been meeting with the Queen leading up to the coronation, but I wasn’t privy to the details. I assumed it was him lending her his support.
He sighed and sat back. “She’s asked me to take on the role of Prime Minister.”
I was stunned, but not entirely shocked. My father was the Speaker of the House in Parliament and had taken on the interim role as Head of State during the recent upheaval in our politics. The previous Prime Minister and many of the higher ranked Ministers had been stood down, some charged, in response to a corruption scandal that had resulted in Alyssa being kidnapped. Parliament was still unstable and now that the Queen had ascended and been crowned, she would, of course, be looking to stabilise the government. Charles Bingham, Duke of Monterey, was the obvious choice.
“Okay,” I said with a nod and an exhalation, “So what will happen now.”
“I will need you to take over Monticorp sooner than expected,” he said.
“And you will need a wife,” Caroline Bingham added decisively. “I have a list of eligible—”
“Really, mother?” I asked with a roll of my eyes. She had been trying to set me up from the moment I set foot back in the country six months ago. I had nothing against the institution of marriage, and I knew one day that I would need to take a wife and provide heirs, but I was no-where near ready for that level of commitment.
“Frédéric you have sown your wild oats for long enough,” she said, brooking no argument, “It is time for you to settle down.”
“Maybe,” I said, throwing her a bone, “But I don’t need my mother setting me up. We don’t need a marriage of alliance, it’s not the Dark Ages.”
“That may be so,” she said, offended, “But I will not have my son marry some common trollop, how would that look to the rest of the Peers? At least have a look at the women on the list. They are ranked in order of suitability.” She handed me a handwritten list, her precise cursive listing each eligible woman, their rank, title and a brief description. If it wasn’t my life, it would’ve been humorous. I folded the list and slid it into my shirt pocket with a small shake of my head. Dayne would get a laugh out of it at the very least.
Her job done, my mother stood, prompting my father and I to do the same, and proffered her cheek to me for a kiss before leaving the office. I turned to my father, but he was already back around the other side of his desk, back at work. I’d been dismissed.
I paced the Rose Room as I waited for Freddie. I’d tried to relax throughout the day, going back to my bed and planned reading, but my mind had wandered and I’d given up the book before too long. I’d tried going for a ride, but even my dappled mare couldn’t rid me of the restlessness that I felt. I’d lied to Bradley in order to get him to back off, but I had to wonder if I’d only given
“Father, mother. You summoned me?” I made myself comfortable in an armchair and smoothed my shirt and pants before looking up at them.
My father had the bearing of a monarch from years past, King Richard came to mind when I looked at him. He still had all of his hair and sported a rather healthy beard, both with a tinge of equal parts red and grey threaded throughout the brown. My mother also held herself with a type of poise that seemed inherent in those of royal birth. A true red-head, she lightened it with subtle blonde highlights and wore it much in the fashion of Margaret Thatcher held in place with enough hairspray to threaten the ozone layer.
My father got up from his desk and walked over to join us on the sofas. This must be serious if they were going to double-team me.
“Have you spoken to the Queen today?” my father asked.
“No, why?” I was suspicious. I know my father had been meeting with the Queen leading up to the coronation, but I wasn’t privy to the details. I assumed it was him lending her his support.
He sighed and sat back. “She’s asked me to take on the role of Prime Minister.”
I was stunned, but not entirely shocked. My father was the Speaker of the House in Parliament and had taken on the interim role as Head of State during the recent upheaval in our politics. The previous Prime Minister and many of the higher ranked Ministers had been stood down, some charged, in response to a corruption scandal that had resulted in Alyssa being kidnapped. Parliament was still unstable and now that the Queen had ascended and been crowned, she would, of course, be looking to stabilise the government. Charles Bingham, Duke of Monterey, was the obvious choice.
“Okay,” I said with a nod and an exhalation, “So what will happen now.”
“I will need you to take over Monticorp sooner than expected,” he said.
“And you will need a wife,” Caroline Bingham added decisively. “I have a list of eligible—”
“Really, mother?” I asked with a roll of my eyes. She had been trying to set me up from the moment I set foot back in the country six months ago. I had nothing against the institution of marriage, and I knew one day that I would need to take a wife and provide heirs, but I was no-where near ready for that level of commitment.
“Frédéric you have sown your wild oats for long enough,” she said, brooking no argument, “It is time for you to settle down.”
“Maybe,” I said, throwing her a bone, “But I don’t need my mother setting me up. We don’t need a marriage of alliance, it’s not the Dark Ages.”
“That may be so,” she said, offended, “But I will not have my son marry some common trollop, how would that look to the rest of the Peers? At least have a look at the women on the list. They are ranked in order of suitability.” She handed me a handwritten list, her precise cursive listing each eligible woman, their rank, title and a brief description. If it wasn’t my life, it would’ve been humorous. I folded the list and slid it into my shirt pocket with a small shake of my head. Dayne would get a laugh out of it at the very least.
Her job done, my mother stood, prompting my father and I to do the same, and proffered her cheek to me for a kiss before leaving the office. I turned to my father, but he was already back around the other side of his desk, back at work. I’d been dismissed.
I paced the Rose Room as I waited for Freddie. I’d tried to relax throughout the day, going back to my bed and planned reading, but my mind had wandered and I’d given up the book before too long. I’d tried going for a ride, but even my dappled mare couldn’t rid me of the restlessness that I felt. I’d lied to Bradley in order to get him to back off, but I had to wonder if I’d only given
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