The Prince's Secret (Prince Harry Fanfic)

Part 80 - The Queen, A Duchess, and Tea

He took my hand, and I squeezed it tightly as we walked what felt like miles, the rooms and hallways getting smaller and less opulent as we went along. "This is...wow. I mean...just incredible. I can't imagine what it must be like living here."

Harry smiled at me. "Well, most of it's not built for living. Not modern living, anyway. It's built to show off. It's decorated to look good in photos or to impress foreign rulers back in the day, when they came to visit or talk serious business with the king. It's not really a home." He tugged on my hand as we turned down yet another hallway. "We'll have a home. Not as impressive as this, but just right for us."

We finally landed in a sitting room which, while many times smaller than some of the rooms I'd peeked in along the way, was still far larger than any room in any place I'd ever lived. The furniture looked comfortable in a very flowery, English country-house type way.

"We don't sit until the Queen arrives," Harry warned me. He took me on a circuit of the room, telling me about the people in the paintings, and I studied the floral patterns on the chintz curtains, thinking what amazing coats they would make and wondering what the Queen did with the old curtains if she ever decided to redecorate, and how I could get my hands on them if she did.

The door opened and my heart started to pound, but it was not the Queen who entered. It was Camilla, Harry's stepmother.

"Here's a good chance for you to practice your curtsy," Harry murmured as he led me across the room. He bowed his head to her briefly and said, "Your Royal Highness the Duchess of Cornwall, may I present Miss Samantha Walden."

I took a deep breath and performed a very passable curtsy, taking the Duchess's hand as she held it out to me. When our eyes met she smiled.

"Lovely, my dear! Much better than my first attempts. And please, call me Camilla. No need to stand on ceremony between us. I've been looking forward to meeting you."

She leaned in for a hug, then kept her arm around my shoulders, steering me slightly away from Harry. "I know what it's like to come into this family as an outsider, and I know what it's like to face scandal and reporters hounding you every time you open the front door."

"Give me your phone," she requested, and I handed it over, watching as she added herself to my contacts. "Here's my number. I'm the expert on going from mistress to duchess in this family, and if you need anything, just call me."

I didn't know how to respond to her offer, so I just said, "Thank you." Harry returned to my side, the door opened, the Queen entered, and I drew in a deep breath, steeling myself for the ordeal to come.

Tea with the Queen was not what I expected.

Not that I had a lot to base my expectations on. The only royals I had spent a lot of time with were Harry and Eugenie, and they were both very down-to-earth and decidedly un-royal, as far as I could tell. But the Queen? I imagined she would be very prim and proper, always on the lookout for faux pas of protocol or manners. Well, maybe Queen Victoria was like that, but Harry's grandmother was something else.

To begin with, she showed up in pants. Pants! With an elastic waist, like anybody's grandma might wear, topped with a flowered blouse and regular old-lady shoes. Camilla dropped a quick curtsy, but then we all sat down, Harry and I on a couch to Her Majesty's right and Camilla in a chair to her left.

The Queen turned to me. "Samantha, I'm so pleased to have a chance to chat with you. Do tell us all about your gray mare."

I glanced at Harry and he gave me a tiny nod of encouragement, so I told the tale of being recruited by Paul Coster, making friends with Driz, her injury and ongoing recovery. At some point the tea arrived, and Harry got up to pour and serve. Camilla and the Queen continued to ask me questions about Driz, and my riding, and then we talked about hunting and the Queen's racehorses and for a while I almost forgot that I was having tea with the Queen of England.

"So how did you two meet?" Camilla asked, which I thought was a violation of the rule about letting the Queen change the subject, but the Queen simply nodded.

I threw that one to Harry with a look, and he leaned forward and with a laugh. "Oh, she knocked me on my arse—sorry, Granny—at a polo match. Literally."

"At least I helped you up afterwards," I protested.

"That's true, you did," he conceded, squeezing my hand and giving me a little smile. "Been lifting me up ever since, haven't you?"

"You did return the favor when I took that fall the first time you took me hunting," I replied, and then noticed that the Queen was focused on our linked hands. I thought wildly that maybe PDA's were not allowed in the Queen's presence, and dropped his hand. I tucked my hands in my lap in what I hoped was a demure fashion, but the Queen continued to look at them.

"May I have a look at your rings?" she asked, holding out her hand.

I knew it was not a request, and I froze.

"Of course," Harry answered for me, and placed my left hand in hers.

She studied my engagement ring intently and then said quietly, "And the other one, please?"

Slowly I put my right hand in hers. On that hand I wore, as I had every day since it was resized by Garrards, the ruby ring Harry had given me, that had once belonged to George V, the Queen's grandfather. Would she recognize it?

I stole a glance at her face. Yes. Yes, she did.

I threw a panicky look at Harry and he rubbed the side of my thigh gently with his thumb as if to say, I've got this. Don't worry. Let me handle it.

"They are lovely," the Queen pronounced, looking into my eyes. "Thank you."

With a slight squeeze, she released my hands. Turning to Camilla, she said, "I wonder, my dear, if you might take Samantha for a tour of the eastern garden? I would like to have a little chat with my grandson."