Harry
It was good to walk into a peaceful, quiet house when I returned to London. Everything was just as I had left it on Friday. There was no sign of Meg, and no communication from her either—no phone calls, no texts. Nothing.
I suppose that should have made me suspicious, but at the time I felt only relief. Maybe the time away was as good for Meg as it was for me. Maybe she was beginning to realize that our relationship was doomed. Maybe, back in Toronto, her best friend Jennifer was telling her that she should make a clean break and start over. At that point I didn't really care if she blamed it all on me, as long as the relationship was over.
I slept well that night and was up early. I was going to a charity breakfast that morning, filling in for my father, who had another engagement. After that I was scheduled to attend a board meeting for Heads Together, and I hoped to have some down time at some point to call Samantha and see how she was doing.
One of the servants brought a breakfast tray, and I was just finishing up when Colin, my private secretary, appeared with a handful of papers and a worried look.
Colin greeted me rather absently and said, "Sir, I hate to bother you with this, but I thought you should know before you go out in public—" and he laid three newspapers on the table in front of me.
The Daily Mail, the Sun, and the Daily Star. All of them had outrageous, cringe-worthy headlines and various grainy photos of me and Sam. She was not quite recognizable—yet—but there was no doubt that the press was onto us.
I threw the papers down and stood up, pacing across the room and back. Then I grabbed my phone and called Sam, but the call went straight to voicemail. I left what probably sounded like a strange and vaguely threatening message and slammed the phone down.
"Sir?" Colin prompted.
I turned to him. "What do you think we should do?" I asked.
"It's best not to add any fuel to these rumors, Sir," Colin said. "Responding to them or issuing denials just gives the press more ammunition. It's best to just ignore it and they will find some other explosive story tomorrow."
He was right, of course, and when the wild headlines and crazy photos had been of me caught at parties or staggering out of clubs, I had been able to laugh it off and not care too much. But this—this was invasive. This brought up too many memories of seeing my mother's face on every newspaper, of being shielded from photographers by her gentle hand when I was small, of noticing how my mother automatically lifted her hand to her face every time she opened a door.
My hands began to shake and I balled them into fists. The top paper had a fairly clear photo of Sam right after her fall, her face still smeared with blood, as I put an arm around her and helped her to her feet.
The press had followed us to Cornwall. The whole time I thought we were safe, that we were alone, there was someone—or many someones—watching us, long lenses trained on us.
I swore, hammering my fist on the door frame.
It was too soon. Sam was not prepared for this. And I could not stand beside her, protecting her, keeping her safe. Not yet. The Queen had not even announced that my wedding had been postponed.
The Queen. What was she going to think when she saw these photos? What would she say?
I knew what Meg would think. It would provide her with proof of what she suspected. What she would do with that proof...I had no idea.
"If they have photos," I said, my voice far steadier and steelier than I expected, "it will only be a matter of time before they figure out who she is."
"Without a doubt, Sir." Colin shuffled on his feet and looked uncomfortable. "This woman—do you trust her?"
"Trust her?" I barked. "What do you mean? Of course I trust her."
"Do you trust her not to talk? Not to sell her story to the press when they come knocking on her door?"
The thought of the rabid photojournalists knocking on her door, firing cameras in her face—Sam facing the press alone—made me sick to my stomach. "That woman," I said, and now my voice was shaking with anger, "would never talk to the press. She is not the kind who can be bought and sold. That woman will someday be my wife, if I have anything to say about it. We have to protect her. I have to protect her. "
Colin was taken aback. "But—Miss Moran—your fiancee—"
"I am still engaged to Meg only because the Queen would not allow me to break it off...yet. When I figure out how to extricate myself from this engagement, with or without the Queen's blessing, I will marry Samantha...if she has not been scared off by the press."
Colin might have been surprised, but he was a professional and used to working in the Royal Household. "So then I take it you do not want to acknowledge your relationship with Miss...Samantha?...just yet."
"Publicly? No. Not until Meg is out of the picture." It sounded callous, but it was true. "I can't. But I won't deny it, either."
Colin looked down at the papers, drumming his fingers on my photo. "I see. Best that we keep Samantha under wraps then." He looked up at me. "You're going to have be very careful, Sir. You don't want to be seen with her again until you are ready to make your relationship known."
"Are you telling me to stay away from Sam?" I asked.
"I would never presume to tell you what to do, Sir. But it would be best if you are not seen with her—or with Miss Moran. Especially if the Queen will soon be announcing the postponement of your wedding. It is best that you appear alone, as a man who is in the midst of a difficult situation not of his own making."
I laughed ruefully. "There should be no difficulty in that last bit, anyway."
Colin looked thoughtful. "I don't suppose...there is any way to get Miss Moran to announce the breakup, is there? That would be best for you—if she were to break it off on her own terms."
"Not unless these photos will prompt her to do so," I said.
Colin nodded. "I see. Well, your best defense is that Miss...Samantha is merely an acquaintance or a friend, and these photos are taken out of context, if anyone dares to ask you about them. I will stop round and have a word with her, if you don't mind, and advise her that she needs to keep a low profile."
"That's not necessary," I said. "I don't want to scare her. I'll talk to her. She'll understand."
"As you wish, Sir."