Harry
I tried to leave on my own after the gala, but my father took Meg's arm and walked her to the car, held the door open for her, and then slammed the door, shutting us in together.
"I thought it was a lovely evening," Meg said, leaning against my shoulder. "It's so good to be together with you again as a couple, like we should be."
I'd had a steady series of drinks over the course of the evening but I wasn't drunk. I was, however, just buzzed enough that my well-trained veneer of manners was slipping, and the anger I had felt all evening was breaking through the barriers.
"Clarence House," I barked suddenly at the driver, leaning forward. "We're going to Clarence House. Not home to Kensington."
"But why?" Meg asked, with the pretty pout I knew from experience meant either tears or a tantrum were soon forthcoming.
"We are a couple only for the sake of convenience—the Queen's convenience," I growled, "and I am not taking you back to Nott Cott. If my father is so fond of you, he can listen to your tears."
Meg began to cry then, as expected. "Why are you so mean to me?" she asked between sobs. "Even if you don't love me any more, you have to understand that we are having a baby together! We are going to be married in May. You have to face the facts and learn to live with them."
"I'm not learning to live with anything until I know the facts are true," I snapped. "Why is it taking three weeks to get in to see a doctor? He knows who you are. You could get an appointment first thing in the morning if you wanted to. But you are either dragging this out to torture me, or you know for a fact that you are not pregnant and you are keeping that truth from me as long as possible."
"I am not lying to you! I am pregnant!" she blazed. "Let's go to a drugstore and buy one of those home pregnancy tests and I'll pee on the stick and show you! Will that make you happy?"
It was tempting, but it was late and most of the stores were closed, and I did not fancy driving around London with her trying to find a chemist's that was open. "Nothing about this makes me happy," I said, "and we're not stopping. I'm taking you to Clarence House and having a word with my father."
The windows of Clarence House blazed with light as the car pulled up. I stalked into the house, leaving Meg to follow me, and caught up with my father as he headed upstairs.
My father and I did not have the best relationship in the world. I had never forgiven him for the way he treated my mother and cheated on her when they were married, or his insistence that I walk behind my mother's coffin in the eyes of millions of people the day of her funeral, or his marriage to Camilla. For years we had barely spoken and exchanged only the most general of pleasantries when we were together at events and holidays. His support of Meg was just another in a long line of traitorous acts that lay between us.
"I'd like to speak with you," I said. "In private." Meaning, of course, without Meg or Camilla listening in.
The Prince of Wales turned towards me, and I could see that he was tired. "Must we do this tonight?" he asked. "Why don't you come back in the morning and we can talk over breakfast?"
That would have been the sensible thing to do, especially since I had been drinking and was not in the best frame of mind, but as the newspapers always pointed out, being sensible was not one of my strongest skills.
"No," I said. "We need to do this now. I need to do this now."
My father sighed and came back down the stairs. "You were always the demanding one, Harry. Always the one your grandmother and I worried about. And just when I thought you were going to settle down and act like a Windsor, you go off on another tear, wrecking all the plans that were made for you. If we must have this conversation tonight, let's go into the library."
I followed him into the library, which was obviously my father's favorite room. It was full of all the things he loved—books about gardening and sustainability, orchids under glass, and tall wing back chairs covered in velvet. His desk sat close to the cold fireplace and he retreated there, pouring himself a drink.
"I'd offer you one but I think you've had enough already," he said. "Can we sit down? Or must we stand?"
"We can sit," I said, taking a seat in one of the chairs drawn up before the fireplace, although I knew I would probably be pacing around the room before long.
My father sat across from me and sipped at his drink. "I assume this is about Meg."
"Of course it's about Meg. It's about you siding with her without any regard for the truth. Or for me. Your own son."
"It's about duty, and what is right, and avoiding as much scandal as possible, although you're in pretty deep as it is," my father said. "You asked her to marry you and she accepted, well aware of all the down sides to this life. Now she is pregnant and the child will be a Windsor, an heir to the throne. You have to marry her. It's simple."
"It's not simple," I said, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. "We've seen no proof that she's pregnant, or that if she is, that the child is mine. I don't trust her."
"Don't you think we should assume that she is telling the truth until we find out otherwise? And avoid the scandal of you ignoring her and pushing her away when news of her pregnancy slips out? Even in this day and age it's going to be a minor scandal that she's already pregnant before marriage. I know, I know—" he said, cutting me off with an upraised hand. "So many people have babies without getting married these days it's just commonplace. For them. But you're a prince and you're held to a higher standard."
My father was quiet and calm and I knew I was losing my cool. "What if she isn't pregnant? Or she's pregnant but the child isn't mine? What then? How do I get out of this engagement then? With minimal damage to everyone involved?"
"Can't we wait to see if that is the case before we worry about it?"
"I can't," I said. "I have to know there is a way out of this. For me." And Sam, I thought, but managed not to say aloud.
"Can we agree that you will marry Meg if she is carrying your child?" he asked.
It was the possibility I did not want to face, nor be pinned down with an answer. "I don't want to marry her. And you, of all people, should understand why."
My father just stared at me, as if I had caught him at a loss for words, so I pushed on. "I don't love Meg. I am not in love with her. I am in love with someone else, and she is the one I want to marry."
Now it was my father who stood, staring into the empty fireplace, his back to me. "So the stories are true. There is another woman."
Remarkably, I managed to stay seated, and my voice was smooth as I said, "There is only one woman for me, and it is Samantha. She's the one. I know it now. I didn't—I made a mistake when I asked Meg to marry me. I cared for her but I know now that isn't enough to make a royal marriage—or any marriage, really—work. If I marry Meg it will be for duty. If I marry Sam it will be for love. And you know how far duty can take you in a marriage. Not far enough."
My father was silent for a long time, and if he had not been standing, I might have thought he'd gone to sleep. But then he turned around and looked at me, as if really seeing me, for the first time in years.
"I was in your shoes, once," he said, his voice so soft I could barely hear him. "I wanted to marry the woman I loved and everyone was against me. She was not considered suitable, whatever that means. And in the end, when I proposed to her, she made the choice I couldn't. Camilla knew that our marriage would never be accepted by the Queen, and she refused my offer. So instead I did what duty required of me and married the perfect woman, the one everyone wanted me to marry. But she wasn't perfect for me. And in the end, many people were very unhappy. Including you and your brother."
I was speechless. My father never spoke like this to me—never spoke about his feelings. He rarely spoke about my mother at all, and I didn't want to interrupt this moment of learning what he kept inside.
He walked back to his desk and refilled his glass, then poured another one and handed it to me, despite his earlier admonition.
"I always told myself that I would not be like my father and mother in that way. I defied tradition and sent you and William to schools where I knew you would be happy. I fought to keep your lives as private as could be when you were young. And after...after the tragedy of what happened to your mother, I kept the press away from you as much as possible. I did what I could. But perhaps...I can do more."
He downed his drink in one swallow, which was something else he never did, and his eyes met mine.
"If Meg is carrying your child, you will have to marry her. It is the only acceptable solution if she is pregnant. The Queen will agree to nothing less. But if Meg is not pregnant...I will make sure that we find a way to release you from your engagement...no matter how much scandal it causes."
I blew out a heavy sigh. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath, hadn't realized my hands were shaking, until that moment.
"It may be...expensive," my father warned. "We may be forced to offer Meg some...compensation...to convince her to break the engagement. But it can be done."
"And for now?" I asked.
"It would be best if you could reconcile with Meg. Hear me out—" he warned, as I began to protest. "It will serve you well later on if you are on better terms with her, especially if she is having a baby."
"I don't want to lead her on," I said. "I don't want her to think that we are making up if it's not true."
"You could be kinder her to her. It is only a few weeks until her doctor's appointment and we find out for certain if she is carrying your child. The last thing you want is to turn her against you and give her ammunition to take to the press about how badly we have treated her. Just smooth it over a bit with her. Trust me—she will welcome any kindness from you right now."
I knew he spoke the truth, but the thought of spending any time with Meg right now, when all I wanted was to be with Sam, was distasteful to me. "If I take her back home with me, she will get the wrong idea."
"Meg can stay here for a few more days. I'll speak with her. But I want you to go on with your joint appearances and be civil to her."
"And Samantha?" I asked. "What do I tell her?"
My father put his hand on my shoulder, and then gave me an awkward one-armed hug. "If Samantha is the one, she will wait for you, no matter how long it takes. Trust me on that as well."