American Royals by Katharine McGee Page B

smile. “Though I used to wonder why you chose not to go to King’s College.” Where America’s future kings have always gone, he didn’t need to add.
    “I’m trying to set a new precedent,” Beatrice told him, skating around the question. People usually assumed that she’d attended Harvard for its academic rigor, when the truth was, she’d simply wanted to get away from the capital for four years. As far as she could go.
    She would have preferred one of the colleges out west, except that her parents would never have allowed her to go all the way to Orange.
    “Remind me, weren’t you on the crew team?” Beatrice asked, attempting to change the subject.
    “Only my first year. And now I have proof that you’ve seen my résumé.” Teddy propped an elbow on one knee. “Do you have color-coded files on all of us, sorted in alphabetical order?”
    “It’s sorted by precedence of title, actually,” she countered, attempting a joke. “How did you know?”
    “Because it’s what my parents would have done.”
    She wasn’t sure how to answer that, but Teddy went on. “My parents are very … opinionated,” he said tactfully. “As I imagine yours are. Right now, they’re upset that I’m not going straight to law school. All my family are lawyers,” he added, as if that explained everything.
    “And you want to be a lawyer too?”
    “I don’t know if wanting has anything to do with it,” he said softly.
    Beatrice felt a pang of empathy. She was no stranger to that kind of situation.
    “I think I saw a portrait of one of your ancestors at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. Lady Charlotte Eaton,” Beatrice recalled. A wistful smile stole over her features at the memory of that night.
    “The Whistler portrait,” Teddy said knowingly. “She was my great-grandmother.”
    Beatrice nodded. “There must be a lot of your personal art on display at that museum. It was nice of your family to lend it.”
    Most of the Washington family’s art was on permanent loan at the National Portrait Gallery. Except when Beatrice was younger, and one picture a week had been rotated in from the collection, to hang in her lesson room. Some of the bloodier historical paintings used to give her nightmares.
    “We sold that portrait, actually,” Teddy told her—and immediately stiffened, as if he regretted his words. Beatrice felt like she’d invaded some personal territory.
    “Well, I had to write a paper on that painting, and it was one of the worst grades I received in my entire college career,” she went on. “So let’s hope for both our sakes that you aren’t as confusing as your great-grandmother. Because if so, I’ll never understand you.”
    Teddy seemed to be studying her with thoughtful curiosity. “You know,” he said at last, “I was a little surprised when my parents told me why I was meeting you tonight. I mean … you could have literally anyone you want.”
    Not anyone. Beatrice thought again of how slim her folder of options was.
    “It’s not quite that simple” was all she said.
    Moonlight danced through the enormous windows on one wall, catching the startling sapphire of Teddy’s eyes. He nodded in understanding. “I can only imagine.”
    The other boys had been so predictable, so one-note. None of them had really paid attention to Beatrice. They’d just postured and preened, dancing over the surface of their conversations without truly listening to her.
    She might not feel butterflies with Teddy, but there was something genuine about him that struck her as a mark in his favor.
    Beatrice tried to hide her nervousness. She’d never actually done this before, except in dialogue with her etiquette master—yes, Lord Shrewsborough had made her practice asking guys on dates, since most men would be too intimidated to ask her.
    “Teddy …” She broke off, swallowed, and rallied her words. “Next weekend my family will be at the opening night of Midnight Crown, the new show in the East End. Do you