Malice at the Palace by Rhys Bowen Page A

to meet us.
    â€œMarina. Welcome, my dear. How very good to see you looking so well. And Georgiana too. Such a pleasure.”
    Marina was kissed on both cheeks. I curtsied. Marina then kissed the king and was introduced to the duke and duchess.
    â€œI must apologize for my sons,” the queen said, looking around with obvious displeasure. “The king is extremely punctual and my sons appear to be more Continental in their approach to time. The Prince of Wales did tell me that he feared he would not be able to join us on this occasion, but your future husband was with us only a short time ago and went home to change into his dinner jacket. I can’t think what could be delaying him.”
    â€œNo sense of duty, this younger generation,” the king growled.
    â€œOh, come now, Papa. We are here on time,” the Duchess of York said with her sweet smile. I noticed the duke said nothing. He was always afraid of revealing his stammer in public and was very shy among strangers.
    â€œYou two are the salt of the earth,” the queen replied.
    â€œIf only the boy would get over that blasted speech impediment,” the king said. “It’s only a matter of practice.”
    â€œI d-d-d-do try, Father,” the duke said.
    There was an awkward silence. Mercifully champagne was served. Nibbles were brought around and finally, when the king was clearly beginning to fume, Prince George came running up the staircase, out of breath and straightening his bow tie as he ran.
    â€œAwfully sorry to be so late, Mama,” he said. “The motorcar was involved in a minor prang. Nothing serious. Nobody hurt, but it delayed us.”
    â€œAn accident on the way? Surely you only had to come a few yards from St. James’s, didn’t you? You could have walked,” the king said testily.
    â€œActually I had to pop over to the new place to check on something the decorator wanted me to see, and as I said, no harm, no foul.”
    â€œYou’re here now, George. That’s all that matters. And now that you are here, your father has something to tell you.” The queen looked expectantly at the king, who cleared his throat.
    â€œThis is the time in your life when you take on responsibility, my boy,” he said. “Until now you’ve had free rein to enjoy yourself when you were not out and about with the navy. From now on we expect you and your bride to be active members of the royal family, to take on royal duties, and to be a credit to our good name and to our ancestors. So I plan to make you Duke and Duchess of Kent.”
    â€œGosh, thanks awfully, Father.” He looked across at Marina. “Do you hear that, my dear? You’re to be Duchess of Kent.”
    Marina was standing next to me. “Isn’t that a step down from princess?” she whispered with the hint of a grin.
    â€œThese titles come with property and income, I believe,” I whispered back. “Most royal sons are made dukes.”
    â€œAh.” She nodded.
    The gong was sounded. Prince George took Marina’s arm to escort her in to dinner. I followed behind, unescorted. I suppose the Prince of Wales would have made up even numbers, as he wouldn’t have dared to bring Mrs. Simpson with him. Dinner passed smoothly but without the Prince of Wales putting in an appearance, which clearly vexed his mother. When we were driven back to Kensington Palace, Princess Marina seemed in good spirits and satisfied with her lot.
    â€œThe queen was kinder to me than I expected,” she said. “And I could tell that the king liked me too.”
    â€œWho could not like you?” I asked.
    She squeezed my hand. “You’re so sweet, Georgiana. Will you have to marry someone the family finds for you, or will you be able to make your own choice?”
    â€œHopefully the latter,” I said. “They tried to hitch me up with Prince Siegfried of Romania.”
    She gave a peal of laughter.