The arched windows bathed the library in light. Thousands of books lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Drina stood in front of the fireplace and warmed her hands, trying to come up with a plan or system. But the task was monumental and seemed hopeless.
How was she supposed to find a legal precedent regarding a woman inheriting a title and estate, if she didn’t even know where to start?
“I thought I’d find you here,” Alice called.
She turned to see Alice and all of her younger siblings, plus Bertie, walking toward her. Beatrice was holding Alice’s hand, but spying Drina, she dropped it and ran to her. Drina scooped her up and twirled her around before resting her on her hip.
“Are you here to help me, Baby?”
“Yes,” Beatrice said with an emphatic nod, her bright curls bobbing up and down.
“As you see, I’ve brought reinforcements,” Alice said, gesturing to her siblings.
“I’m afraid that I don’t even know where to begin,” Drina admitted, shrugging her shoulders.
“The legal section, I should think.”
“Alice, you’re a genius,” Drina said dryly.
“Well, my dear, I’m a polymath, so of course I’m a genius,” Alice said, with a wink and a smile. “Now, Bertie, go fetch us a ladder from the other side of the library. Alfred and Helena, you two take this shelf. Arthur and Leopold, you take this next shelf, and Louise and Drina, the one above it. Bertie and I will sort through the highest shelf once he returns with the ladder.”
Alice handed stacks of books to her siblings, and they took them over to a round table with chairs. Drina set down Beatrice so that she could carry her own stack of books. She brought them to another round table and set them down with a thud. Drina sat and Beatrice climbed onto her lap.
“I help you find it.”
“Thank you, Baby,” Drina said, patting her curls. “I should like that very much.”
Louise sat next to them and handed her a paper. “For you, Drina. Happy Christmas.”
Drina turned the paper over and saw Louise’s completed sketch of Windsor Castle. The center of the picture was the Round Tower, set on a hill. Trees and shrubs framed the castle and softened the hard lines of the stone. Louise had even drawn clouds in the sky.
“Thank you, Louise,” Drina said, squeezing the younger girl’s hand. “It is the best Christmas present I’ve ever received. When I get home, I’ll frame it and hang it in the parlor at Rothfield House.”
“It’s not that good,” Louise said, blushing and looking away.
“It is that good,” she assured the princess, “and I thank you for it and for helping me today.”
Louise smiled and began reading the book in front of her. Drina opened the first page of her own book when Bertie came and sat next to her, flipping through the crackly pages of a large tome. Dust particles circled around in the air like snowflakes.
“Why did you ask me for two dances?” she asked suspiciously in a voice barely above a whisper.
The Prince of Wales had the grace to color. He cleared his throat. “I’m trying to help you with my mother.”
“By making her angry?”
“That is a delightful bonus,” he said with his ever-charming smile. “But no, I have a plan to help you break the entail.”
Drina chewed her lip, unsure if she wanted any part in Bertie’s scheme. “A plan besides finding a legal precedent in these dusty books?”
“Yes,” he said. “I have learned in the military that it is always good to have more than one angle of attack.”
“Then what is your plan?”
Bertie shook his head. “You’ll see.”
She didn’t see at all, but she’d already wasted too much time talking. Turning open the book, she began to scan the phrases for important words like entail and inheritance.
Page after page.
Book after book.
Shelf after shelf.
But she saw no precedent of a woman inheriting a title from her father or any other male relative. Drina kept reading until Beatrice fell asleep on her lap, her curly little head resting on Drina’s forearm.
“I’m hungry,” Leopold complained. Drina heard his stomach grumble.
“And I’m tired,” Arthur said, yawning and stretching his arms.
“I suppose it’s past time for lunch,” Drina said, standing up with Beatrice in her arms.
“I can look longer,” Louise said, giving both of her younger brothers a dirty look very reminiscent of her mother’s scowl.
“There’s no need to,” Drina said, resignedly. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything to convince your mother to lift the entail. And I’m sure you’re supposed to be in lessons right now.”
“We are,” Helena said in her soft voice, “but you’re more important.”
“I can’t tell you all how much it means to me that you all tried,” Drina said, and sighed. “But I’m as hungry as Leopold. I think we ought to go have some lunch.”
The royal children closed their books and placed them back on the shelves. One by one they left the library until it was only Alice, Bertie, and Drina, who was still holding the sleeping Beatrice. Bertie took his sister from Drina’s arms.
“Thank you for your help, Bertie,” she said sadly. “It was a good plan, Alice.”
“Don’t give up yet,” Alice said, hugging her. “There are still so many books that we haven’t gone through.”
“I won’t,” Drina assured her, but she couldn’t help but feel disappointed. What if there wasn’t a legal precedent to be found? Would Drina have to marry to secure her financial and social position?
She shivered at the very thought.
George raked his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath before leaving his room at Windsor Castle. He wandered through the private apartments, searching for his father. He finally found him standing next to Lord Rothfield in the Crimson Saloon. They were looking out the window at the icy rain.
George walked up to them. Nervousness tunneled from his stomach to his throat like an underground train, but he’d gone too far to turn back now.
“Father,” George said in an undertone. “I need to speak with you. Privately.”
Lord Rothfield gave him a nod. “Good to see you, George.” He clapped George on the shoulder and then walked away.
“Privately?” his father rasped. “There is no privacy in a palace, boy.”
“Then over in the corner,” George said, gesturing to a pair of chairs that were empty.
“Very well,” his father said, and walked over to a chair and sat down.
“I don’t want to be a foreign diplomat,” George said, still standing. For once, he was looking down at his father and not looking up. “I have no talent for it. I’m much too blunt and I can’t endure catering to somebody just because they happened to be born royal. Every minute spent in Prince Friedrich’s company has convinced me that this isn’t the life I want.”
The Duke of Doverly patted the seat next to him indulgently. “Sit down, George.”
He sat on the edge of the golden chair—too tense to scoot back.
“You didn’t let a few tosses from your horse stop you from learning how to ride, did you?” his father said. “Don’t let a few hiccups on your first diplomatic assignment get you down in the mouth, son. You’re sure to do better next time.”
George growled, but he wasn’t going to give in this time. He shook his head. “No, Father. You need to listen to me. This isn’t about my assignment. It’s about me. I don’t like diplomacy. I hate politics. I want to be a civil engineer.”
“A civil engineer?” his father whispered contemptuously. “A common profession, when you were born from the blood of kings?”
“Yes!” George cried. “I don’t care that our great-great-great grandfather or something was the illegitimate son of King Charles II. The world is changing. Technology is the future, not dead monarchs. I read in the newspaper that the Metropolitan Railway is building an underground railway from Paddington to Farringdon. I put my name forward just this afternoon as a trainee and Mr. John Fowler accepted me.”
“If you take this position,” his father said, “I will cut you off without a penny.”
“I’ll have a salary of my own.”
His father gave a scornful laugh. “A working man’s salary? Ha! You’ll hardly be able to live at the level of comfort that you’re used to. That you were born to.”
“I can manage,” George said tightly.
“And don’t depend on inheriting your godfather’s fortune. He may be eighty, but he could live another dozen years.”
His father’s threats bounced off him as if he were wearing a suit of armor. George didn’t have to worry about the Foreign Office or being sent to Austria any more, or hope that a man he barely knew would die and leave him his money. George was now a working man with a salary. He had options, choices—and they felt more powerful than any crown.
“I can’t control your decisions, Father. But I can control my own. If you wish to cut off my allowance, which you already threaten to do on a weekly basis, do it. But I’m done living underneath your thumb. You can write to Lord Loftus and tell him that I won’t be coming to Austria any time soon. Unless he’d like me to build a bridge or a railroad.”
And with that, George walked away. It felt amazing.