Rags To Riches: At His Bidding. Rebecca Winters

up in a place like this. She thought of her own childhood home in a rural town in Texas and smiled.

      “Do you have fishing ponds?” she asked.

      Mr. Bernard blinked at her. “Fishing ponds?”

      “Yes. Large ponds where you can swim and fish,” she said.

      Mr. Bernard gave a slight smile. “We have a pool and ocean for swimming. Likewise, the royal yacht can be used for fishing expeditions. There are a few stocked ponds on the property that feature mostly garibaldi fish and carp. Do you have more questions?”

      She shook her head. “Not right now.”

      “Very well, we shall now proceed to the palace,” he said.

      Mr. Bernard began to share the history of the Deveraux family and Chantaine. The family, of course, went back centuries and representatives of the crown had conducted a series of negotiations with both France and Italy in order for the royal family to remain in power and for Chantaine to maintain its independence.

      “Some men are born to rule and some are determined to make a difference. Chantaine is proud that with this new generation, the royal family actively seeks to improve the quality of life for all of Chantaine’s people. Within the last several years, His Royal Highness, Stefan, has invited a limited number of cruise ships to our port. He and the rest of the royal family have instituted art, music and film events with percentages donated to Chantaine’s charities. And, of course, Her Highness Bridget married a highly credentialed American doctor, who now serves as our chief medical officer. Prince Stefan is always looking for ways to improve Chantaine.”

      The car slowed to a stop in front of the grand palace entrance. White columns rose several stories high. A man in uniform stood at the front door. The driver ushered her out of the car and she joined Mr. Bernard as the huge heavy door opened to a grand two-story foyer with curving staircases and marble floors. Above her hung several chandeliers.

      “Wow,” she whispered.

      Mr. Bernard continued his discourse as he led her throughout the main floor of the palace, which held numerous meeting rooms, two ballrooms and several nooks with antique furniture where someone could look out the window and enjoy the sight of the palace grounds. As her guide commented on the origin of the architecture of the palace, she couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer.

      “What was he like?” she asked. “Prince Edward?”

      Mr. Bernard seemed slightly taken aback. “Prince Edward was a sword master. His passion was yachting and he was loyal in his duties as prince. He graduated from university in France and provided Chantaine with an excellent heir, along with a progeny that are a delight to our citizens.”

      “And his—” she paused, wanting to repeat the word he’d used, though it wasn’t one she would dream of choosing “—his progeny. What are they like?”

      “As I said, they are delightful.”

      But that didn’t answer her question.

      * * *

      Coco ate half her sandwich with Emma on her lap while Benjamin wolfed down the meal delivered from the palace kitchen. He eyed her remaining half sandwich.

      She shoved her plate toward him. “Take it. I’m not going to eat it. I have formal tea in a short while. Can we look that up on Google? I’ve never had a formal tea before.”

      “You’re sure?” he asked, staring at her sandwich.

      “I’m sure,” she said and shoved her plate toward him.

      He immediately scooped up her half sandwich. “Did you get any real information?” he asked before he took a bite.

      “He was very nice and informative, but when I asked what the royal family was like, he said delightful.”

      He scowled. “No one is always delightful. He’s a PR guy. You’ll get a better feel for this after this afternoon.”

      “But I’m nervous now,” she confessed. “I’ve never had a formal tea before and certainly never with royals. I really need to check Google. Am I supposed to curtsey?”

      “It’s a choice. You’re not one of their subjects,” he said. “You’re not a citizen of their country.”

      “True,” she said, feeling conflicted. “I just want to be respectful.”

      He snorted. “Let them be respectful to you.”

      His response made her smile.

      Emma waved toward the plate she’d shoved in Benjamin’s direction and protested as if she wanted what was on his plate.

      “Uh-oh,” he said.

      “Yes. We have jars ready for her. As soon as you finish, can you give her some food while I look up high tea on the internet?”

      He chuckled. “Yeah, I’m there,” he said, reaching for Emma.

      Emma hesitated.

      “He’s got the food,” Coco said in a low voice and gave Emma a squeeze before she passed the baby to him.

      “And that baby food is where?” he asked as Emma began to squawk.

      “I’ll get it,” Coco said and found a jar in a backpack. “Here,” she said, giving him a jar of strained peas.

      He made a face. “This didn’t end well the last time I fed her strained peas.”

      “Stop when she starts to spit. Don’t continue to put food in when she is spitting it out,” she said. “It’s pretty logical.”

      He frowned. “Easy for you to say. You do this all the time.”

      “This is your opportunity to bond with your daughter,” she said.

      Emma began to fuss and lift her arms toward Coco. “Oops, I’ll go into a different room and try to find out more about an afternoon tea. May I use your tablet?” Coco asked.

      “Go right ahead,” he said.

      Emma let out a loud scream of protest that tugged at Coco’s heart, but she forced herself to close the door behind her. She suffered during the next couple moments while Emma loudly voiced her displeasure. Finally, the baby quieted, and Coco’s stomach unknotted just a bit. She was still tense about meeting her half siblings.

      Pulling out the tablet, she ran a search on afternoon tea and scanned for proper etiquette. No circular stirring. Move spoon from six o’clock position to twelve o’clock position. Never put your napkin in the seat. Don’t slice your scone....

      Coco made a face. She didn’t even like scones. She continued to cram for the tea when a knock sounded on the door. Her stomach jolted into her throat and she jumped to her feet.

      Taking a deep breath, she walked through the kitchen where Emma grinned at her. Peas were smeared on her cheeks and in her hair. “I think she’s done,” she said in a low voice to Benjamin.

      “Think so?” he said in a dry tone. “I made the mistake of giving her the spoon.”

      Coco watched Emma bang the spoon on the tray then toss it onto the floor. She winced. “Bad precedent. We’ll need to distract her during her next mealtime.”

      Another knock sounded and Coco met Benjamin’s gaze. He rose to walk her to the door. “Just remember what I told you. Even that Emily Post woman says Americans should not bow or curtsey to anyone.”

      “I’m pretty sure Emily Post never wrote a column about this particular situation,” she muttered and opened the door.

      Benjamin grabbed her arm and lowered his head to press his mouth against hers. “I’ve got your back,” he said.

      His reassurance gave her a warm feeling. “Thanks,” she said and joined Mr. Bernard for the second time that day.

      Mr. Bernard