‘Yeah, take him with you, Penny-Rose,’ one of the lads called. The whole stone-walling team was fascinated at this unexpected twist of events, and the cheekiest of the men came to his own conclusion. ‘Maybe the new prince has decided to increase his harem.’
‘Or maybe that other one—what’s her name, Belle? Maybe she thinks our Penny-Rose is prettier and she’s decided to tear her eyes out,’ another added, and his comment was greeted by hoots of laughter.
The entire team was in on the conversation now. They were all male, mostly a lot older than Penny-Rose, and concern for their protégée was behind their good-natured banter.
‘How would they know our Penny-Rose is prettier? We only see her for five minutes every morning before the dust settles back,’ one demanded.
‘She is pretty, though,’ the first lad said stubbornly. ‘Real pretty. If the prince saw her without her dirt…’
‘Well, he hasn’t.’
‘His mother has.’
‘Not without her dirt, and, anyway, what’s that got to do with the price of eggs?’
‘No, lass…’ Bert cut across the banter and his eyes were still troubled. ‘Seriously, they’ve asked to see you. You spoke to the old lady, didn’t you? You didn’t say anything to upset her?’
‘No.’ Penny-Rose wiped filthy hands on her overalls, thinking fast. ‘At least, I don’t think so.’
Penny-Rose had arrived at the castle with the team of Yorkshire stone-wallers six weeks ago, and she’d had her hands full ever since. There was so much to be done! After years of neglect, the west farmyard walls had almost entirely collapsed, and if they weren’t mended soon, the north and south walls would do the same.
So she hadn’t had time for socialising. The only contact she’d had with the titled landholders had been a conversation with the castle’s elderly mistress.
Marguerite had been out walking, and had come across a stooped figure sorting stones. ‘Good heavens, it’s a girl,’ the woman had said, startled, and Penny-Rose had chuckled. She’d deferentially hauled off her cap, letting her curls tumble to her shoulders.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘You’re part of the stone-walling team?’ the woman had demanded, her amazement deepening, and Rose had smiled and once more agreed.
‘That’s right.’
‘But the team’s from Yorkshire.’
‘And I’m not from Yorkshire.’
‘Now, how did I guess that? Where are you from?’
‘Australia.’
‘Australia!’ The woman’s eyes had still been creased in astonishment. ‘Why on earth are you here?’
‘I’m working with the best stone-wallers in the world,’ Penny-Rose had told her, not without pride. ‘I’m gaining my master-waller’s certificate, and when I’m finished training, I can go home and demand my price.’
Then Penny-Rose had looked up at the castle where the soft gold sandstone turrets and battlements shone in all their glory, as they’d shone for almost a thousand years. Her green eyes had twinkled in appreciation of the beauty around her.
‘It’s great work,’ she’d said softly. ‘It almost makes up for having to work in the shadow of rickety old shanties like this.’
The woman laughed, seeming genuinely amused. She stayed for some time, seemingly intrigued by Penny-Rose’s work. Her questions were gently probing, but maybe it was her right to probe the background of workers on her son’s estate. Penny-Rose thought no more of it, and when the woman left, she felt as if she’d made a new friend.
But now…
Had she taken her joking seriously? Was she about to send a message through Penny-Rose that the team was no longer required?
Help…
‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ Bert asked again, her worry mirrored in his eyes. This was an important job, and both of them knew there was a lot at stake. ‘Not that I think you have any need to worry, but I can’t think of any reason they’d want you.’
‘They’re hardly likely to toss me into the oubliette for insubordination.’
‘Have you been insubordinate?’
‘Only a little bit,’ she confessed with a rueful smile. ‘Not very much.’
He groaned. ‘Well, don’t be now. Get in there and grovel, and only say nice things about your boss. That’s me. Remember?’ Penny-Rose had never been reluctant to give a bit of cheek, and Bert shook his head at her. ‘Know your place, girl, and, short of letting the prince have his wicked way with you, agree to anything. I can always back out later.’
He meant he could always dismiss her, she thought, her laughter fading. If it was a choice of Penny-Rose or the team, it had to be the team.
Maybe she had been too cheeky. Was the aristocracy so sensitive? Heavens, why didn’t she learn to keep her mouth shut? Still, if damage had been done, it was she who’d have to undo it.
‘If I’m not back in a week, demand entry to the dungeons,’ she said, more lightly than she felt. She looked down at her grimy self and thought of what she was facing. ‘You really mean go right now?’
‘I mean go right now,’ Bert said heavily. ‘That’s what the aristocracy wants, so that’s what the aristocracy gets.’
They were waiting.
Penny-Rose walked up through the terraced gardens toward the main castle entrance and found the head gardener waiting. They walked into the courtyard where a butler was waiting in turn. He gave her a wintry smile, turned and led her into the house.
And what a house!
The castle had been built in the twelfth century and maintained by fastidious owners ever since. Castaliae was one of the few countries in the world where the royal family had never deviated from direct succession. It had led to a certain simplicity—the family were the de Castaliaes, the estate was Castaliae and so was the country.
It was confusing maybe, but it certainly must make ordering letterheads easier, Penny-Rose had decided when she’d first learned about the place. And now, looking around the ancestral home of the country’s rulers, she saw other advantages of continuous succession. The halls were filled with exquisite furniture, gathered over a thousand years, the walls were hung with fabulous tapestries and the whole place was filled with light and colour from a building designed far in advance of its time.
Every south face had been used to effect—no one here had worried about window taxes—and sunlight streamed in everywhere.
The Castaliae family had been known to sit on the fence for all the castle’s history, Penny-Rose knew. The independence of this tiny principality was a tribute to the political savvy of its royal family.
Penny-Rose glanced about her with awe as she was led from room to room. For a twenty-six-year-old Australian, this was new and wonderful indeed. She almost forgot to be nervous.
Almost. She remembered again the moment she entered the great hall.
They were waiting for her.
She knew them by sight. Marguerite, of course. The new prince’s elderly mother. She was the woman who’d spoken to her in the garden, and her smile was warm and welcoming.
Then there was Belle. Although it wasn’t official, rumour had it that she was engaged to be married to the prince. She was a cold fish, the boys had decided, but it didn’t