“You are in love,” the queen said softly.
“No! That is, there is someone—” Megan realized she was going to have to tell her mother the bare facts at the very least if she were to ask for advice.
“Who?”
“Jean-Paul Augustuve of Silvershire,” Megan answered.
“Jean-Paul,” her mother repeated. She frowned. “His bloodline is acceptable, but he is known as something of a rebel. Your father may not be pleased.”
“There is another problem.”
“Yes?”
“There is a child.”
“Jean-Paul has a child?”
Megan didn’t blame her mother for looking confused. “Not yet.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“I am with child,” Megan said in a low voice, as if the stone walls around the queen’s private garden had ears.
Her mother clasped both hands to her bosom. She lifted the rose from between her breasts and stared at it as if the flower might interpret this news for her.
“Jean-Paul’s child,” the queen concluded.
Megan nodded and sighed as a weight lifted slightly from her shoulders. Her mother was quick to catch on. She was also thoughtful. Megan was grateful the older woman didn’t push a lot of questions at her, but instead contemplated the rose with an enigmatic smile hovering on her lips.
“Tell me what you can,” her mother invited.
“You recall I went to Monaco for the trade conference in Meredith’s place in April?”
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