Page 95 of A Problem Princess

“This was the charter! The charter of the land!” His loud voice reverberated off the buildings. “And guardian a-a-angels sang this strain!”

The milling crowd froze in surprise, then all turned to gape.

“Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves!” Seeking even more attention, he jumped onto a set of steps and waved his arms high above his head. “Britons never, never, never will be slaves!”

“Now!” Danielle latched onto Cordelia’s arm and pulled her from the carriage and away from the bewildered crowd who were all craning their necks to see what was happening on the steps and laughing at the spectacle. She sped Cordelia toward a small west-side door.

Cordelia paused to look back at Clayton, desperate for a glimpse of him. But all she could see were guards and yeomen warders rushing toward him to arrest him and the crowd closing in around him. Someone grabbed his arms and yanked him from the steps, and he disappeared in the crush.

“Clayton!” she cried.

“Hush!” Danielle scolded and pulled her inside the chapel attached to the palace. “The only way to help him now is to do exactly as he ordered. Understand?”

“Yes.” But this time, Cordelia didn’t nod dutifully. Instead, she hurried on with grim determination.

“The great hall is this way,” Danielle told her and guided her through the chapel and into a maze of small anterooms and narrow passages beyond. “It’s the largest hall in the palace—the largest in Europe, I’ve heard,” she prattled out to distract Cordelia. “It’s used for special occasions when both houses of Parliament gather together. It has plenty of space for large crowds and none of that constitutional messiness of when and if a monarch can enter Parliament.”

“How convenient,” Cordelia mumbled and kept her cape pulled closely around her to hide as much of her costume as possible, yet she kept glancing over her shoulder.

“Don’t worry about Clayton,” the duchess told her in a low voice. “He’s the most resourceful man I know. If we play our parts today, he’ll be just fine.”

“And if we don’t?”

“He will be just fine,” she repeated, but this time, she didn’t look at Cordelia. “There! A guard.” She pointed at a yeoman warder standing at the chamber’s rear entrance. “Put a smile in place, Your Highness. It’s time to make your stage debut.”

Cordelia’s pulse spiked as Danielle led her up to the guard.

The young duchess gave him her prettiest smile and waved a hand casually to indicate Cordelia. “We’re here to attend today’s address. Can you please show us to the ladies’ gallery?”

“No, ma’am.” He shook his head and remained firmly in the center of the entrance, blocking their way. “No ladies are allowed into the hall today. Important government business is to be discussed.” He gave them a patronizing cluck of his tongue for overstepping their places. “Wouldn’t want to distress you ladies with all that talk of politics.”

The duchess’s smile never faltered, although her fingernails dug into Cordelia’s arm with suppressed anger. “I am afraid you are mistaken, sir,” she corrected. “We are special guests of Prince Ernest of Monrovia. If there is no ladies’ gallery today, then show us to the box for the palace’s guests.”

The man shook his head. “’Fraid I can’t do that, ma’am.” He nodded behind them at the way they’d come. “Best to leave ’fore the gentlemen throw a fuss at seeing you here.”

Cordelia steeled herself for the duchess’s fingers to sink even deeper into her arm. Instead, Danielle pulled her spine ramrod straight. The look she leveled on the guard could have cut glass.

“Sir, I am Her Grace, Danielle, Duchess of Hampton.” That did little to impress the old soldier until she added, “The wife of General Marcus Braddock, Duke of Hampton. I am certain you have heard ofhim.”

He paled. “I’m—I’m sorry, ma—Your Grace.” He nodded deferentially with an expression of acute confusion. “But no ladies of any rank are allowed inside the hall today. No ladies at all!”

Danielle’s mouth pressed into an irritated line. “Then may I call your attention to my companion? She’s here to support her uncle.” She gestured at Cordelia. “Her Serene Highness Princess Cordelia of Monrovia.”

Taking her cue—and a deep, steadying breath—Cordelia pushed back her hood to reveal the diamond tiara and dropped her cloak to the marble floor.

The guard’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Now, sir,” Cordelia ordered gently, “please show us to our seats inside the hall.”

He didn’t move, except for his mouth, which opened and closed like a gasping fish’s. “I—I’m—I…” He swallowed hard and looked around him for reinforcements. Spotting a chamber usher, he held up his finger. “One moment, Your Princess—I mean, Your Highness.”

He darted across the hall to the usher and grabbed frantically at the man’s arm. He pointed back at the two women as he conferred quickly with the usher, whose brows nearly shot off his forehead in surprise.

Cordelia kept her face calm, but her heart pounded a fierce tattoo against her ribs. Dear God, she was going to faint!

“Steady,” Danielle ordered. “We’re almost inside. Just one moment more.”

The usher’s surprise dissolved. He gave the guard a confident nod and moved him aside to approach the two ladies. He bowed low from the waist.