Page 16 of Her Royal Houseguest

Chapter Five

Anna clutched the books to her chest and tried not to cry. She wasn’t a weepy girl. She was a tears of fury girl because she wasn’t allowed to punch people, much less a royal prince of Siam.

The arrogance of the man who thought he could dictate what she could read! She lived with enough restrictions. He did not need to create another. She might laugh it off if he were a normal sort of guest. Her father didn’t care what she read, so long as she didn’t damage his books, or maps. But if a royal prince spoke to him about it, then her father would be obligated to look more deeply into her reading habit.

And what the hell was wrong with True Tales of Ghosts in Ireland? She couldn’t even remember the stories. And, oh damnation, now her dress was filthy where she’d clutched the dirty things to her chest.

She stomped into her bedroom but then stopped short. There wasn’t room to walk in here and her maid was looking around in disgust. Every dirty pile of books, every box of previous interests and every ragged piece of forgotten mending lay stacked on her bedroom floor.

Well, where else was she supposed to put it?

A footman came in carrying another crate, this one filled with her aborted attempts to learn lace making.

‘Not here,’ she snapped.

The young man hesitated. ‘Mr Stanier said your things should go in your bedroom.’ In his defense, he wasn’t challenging her dictate. He was merely informing her of his dilemma. He took orders from Mr Stanier. If she wanted to change it, she would need to take that up with Mr Stanier.

Except she’d already told her butler that everything should go into the nursery.

Unless she’d meant to tell him and forgotten? That happened sometimes. Either way, she didn’t want all this stuff in here. She couldn’t even walk to her own bed!

‘Everything in the nursery,’ she said. ‘And the room next to it.’ She’d have to decide what to do with all of it, including the dusty furniture and old toys. She’d been meaning to sort through it all for months—maybe years—but had never gotten around to it.

The footman—his name was Clarke—nodded and turned around. Then she saw another book in the crate. ‘Stop!’

He froze.

Digging into the box, she pulled out the book she’d been reading back when she’d been trying to master lace-making. It was a pirate adventure. Fun. Had she finished it? Apparently not, given that the bookmark was still in the middle.

‘All books come right here.’ She pointed at her bed but when her maid gasped, she quickly amended herself. ‘I mean, right there.’ She gestured to the floor beside her bed.

Clarke dipped his chin. ‘Yes, my lady.’

‘And tell everyone else, too.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘I’ll remind Mr Stanier.’

She’d put it on the list of things to talk to the man about. An ever growing one that he usually ignored or she forgot. The man was elderly and his memory wasn’t what it used to be. Hers had never been good. So the result was a haphazard collection of instructions that one of them usually forgot.

It was no way to run a ducal household but right now it was the least of her problems. She was supposed to be downstairs at tea but she couldn’t go like this, covered in dust and angry at the Siamese invasion.

She looked at her maid. ‘Please tell Mama that I am unavoidably detained and won’t make tea as I…’ As she what? Refrained from punching their royal guest? ‘Double-check the meals for the rest of the week.’

That would keep her busy—because it absolutely had to be done—and she wouldn’t punch anyone. Except, that would usually involve asking if their guests had favourite meals. Her father prided himself on setting a good table, one that pleased every guest. Even the obnoxious ones.

She’d have to talk to Mr Arrogant Prince again, unless one of his companions could help with the matter.

She peeked out through her bedroom door. A veritable army of footmen were tromping up and down the stairs, carrying buckets of water, mops and all sorts of cleaning implements. The attic would sparkle by the time all that was done and she had no wish to interrupt such work. The monks were at tea.

Therefore, the Siamese would have to enjoy English food tonight.

She headed quietly through the house, hoping no one at tea noticed her.

No such luck.

‘Sir! Sir!’